summary: you move in with your dad during college and your crush on his best friend, Jack Abbot only grows and grows. you have no idea after you've come back from travelling that he feels very much the same...
content/warnings: inappropriate relationship, unspecified age gap, dirty talk, dad's best friend, daddy kink, use of the pet name "uncle jack", fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, kinda pervert jack NSFW + MDNI! 18+ ONLY!
wc: 3k
notes: I've been wanting to write this for so long & I think I might write some blurby/shorts in future about this...cos I'm kinda obsessed with pervy Jack...please give me ideas here.
Jack Abbot would like it to be known he wasn't a creep. Wasn't some typa pervert. And he wasn't a dirty old man. So why did Robby's daughter being around always make him feel that way?
In Jack's defence, you didn't grow up around Robby. His friend had gotten his college sweetheart pregnant and they did give it a good go of it back then. But Michael Robinavitch had a one-track mind and he was going to medical school. Young love was no match for the realities of the real world.
Robby stayed in Pittsburgh and you were raised with your mother in different places around the country. She liked to travel; you were never in one place for too long. Maybe this is why she died young. She wasn't long for this world either.
You were in a freshman in college, so it meant that you could either tough it out on your own or you could move in with your dad that summer. You were a broke college kid, so Pittsburgh became your home. And, honestly, you liked it. Even if it got cold as hell in the winter. Anyway, Robby was hardly ever around! He worked absolutely 24/7 in the hospital.
You caught the travel bug from your mother, and you spent two years travelling around the globe. Now you were home and trying to get your life in order. So you spent a lot of time applying for jobs in your field, sitting around the house, binge-watching shows on Netflix and following Robby around The Pitt.
"Baby Robinavitch!" Santos had taken to greeting you.
"I hate when you call me that," you tell her as you sit at the nurses' station waiting for Robby to be finished for the day.
"I think you missed out on being a Pitt nepo baby," she responds with a smirk.
"Oh yea, cos that's working so well for Victoria!" you say, nodding to the med student who looks like she's been electrocuted. "Not a chance would you catch me in here. And what would they call me, Dr Baby?"
"Dr Baby has a ring to it," Santos laughs.
Robby appears then, "You think of following in my footsteps? It's never too late!"
"Nuh uh! Not a chance. Ready to go home?" you ask. You had to leave your car in the shop and Robby said he'd give you a ride home.
"Let me just do handover, I'll be 10 minutes tops," he promises, going off with Santos following behind him.
Your eyes follow them to where Dr Jack Abbot has just walked in. You bite your lip as you watch him, you can't help yourself. He's sex on legs.
"Gotta be quick tonight, Jack. I've gotta bring the kid home," Robby tells him, nodding back towards you.
Jack's eyes track over to where you're sitting, now looking down at your phone. The weather has turned as summer starts to creep in and you're taking the opportunity to soak up the sun. Your outfit, despite The Pitt's AC blasting shows this. His eyes zero in on your bare shoulder as your tank top strap has fallen down. He imagines fixing it, his fingers brushing over your skin. He gives his head a shake and focuses back on what Robby is saying.
"Oh you're still coming to the barbecue on Saturday?" he reminds Jack. "Don't forget to bring beer and that marinated stuff you love."
Jack clears his throat, "Of course. I'll be there. Who is gonna grill? You!?"
Robby rolls his eyes at him before calling over to you. You jump up and your tank top does nothing to conceal the bounce of your breasts. Jack has to start thinking of medical terms he learned in med school to calm himself down. You're his best friend's daughter. You're literally young enough to be his daughter! He cannot be having these thoughts about you.
"See ya, Baby Robinavitch," he calls after you, he can't help himself.
You turn around with a wicked little smirk on your face, "See ya around Uncle Jack."
Oh you brat!
"Are you still gonna go on sabitical?" you ask your dad as you fill the pool in your backyard.
Robby looks at you, "I was inspired by your travels!"
"Uh, I didn't travel by motorbike," you point out, spraying him with the hose.
"Hey! And I'm pretty sure I remember seeing you on a moped!" he tells you as he opens a beer.
"I was on the back of one for like an hour!" you argue back.
"Oh with some strange boy, that's what every father wants to hear," he groans.
You stick your tongue out at him, "I'm a big girl."
Oh, you are, Jack Abbot thinks as he joins you both in the back garden. He tries not to be a complete creep as he eyes you up in your shorts and bikini top.
"Okay, where should I put all this?" he asks as he holds up the two huge grocery bags of food. He has more beer in his truck.
"Here, gimme. I'll let you two oldies catch up," you say as you take the bags from him.
"Oldies?" Robby repeats in disbelief as you disappear into the kitchen to put everything away.
Jack sets about manning the grill while Robby gets the sides ready. And they stay at their stations as more and more guests start to trickle in. Your friends and your dad's populate the backyard.
"Oh fuck, we're all out of ketchup," you realise as you pick up a hotdog.
You sigh and head into the house. You're looking through cupboards in the pantry in vain. Where the hell is the ketchup?! Only your dad could make this so difficult. You climb on top of the counter to search deeper in the cupboards.
"Lost, kid?" you hear that familiar low rumble.
"Uncle Jack!" you tease, knowing how much he hates when you call him that. You lean back to look at him and gauge his reaction. But as you do so, you lose your balance and tumble backwards. You prepare yourself to hit the hard floor in the small room, but instead you're encased in muscle instead.
"Gave me a fright, princess," he breathes, his face just inches from yours as Jack Abbot holds you.
Fuck. This is like your fantasies come true.
"Gave myself a fright," you confess. "Thanks for saving me."
His arms are hot against your bare skin and you don't miss how his eyes dip to the swell of your breasts against the flimsy bikini top. You picked it out just for him that morning, knowing he would be there. But you had no idea how close he'd be.
"Kinda my job, kid," he reminds you with a smirk.
He absolutely should let go of you. You're not in danger of falling anymore. But he wants to hold you a bit longer.
"Your boyfriend will be looking for you," he finally breathes, still not moving away.
"My boyfriend? I don't have one of those, Jack," you respond, tilting your head up.
It would be so easy for him to kiss you now. No one can see into the pantry. He remembered teasing Robby for ages about this room, and now, well, now he's thanking God for it.
"Then who are you wearing this for?" he rasps out, his thumb trailing over the strap of your bikini top.
Fuck. Why was that so hot? You look up at him through your lashes, daring him to make the next move.
But then you hear your dad calling your name and the two of you shoot apart.
"What are you doing in here?" Robby asks when he pushes open the pantry door.
"I was looking for ketchup. But I almost fell and Uncle Jack caught me. But I still haven't found the ketchup!" you complain, pointing your finger at your dad. "Are you hiding it on me?"
Robby is so distracted by the ketchup he doesn't question any further and immediately enters the pantry to reach a shelf way too high for you and hand it to you.
"Why would it be up there?" you argue as you head back outside.
Jack takes a minute to himself in the kitchen. That was way too close. It just can't happen again. But every time he catches your eye, he knows he needs to get you alone again.
It looks like you're thinking the same thing because as soon as Robby is enthralled in discussing his sabbatical plans, you announce to the air that you're going to the garage for more beer. Jack waits a few minutes before following you. You're sitting on top of the chest freezer in the garage, your legs crossed at the ankles, waiting. What if he doesn't come? But the door opens and there he is in all his glory.
"You're gonna get us in trouble," he breathes as he crosses the room to you, his hands immediately going to your bare thighs.
"I thought you liked trouble, Uncle Jack," you tease him, hooking a leg around his hip.
"You gonna keep calling me that?" he asks as he trails his nose over your neck, inhaling your intoxicating scent.
He's been dreaming about this for months, but he never thought that you would feel the same for him.
"Why, what would you prefer?" you ask, letting your head fall back.
When he doesn't answer, you pout, "Not gonna answer, daddy?"
That rips a growl from his throat, and finally his lips are on yours. He's kissing you like a man starved, nipping at your lower lip before pushing his tongue into his mouth. His hands grip your thighs and pull you closer to him. You find yourself grinding against him as the kiss turns deeper and more passionate. You're basically making out like teenagers.
But it's Jack that pulls away first.
"Shit, princess, we can't do this here," he breathes stepping away from you. "Anyone could walk in. Your dad could walk in."
You bite down on your thumb, knowing that's what makes it so hot, but also being very much aware he's right. Your eyes drop to the hard-on now tenting his pants and you have to press your thighs together.
"Tonight?" you breathe. "I could come to yours?"
Jack Abbot knows better. He's too old for you. You're Michael Robinavitch's daughter!
"Yea," he breathes. "My place."
He kisses you again before handing you a case of beers. "You better go back out there."
What the fuck was Jack thinking when he asked you back to his? You're Michael Robinavitch's daughter for God's sake! His oldest friend! Some kissing was bad enough...but...
It didn't matter, anyway. It's not like you were going to show. You were probably drunk and a little crazed from the sun. You weren't going to show.
But then his phone pings.
Can you pick me up?
A message from you and a location. It's a few blocks from your house. You tell Robby that you're going out with friends and then ask them to drop you off here. You don't them to know where you're going either. But your car is still in the shop. Anyway, it wouldn't do for anyone to see it in Jack's driveway.
You don't have to wait long before Jack's truck pulls up and you hop in.
"This is a bad idea," he tells you as he pulls away, looking around to make sure that nobody has seen you.
But he puts his hand on your bare thigh.
"You've changed," he says after a brief silence, looking you over.
"Well, I wouldn't leave the house in a bikini top!" you remind him as he turns onto his street.
"Shame," he growls, pulling into his garage.
"Oh I think you'll prefer what I'm wearing," you promise him, pulling the oversized jacket you have on closer to your form.
Jack chuckles, shaking his head as he leads you inside.
"You want a drink?" he asks, but he's just being a gentleman, both of you know why you're in his house.
"I'm good, thanks," you say as you unzip your jacket, revealing the practically sheer baby doll lingerie you have on under it.
Jack almost swallows his tongue. Yea, fuck the drink. He crosses the room and kisses you. Hard. His hands cup either side of your face, accidentally tugging on loose pieces of hair. The sensation makes you wince and this causes the older man to smirk against your lips. You weren't expecting that.
But suddenly he's pulling away from you. You whine as you chase his touch and he gives you a sympathetic tut before hooking his arms around your thighs and throwing you over his shoulder. He walks with determination to his bedroom where he throws you down on his bed. He groans as you spread your legs, showing your completely bare pussy to him. Fuck. Has he ever seen a sweeter fucking sight?
He pulls his shirt off and climbs onto the bed. His hands explore your body, every inch, every curve. He groans as he feels your nipples pebble under the flimsy fabric of your lingerie. You whimper as he pinches them harshly between his forefingers and thumb. But it goes straight to your core. Honestly, you feel that if he got out his stethoscope, he would get a stronger pulse at your cunt than from your heart. Finally his hands rip the fabric from you. It falls off you, eliciting a groan from the doctor.
"You're gonna cum on my tongue, princess," he tells you. "And then I'm gonna fuck you so full o' me, you won't be able to walk straight."
You just nod dumbly as his hands slide up your thighs, closer and closer to where you need him. His thumb ghosts over puffy clit but he doesn't touch it, not yet.
"Use your big girl words. Tell daddy what you need, pretty girl," he growls.
"Please make me cum. Please, daddy," you whine, rocking your hips up in desperation.
He chuckles and presses him thumb over your clit, rubbing soft circles over the sensitive bud. He presses two thick fingers in you, making you cry out in pure need. You're so turned on you can't think straight. Honestly, you're not sure you can hold off an orgasm until he gets his lips on you. But he notices how your pretty face screws up and he pulls away from you.
"You must have all those dumb boys wrapped around this pretty pussy," Jack gruffs as he hooks your legs over his shoulders. "But they don't know how to make you feel good. Not like me, baby girl. Oh I'm gonna make you see fuckin' stars."
"Fuck!" you gasp as his tongue finds it way to your clit. "Please, daddy."
Jack just smirks against your sopping cunt and suckles at you like you're a Michelin-star meal. His rough hands palm at your plump ass. Finally one hand snakes up your body to tease your nipples, he pulls and pinches, even smacking your tits at one point. And fuck, it's enough to make you cum.
You soak his face with pure lust, rocking your hips needily against his face as you ride out your high. A fantasy you've had since you were a teenager has finally come true.
Jack strokes your thighs as you come down from your high. He starts undressing now, throwing his t-shirt over his shoulder. He disregards his pants somewhere and then his boxers.
"Fuck me, daddy, please. My pussy is so empty. Fuck!" you whine out in pure need. You're not even sure what you're saying.
He sits up on his heels between your still quivering thighs.
"Oh baby, you don't have to beg daddy to fuck you. I'm going to. I'm gonna give you daddy's cock," he promises as he strokes every inch of himself.
Finally, he's pressing into your weeping cunt, and you're squirming underneath him. He loves how you squirm. Honestly, it's a turn on he never imagined. But now he can't imagine sex without it...without you.
He groans as he bottoms out on you, seeing how your stomach flares with the length of him. You whimper as you get used to the stretch.
"So big, daddy," you whine pulling him down to capture his lips in yours.
You taste like fucking heaven and Jack can't help but rock his hips into you. And then another roll and another. And finally he's fucking you, his hips snapping against yours. The room is filled with the sound of skin on skin and both of your heady moans mixed together.
"Fuck! Fuck!" you scream out as his thumb finds your clit again. His lips dip down to suck at your tit.
"Fuck! My pussy, daddy. Oh fuck, my pussy's gonna cum."
Jack pops off your tit and smirks.
"Yea, baby. Cum for daddy. Let that sweet pussy milk daddy's cock," he growls.
His filthy words and the pressure of his thumb on your clit has you seeing stars. You scream out as you cum, squirting over his cock. This display makes his eyes go all wide. He's never seen that before.
He moves his free hand to press into your mouth, his ring and middle finger pushing your tongue down. But it does nothing to stop you from sucking on them, showing him what he's missed out on. His wedding ring knocks against your teeth with each thrust.
It's enough to make you cum again and Jack can feel your spent pussy fluttering around his cock. When it clamps around him again he's a goner. His hips stutter and he cums with a groan. He rocks his hips slowly into you, filling you with ropes of his hot cum. His head finally falls to your neck.
You stay there for a moment, knowing that this shouldn't happen again. But it does...twice more before you go home the next night. And then practically every day when Robby is on his ill-advised sabatical. In almost every room, in both Jack and your place.
Jack has you bent over the kitchen sink after you've cooked dinner as the chill of September starts to creep in. You gave up on wearing panties a long time ago and you pretty much have an open door policy, if Jack wants you, he'll have you.
You're crying out for more when you hear footsteps in the hallway that have you both jumping apart from each other. Jack pulls his pants back up and you smooth down your skirt just as your father walks into the room. His face a mask of horror as he realises what has been happening while he was away.
"Welcome home, brother!" Jack attempts with a weak smile as you sneak into the shadows.
a/n: thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! kinda wanna stay writing dbf!Abbot for a minute...what do you think?
Summary: your boyfriend begs you to have anal but knows jack shit about the act. Much to your surprise and pleasure, his dad steps up and teaches him. By example.
Tw: +18, mdni, smut, age gap, soft!Joel, consent king Joel, reader calls him Mr Miller bc she’s respectful and bc it’s hotttt, size kink, competency kink, pussy/ass fingering (different fingers ofc), cuckolding, ass play, rimming, anal, lots of lube, f!masturbation, creampie, praise kink.
Word count: 5,4k
A/n: I think this is the porn-iest story I’ve ever written ahah It’s very depraved but also sweet in some places. I had a blast working on it and I hope you’ll like the result♥️ Soft Joel kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing😘 Dividers by @/saradika-graphics 💞Enjoy, my lovely freaks🍑
MASTERLIST
“Number one rule of anal sex is ‘No rush’,” Mr Miller says to his son. The older man is sitting by your side, his hands gently kneading your naked asscheeks. You hold your breath when he spreads the globes of your flesh and exposes your pussy slit and butthole. Both entrances clench.
You’ve been going out with Jack Miller for almost a year and you know his dad Joel relatively well. He’s single, works as a contractor, loves spending his free time playing the guitar, woodworking, watching old action movies and going to the bar with his brother Tommy. What you haven’t known before tonight is how good his fingers feel when he pushes them into your asshole. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
It all started with an argument. Jack was getting on your nerves, begging you to have anal.
“C’mon, baby,” he said, clinging to you like an annoying lap dog. He had just fingered you as a foreplay so you were sweaty and sleepy, lying naked on his bed. As always it had taken him too long. He had trouble finding the right rhythm and the right angle like he’d never touched your pussy before. While he was fiddling with your lady parts, a slideshow of your favorite porno scenes was playing on a loop behind your tightly closed eyes until finally you reached an underwhelming orgasm.
Probably relying on endorphins clouding your judgement, Jack began his anal pitch. He was promising you heavenly pleasure and an unforgettable experience, mostly turning himself on - a pole was proudly tenting his sweatpants.
Despite the passion in his voice, you were adamant in your decision. You’d never done it with anyone before and doubted that Jack was experienced enough to show you a wonderful world of anal.
“It’s not that simple, Jack! Jerking off to anal porn is not enough! What if you hurt me! You need to educate yourself first. You need to know… stuff.” You pulled the cover over your naked breasts and crossed your arms.
“What stuff?” Jack frowned.
“Exactly!”
You stared at the ceiling, contemplating getting dressed and going home. You were sure he wouldn’t let it go. And he didn’t.
“I’ll be careful, I promise. Just a tip first, you won’t even feel it. I’ll be super slow and then bam! I’m inside.”
BAM! No one in the history of mankind wanted to hear Bam! and their ass in the same sentence. So you shook your head and gave Jack an alternative,
“Why don’t you fuck my pussy?”
Jack palmed his clothed boner with interest but then shook his head, doubling down.
“Baby, pleaseeeeee..”
Nothing extraordinary would have happened if Jack hadn’t kept nagging and whining, pleading you to give him your butt. You kept saying ‘no’, he kept begging. It got so annoying that you decided to leave but before you sat up there was a loud knock on the bedroom door.
“Dad,” Jack grumbled and got up. He adjusted his hard cock and you pulled the bed cover higher, covering your chest.
“What’s up, dad?” Jack said, annoyed by the interruption.
“Can I …?” Mr Miller stepped into the bedroom. You swallowed loudly. It was weird to be completely naked under the sheet in front of your boyfriend’s father.
“Sorry for intrudin’, sweetheart,” he said, turning to you and then to his son. “Jack, I can’t listen to it no more! Don’t you get what she’s sayin’?”
“Dad, what the hell?” Jack’s cheeks grew red, he was shifting on his bare feet, throwing nervous glances at you. And you definitely shared his confusion.
“I wasn’t eavesdroppin’ I swear. These fuckin walls are cardboard thin. You were whinin’ like a little bitch, son. Sorry, sweetheart,” Mr Miller apologized to you again and then said the words that you’d never expected to hear from your boyfriend’s dad.
“Let me teach you anal.”
Jack was shocked and embarrassed. He was gawking at his dad with widened eyes while the older man was standing by the bed, towering over his son, feet planted firmly on the ground. He kept saying that he only wanted to help, gesturing with his big hands. To your surprise you immediately pictured those hands on your naked body.
You wondered how Mr Miller would teach you. Maybe he’d watch Jack and you, guiding you both, giving advice, or maybe he’d take matters (your ass) into his own hands. Those huge veiny hands. The thought made your core pucker and while Jack was asking his dad to leave, saying that he lost his mind, you pressed your thighs together under the cover, trying to alleviate the ache in your pussy.
“I couldn’t hear the TV, Jack! Only your pathetic attempts to put it in her ass. Sorry, baby,” Mr Miller looked at you, his hands raised palms to you.
“Don’t call her that,” Jack grumbled. He looked and sounded like a boy who didn’t want to share his toy truck.
“‘K,” his father nodded and turned at you. “Jus’ wanna help.”
He dropped his hands by his sides, his sad puppy eyes moving from his son and to you and back. Your heart swelled. Your pussy throbbed.
“Ok,” you said, surprising your boyfriend and yourself. Jack gawked at you.
“What do you mean ‘ok’?!”
“You want to have anal, yeah? But you got no clue what to do, don’t even lie, Jack! Let your dad teach us.”
That’s how you ended up in a position you couldn’t imagine being in your wildest dreams — lying naked on your front, your legs spread, your boyfriend's dad playing with your butt.
“Help ‘er relax,” Mr Miller says to his son, his voice soft and soothing, his tone casual as if he’s teaching Jack how to fix a lawn mower. Your boyfriend is seated in a gaming chair a foot away from the bed, his arms crossed, eyes narrowed. When his gaze meets yours, you quickly look away. He doesn’t seem pleased, rather mortified. Whatever. You always thought that Mr Miller was hot, in a rugged and dilf-y way.
Once you had a dream about blowing him in their kitchen, your mouth full of his fat cock, his fingers tight in your hair, no Jack and his cuck gaming chair in sight.
“Draw ‘er a nice bath, give ‘er a massage, somethin’ like that,” Joel says as his calloused palm glides up and down the back of your thigh. You’re one big goosebump, his touch is electrifying.
“No harsh movements.” He carefully pushes on your inner thigh until you bend up your leg. Your hips open and slightly rise off the bed. “She needs to be pliant, ready to take you in her most vulnerable place.”
Jack swallows hard. Your cheek is resting on the pillow, your head turned away from Mr Miller, but you are seeing him perfectly in the wardrobe mirror that stands lengthwise the bed. He’s wearing his usual flannel, sleeves rolled up, and dark blue jeans. It’s not his home clothes and you wonder if he dressed like this for you.
Mr Miller’s salt and pepper locks curl up at the nape, he needs a haircut, but you like his hair longer. You imagine running your fingers through his curls, tugging on them while he’s plowing your wet needy …
“Are you comfortable, sweetie?” Joel interrupts your dirty daydream with a question, his voice soft and raspy. It could have lulled you to sleep if not for a finger that grazes your butthole, making you flinch.
“Uh-huh.” You don’t sound too sure.
“We’ll get there,” he says with a little smile and adds, “Together.”
While you’re slowly melting into the bedsheets from his gentle tone, Mr Miller turns to Jack.
“Another important thing is lubrication. You have some?”
It looks like Jack’s using all his energy to dissociate at the moment thus he misses the question.
“Huh?”
“Lube? You have it or I need to go get mine?”
You widen your eyes, picturing Mr Miller squirt lube on some lucky lady in his master bedroom. And to think you considered him almost celibate!
Your boyfriend blinks a few times, then gets up. You hear him rummaging through a mess in his nightstand drawer, mumbling the word ‘crazy’ before he throws a little bottle on the bed and returns to his chair.
“It should be warm,” Joel says, rolling it between his wide palms.
“May I?” His reflection points at your ass in the mirror and you nod with a quiet ‘yes’. Mr Miller opens the lid with teeth and moves your left asscheek to the side for better access.
“Oh!” You gasp when a slight cold glob of lube lands on your tight ring.
“Bit more.” Joel adds another squirt and then starts spreading the liquid around your ring with a tip of his finger.
“Ahhhh,” you whimper and bite your tongue immediately. Jack’s chair creaks.
“Feels good?” When Joel asks you the question you don’t see a point in lying so you say “yeah.” Wet arousal pools in your core, it’s a matter of minutes before it slides out of your hole and reveals how insanely horny Mr Miller is making you.
“We’re just startin’ and look at her response,” Joel says with pride in his velvet voice while his finger is slowly drawing circles over your asshole. “She’s enjoyin’ it. Even if we stop now she’ll remember the act as something pleasant.”
“Maybe we should,” Jack mutters but neither Joel nor you pay it any attention. Hot flames are licking at your core, the ache in your pussy growing so fast, you roll your hips against the bed, searching for friction.
Adding gasoline to your horny fire is the sight in the mirror in front of you — Joel’s sexy hand moving rhythmically over your ass, his plush lips slightly parted, his dark eyes focused on your puckered hole.
Mr Miller lowers his voice and asks, “Growin’ needy?”
Your eyes lock in the mirror. Fuck! A hot flash burns your lower belly when his black pupils meet yours. Sparks flying, gazes drawn to each other for a few long seconds, promising pleasure and trouble. The intense eye contact does something to you, drowns you in an ocean of lust, pulls you so deep you panic and hastily flick your eyes to your boyfriend who seems very pale.
“Sweetheart,” Joel calls you as if hating to share your attention with his son. You hum but don’t look at him.
“Do you give your permission for the next step? To open you up I need to eat your ass. Is that alright?”
“No!”
“Yes!”
Both you and Jack answer but you are the one calling the shots.
“Yes!” You repeat louder and raise your brows at Jack. Your boyfriend lets out a defeated sigh and drops his head.
“Good,” Joel says and gives your butt a light pat before cupping both asscheeks and spreading them apart. Cold air laps at your holes and you shiver. Joel smiles, probably noticing goosebumps on your skin.
“We’ll start slow.” In the mirror you watch him unhinge his jaw, stick his tongue out and lower his head.
You gasp when Mr Miller slowly licks your tight butthole. “Oh my God!”
Joel chuckles and repeats the depraved action. Soon he’s licking your asshole gingerly, his fingers digging into your flesh with passion. You’re softly moaning, your eyes are rolling to the back of your head. You’ve never had your ass eaten and the sensation is incredible. You wish he’d get lower and take care of your leaking pussy but fuckkk you can come just from Mr Miller’s tongue dancing over your little butthole. So when he parts from your ass, your needy whine rings in the room.
“I’ll be right back, sweetie.”
His wet lips are curled up at the corners, pride sparkling in his blown out eyes, Joel glances back at his son and announces,
“Now we gonna start openin’ her up with a tongue.” Your breathing hitches. You don’t see Jack’s expression because you can’t tear your eyes off Mr Miller in the mirror. “Gently push the tip inside her just so” — Joel leans down and his hot tongue prods at your ring, your mouth forms an O as you moan.
Joel mutters, “Slowly go in,” then his head begins moving up and down while his tongue slides into your ass deeper with every bop. He’s salivating onto your crack, the wetness dripping down to your pussy, covering your folds with the warm spit.
You are losing your mind over how amazing it feels, meanwhile Joel alternates between licking your ring and tongue-fucking it for what seems like hours or so you wish. His lewd slurping fills the room and mixes with your soft noises. You apply all your willpower to stop yourself from moaning like a whore out of respect for your boyfriend who is now sitting with his legs crossed, probably hard but too shocked to accept it.
“How you feelin’, baby?” Joel asks, licking his spit-covered lips.
“S—so good, Mr Miller,” you stutter, staring at him in the mirror with your half lidded eyes.
“See, she’s already gapin’ a little,” Joel says, showing your asshole to Jack.
“Hm-m,” Jack hums, his brows furrowed, his suspicious gaze trained on your ecstatic face.
“Now let’s add a finger.”
You squeak like a little mouse and your holes clench. Joel notices.
“Hey, don’t be scared, babygirl. You’re open nicely now. And I’m gonna be gentle, yeah?”
“Ok,” you reply and hold your breath.
“Nuh-uh. None of that. You should be breathin’, sweetheart.” He puts his warm heavy palm on your back, between your shoulder blades and rubs it up and down, giving you a rhythm.
“In— out—in— out.”
You follow his direction and soon your muscles relax, your eyes flutter close, your jaws unclench. It seems like your body is seeping into the mattress.
“I’m puttin’ one finger in.”
His voice is so quiet you barely register his words, barely notice his finger going inside your ass, miss a slight burn of the stretch, that’s how serene you are feeling.
When you finally open your eyes you see Mr Miller’s reflection thrusting his index finger in and out of your butthole, his eyes on your ring, his lip between his teeth.
“Wow,” you mutter, in awe of the hot sight and the new sensation. All your holes clench again and again, your pussy pushing your generous slick out and you catch yourself wanting Joel to fuck you.
"Another finger? Is that alright, sweetie?" With your heart pounding in your ears, Joel's raspy voice seems both close and far. You nod and mumble a shaky 'yes' before he inserts a second digit into your lubed up asshole. You moan, Joel growls, both at the same time. Your boyfriend curses under his breath.
"Hooooooly hell," you exhale against the pillow, clenching bedsheets with your clammy palms while Joel's scissoring your tight ring open. "This … it's amazing."
Joel pulls his fingers out of you and chuckles yet it comes out strained. You know it takes everything from him not to whip his cock out and fuck you right now. Jack seems to feel it, too.
"Dad, maybe that's enough?"
"No."
"No!"
Your yell drowns out Joel's reply. Your cheeks burning, lust clouding your mind and overtaking your body, you lift your head off the bed and glare at Jack.
"Mr Miller needs to... we need to learn what to do next. Right?"
Jack crosses his arms, his lower lip sticking out.
Completely disregarding his son's suggestion to stop, Joel nods at you and asks Jack as if it's some depraved sex ed class.
"She's nice and ready now. What's next?"
Jack blinks at his dad, a mixture of frustration and confusion plastered on his face. He shrugs. "I fuck her."
"Wrong!" Joel sits up straight and gives him a disappointed look. "Son, the most important thing about anal is consent."
You drop your head back on the pillow and nod with the 'obviously' expression meanwhile Joel continues.
"Even after you did all the necessary prep, you ask her again. And if she says 'no', you stop! Got it?"
You watch Joel in the mirror, his bushy brows furrowed, two obsidian eyes piercing Jack. He's not fucking around.
"Yeah."
"Huh?"
"Yes, sir," Jack mumbles. He looks so pitiful now you get scared of your pussy turning into the Sahara so you hastily move your eyes to the mirror with Joel's reflection in it.
You watch and feel your boyfriend's dad lean down to you. His hot breath fans your naked back, sending chills down your spine, as he asks,
"Can I fuck your ass now, baby?"
Your voice is wanton and needy, you're almost drooling onto the bed, as you reply,
"Yes, Mr Miller. But..?”
“Yes, sweetie?”
“Can I be on my back?”
Joel kisses your shoulder and coos,
“Sure thing.”
Your body buzzing with want, you slowly and awkwardly roll over. Your exposed tits jiggle as you get comfortable and Joel takes you in— your puffy pussy, your heaving belly, your nipples hard as diamonds, desire plastered on your face.
Jack nervously clears his throat and leaves his cuck chair.
“You ain’t really doing it, right?”
You’re not sure if he’s talking to you or his dad but Joel is the one who answers,
“I’m teachin’ you two. And this is the most crucial part. You wanna go in now and ruin all the progress?”
Jack closes and opens his mouth, but when you shake your head at his attempt to intervene, your boyfriend plops back in the chair, looking gobsmacked.
“This is insane,” he murmurs and you have to agree. You’re feeling insanely good.
With a nonchalant expression on his flushed face Joel grabs a pillow.
“Raise your hips for me, baby.”
You do what he asks and he quickly places it under your butt. When your hips are raised Joel hums in approval.
“Grab your knees for me, please.”
Like an obedient student you do it immediately.
“That’s it. Good girl.”
His praise, his scent - manly and dizzying, his warm smile, his obsidian eyes set between your thighs — all of it makes your blooming pussy contract and a drop of clear slick beads at your entrance.
Joel smirks, his dark gaze darts to yours and then back to your leaky hole. He opens his mouth but words die on his lips.
Instead he takes a sharp breath and climbs on the bed, grunting. With your body trembling in anticipation you watch Mr Miller kneel by your propped up butt, unzip his jeans, his back now to his son.
Just for your hungry eyes, he pulls his cock out. Big, veiny, hard as steel fuck machine. Hnggg!
You clench your jaws, killing a moan that rises in your throat from the sight of his manhood. You see a drop of precum on the slit and your mouth waters.
“Need more lube.” Joel squirts a generous amount on his hand and then strokes his cock spreading the liquid.
You squirm on the bed, fear and excitement coursing through your veins. He wants to stick that huge thing where?!
Joel seems to read the worry on your face. With one hand around the base of his stiff shaft, he brings the other to your knee and gives it a light squeeze.
“If you want me to stop I will.”
You don’t reply, just stare up at him, fear and desire playing tug-of-war in your heart.
“See?” Joel gets his son’s attention but doesn’t look away from you. “This sweet thing is unsure but she’s bein’ brave and doesn’t stop me.”
Jack sighs with relief from behind Joel’s broad body. He probably hopes that you’ve changed your mind.
Then the older man addresses you.
“You don’t have to be brave for me or anyone else, ok?” You hum while warmth spreads in your belly, reaches your clit and makes it throb. You open your mouth but words don’t come out. Joel gives you a knowing smile and offers,
“How ‘bout I open you up again with my fingers? Two steps forward, one step back.”
Jack’s chair creaks unhappily when you breathe out, “Yes, please.”
Joel gives you a curt nod and sits on his heels, his cock still hard and waiting. His strong hand circles around the back of your thigh as he keeps it steady for you.
Jack’s view is blocked by Joel so he doesn’t see when his dad traces your pussy hole with his fingers and brings the wetness down to your ring. His eyes dart up to yours just for a second, you see lust and mischief there.
“Alright, here we go,” he mumbles to himself, easing two lubed up fingers inside you. This time you take them easily, dull pain of the stretch is present but also welcomed. You moan.
Mr Miller closely watches your face twisting with pleasure while his fingers are fucking your butt. You watch him back, suddenly swept by a feeling so strong, you forget how to breathe for a second. There's no one else in the room, in the whole world, only you and this big older man, giving you an unforgettable experience, filling the hole that’s never been filled and you don’t want it to end, hate for him to stop. Stop giving, taking, watching you melt for him.
Ahhhh! A scorching heat floods your belly and hits you like a tsunami. Your core walls clench once, twice, your head digs into the pillow underneath, your eyes close and a loud moan slips out of your mouth. You’re shaking and crying ecstatic tears, your ass squeezing Joel’s thick digits, your pussy contracting around nothing.
“D— did you just come? Jack’s cold tone brings you back to reality as if a bucket of icy water was thrown over your head. Still jerking with climax you snap your eyes open, your breathing heavy, and see Joel’s lopsided smile in front of you.
Fuck! Your cheeks and neck burn and you cover your face with your hands, embarrassed by unraveling in front of your boyfriend’s dad. With his fingers in your ass.
Joel comes to your rescue. He gently rubs your thigh with his paddle of a hand and coos,
“She’s one of a kind, Jack. The anal stimulation isn’t as pleasurable for women as it is for men. In the right hands though… you did wonderful, sweetie.”
You bite your lip, hiding a grin that’s about to bloom on your face, and grip your knees tighter.
“We can stop now if…,” Joel starts.
“No!” You cut him off and push your knees to your chest. “I want to be ready. For the real thing.”
“I’ll give you the real thing,” Joel whispers so quietly it’s barely audible but you hear. Your eyes lock as he plants his palm on the bed by your side and hovers over your lower half.
“Ready, sweetheart?”
After you say ‘yes’ Mr Miller glances back in the direction of his son.
“Jus’ the tip at first. Maybe only. Depends on how she takes it.”
He looks down at you with that soft but feral gaze of his and talks to Jack.
“Watch her face closely when you push inside.”
Joel’s hot leaky cockhead kisses your pussy hole and you gasp, your entrance winking at his manhood, inviting it to come in. Joel whispers,
“Only teasin’.” You smile and shake your head at the man. He gives you a wink and drags his tip down along the delicate skin between your pussy and asshole and then nudges your tight ring.
“If she scrunches her pretty nose, stop. Means she’s hurtin’.”
Joel presses his crown against your asshole and applies pressure. Your mouth parts when he starts pushing it into your asshole, the stretch far bigger than with his fingers. You take a few deep breaths, not stopping him, craving to be fucked.
“Yeah, breathe for me, baby. In and out. Like I taught ya.”
In! in! in! your pussy screams and throbs with the rhythm of your heartbeat, your body desperate to be ruined by your boyfriend’s dad.
Mr Miller pauses and closes his eyes, his forearm muscles tense with restraint, the veins of his hand that’s wrapped around his shaft are bulging. He speaks, trying to keep his voice steady.
“The most difficult thing now—is to control yourself — all you wanna do — is shove your dick deep inside her— to the hilt—- she feels so fuckin’ good.”
His arousal and your desire merge together and form an electric cloud around you two, the scent of sex heavy in the air. Mr Miller moves another inch deeper and you whimper.
“But you musn’t,” he grunts to his son or to himself. “You should be in control— think of her first and your pleasure second —Yeahhh?”
The last word sounds like a moan and you smile dizzily, ecstatic to see how much bliss you’re giving him. Joel pushes in some more and then looks into your eyes. “Wanna see?”
You nod eagerly and place another pillow under your head, propping it up to get a better view.
The sight before your eyes takes your breath away. Joel’s big hand wrapped around his girthy cock, the veins on his shaft thumping, glistening with lube. But the best thing is your stretched asshole, hugging Joel’s tip buried inside.
“Wow,” you breathe out. Joel smirks, his smile lopsided and boyish. He drops his head to your butt and asks,
“Wanna stop here? Done so good already.”
You crane your neck and glance at Jack, expecting him to scream ‘Yes! Stop! Now!’ but he’s hunched over in his cuck chair with a blank stare, chewing on the nail of his thumb.
You bring your gaze back up at Joel and purr,
“I want all of it.”
Joel nods and thrusts in.
Mr Miller’s fucking your ass like it’s been made solemnly for this purpose. His hands are gripping your spread thighs, leaving marks on your soft skin, his hips snapping against your asscheeks, drowning the room in the lewd Slap slap slap! Sounds.
By now you’ve lost all the composure and your loud moans are flowing freely from your lips, mixing with Joel’s animalistic growls.
“Yeahhhh.. good girl…she’s a fast learner… takin’ me like a champ.”
“Thanks, Mr Miller,” you mewl with your eyes rolling to the back of your head when you feel a second orgasm building. Hungry for it you lick your fingers, reach for your throbbing clit and start rubbing it while Joel’s steel shaft is massaging your insides.
“Lemme… want some help?” Joel asks, consent king as always.
“Yes, please.”
Not minding his son watching you two from the back, Joel brings his calloused thumb to your puffy clit and starts drawing infinities over it.
You arch your back, losing your mind over how amazing it feels. Your ass is full of Joel’s cock, but your neglected pussy hole is crying desperately. You look for your boyfriend behind Joel’s broad back. He still looks shell shocked, his widened eyes lowered, and you realize that he’s watching his dads heavy balls slap against his girlfriend’s asscheeks.
Opps.
“Mr Miller,” you whisper, staring at the older man again, “Could you..?”
You lift your hand, stick two fingers out and move them up and down, fingering an invisible pussy.
Joel flashes you a knowing smile.
“Gotcha, sweetie.” He glances back at his son and raises his voice, talking to you,
“You strugglin’, baby? Ok if I help you relax?”
You consent loudly so Jack could hear and the next second Mr Miller changes hands and his dry index and middle fingers easily enter your sopping pussy.
Yeahhhh! You whimper, so full of his fat cock and digits, it feels like you’re going to come apart at the seams.
Joel’s massaging your g-spot with two fingers, his thumb working your clit, his cock relentlessly rutting into your ass. You’ve never been fucked this good and you try to hold off your second climax, hating for the sex to end.
But Joel’s too hot, too experienced and soon you come with a wail, arching your sweaty back off the bed and clamping Joel’s hips with your thighs. Blinding ecstasy is coursing through your body, your cunt pulsing around Joel’s fingers, your asshole choking his cock so hard he stills.
“Here— we g—goooHngggg….” he roars, retreats his fingers out of your pussy and covers you with his huge frame. He pushes his face into your sweaty neck but holds his weight over your thrashing body.
“Where?” He chokes, his chest rumbling with groans, and you wrap your arms around his broad back and press your naked tits to him, mumbling into his ear,
“Inside my ass, Mr Miller. Please.”
His whole body tenses up over you and he begins squirting his hot cum deep inside your butt. The warmth of his load fills you more and more, every erratic thrust of his cock pushes the sticky spent back into you and you hold him tight, wishing to be stuffed to the brim. It doesn’t take long with how much he comes and soon his jizz covers your asscheeks and his balls, sticking them together like glue. You feel filthy and sexy, with your boyfriend’s dad busting inside you, the former having a perfect view of your asshole sucking the older man’s cum in. Too abundant it rolls down your crack and onto Jack’s bed.
Both of you are panting when Joel carefully pulls his cock out of your asshole and falls on the bed next to you, still fully clothed except for the pulled down jeans and boxers.
“Dad, put your dick away,” Jack grumbles.
“Yeah yeah.” Joel tucks his cock back in, leaving his jeans open. He sounds exhausted. You cover yourself with a sheet suddenly remembering that you’re naked next to your boyfriend’s dad.
You turn your head to him resting next to you, his forearm covering his closed eyes, his chest rising and falling quickly, his leg dangling off the edge of the bed. He’s so handsome you want to bite him. The man had a full day of work and then rocked your world. You find it incredibly hot but also feel guilty for exhausting him even more.
You watch Mr Miller for a few moments, warmth spreading in your belly and chest, until he takes a deep breath, opens his eyes and turns his head to you.
“Dad?” Jack calls impatiently, hurrying the man to leave but Joel doesn’t spare him a glance and asks you,
“How you feelin’, baby?”
He nods down at your pussy but you know he’s asking about your butt.
“I’m ok.” You squirm on the bed, trying to access your state. “A little sore but good.”
“Good,” Joel repeats with a warm smile. You’re staring at each other silently, his gaze soft and warm, grinning like two fools. You want to kiss him but stop yourself. It’s inappropriate.
Then you remember where his cock was just a few minutes ago and giggle.
“What is it?” Joel asks, his eyes dart between yours and then slide to your lips.
You shake your head, silence thick and loaded between you two.
Jack rips it apart as he clears his throat.
“Thanks, dad. Fucking hell. You can go now.”
He gets up from the chair and crosses his arms, frowning at the two of you. You wonder if he’s going to break up with you after this. Whatever.
Joel sits up with a grunt and gets out of the bed. He sways a little and you smile proudly — you did it to him.
“Thank you, Mr Miller.” You sit up, holding the sheet over your body. He zips up his jeans and winks,
“Don’t mention it, baby.”
Jack scoffs. Joel heads to the door but as he passes his son he pauses.
“Get her a wet towel. And some water,” he commands. “So .. if she took my cock, she wouldn’t even notice yours. You’re welcome.”
With that he pats his son’s shoulder and leaves.
Who needs Jack, amirite? Maybe Joel can teach them something else?🤔 Thank you for reading! Please, leave a comment and reblog if you enjoyed the story💞
wow. anal is not typically my thing but this was soooo hot, jesus. the consent was sexy. joel just focusing on the reader and humiliating/disregarding his son was so good. i really enjoyed this. thank you!!
Summary: Chinese takeout. Basic Instinct. One couch. Gray sweatpants. Five chapters’ worth of unresolved tension. Gotta love movie night.
TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Explicit sexual content, consensual sexual activity, age-gap romance, dad’s best friend, praise kink, light consensual D/s dynamics, strong language, interruption during intimacy, use of pet names.
Notes: I wanted to post this one quickly since the last one was kind of tame. Stuff finally happened! Thanks so much for sticking with these two.
This is part six of the series. Here’s the Masterlist
Jack spent the entire rest of the day outside in the garage working on your car.
You were almost floating on air after Jack’s forehead kiss, but you managed to get a hold of yourself.
Once you were satisfied with where you were at with your paper, you closed your laptop and picked up your phone and opened up DoorDash.
A little while later, you were in the kitchen, getting a glass of water and Jack came up the stairs, still sweaty and dirty from working on the car.
He took off his shirt as soon as he got to the top of the stairs and your breath hitched.
Jack’s body looked even better than you imagined. His broad shoulders filled up the door frame and your eyes drifted down over his thick arms, corded with muscle that had softened just a little with age. His chest seemed like the perfect size for resting your head against on a lazy morning, or perfect place to rest your hands on a morning that was anything but lazy.
Jack didn’t have a six pack, he had a little bit of a tummy, not fat by any means. You just wanted to bite it or cuddle him and squeeze it.
Jack looked up.
“Sorry, it’s such a habit. I’m usually alone,” he said but then he saw your face and smirked. “See something you like, Sweetheart?”
You managed to pick your jaw up off of the floor and speak.
“Actually…fuck yes,” you said as you played with the bottom of your shirt.
Jack blushed and shook his head before heading to his room.
He came back out a minute later wearing only a white towel, securely tied around his waist. It took a lot of restraint for you to not walk over and test how well he tied that towel.
You also realized this was the first time you’d seen him in the flesh without his prosthetic. He gave a practiced hop toward the bathroom before catching himself against the doorframe with one hand, as casual as someone stepping over a puddle.
You did a wolf whistle at him as entered the bathroom.
“I need to start charging you for the show,” he said as he shut the bathroom door.
You laughed and started imagining what Jack looked like in the shower when your phone buzzed saying your DoorDash was arriving.
—
Soon, Jack got out of the shower, went back into his room, and emerged wearing an old t-shirt, a pair of gray sweatpants, and his forearm crutch.
You smiled at him and tried to keep your eyes from wandering downward to the package those gray sweatpants were doing nothing to hide.
“I ordered Chinese food. As promised,” you said with a smile. “Oh and, Marco the Dasher, says hi. I thought you didn’t ever have food delivered?”
“Marco’s a good guy and I didn’t say I never order takeout,” Jack said grabbing a spring roll from the box on the kitchen counter and taking a bite.
“You implied it,” you argued.
“Fair enough,” Jack said and he grabbed a plate from you. “Make a plate and head to the couch. It’s time for Basic Instinct.”
—-
On the couch, you started out on opposite ends as you ate. When you were both finished, you grabbed the empty plates and quickly ran them to the kitchen sink. When you sat back down, you sat right next to Jack.
“Hey, you’re just in time!” he said excitedly.
“She looks beautiful,” you said, referring to Sharon Stone in her white dress.
Soon, you saw the infamous shot and laughed when you looked at Jack’s reddened face.
“That was like peak when I was younger,” he said.
As the movie went on, you snuggled up against Jack’s side.
“I’m kind of cold, is this okay?” you asked.
“Yeah, it’s fine, Beautiful,” he said, his voice low and raspy. “Here,” he said and he reached behind you, grabbing a small blanket that was draped over the back of the couch. He tucked the blanket around your shoulders before resting his arm behind you.
“Better?” he asked.
“So much,” you said as your head found a comfortable resting place on his big shoulder.
You watched the movie and as the sex scenes get steamier you pressed your body into Jack’s a little more.
You felt him shift beside you. Your heart raced as you tried to control your breathing, but being this close to Jack with the sexual tension onscreen was almost too much. You became afraid he’d notice how turned on you were and then end the night.
So you tried to slow your breathing and concentrate on the movie, but you happened to glance down only to see Jack was also clearly aroused.
You didn’t say anything, you just stared at his lap as Jack started rubbing your arm through the thin blanket.
Then he moved and you saw it move. You accidentally moaned out loud and you felt Jack’s head turn.
“You alright?” he asked.
“Jack,” you said, your breaths still heavy despite your best efforts to control it.
“Yeah?”
“You’re so hard,” you said. You kept your head on his shoulder. You didn’t make eye contact with him.
“Fucking sweatpants,” he grumbled. “I should have known better.”
He started to shift around a lot, but you grabbed his thigh and Jack stilled.
“Jack? I think you wore them on purpose. I think you wanted me to see you and get turned on,” you said.
Jack didn’t say anything but you heard him swallow loudly.
“You know what? It fucking worked,” you said, as you moved your hand up his thigh.
“Is this okay?” you asked.
“Yeah. Yes it’s okay,” Jack said, his sexy, low voice sounding shaky.
You moved your hand achingly slow, giving Jack time to change his mind if he wanted to.
But you heard no such objections, so when you got to the top of his thigh you squeezed and Jack let out a little moan. If your hand traveled up any further you’d be touching his manhood.
Jack looked at you for a long moment, his chest rising with a slow breath. His thumb brushed absentmindedly over your hand where it rested on his thigh.
“Come here, Beautiful,” he said, his voice full of lust.
You inhale sharply, looking into his amazing hazel eyes. Seeing his defined, handsome face, sprinkled with stubble, his perfect graying curls wild after having air dried.
Jack kissed you once slowly. Then again.
His hand slid into your hair, holding you just a little closer as he deepened the kiss.
You felt like your heart would beat out of your chest. You couldn’t believe you were finally feeling Jack’s lips against your own. Everything about him was so delicious. You moaned into his mouth.
You ran one hand up into his locks and moved the other from his thigh to his dick print. You felt him twitch and you smiled against him.
“Jack? You sure this is okay? Can I please touch you? Just over your sweatpants for now?” you asked, the last part coming out more like a beg.
Jack covered your hand with his own and rested his forehead against yours.
“Yes,” he whispered.
He squeezed your fingers once before slowly guiding your hand higher along his thigh.
“You can touch me,” he said softly.
You gripped his thick member and started moving your hand up and down and it was Jack’s turn to moan into your mouth, his raspy tenor felt like it vibrated your very soul.
You decided you didn’t ever want to stop kissing him. You’d found your place. Stubble burn be damned.
Jack was the one who broke the kiss first, to tilt his head back and moan.
“Oh fuck, Beautiful. Don’t stop. Your hand feels so fucking good,” he said breathlessly.
“Yes, Jack,” you said.
He snapped his head up and looked at you, your eyes desperate, your lips parted and swollen from his kisses. He grabbed both sides of your face and held it.
“Say it again, Sweetheart. Keep stroking me.”
“Yes, Jack,” you said making your voice sound particularly submissive.
“Good fucking girl,” he said and he kissed you again.
You could feel his cock throbbing in your hand, through the thin fabric of his sweats. You took your other hand and gently rubbed his balls through his pants. He moaned even louder into your mouth.
Jack leaned his head back again and you kissed his neck as the movie’s soundtrack played in the background.
“Fuck that feels so fucking good. Shit. Beautiful. I’m going to come. I’m going to come,” he said, his words becoming hurried as you felt his entire body tense.
You put your lips to his ear and spoke to him just like you did on the phone the night before.
“Do it. Fucking come for me Jack. Please? I want to see it. Please come for me Jack!”
Jack put his hand in your hair and gripped it. He didn’t pull but just held onto you as his body spasmed and you felt his big cock move in your hand as he shot his load.
He moaned your name and then whimpered as you stroked his cock one more time.
A dark spot slowly spread across the soft gray fabric of his sweatpants. He loosened his grip on your hair, but pulled your face towards him and kissed you.
“You’re fucking perfect, you know that?” he said, still breathing like he ran a marathon.
“Thank you, but I think you’re the one who’s fucking perfect, Jack,” you said as you peppered his rough cheek with little kisses.
He laughed and looked down at his lap.
“Fuck. I made a mess,” he said with a laugh.
“Let’s give credit where credit is due. I made a mess,” you said, still kissing him. “And you know what?” you asked, putting your mouth back to his ear. “Good girls are supposed to clean up their messes.”
You shifted your body and kissed down Jack’s neck. You kissed his chest over his shirt. You slid yourself down and lifted his shirt and pressed your lips to his soft, warm tummy, the feeling was everything you imagined and more.
“Oh my fucking God,” Jack moaned.
He looked down at you and rubbed the side of your face. You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his sweats and kissed just above it.
“Is this still okay, Jack?” you asked.
“Yes, Beautiful,” he said, his eyes locked onto yours.
Just as you were about to pull, your phone rang.
“Shit,” you whispered.
Jack looked over at your phone on the couch.
“It’s your dad,” he said and then laughed.
“Should I just ignore it?” you asked.
“No. I think the mood has officially been killed, Sweetheart.” Jack laughed even harder and you started laughing too.
The phone stopped ringing, you got up off of the floor and sat back on the couch as the credits rolled. You hadn’t even realized the movie ended.
Jack looked at you and kissed you one more time and you never wanted it to end, but your phone rang again.
You both groaned.
“I’m gonna go shower again really quick. You go ahead and see what dumbass wants,” Jack said.
You whined as he stood up and he kissed the top of your head before turning to go to the bathroom.
You swiped to answer your phone.
“Dad?”
“Hey kid! How’s it going?” you heard your dad’s ever-enthusiastic voice on the other end of the line.
“Um…good. Really good. How about you? Everything okay?”
“Yeah all good here. Just thinking about how much I miss you. Uncle Jack treating you okay?”
You winced at the word “uncle”, but replied, “Yeah he’s been awesome.”
“Good, good. Glad to hear that. Glad you guys are finally hanging out.”
“Me too,” you smiled and looked towards the bathroom. “Dad, were you just calling to check in or did you need to tell me something?”
“Actually I was thinking about how much I missed you, and how long it’s been since I’ve hung out with your Uncle Jack. He told me the last time we talked that he took a few days off so I figured…”
Your heart sank.
“What the heck? I should drive in and visit you guys! Just for the day tomorrow.”
“Oh, wow,” you said trying to sound excited.
“Don’t tell your Uncle Jack. I want to surprise him.”
Jack emerged from the bathroom at that moment and shot you a confused look.
“Oh, he’ll definitely be surprised,” you said your eyes wide.
“Okay, I better get to sleep because I have to get up early tomorrow for the long drive. I should be there around 9:00am if I planned correctly. I can bring you guys breakfast!”
“Great!” you said.
“Love you. See you tomorrow!”
“Love you, Dad. Can’t wait!” you said and you hung up and dropped your phone on the couch.
“What’s happening?” Jack asked.
“I’m not supposed to tell you, but dad’s coming to visit us tomorrow.”
“Fuck,” Jack said as he plopped down on the couch next to you.
“I guess we need to talk,” Jack said as he put his arm around you.
synopsis Jack was just looking for an easy night, a quiet drink, but what he finds is so much better. You, sat in a seat that's his, fresh, new and young to the area, starting a new job with your dad. Jack just didn't think to ask the right questions... (5.2k words)
warning Smut MDNI! younger reader, older jack! Robby's daughter reader! oral (f receiving!) making out, language, protected p in v, dirty talk, praise king, reader is described to have longish hair, reader calls jack solider, peep the quin audio hints
authornotei locked tf in with this if i do say so myself. had this idea sitting in my drafts had to write it, if you like i would love to do a part two, the idea of dads best friend has me with a chokehold. i made up a small, tiny backstory for jack as we know so little. the beautiful jack gif credits go to @lovebugism (her fics are so good !!!!!)
pitt masterlist! another Jack fic!
Jack didn't have a specific place at the bar, but everyone knew where he sat. He got half way across the bar, dragging himself across the sticky floor before he realised there was someone else sitting in his seat. He could tell it was his stool from the slight wobble it gave side to side, and he could tell it was a young woman sitting in his seat from the sound of her laugh.
Terry, his favourite bar tender who'd seen him at his worst and best, caught a look at him and grinned.
“Hey! Just the guy I was talking about!”
Jack didn't know he was territorial about his bar. But he found himself sliding into another bar stool with a sulk. “Usual please, Terry,” he said, letting his backpack drop with a heavy thud.
“You got it, boss!”
A whiskey would soon be slid over the counter, chased by another and maybe another till a small fuzz clouded the edges of his mind and he could sleep easier. He forgot just how gruelling days could be.
But then he spotted you.
You were still smiling with the remnants of a laugh. One finger on your right hand was chasing the condensation down your emptying glass. He did a double take at you, looking past the hair falling to the smooth skin, doted with a mole or two.
You were young. The sort of young you didn't find in a bar- at least not alone. But this bar also wasn't the busiest, exactly why he liked it.
You didn't look like you belonged there. At the same time, you looked like there was nowhere else you wanted to be. Your chin rested in your other hand, your jacket was slung over the back of the stool and you weren't shying away from anything around you.
Jack's whiskey was dropped off in front of him and finally Jack got a look at you. Beautiful. There was no other way around it. He wasn't going to judge a book from its cover but he had a feeling your beauty wasn't the last thing to surprise him.
“Can I get you another drink?” he asked you once he held your attention for more than a second.
Your eyes widened, as if you hadn't expected him to talk to you. “Oh no, thanks, I shouldn't drink too much tonight.”
“What?” said Terry, pretending to wipe over a 'dirty' spot on the counter. “I thought you were celebrating, huh?”
Jack's brows rose. “A celebration?”
“She just moved to the city,” said Terry.
You smiled, bashfully. “I got a new job.”
“Congratulations,” said Jack. “And welcome, this is Pittsburgh's finest.”
“Thanks,” you said.
There was a moment passed in silence where the both of you seemed to understand the two ways the night could go. If you mutually decided to keep it there, a polite congratulations and a kind offer of a drink maybe you'd just remember him as the kind, older stranger.
You turned to him. “If the offer of that drink still stands I think I'd like to take it.”
Jack moved his body to face yours. He glanced at Terry, who waited happily. “Another one for-”
You told him your name and it chimed a bell in Jack's head, as if he'd been waiting his whole life to hear your name from your lips. He introduced himself and his fate was sealed.
“So, are you a native to Pittsburgh?” you asked, twirling a bit of hair between your fingers.
Jack lifted his shoulders. “Came her to settle down after some things.” He didn't want to get into the whole collage and tours and losing his leg and moving here after losing his wife. He didn't want to watch that pretty face of yours contort with worry or sympathy. “Are you new here, or?”
“Kinda. My dad's around her, parents divorced so I only see him sometimes,” you explained, flippantly.
“And now you got a job here?”
“Now I'm here.”
You told him where abouts you were living which had him worrying if he was any other random guy at a bar that you'd be telling him, putting yourself in (potential) danger. Or maybe Jack was special. It wasn't a very good area, the sort he never even looked at when he was moving, but he knew it was cheap.
“I passed this place driving in, looked good,” you said.
Jack chuckled and leaned in to avoid Terry's ears as he'd gone off to change the channels and some other guys requests. “Clearly your new around here. When I said it was Pittsburgh's finest.... it might have been an exaggeration.”
You laughed and Jack wondered what other stupid jokes he could make to have you laughing again. “Well, nobody's offered me the grand tour yet.” You took a swig of your beer.
There was an opening.
Jack didn't know why he was looking for one but it was out of his lips before he really understood what he was doing. “If you ever need a tour guide,” he said, gesturing to himself. Did he look dumb doing so?
You raised your brows. “You might regret that. I ask a lot of questions. I'm really into my history.”
“Good thing I know a lot about this place.” He did not, but he could read some stuff up.
“You know, you're quite the charmer, Jack,” you said, seizing him up.
He nodded his head side to side. “You've caught me on a good day. Any other day I'm an asshole,” he said, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth. What was he doing? “I- that was a bad joke. I'm not an asshole. At least I don't think so.”
“I don't think so,” you said. “After all you're keeping a lonely girl like me company.”
“You moved alone?”
You smirked. “Are you asking me if I have a boyfriend?”
Jack usually came to this bar for a quiet one after work. At 6 am he'd nurse a whiskey, an un healthy habit he knew. Sometimes he was called in early and only had a couple hours to spare before his actual shift started he'd hang around, have a glass of water of a crappy cup of black coffee. He didn't come here to flirt with girls. Young girls who would probably attract some stares if he walked around with you on his arm.
Yet the idea of doing just that thrilled him.
“I guess so, yeah.”
A small dusting or blush rose to your cheeks. “Well, I'm alone. There was this guy back where I used to live but.... meh, he was stupid.”
Jack nodded, listening as if you were one of his patients. “He dump you?”
“He cheated on me.”
“Then he's the stupidest guy around.”
You smiled, laughing off your blush. “You know, you don't know me yet. I could be a massive asshole.”
“Well that's up for me to decide,” he said, as if he hadn't decided you were anything but.
It didn't take long for the place to fill up after that, people finishing work or deciding to end their nights of drinking there. It wasn't usual for Jack to be around at that sort of time, so the in flood of people surprised him, crowding the two of you at the bar.
That's how he ended up in a booth with you, an arm slung over the back of the cushioned seat as you sat in the ghost of his touch. You were almost leaning into him but keeping a conscious decision not to fall into his arm. The both of you were still nursing the same drink an hour later, sharing stories from each others lives.
Jack didn't ask about your new job and you didn't tell him.
“How long's your dad been out here?” Jack asked.
“Practically all his life,” you said. “But he moved when he met my mom, they separated when I was like five? He came back here so usually I'm just visiting.”
Jack nodded, briefly eyeing how close his hand was to touching you. So far he'd kept it polite. A hand helping you off from the bar stool (you did not need his help), a gentle hand on the small of your back as he led you to the booth, a finger brushing away lint that wasn't on your shoulder. He just wanted to touch you again.
“You close with him?”
You smiled, un-easy. “Well I'm about to be. I'm working with him.”
Jack made a wince and an O face.
Soon enough you were shuffling out of the booth, saying you needed to use the restroom. Jack knew stories about girls who went to the bathroom and didn't come back out, climbing through the window and leaving the guy to wonder what he'd done wrong.
He tried not to let his mind wonder. He checked himself, kept an eye on any guy wondering closely and tugged your drink closer to him, though the bottle was practically empty as well as his glass. He chucked a mint from his pocket into his mouth and chewed it down quickly.
He checked his phone once and then sat and waited.
When you got back to the table, you weren't alone.
Jack frowned as he saw the guy at your side, big enough to swallow you up and shirt so tight on him Jack had a suspicion he brought a size too small on purpose. He straightened at the pinch in your brows and purse of your lips.
The guy at your side was equally studying Jack.
The both of you stopped in front of him and you gestured down to Jack.
“Told you,” you said in answer to a conversation he wasn't apart of.
Jack didn't know what was going on and he wasn't picking up on any social cues. He lifted up a hand, grey hairs rising along his arms in a shiver. “Hi.”
“Oh,” said the guy. “That's cool, I guess. Maybe I'll see you around.”
You shrugged and took your seat next to Jack, this time tight into his side. He let his arm drape around your shoulder.
The guy took his cue and dismissed himself, wandering back to his buddies at the bar, looking back to you once.
“What was that about?” Jack asked, checking the guy one more time.
You didn't move from his side, only turned into him and he didn't move his arm. “Sorry, the guy was waiting for me to come out the bathroom. I told him I was here with... my dad.”
Jack had expected a lie you'd told the guy. Maybe you said you were already here with someone, a boyfriend maybe? “Your dad?” he chocked on his breath. Was he old enough to be your dad? Probably.
“I'm sorry, I panicked!” you said with a laugh.
It was infectious. Jack couldn't help but chuckle to, rubbing away at a wrinkle in his forehead. “I couldn't have been your partner? Or something.”
“C'mon, you think me saying I have a boyfriend will change him hitting one me?” you asked. “A guy like that?”
“You weren't interested in him?” Jack asked, looking over your shoulder to pass a small glare over to the guys. “Buff. Blonde. Young.”
You shook your head, pushing yourself further into his arm. “Nah. I like mine with meat on their bones. Darker... maybe greyer hair,” your eyes looked all over him, lingering at the lower part of his face. “Older.”
You were a treat dangling in front of him and Jack was starved.
He licked at his lips. “Well, I don't think dads do this-”
Before you could question him, Jack took a risk and kissed you.
You welcomed him warmly, your lips soft and eager against his. Where he tried to take it slow, you let him. His hand spread across your back, drawing you in as his head tilted, nudging you to be closer, closer, closer. His tongue traced the bottom of your lip and you opened obedient, tongue hot as you fought his, gasping into his mouth.
He felt the twitch of himself in his trousers, the tightening around his crotch.
Your mouth was warm, tinged with the bitter beer you'd sipped and something sweet on your lip-gloss.
He dragged himself away to catch a breath that his whole body burned for. Your lips chased his, body leaning into his.
Your lip-gloss was smeared down your chin and Jack was all too happy to swipe his thumb and wipe it off, savouring the sticky-ness of it and slight shine on his thumb.
Jack dared take a look at the bar where the guy and his pals stood. His mouth was slightly agape at witnessing the kiss and Jack was all to keen to keep his eyes on him as he kissed you again.
Jack couldn't tell which one of you was more ravenous. If his hands were fumbling with your jean buttons with more need than your own was trailing under his shirt and tugging it over his head.
He thinks it might be him but if you wanted the title he'd give it to you gladly, eager to please.
He had you leant back on the sofa left only in your pretty pink bra, your legs thighs thrown over his shoulders as he feasted upon you, boxes you hadn't un-packed building your own kingdom around you. He was a devout solider upon his queen, if anything.
Your chest heaved in a breath you just couldn't catch, gasping in the pleassure he was drawing out. “J-Jack-”
If he thought your lip-gloss smeared down your chin was a sight your arousal slowly making a mess of his face as he licked into you was a new delight entirety.
He wanted your slick mess to slide down his chin, down the greying hairs of his chest and all the way down to where his cock stood at attention under his trousers.
Jack's hips were bucking, chasing any small friction in his denim. “You like that?” he asked, flicking the tip of his tongue into you.
“Yes, yes, I do.”
He puckers his lips and slurps up your arousal, fingers digging into your thighs and keeping them open, supporting you as your hips bucked up helplessly.
He looks up, the bliss on your face a small indicator of your end coming soon. Jack lets you come, coaxes it out of you with avid sucks and licks.
You came on his tongue on gasps of his name. He'd heard his name yelled before, heard it whispered in dying urgency. Heard it snapped in anger but nothing was better than the sweet call of his name from your lips, drunk on your first orgasm.
He crawled back up you once your body had started to calm. Jack pressed his mouth into your own, sharing the taste of yourself as his hands were skilful in sneaking around your back and un-clasping your bra.
You sighed into him at the freeing feeling and his hands cupped you at once, messaging your breasts.
Jack kissed at you, moaning at the softness he felt in the palm of his hands. “You're so-mmph- so fucking beautiful.”
You toss your hair over your shoulder and look down to him, bringing him back up with your hands on his cheeks, his stubble rubbing into the palm of your hands.
He licked into you, groaning at the taste of your mouth. At every taste of you it was new, like he'd forgotten what you tasted like before and it was the first time.
“Wanna-” he said, breathless pulling away. “Wanna kiss you all the time from now on.”
“Is that a promise?” you said, grinning and pecking his lips.
Jack smiled too, your teeth clashing as he nodded.
He let himself be led like a dog to your room. There was a mattress on the floor, a suitcase or two pressed up against the wall and a box left open. Jack wanted to peak inside, wanted to see what else was about you. He wanted to know everything.
Your lips promised more, more, more.
Jack's hands fell useless at his sides as he felt the brush of your knuckles go to his belt. He closed his eyes, letting you work. He heard the clatter of the belt whipped off and thrown aside carelessly. He bit down on his lip with a smile.
He only opened his eyes as he felt you tug off his jeans, the fabric catching at his prophetic.
You looked at it for a second before looking up at him.
He hadn't felt insecure about his leg in years. It knocked on his consciousness then, keen to enter. He couldn't think of what to say. “Urm- yeah-”
He was calmed when you slowly sank to your knees and kissed over the lingering scars there, your nails scraping down his thighs. His cock twitched happily in his boxers and you could see the excitement leaking from him early.
“Come here,” he said with a rumble of his voice.
You were up on your feet and he was kissing you again, holding your mouth open to just taste you. He pulled off his boxers, kicking them away before his hands traced up the sides of you.
“I have- I have condoms,” you said, hands pushing him away lightly. “Make yourself comfortable, soldier.”
Jack was glad you'd turned your back to fetch condoms you'd packed luckily in the easy and already open box in the corner of your room. It gave him time to ease himself down on the mattress and watch as you bent over to find the condoms.
He was shocked he wasn't tasting blood as he bit hard down on his lip. If he wasn't so desperate to feel your warmth around him he'd have given himself a little tug, but he was too scared he'd come too soon.
Settling comfortable on your mattress on the floor, Jack tugged on the condom and sat himself up to brush your hair back.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
You nodded and leant into kiss him.
Jack wrapped a light hand around you neck and urged you back, looking in your eyes. You knew what he wanted.
“Yes, Jack. I'm very, very sure.”
He smiled and was ready to move when you stopped him with hands on his thighs.
“Can I... I want to be on top.”
Was Jack supposed to say no to you? You may as well have asked him to build your mattress, un-back all your boxes, re-paint your walls. If you'd asked, he would have done anything for you at that moment.
When you gripped the base of his cock he held his breath. When his tip was pushed into you he exhaled with a loud groan.
“Ssh,” you laughed. “I don't want to get noise complaints from the neighbours already.”
Jack held onto your hips, supporting you. “Fuck your neighbours.”
He focused on the feel of you as you lowered yourself all the way, his cock stretching you open.
“Oh shhiiiit... god,” Jack gasped, seeing where you sat flush on his lap, the head of his cock twitching inside of you.
Your head was leant back, eyes screwed shut in pleasure.
“No- look at me, look at me,” he said, lifting his hand to pinch your chin and drag your gaze back down. You opened your eyes that had turned dark with desire. “Yeah, just like that. Keep your eyes on me.”
And you did as you leant back onto your hands, slowly dragging yourself from him and then back down, setting a pace you were comfortable with.
Jack let you take the lead, lying there and taking it with mutters of encouragement and groans of disbelief. He laid his hand upon the bottom of your stomach, almost being able to feel him inside you. That- or you were driving him crazy.
When the sound of skin on skin sounds you switch your tactic, leaning over him and grinding down.
Your eyes were fluttering in pleasure, your mouth left open. You were still trying so hard to keep your eyes on him just as he'd told you to. “Oh fuck, Jack, it's-it's too much.”
“No it's not, honey,” he coaxed, brushing back your hair and holding your cheek in hand. “You're being so good for me. Just a- just a little longer.”
You whined, walls fluttering around him and sucking him in.
Jack didn't know where he was finding the restraint not to come from. It had been a while for him, since he'd talked to someone as pretty as you, since he'd been in a bed that wasn't his. Since he'd had something other than his own hand to come onto.
Your grinding became un-stable, your thighs squeezing around him. “Jack, I think- I'm gonna come.”
He wrapped an arm around you and drew you in till you were held against his chest. The sweat against your bodies rubbed and mixed with the saliva shared between your mouths in kisses where you both fought for dominance.
At the angle of you pushed down on top of him his cock was deeper. He was so close to you, so close in more ways than one.
Jack groaned out your name, his cock twitching inside of you, begging to be released. “Come for me, honey... come for me-”
With a loud moan into his neck you let go around him, walls clamping down on him.
Jack let go of his restraint, planting his good foot on the mattress and thrusting up into you at an odd but delicious angle, once- twice! Before he came, slumping down on the mattress.
The both of you laid there, his hands brushing down your back and bringing out shivers.
“I have never come like that in my life,” he panted, catch his breath.
You looked at him. “What? On your back, on a mattress on the floor with boxes piled up. Or was I just that good?”
He hummed and pretended to think about it. “How about all the above?”
The both of you laughed.
Once you'd both used the bathroom and had returned to your room Jack was still naked while you'd thrown on his shirt, drowning in the smell and feel of him. He'd never wished he was younger and could get it up quicker than in that moment.
You fell back down on your mattress, nodding and inviting Jack to lie down next to you. To stay the night. So, it wasn't that kind of one night stand. Good. He wanted it to be an every night stand.
Jack got down on your mattress but resigned himself to the bottom, slowly pulling apart your legs, taking his time like he hadn't been able to bring himself to do out in your living room.
You propped yourself up on your elbows, looking down at him. “Jack, what are you doing?”
“Ssh,” he said, finding himself between your legs again. “We don't want noise complaints from the neighbours, already.”
Jack woke with his body like soup. His body was drifting in bliss, the sort one got after swimming all day, leaving limbs sleepy with exhaustion and the activities still sat in your bones.
His body ached with you. With the feel of your hands tugging at his hair as he had you coming on his tongue a second time, your hands on his chest as you moved on top of him.
He reached for you, finding an emptiness with nothing but the smell of you left on your pillows.
Jack inhaled sharply before he heard the shower turn off and door thrown open. A cloud of hot condensation and the scent of your shampoo hit him as you stepped out, wrapped in a towel.
Jack rolled over, peering at you through sleep. “Morning.”
“Hey. Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, I was hoping to let you sleep in for... like, ten minutes,” you said.
“Don't worry about it. I'm an early riser,” he said, checking his phone for the time. Half six in the morning. It wasn't technically a lie. He was up at this hour, finishing his shift. “First day at the job today?”
“Yes, and I'm working with my dad so I cannot be late.”
Jack pushed himself up, finding his boxers. “You get ready. You want me to make some coffee? Providing you've un-packed it.”
You rose a brow, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “You trying to make a wife out of me, Jack?” you teased.
He smiled down at you when he stood, almost challenging.
“Coffee pots on the side, it was one of the first things I un-packed.”
Jack kissed your cheek before sleepily making his way through your place, manoeuvring with far less grace than lust had him moving the night before. He flicked on lights, started the coffee and took the extra couple minutes to peer into boxes that had been ripped open. There wasn't much, clothes, a couple trinkets and such. Text books that were so large and piled up he couldn't make one from the other.
He'd just caught a glimpse of you as a kid, hands in between two other people. One, a woman he assumed was your mother and the other he didn't get to see before he heard your trainers squeak on the floor and was backing up from the boxes.
He poured you a coffee and handed it to you, watching you take large gulps.
“Thanks. I'm sorry, I wouldn't usually do this but I really got to run,” you apologised.
“That's fine, I'll dress and I could give you a lift in?” he offered. “I'd really like to see you again.”
You smiled, cheeks popping. “Well, I'd really like that too. But you don't have to give me a lift in, I'll drive myself, otherwise I'd have no way of getting back.”
Jack was seconds away from offering to pick you up too. Any excuse to see you before he realised he was back on nights tonight. Would it even be plausible? To be able to spend more time with you?
He'd move heaven and earth to make it possible. He'd got his first sip of you and was addicted.
“Take your time,” you added. “Shower. Eat left over takeaway in my fridge. You can steal from me if you want but I warn you I have very little worth taking.”
Jack sighed playfully. “I'm sure I can think of something you'll miss. You have your phone?” he asked, holding out his hand.
You handed it to him, un-locking it first.
Jack typed in his number, adding his name as a contact and in brackets added- guy from bar/a good lay. Just in case you forgot. “You can call me when you want that tour of the place,” he said, as nonchalant as possible, wishing at once he'd slid his jeans on just to be able to slide his hands in the pockets.
You read what he saved himself as and laughed. “A good lay, you were a bit more than that, solider.” You slid your phone into your jacket pocket, hiding your inform or something underneath.
Jack smirked, leaning in. “Really?”
“Really.”
He leant in and kissed you. He wasn't forcing your mouth open, he wasn't grabbing at you although he wanted to do both. He knew, maybe more than most, the importance of getting to work on time. But he could almost imagine this was his life. Waking early to make you coffee and food, kissing you and sending you on the way to work. Coming home to find you waiting for him, his name laced on your lips.
“I really have to go,” you mumbled against his lips.
“Then go,” he said, kissing you again.
He walked you to the doors, quick kisses being shared, small touches he dared tempt himself with before you were fleeing, practically running away to not regret leaving.
Jack did take you up on your offer and had a very cold shower.
The rest of the day Jack thought about you, teased himself with you. He'd never felt so infatuated before. He returned to his place in the late afternoon after spending time just breathing your things in. His apartment felt shockingly empty, too neat even though Jack hadn't cleaned in a while. It didn't feel lived in, loved in. It was probably painfully obvious it was a bachelor pad.
However he didn't have to linger long. He showered again and dressed in scrubs, checking his phone once and finding a text from you.
I've been thinking, a good lay really doesn't cover it, a solid nine out of ten.
He smirked down at his phone, tutting.
Only a nine?
Your reply came almost instantly.
Well, there's always room for improvement.
I'll show you improvement. Maybe a nice dinner would get me to an 11/10?
Already got yourself a 9.5 solider :)
The smile that wasn't an emoji tugged at his heart strings.
Jack didn't know how he was supposed to take you to a dinner when he worked nights and your job was a day thing apparently but he'd work it out. You wouldn't have to worry a thing.
By the time he was clocking into work that evening he was so distracted in checking the best restaurants around (what had the best food, or the best views, which played nice music, which were expensive...) he was so distracted he didn't even notice he was in early.
“Brother!” Robby called, greeting him with a wide grin and hug.
Jack was slow in hugging him back. Hiding his phone in his back pocket from your texts before hugging him back, worry pulsing in his veins. A happy Robby always worried him. “Hey, you're cheerful.”
Robby pulled away, shrugging. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
“Nobody die today?”
“No, two people dead.”
Jack frowned. “And we're happy about that?”
Dana called his name from the nurses station, urging him over.
Robby's hand was steady with a firm grip as he led Jack over. “Glad you could make it in early, there's actually someone I want you to meet.”
“Someone, huh?” Jack wondered if Robby had finally decided to ditch his seven week itch thing and maybe try seven months, maybe even get to a famous seven years. Had he been waiting till it was serious to introduce him to the special woman?
“Picked them up from the airport yesterday while you covered my day, thank you.”
Jack had only just dropped his back at the counter when your name was called.
And suddenly there you were- glancing up at Robby in a way that gave no shock to hear him call you.
You looked at Robby then found Jack.
Scrubs. You were in black scrubs just like him, a navy top underneath. Your hair was scraped back from this morning, showing the expanse of your neck that he remembered nipping and licking the night before. Your eyes were plain, expression dropped as you stared at him, feet carrying you over to Robby on autopilot.
Jack watched as Robby's hand laid on your shoulder like it was always meant to be there.
And I'm working with my dad so I cannot be late.
Oh, god no.
“Jack, this is my daughter,” said Robby, saying your name with practised ease and a proud grin. “This is Jack Abbot, night attending. My best friend.”
Summary: There's an active sh**ter at the hospital and you and Jack end up on different floors. Jack worries for you the whole time, and Robby stops him from doing something stupid (1.3k)
Warnings: based on a request, active sh**ter, mentions of blood, injuries, lil angsty, happy ending, use of pet names, pda, first time writing something like this so I hope I didn't completely mess it up :(
The emergency alarms along with code silver start just as you are about to wheel in your patient into the x-ray room.
Your first instinct is to panic and give in to the frantic running around of everybody in the halls. But when you hear the shots, Jack's voice is louder than the panic in your head.
You do what he has drilled into you. You rush as many people into the x-ray room as you can before you start shouting orders in the hall. For people to hide, to barricade the doors and to stay hidden until they are sure it's the police.
And in doing so you get knocked on your ass, falling face first onto the hard floor. Blood sprays from your nose as you hear the crack of the bone. It takes you a few seconds to shake off the dizziness and disorientation. You stay on the ground, groaning from pain.
Until there are hands hauling you up, familiar hands of your friends. You barely hear them ask about your wellbeing before you are shoving them back inside.
You join your colleagues and other patients in the x-ray room. You lock it tight and with the help of other you put everything you can in front of the door.
Then, you all just sit down, leaning against the wall and praying for the long minutes of shots to pass by quicker. And you just pray that your Jack is safe. That all of your friends are okay, too.
-
Jack is frantic with worry. He keeps calling you and calling you, just hoping you'll fucking finally pick up, but the call always ends up in voicemail.
The only thing keeping him from running after you is Robby and about a dozen of patience that he's hauled up with in a room.
"Quit fidgeting, Abbot." Robby whispers sternly, it's so quiet that he barely hear it. "Y/N is fine. She's a smart woman, smart doctor. She knows all the right steps. You made sure, she knows, right?"
Jack itches to scold Robby for speaking, but he's right and his words calm Jack down a bit.
"Yes, she knows." Jack says quietly and flinches at the sounds of the shots.
Jack checks his phone for any new messages from you, but finds only messages from his SWAT buddy that keeps updating him on the police's move.
They are still couple of minutes out and Jack just hopes they hurry. Especially, as the firing stops, replaced by the quiet before a storm.
-
You know the shooter is on your floor and with the minutes ticking by and still no sign of police, you take the last steps of your survival.
You position yourself on one side of the door, scalpel in one hand and injection with heavy dose of morphine in the other. Your colleague, shaking, stands on the other side, prepared to try to take out the shooter if he somehow breaks in.
-
The text of the shooter being down comes 15 minutes later. Fifteen painful minutes later. There's still code gray beeping because the police still have to do a fully throughout sweep of the whole hospital to be really sure there are no more threats.
And the wait for that is somehow even worse. Jack contemplates saying fuck it to waiting, but Robby gives him the 'no stupid ideas' look so Jack stays.
"She's okay, brother." Robby reassures him again. Jack is so pent up by now that it doesn't help.
Jack just shakes his head, letting out a shaky breath. He hasn't felt this kind of fear in a long, long time.
"But if she got shot or-or...."
"She didn't. And if she had, we'll deal with it. We'll patch her up." Robby's voice is wobbly as he tries to reassure Jack. Robby knows how much you mean to Jack, how much he loves you and you're Robby's friend too, so his worry for you isn't easy on him either.
Finally, code gray stops and 'all clear' comes through the speakers. And Jack is hauling the stuff away from the door and running out of there immediately.
He doesn't even register the pain shooting through his leg. You come first before everything and everyone else. He already lost one love in his life before and he's not losing you.
Jack is frantic by the time he gets upstairs. There's so much rubbish and blood everywhere. And yet he can't find you. Can't see your characteristic hair color or your pretty smile or that purple stethoscope you love so much.
"Jack?" Your name on his lips is like a gift straight from heaven.
He follows your voice with a sob trying to break free. And there you are, crouching in front of a patient as you bandage a wound in their arm.
You quickly make sure the bandages are tight and secure before you stand up and walk up to frozen Jack.
As you near him, he finally starts moving again. His hands end up on your cheeks, checking you all over.
You wince as he moves your head around gently. "Jesus, angel, did you get shot? There's so much blood. Oh god, are you okay?"
He rambles quickly, asking you question after question. And the sheer panic in his eyes tells you what you need to know.
Your hands come up to hold his on your cheeks. "Jack, baby, breathe. I'm not shot. I'm okay, we're both okay."
You nod, prompting him to do the same. Shaky breaths leave both of you, and Jack has to squeeze his eyes shut tight to get the hazy vision away.
"I was so fucking worried, sweetheart." Jack finally says with a steady voice. He brings your face closer to his, leaning against your forehead.
"I was too. The shots were so close and so loud. We hid in the x-ray room, but before that I got knocked down on my face by people running. That's why I look so bad." You tell Jack, and he smiles softly at you before he leans back to examine said nose. It doesn't look broken but he'll definitely make you get a scan taken just to be sure.
"Good job, sweetheart. Those doors are thick and protected. You made a great decision. I'm proud of you." Jack leans down, giving you a kiss full of relief. Screw pda policies, there's only you on his mind.
"I love you, Jack." You whisper against his lips, suddenly feeling like you don't say those three words often enough. You could have been one of the people laying dead. But by sone miracle, both of you are okay and you'll cherish it forever.
"I love you, angel. Don't scare me like this again please." His thumb is rubbing your cheek gently as he chuckles. The sound eases the last tightness in your chest. "I'm gonna keep you close to me from now on."
And finally that earns him a small laugh from you because this overbearing man already trails you like a lovesick puppy most of the time. But you love it, you wouldn't change it for anything.
"Okay, handsome. Whatever brings you the peace of mind, I'm up for it." Jack drops one more kiss onto your lips.
Right before he's tugging you after him, not giving you a chance to protest as he makes you get a scan of your nose. He does that, cleans your bloody face and just then he goes join his busy colleagues.
Jack knew he could spare those 5 minutes to make sure that you were okay. If he was really needed, someone would come get him. But now, he can get back to work with one eye still on you.
After all of the injured people are taken care of he's gonna take you home and keep you in his hands the whole time. And maybe have a little heart to heart session as well.
Summary: At an awards ceremony, Jack makes a speech when he wins thanking everyone, especially his late wife. he just forgot one person: you, his fiancée. And it's only once you're gone that he understands how much you meant to him. Only it might be too late. (6.6k)
Pairing: Jack Abbot x fiancée!reader
TW: 18+ MDNI, NSFW; Smut—very descriptive with p-in-v, vaginal fingering, praise kink if you squint (this scene got away from me. I sincerely apologize); Angst; break-up and get back together; insecurities of the reader; comparing herself to Jack's late wife; psychiatrist reader; Parker Ellis is the reader's best friend; Jack calls the reader sweet girl and good girl in a scene; usage of y/n (sorry, not sorry).
Credit: GIF by @iluvseb and idea by @lunarayletters
You can tell that Jack is nervous even though he’d never admit it, you can tell by the way he’s smoothing his hands incessantly against the fabric of his pants, expression darker than normal and attention set on the stage, on a fixed point never wavering. Jack never likes to admit that he’s a normal human, that he feels nervousness like everyone else because for so long he wasn’t. He couldn’t.
He’s told you this, how showing nerves could sometimes be the difference between life and death. A steady grip on a rifle was needed when someone’s life was in the balance. But you’ve also reminded him that nerves about things like this, awards, are different. They are by their nature, self-directed things, no one else is relying on you for anything.
It doesn’t mean he listens.
“Jack,” you whisper, reaching over and lifting one of his hands, stopping his ceaseless rhythm of rubbing, rubbing, rubbing, Adam’s apple bobbing, bobbing, bobbing. “It’s going to be fine.”
“Hm…what?” he asks you, tearing his eyes from the stage, the movement looking pained as if the stage is the only thing that really exists, the only thing holding him together, right hand still rubbing, left held in yours, palm sweaty, clammy, cold.
“It’s going to be okay,” you tell him, the words said slow and calm and enunciated clearly. You do not want the ringing in his ears, the one that gets worse when he’s nervous, when his blood pressure is high, to drown out what you’re telling. To drown out your assurances.
“I know,” he says, the words fast and bitten out, his eyes shifting, roving over your face, taking in every detail as if he’ll forget, as if he needs it all to bring himself back for a moment. “I know,” he says again, slower this time, less believing.
“No, you don’t,” you say and his eyes flick up from where they’ve settled on your lips, the eyes like sun through fall bare branches fixing on yours. “But it’s okay because I do. You are going to win this award and go up there and give your speech and everything will be. Okay.”
“You just can’t stop being a psychiatrist, can you?” he asks with a broken kind of laugh, a cracking, breathy chuckle, deep and dark and bitter.
“Do you want me to give your speech a read through before they call the winner? You haven’t let me see it so…” you pause, but he shakes his head, simply squeezing your hand with his left, his right stilling its ceaseless motion.
“I’ll be okay,” he whispers, lips curving into his crooked grin as the announcer steps up to the podium, feedback crackling from the microphone, the kind of staticky sound echoing, squealing around you, fading slowly, slowly, slowly.
“You’ll be better than okay,” you tell him as the announcer’s voice cuts through the last of the feedback, calling up the award for PTMC Doctor of the Year.
“…Jack Abbot, everyone! Can we please put our hands together for Dr. Abbot, our new Doctor of the Year!” Jack is frozen, every muscle rigid, the paper on which he wrote his acceptance speech by hand crumpling in his fist. You teased him about the old-fashioned writing of his, the speech he wrote in between traumas and consults and cases, but really you loved that he wrote it by hand, on paper, the way you love to do everything.
“Jack, honey,” you whisper, your free hand coming to rest between his shoulder blades, shaking him awake from his frozen, dazed stupor. “You won. Go up there.” And he does, albeit shakily, his body seeming to move on muscle memory alone, programming from the time he was a toddler, learning to walk, learning control over the intricate network of his skelature.
He looks dashing, silver curls glinting in the gleam of the overhead lights as he steps onto the stage, his movements wooden, but the grin on his face anything but. He shakes hands with the announcer, accepting the engraved glass plaque and stepping up to the podium, setting the award on it along with his speech, his hand smoothing away the creases from his previous clenching of it.
“Good evening, everyone,” he says, voice low and sultry even without trying, his voice quiet but amplified without feedback, just perfect. Like him. “I would like to start off by saying thank you for the award. It means so much to me to know that I have helped people and that I have helped enough, well enough, to be…well, doctor of the year.
“But I would not be doctor of the year without the rest of the dedicated staff at PTMC. Even if you don’t work in the ED, I rely on you for consults and beds and patient help so I would not be the doctor that I am without all of you. Most importantly, I want to acknowledge the most important person in my life,” you know it’s not you, you know what’s coming, your hand fidgeting with your engagement ring, waiting for her name even as the people around look at you, smiling, mistaken.
“My late wife, Regina. She was everything to me, my supporter and my partner and the one who held me when I couldn’t hold myself up. She gave me enough to keep going so that I could keep everyone else going. She was my opposite, preferring to stay at home and keep it and that’s what she did. She told me that I could save the world and she would save me so even though I’ve been missing her for years, I still want to thank her. Losing her was the worst pain I’ve ever felt, but…” you wait, thinking now. Now he’ll address you, but I was lucky enough to find love again. Not a replacement, that’s not what you are, but someone else.
“But I was not alone, my best friend, Robby, helped me through it. He kept me going and told me that the ED needed us, that we needed to keep it running. So, I stayed. Because he reminded me that it needed me. I also want to thank,” me, you think. Me, “Dana Evans, Parker Ellis, John Shen, Crus Henderson and Lena Handzo. My team. And again—”
You can feel the tears in your eyes, a burn and sting that echoes in your throat, so bitter a taste that it spreads through your mouth as your throat thickens and tightens, seizes with a sob you can’t let out. Even through your blurring vision, you can see that he’s not looking at you and so you rise from the table, feeling just a bit unsteady, feet burning in the heels you bought, torso feeling squeezed by the dress’s tight bodice. The dress you bought for him, for tonight.
It’s a familiar pain, one that you know. The feeling of inadequacy, the one you have every time you’ve been forgotten, like you are not enough. Never enough for anyone. That’s how it’s been your entire life, but you thought Jack was different. You thought he saw you, but apparently he didn’t.
You didn’t even warrant a single line in his thank you address, not even thank you to my fiancée. Not even thank you to Y/N. You didn’t even warrant a single fucking mention. And that hurts. It hurts because of the mention of Regina and Robby, the way he twined the two and left you out. It’s like the four years you’ve been his have never mattered at all. What were you? Just some warm body in his bed?
Some Barbie doll replacement for the wife he lost? Were you just something he thought he should have?
Did he ever see you at all?
You don’t want to know, you realize, as you leave the hall, flagging down a taxi, your hands gripping your clutch so tightly that your knuckles feel stiff, fake, wooden. False. Your nails are bending from the way they’re digging into the fabric and the clasp, but you don’t care. Pain is good.
Pain is a distraction from the image in your head as you climb into the taxi, whispering your address, the vehicle screeching away from the curb, tire tracks no doubt left behind on the damp asphalt road. Pain distracts you from the image of Jack, finishing his speech and walking back to the table, sitting down, unaware of your empty spot at all.
Almost like you were never there at all.
You’ve forgotten how many material things you seem to acquire over a life, things you can’t let go of even when they’re stupid, silly, materialistic. Like the mug Parker got you back when you were in med school, the one with a picture of a pipe and the Freud quote Sometimes a pipe is just a pipe. They always did like to tease you about your profession.
Or the wooden car you picked up at a flea market when you were abroad, the one carved and painted by hand to look like a Corvette, your favourite type of car. Or, even, the stuffed snake Parker got you when you held one for the first time even though it scared you.
Stupid things really, but all pieces of a life. But everything Jack is staying here, like the hoodie he brought you one day when you came in for a consult, the one he gave because he noticed you were cold the last time you were down. Or the Lego bouquet of flowers that the two of you spent a rainy afternoon assembling together.
Those are pieces of the life you’re leaving. You wish you could say that you were just overreacting to a one-time event of being forgotten, but you’re not. Because this wasn’t the only time.
You knew when you fell in love that he had already been in love and you do not begrudge him that or hate that or her. You hate that he has expected you to be her. When you get home late and he asks why you weren’t already home and you explain for the millionth time that you have work, patients, your residency and he makes some off-hand comment about Regina always being home.
You hate the comparison that’s always drawn between you and her, her and you, but it’s so automatic, that’s the worst part. You don’t even think he’s noticing it, as if he’s just hard-wired to compare everyone to her. And you keep coming up short.
“What are you doing?” you hear Jack say from behind you, his voice confused, but not broken. It’s like he’s just curious and doesn’t even wonder why you left the ceremony. He just wonders why you’re packing your bags, the suitcases your parents gave you when you graduated high school.
“I’m leaving,” you tell him, your voice thick and pained and broken. You can hear him stepping into the room, pulling open the closet door, the wood squeaking just a little along the metal tracks.
“Where? Did you get called away for something?” he asks, his voice seeming distracted, the sound of him undressing, shirt unbuttoning and being pulled from his body enough to make you turn around, the ever present tears burning away, evaporating as you look at him with anger.
“I’m leaving you,” you tell him and that’s enough to have him pause, muscles frozen mid-flex, the shirt half-off, half-on. You can tell by the slight shift in his head, the slight cant to the right that he sees your missing clothes, missing shoes and everything else.
“Why?” The question sounds broken now, his voice cracking into that huskier register he has, the one you know from when he wakes you at night with screams caught in his throat, mind on rains of bullets and cold, limp hands, beeping medical monitors and all his other demons.
“In your entire speech,” you say, your voice flat, broken no longer breaking, “you never once thanked me. Not that I need it, but you thanked Shen and Parker and Lena and Dana and Robby and Regina, but I never warranted a mention aside from everyone at PTMC.”
“You knew my wife was important to me,” he says, turning around, his face set like stone as you shake your head, the exhale sounding more like a whispered cry as you haul your first suitcase off the bed.
“That’s not the problem, Jack,” you tell him, pulling the second one, the last one, the others in your car already except for these two. “The problem is the fact that you spent time waxing poetic about Robby and the ED, but I, your fiancée didn’t get a single line. I didn’t get anything and that hurts.”
“Then let’s work through this,” he says, stepping towards you, shedding his shirt in one fluid motion and reaching for your hands in another, “instead of just leaving.”
“You didn’t mention a fiancée, Jack,” you whisper, wrenching your hands from his and pushing him away with both hands flat on his chest, “so you don’t have one.” The back of your throat is stinging with tears, thick and pained and your skin is drawn is too tight.
“No,” he says, his hands taking yours from where they’ve been resting on his chest, left ring finger bare except for a faint line from where the ring had been. “No, you’re not leaving.”
“Yeah, I am,” you say, but he shakes his head, jaw tense as he pulls on your hands, tugging you towards him, his head canting, lips pressing against yours in a kiss that burns, a kiss that tastes like fire and pain and ash. Like everything broken.
“I don’t want you to go,” he whispers against your lips, the vibrations of his words echoing through you, down your spine, shivers in its wake. His hands tighten on your wrists, not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough that you can feel it, feel him.
“You don’t really want me to stay either,” you reply, pulling back and taking in the way his eyes are heavy-lidden and pupil-blown, lips swollen from the kiss, from the way it was each side taking, a sheen of saliva lingering on his bottom one.
“I do,” he whispers, stepping towards you, pushing you back until you fall back onto the bed, the springs bouncing underneath you as he stands over you, his hands still holding your wrists, “let me show you how much.”
He lifts your hands to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss against each one, that look in his eyes that you know well shining through, the one that says he wants you, the one that looks for all the world, like he’s hungry. Like he’s the predator and you’re the prey.
“What are you gonna do to change my mind?” you whisper, that feeling of burning inside of your skin taking over because even though you feel invisible, you cannot deny that sex with Jack Abbot is perfect. Kind and gentle and rough and explosive in equal measures.
“You know what,” he whispers, letting go of your hands and smiling that roguish smile he has at you, the one that promises fun and good times for a little while. Until reality decides it’s time to come back, but you don’t care now.
You want the good times, the fun. You can handle reality’s crash-landing after. Because you’d rather not feel right now.
He looks at you, right now, with desire and want and love, but the burning in your body is only lust and hate. Because a part of you does hate him for the you that you are becoming. He reaches for your hands, drawing you up from the bed again, hands drifting to the hem of your shirt as he presses his lips against you, hands sliding underneath the t-shirt and up your stomach, fingers trailing across, inching towards your breasts while his lips move against yours.
It’s an open-mouthed kiss, desirous and destructive and the way his tongue slides against yours, the feelings it elicits, should be illegal. His hands are cool against your fevered skin, your one hand on his back, fingers digging in, the other twining in your hair, the two of you moving, shifting your back slammed against the bedroom wall.
“I hate you,” you whisper as he pulls back from your lips, a kiss-drunk expression on his face as he trails his lips over your jaw, the hot press of his mouth causing the ache in your stomach to grow.
“No, you don’t,” he whispers against you, his hips grinding against yours, hands roaming over the expanse of your lace-clad dress. When you got home, climbing out of the taxi with tear-stained cheeks, you stripped out of the dress, pulling on boxers and an old t-shirt, perfect for leaving and crying on a warm summer’s night.
“I do,” you whisper, your breath hitching as he sucks on the sensitive skin of your neck, the spot just below your ear, your back arching, pressing you deeper against him, wetness pooling between your legs as his hips continue to move against you. “But I also love you.”
You’re rewarded for that admission by a pinch of both your nipples, the ones covered only by the thinnest expanse of lace.
“Good girl,” he whispers, pulling back from you, hands sliding back down the expanse of your stomach, fire burning in your skin with every trail of his fingers on your skin. “I don’t like it when you lie.” You hate the way your body reacts to his good girl, the way he says it in that raspy voice, his hands now at your t-shirt hem, pulling it up in slow drags along your body. “Arms up, baby girl.”
You hate how you listen, lifting your arms as he lifts the shirt up and over your head, along your arms, tossing it aside, his hands on your waist, hot and firm and possessive. His pupils expand even more when he takes in your body, in your breasts, a sight that every time seems to short circuit him.
That’s the worst part of this losing because he likes you, he just can’t love you. He sees your body not your soul and you can’t stay with someone who is only a spark and not a fire. A bonfire over a blaze. In truth, you want water over fire, something essential and lasting and life sustaining.
His mouth is hot on your chest, the touch bringing you back here and now, the way he trails his mouth across the lace, pressing kisses along it as your breath hitches, breathing changes and a throbbing begins to take place with vigor between your legs. His hands trail up from your waist to your bra, unhooking the strapless number, the material falling away in the space between one breath and the next, his mouth instead on your bare skin, goosebumps erupting at his touch.
“God, sweet girl,” he murmurs against your breasts, eyes flicking up to you, dark and pupil blown, “the things you do to me.” One hand is steady on your waist, but the other dips below the waistband of your boxers (his boxers, actually, ones he gave you, but they were too comfortable not to keep in the leaving) finding your folds, stroking them, taking in the feeling of your pussy, your arousal.
“Fuck,” you breathe as he dips one finger between them, the tip of it touching your entrance, pressing against it but never entering, rather teasing you with the pressure and the presence.
“Do you like that?” he whispers, thumb straying to your clit, circling it and pressing on it at the same time.
“I hate you,” you hiss at the same time that he pushes a singular finger into you, the stretching feeling not too much, but he curls his finger inside, dragging it along your walls before pulling back out and pushing back in, the sound of skin in slickness dulled by the layer of cloth still covering you.
“Really, sweet girl?” he asks you, his lips back on your neck. “Because it doesn’t feel like you do.” He plunges two fingers into you, his other hand rising from your waist, trailing along the side of your body, your ribcage, his fingers drumming a rhythm on your skin as he inches towards your breasts.
He flicks your nipple as he plunges a third finger inside of you, curling and drawing out, curling and drawing out, curling and drawing out, the coil in your stomach drawing tight, tight, tight as his thumb circles your clit in lazy gestures.
It’s when he puts four fingers inside of you, curling one and pulling out, followed by another and another, the last one dragging lazily down and out of you that you can feel your orgasm coming, can feel it when he slips his index finger back in, applying pressure to your clit, just enough to have you shattering around him, his smile growing as he waits out your aftershocks before withdrawing his fingers and popping them into his mouth, the mouth that was previously on your neck, the one that has left hickeys on your skin for sure, the mouth curving into a smirk as he releases his fingers with a pop.
“Don’t think you hate me, sweetheart,” he whispers, hands bracketing you on the wall as he leans forwards, aiming to give you a kiss, but you turn your head, removing your hands from where the nails have dug into his back, the back of his neck, planting them on his chest and pushing him back and away until he falls onto the bed.
“I do,” you whisper, kneeling before him, watching as his Adam’s apple bobs, your hands going to the waistband of his pants where a noticeable bulge sits. “I just like fucking you more.” You help him out of his pants and boxers, his lower half free, cock up, hard, a vein on the underside prominent as your hands find his prosthetic, releasing it and pulling it off, setting it aside.
“Sweet girl,” he whispers, watching as you stand, stepping out of the boxers, letting them fall to the floor, now as naked as him. You step over, lining yourself up with the head of his cock, teasing him as you move back and forth, his hands flying to your hips, gripping them tight. He makes a small noise, one from the back of his throat as you move back and forth, back and forth, teasing him. “Stop teasing me.”
“Why?” you ask him, your voice breathy as you stop, just hovering over him. “How badly do you want it?”
“Badly,” he growls, pushing down on your hips, pushing you down on his cock. You give a surprised cry as he pushes you down, down, down until you’re sitting on him and he seems to be everywhere, stimulating every inch. “You started this game,” he whispers, leaning forwards, his lips inches from your own, “now finish it, sweet girl. Ride me.”
And you do, pushing up, swirling around the tip before sinking back down. He lets out a noise, another one from deep in his gut, a dark, deep sound that echoes through the room as you build a steady rhythm, up, swirl, down, over and over.
“That’s it,” he praises. “Good girl.” You hate how much his words effect you but it is what it is and you like how he is as you ride him, the noises he makes, the praise he gives, the way he kisses your neck and your breasts and your lips. The way his eyes darken even more when he takes in the sight of you bouncing on him, using him like his good girl.
It’s not long before your release is close, your legs shaking from the pose, from the feelings. You know that Jack is close too, can tell by the way he groans, his head falling forwards into your chest. “Keep going,” he urges, his hands on your hips, helping you up and down, but then you’re orgasming, your walls clenching once hard around him, enough to pull his own from him too, his cock twitching inside of you as your walls flutter with the aftershocks of your release.
“I finished the game,” you whisper, your voice tired but teasing as he leans forwards, pressing a soft kiss against your lips, helping you up and off of him.
“That you did,” he replies, watching as you walk around, legs shaking as you fall beside him in the bed. Already you can feel reality crashing into you, but you’ll let Jack think he’s won. That you’re staying, but you can’t.
You wait until he falls asleep, his breathing heavy and even and then you climb from the bed, dressing quietly, taking the last two suitcases and slipping from the bedroom, from the house, out to your car.
You dump your suitcases into the trunk, climbing into the driver’s seat, your phone waiting for you, a text from Parker glowing on the screen.
Parker: Your room’s waiting, bestie
Parker: Come home.
“Jesus!” you whine at the bright white light shining through your curtains. Your suspiciously drawn-back curtains. “PARKER!”
“Get out of bed,” they say, arms crossed and lips pursed as they look at you. You know what they see. Someone who hasn’t gotten out of bed all weekend, who changed their number just to avoid seeing messages from their ex. Someone who is falling apart because they weren’t enough.
“I don’t wanna,” you whine, pulling your comforter over your head, but they’re there already, pulling it back off.
“We’re going to the farmer’s market,” they tell you. “And if I have to drag you kicking and screaming from this bed into a shower and into clothes, I will. Do not doubt me. I have dealt with worse.”
“Why can’t you let me mourn in peace?” you grumble, pushing yourself up to sitting as they sit down on the edge of the bed, holding out one hand to you which you take, their palm calloused against yours.
“Because you’re not mourning,” they say, “you’re self-deprecating, okay? You may not have been enough for that fucker Jack Abbot, but you are more than enough for me, okay? You’re my best friend and I don’t hang around with losers.”
“You hang out with Shen,” you point out, your eyebrows rising and they roll their eyes, standing up from the edge of the bed, pulling you along with them. Your feet land on the cold hardwood floor, the rough unsanded finish scraping against the soles of your feet.
“He’s not that bad,” they tell you and you shrug.
“Just saying.” They roll their eyes at you, their hands going to your shoulders as they peer at you, their gaze unrelenting, warm, steady and familiar.
“You. Are. My. Best friend. And, you know what? That is not nothing, that is everything, okay? You are more than enough for me so let me be enough for you right now, okay?”
“Okay.”
“There’s an ED consult,” Nurse Gia says, knocking on your office door, you look up from your computer, from the file open.
“You know I’m not taking those,” you tell her and she sighs, scuffing one sneaker on the carpeted floor. Only Psychiatry has carpet floor and you will never understand why. Blood flows out of everyone, this floor is no exception to that rule. “Pass it onto Caleb.”
“You know,” she says, thick black eyebrows arched as she takes a step backwards, out of your office, “you tell your patients to confront their demons, yet…have you?” She wiggles her brows and you shake your head at her.
“Go nurse the patients!” you tell her, but your voice is teasing and she laughs as she closes your door, the consult onto Caleb while you sit at your desk, feeling the familiar, ever-present thickness in the back of your throat.
You have felt hollow, relentlessly, endlessly hollow since you left Jack, since you left him when he was sleeping, the rings left on the dresser, right on top with the note, the one where you told him sorry. The one where you told him that you felt like you were never enough for him because you were not Regina. You were not a stay-at-home wife. You were a career woman, building her life, her name in psychiatry and you felt like that was not right for him. The one where you told him that you needed to feel seen, something you had never felt before.
The one where you told him that you wanted to feel enough for someone and you weren’t for him.
You feel hollow though, that loss of him even knowing that it was right, that now you can heal.
You just wish it didn’t have to hurt so bad.
You see a glimpse of Jack’s back in the parking lot and you duck down, breathing fast as you crouch behind your car, heart rate elevated, ears ringing from the increase in your blood pressure. Just the sight of him is enough to hurt you.
You wish it didn’t, but it does and as your breathing continues to stay fast, heart rate elevated, you realize that you’re crying, tears slipping down your cheeks, silent tears, silent cries.
“Oh, babes,” you hear Parker and you look up at them, noticing the hand they hold out to you, one which you take. “Go home.”
“I was—going to,” you hiccup and they draw you against them in a tight hug, tears falling on their black scrubs.
“You saw him, right?” they ask and you nod against them, their arms tightening in response. “Well, fuck him, okay? Not actually,” they say, drawing back, holding you at arm’s length, your tears having dried and stopped now. Breathing even.
“I’m good,” you tell them and they nod.
“You’re better than good,” they say and you can feel a smile growing on your face, cutting through your sadness as you say, “hell yeah, I’m badass.”
“Kicking ass and taking names, right?” they ask, holding out a pinky for you and you respond, linking your pinky with theirs, the two folding down.
“Right,” you tell them, “kicking ass and taking names.”
“You up for Backrooms?” you call out to Parker and they step out of their room, dressed in a Black Sabbath concert shirt the two of you found when thrifting and plaid pj pants—a matching outfit to yours.
“Does it look like it?” they ask, striking a dramatic pose, one hand waving down their body.
“Hell yeah!” you reply, holding a hand out which they slap, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the house, a stinging, burning feeling in your hand. “That was at least an eight of ten,” you say.
“I would go a solid nine on the high-five scale.”
What can you say about this year without Jack?
Well, it was long and hard and painful, but you’re here, you’re present. You hear his name and see his back and you don’t cry anymore.
And yesterday…yesterday you noticed the sunrise.
It’s hard, but it’s not worthless.
You hate award ceremonies, you truly do and you would not be here if you had not been nominated for the same award that ended with your heart in tatters one year ago today. But this time, you’re not wearing a dress, rather a dark emerald green suit, Parker as your guest in a matching suit, navy to your emerald green.
“And now,” the announcer says, as the applause for the last award dies down, “our second last award of this evening, PTMC Doctor of the Year. This year the award goes to a doctor who is strong and smart and willful. She is known for her recent publication on the systemic prejudice in the healthcare sector against those with schizophrenia. Please give a warm round of applause for Dr. Y/N L/N!”
You rise from your seat, a little light-headed as you smile, waving at people, walking up the stage to the sound of applause, your acceptance speech tucked into your suit jacket pocket. You shake hands with the announcer, their palm sweaty against yours; you accept the plaque and then you stand at the podium, pulling your speech from the inside pocket and laying it flat on the wooden surface of the lectern.
“Thank you, everyone. It means so much to be recognized tonight for my achievements in a room full of my peers who are just as accomplished, if not more, so thank you for this honor. I truly did not expect to win so my speech is a little bare bones, I apologize. I want to thank everyone at PTMC, doctors, nurses, social workers, all the staff. I want to thank my colleague, Dr. Caleb Jeffereson in particular for balancing a floor with me, which I do not believe is easy. And I want to thank my best friend, Dr. Parker Ellis, who refused to let me fly solo to this and insisted I needed to use that plus one ticket. Thank you, bestie, for never letting me fly solo. Um…yeah, thank you, everyone!” You wave again, taking your award and stepping off stage, feeling the burn of eyes upon you, eyes the colour of sunlit fall bare branches.
“Now,” the announcer says, their voice echoing behind you as you sink back into your seat at the table, double high-fiving Parker once you’ve set the award on the table, “the final award of the evening. The award of Most Integral PTMC staff member. This award goes to a very familiar face, known for winning Doctor of the Year just last year. Let’s give a round of applause for Dr. Jack Abbot everyone!”
You can feel the blood drain from your face, throat tightening at the sound of his name, but you are better, you are better. Seeing him will not hurt you like before. Or, at least, that’s what you tell yourself.
You watch him with blurry vision, tears just lining your eyes, just a hint if you look down, enough to make his form blurry until he steps out onto the stage and you blink your eyes, blinking away the last of the pain, the last bit of tears, two slipping down your cheeks, framing from each eye. Your tears the frame for the portrait of your pain.
“Hello, everyone,” you hear him say and god, his voice is just like you remembered it. Deep and dark, but light in a way too, the sound singing in the marrow of your bones, that masochistic part of yourself that doesn’t mind being invisible.
Honestly though, they say psychiatrists become psychiatrists because they’re broken inside and trying to fix themselves and yeah that fits you. You so badly want to fix yourself and you had thought you had plastered up all your cracks, but the sound of his voice is enough to have them breaking all over again.
“Last speech I gave, I messed up. I forgot someone who meant everything to me and it was the last straw for her and she…well, she left. And I can’t blame her. I did at first when I woke up alone, but in her absence, I realized that I messed up because she felt like she was never enough for me because I forgot to tell her something.
“I forgot to tell her that she is ever enough, more than enough, perfectly enough and better than enough. I lost her because I forgot to tell her that, I forgot to tell her that I saw her, every inch of her, that I still do. That I still wait for her and always will because no one has fit me like her,” you lift your gaze from where you’ve had it trained on the tablecloth to meet his eyes, those sun dappled branches in brisk autumn light. It’s steady and warm and clear and you know. Oh, you know, he’s telling the truth.
“I forgot and I will regret it every day of my life but this award is only because of her. So, every thank you I have goes to her and only her. Always and forever. Thank you.” He steps back, confused applause sounding as he steps back, eyes never once leaving you.
And as you leave that night, walking with Parker, away from the man who left your heart in tatters but who is also repairing those same cracks, you feel more confused than ever.
“Jack Abbot!” you hiss, marching across the ED floor towards where he stands at the nurse’s station, his cocky grin set on his face as he watches you march towards him, heeled boots clicking on the tiled floor. You love psychiatry because you don’t have to wear scrubs, rather whatever you want, shoes always announcing your presence.
“What’s up, sweet girl?” he asks and you grab his arm when you reach him, electricity sparking across your skin at the contact. You pull him off to the side, into a small nook, jabbing a finger into his chest.
“I hate you,” you tell him, but your words lack the conviction, rather sound like a wish. His words of ever enough, more than enough, perfectly enough and better than enough having rung through your head all night.
“No,” he whispers, stepping closer, the cocky smirk fading away to a pensive, mournful expression as he reaches one hand beneath his scrubs, fingers hooking on a chain, “you don’t.” He pulls the chain from underneath his scrubs, revealing the ring you left behind, the simple, classic one with the diamond set in the solid gold band.
“You’ve been wearing that all year?” you ask him, your voice squeaking a little as he lets the ring hang there, his hands finding yours, fingers interlacing.
“Yeah,” he says, “because I’ve been waiting.”
“For me?” you clarify and he nods, a soft smile breaking across his face as he steps closer to you, his forehead pressing against yours.
“Always for you,” he whispers, “because you are ever enough, more than enough, perfectly enough and better than enough. Now, can we try again?”
“Yeah,” you whisper, looking into those eyes that you love, eyes that look at you like they see you. “I think so.”
“…I vow,” he says, “to always remind you that you are ever enough, more than enough, perfectly enough and better than enough every day. I vow to never make you feel unseen. I vow to listen when you speak because you’re everything. Because you understand me. I vow to you the rest of my life.” You can’t fight the tears that slip down your cheeks as you smile, laughing just slightly, a watery laugh that makes him smile at you, tear tracks on his own face from when he watched you walk down the aisle in your dress.
“Then,” Robby says, his voice thick and happy, “if there are no objections, I now pronounce you woman and husband.” You can’t help but laugh at Robby’s word choice, stolen from Enola Holmes 3, the movie you made him and Jack watch when it came out. “You may now kiss the husband.”
And you do, stepping forwards and placing your hands on his stubble covered cheeks, drawing him down into a kiss.
And this kiss doesn’t taste like fire or ash or burning. It tastes like love and light and second chances. The kind that work.
“God, I love you, sweet girl,” he whispers when you pull back and you smile at him, a happy one.
“Ditto, Jack.” And in this moment, with the way he’s looking at you, you know that he’s been speaking true.
summary: when your ex-boyfriend makes a surprise visit to ptmc, your boyfriend and the rest of your co-workers realise you might have a type…
pairing: jack abbot x fem!reader & ex bf!mark sloan x fem!reader
warnings/tags: established relationship, implied age gap between abbot & reader and mark & reader, flirting, fluff, swearing, mark don’t give a fuck that the reader is in a relationship, but reader is respectful of boundaries, defs a bit of jealous and insecure Jack if you squint
notes: hot hot hot hot hot give them both to me now thanks!! also massive shoutout to the anon that requested this 🙂↕️
likes, reblogs, comments are very much appreciated!
Enjoy my work? Tip me! 🤍
masterlist
“Ew.”
The word left you before you could stop it as you sunk your teeth into a granola bar.
You grimaced as you turned over the wrapper, examining it like it might explain why you felt like you were currently eating a stick of glue.
“Are these expired?” You asked through the mouthful.
McKay barely glanced up from where she had half her body buried in the fridge, rummaging past several abandoned containers and a suspiciously wet paper bag.
“Nope, they’re just a by product of the drywall factory down the road.” She answered.
You stared at the bar for another second, trying to muster up enough willpower to finish it given you hadn’t eaten lunch.
After abandoning that mission in under 10 seconds, you leant over the bin and spat out the mouthful with as much decorum as you could before unceremoniously dumping the rest of the bar after it.
“Those things aren’t that bad.” Whitaker mused as he wandered into the breakroom with Santos hot on his heels.
“That’s because you were raised on hay.” Santos remarked dryly.
“They’re raspberry flavoured.”
“That’s not helping you Huckleberry.”
You huffed a laugh as the two of them started bickering just as your phone buzzed in your pocket. You leant against the wall, only half listening as you pulled it out of your scrubs and saw a notification from Jack.
He must have just woken up from his pre-shift nap. The corner of your mouth lifted as you read his reply.
You: Are you coming in early today?
JA ❤️: Always.
You quickly typed out another message.
You: any chance u could bring in a protein bar for me? the ones at work are inedible
The reply came almost instantly.
JA ❤️: I know. I’ve told Robby they are a serious health hazard.
You smiled at that as you watched the three dots blink back at you.
JA ❤️: I’ll be in soon. I already have some in my bag for you.
You: are you psychic?
JA ❤️: Just good at pattern recognition.
Your smile widened as his reply came through.
You: thank u 🩷
JA ❤️: 👍
“What are you smiling at?”
You looked up to find McKay watching you over the fridge door.
“What?”
“That.” She pointed vaguely at your face. “Whatever that was.”
“Nothing.”
Santos and Whitaker paused their arguing to focus on you.
Santos studied you, her face contorting into a grimace. “Gross.”
“What?”
“I just can’t get over the fact that Abott reduces you to…” She trailed off, waving vaguely at you.
“That?” Whitaker supplied.
“Yeah.” Santos nodded gravely. “That.”
You rolled your eyes, sliding your phone back into your scrub pocket.
“I think the two of you are starting to fuse into one brain cell.”
Santos’ expression went still. “….that was genuinely hurtful.”
You turned to Whitaker. “There’s your new button to press.”
Whitaker’s grin widened as he crossed his arms over his chest and turned to Santos. “Oh I cannot wait to bring this up multiple times a day.”
Santos glared at you. "You're a traitor."
You pushed off the wall, shaking your head as you made your way towards the door.
“Never give your triggers away Santos.”
“You’re still a traitor!” She called out.
You waved her off without looking back, escaping before she could start another argument.
You barely made it two steps before nearly colliding with Samira.
“Oh sorry.” She came to an abrupt halt, the usual frazzled expression etched onto her features as she looked up at you.
“You all good?”
“Yeah um- have you seen Joy?”
“Not for a little while.”
“No worries, if you see her can you tell her I need her in Room 3?”
“Sure.” You nodded, tilting your head slightly as you studied her. “Are you sure you’re ok?”
“Yeah fine.” She brushed you off as she tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Haven’t had lunch so I’m a bit cranky.”
You nodded in understanding. “Word of warning, don’t eat the protein bars.”
Samira’s nose wrinkled as she stepped around you. “Why on earth would I do that?”
You threw your arms up dramatically. “Am I the only one who didn’t know they were inedible?”
“Apparently so.”
You huffed, pulling your hair out from under your collar as you made your way over to the status board which was currently glowing above the chaos that was the ED like a cruel little scoreboard.
Your hands settled on your stethoscope as you scanned the board. Less than an hour till your shift was over, at least officially. Which given your track record of overtime, meant close to nothing.
“Hey.”
You glanced over to see Perlah leaning against one of the desks.
“What?” You asked warily.
Her smirk widened. “Have you seen the hot visitor?”
“The what?”
Princess appeared beside her, equally delighted.
“Absolute smoke show.”
Princess nodded towards the far end of the station. “Follow the sounds of Joy giggling.”
Your brows knitted together.
“Joy? As in our intern, Joy? As in the complete antithesis of her name, Joy?” You queried.
“See for yourself.” Perlah grinned.
You followed their line of sight to the other end of the nurses station where a tall figure stood, leaning an arm on one of the benches.
At first, all you saw was the back of a leather jacket, familiar in a way that made your stomach drop before your brain had fully caught up. The man shifted slightly, turning just enough for a familiar profile to come into view. The same hair coifed to perfection, the same self-satisfied slant of his mouth.
And sure enough standing beside him, blushing furiously as she giggled, actually giggled, at whatever he had just said, was Joy.
“I didn’t even know she was capable of laughter.” Princess remarked.
You closed your eyes for one brief, pained second. “You have got to be kidding me.” You grumbled.
Before either Princess or Perlah could ask what was wrong, you were already moving, making a beeline towards them.
Princess and Perlah exchanged a look behind your back. “What just happened?” Princess asked in Tagalog.
“I don’t know." Perlah muttered. "But I think it’s going to be good.”
By the time you were close enough to hear the familiar deep drawl of his voice, Mark Sloan had inched in just enough to make Joy look like she might pass out.
“So, is that the only piercing you have or...?”
You rolled your eyes.
“Still shamelessly hitting on interns I see.”
Mark turned at the sound of your voice. For half a second, there was nothing but surprise. And then his eyes lit up in recognition.
“Well I’ll be.”
That familiar grin spread slowly across his face as his eyes travelled down your body with the same shameless appreciation he’d had years ago, like he was undressing you from memory.
“Cupid.” He said the nickname lowly, like he’d never stopped saying it. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
You shot him a fake smile. “Wish I could say the same.”
Joy looked between the two of you, blinking rapidly, as if she was trying to decipher a complex math problem. You turned your attention to her, offering her a polite smile.
“Dr Mohan's looking for you, something to do with your patient in room 3.”
“Oh right.” Joy nodded, adjusting her glasses as she glanced at Mark. “On it.”
“Bye Joy.” Mark called out lazily, watching her blush as she scurried away, nearly walking into a wall in the process.
He turned to you, looking pleased with himself as he leant forward. “Why do you always have to ruin my fun?” He pouted once she was out of earshot.
"Someone has to."
Meanwhile, McKay, Whitaker and Santos had exited the breakroom, not even bothering to conceal their ogling as they clustered around a monitor.
“Ok who on earth is that?” Santos queried.
"And why does he look like he just walked off a photoshoot?" McKay muttered.
“And how do they know eachother?” Whitaker added.
“He called her Cupid.” Joy casually commented as she walked past them.
Whitaker’s brow furrowed. "....Cupid?"
Santos froze. The faint amusement dropped away, replaced by the sharp, dawning horror of someone remembering a detail they were never supposed to need.
“Oh my god.”
“What?” McKay and Whitaker asked simultaneously.
"Do you guys remember that time at karaoke?"
"....the one where she sang No Scrubs at Abbot?"
"No. The one when she accidentally admitted she had an ex at Seattle Grace that used to call her Cupid."
McKay and Whitaker both slowly turned to stare at Mark, then at you, then back at Mark.
Back at the nurses’ station, you folded your arms, ignoring Mark's attempts at getting under your skin.
“What are you doing here?”
“Oh some conference.” He waived his hand dismissively. “Thought I’d take the opportunity to come see Robinavitch.”
You blinked. “You know Dr Robby.” You said slowly.
“Since med school.” He answered smoothly. “Why? Hoping I was here to see you?”
You snorted. “Please.”
“Oh c’mon Cupid don’t act like you don’t miss me.” He smirked as he stepped closer. “You wouldn’t have moved across the other side of the country to forget about me if you didn’t.”
You leant in slightly, shooting him a dry smile. “I wouldn’t touch you again even if my life depended on it Sloan.”
He let out a genuine chuckle. “I’ve missed this.” He gestured between the two of you. “Us."
He placed his chin in the palm of his hand, leaning even closer. "Why did it ever end?”
You pretended to think for a moment. "Maybe because you’re physiologically incapable of staying monogamous?”
“Oh yeah right that.” He nodded. “Speaking of monogamous..."
"No."
"... I’ve heard you’ve got a new boy toy right here at PTMC.”
Your eyes narrowed. “Jesus Christ Meredith needs to learn to keep her mouth shut.”
“Well in her defence she told Derek who then told me so….” Mark trailed off, turning his body around to survey the room. “Which one is he?”
"I'm not playing this game." You answered, folding your arms over your chest.
“Wait let me guess.”
Before you could stop him, Mark placed both hands on your shoulders and gently turned you so you were both facing the floor of the pitt.
His eyes landed on Frank first. “Too pretty boy.”
He guided your shoulders slightly towards Whitaker. “Too scrawny.”
From across the room, Whitaker stiffened. “…Why is he looking at me?”
Santos didn’t look away. “Don’t wave.” She murmured.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were thinking about it.”
Then the ambulance bay doors opened. Jack walked in with a thermos in one hand, his bicep bulging as he shifted the backpack slung over his other shoulder on full display under his dark fitted shirt.
Your stomach dropped as his eyes scanned the room, no doubt looking for you. It didn't take long for his eyes to find yours. You watched as they shifted to Mark, then dropped to Mark's hands resting on your shoulders.
For a moment, his expression barely changed, only the faintest tightening around his jaw gave him away. Then he kept walking.
Mark smiled slowly. “….bingo.”
Your body stiffened as Mark glanced sideways at you.
“I’m right."
You didn't answer.
"I am."
“I’m not talking about my love life with you of all people.”
“Cupid, don’t be like that.” He nudged your shoulder. "Come on, what’s he like?”
“Well for starters, he volunteers as a medic for the SWAT team.” You said sweetly. “So he’s got at least one gun on him at all times.”
Mark nodded slowly, dropping his hands from your shoulders. "Noted."
"He also has excellent aim."
"Message received." Mark held his hands up. "I'll behave."
And then, for the first time since he had appeared, the teasing faded.
"But seriously..." His face softened slightly as his eyes settled on your face properly, no longer performing for the room.
“You’re happy?”
You exhaled slowly, your defences lowering slightly by the unexpected tone of his voice.
“I am.”
“He good to you?"
You smiled softly despite yourself. “He is.”
Something flickered across Mark’s face then, softening the usual sharp lines of his smirk, scarily close to being something sincere. “Good.”
For a moment, the years between you settled there. It didn’t feel painful or bitter or even sad. In fact, it seemed absurd to think that you'd cried over him once upon a time. Now he was just a story you told after one too many drinks, something you reflected on and shook your head, chalking it up to the foolishness of youth.
You cleared your throat, looking away first. “How’s work?”
“Busy, chaotic, dramatic.” Mark shrugged.
"So the usual then?"
“The usual.”
He glanced around the emergency department, frowing slightly as he took in the noise, the movement, the organised disaster of it all. “How’s the ED?”
“Busy, chaotic.” You echoed. “Somehow still much less dramatic than Seattle Grace."
Mark barked out a laugh. “Yeah that checks out.”
“Sloan.”
The two of you turned to see Robby making his way towards you, Jack beside him.
Mark's grin returned instantly.
“Robinavitch.” He broke away from you and pulled Robby into a hug with the force of someone who had never respected personal space in his life.
"A lot less hair since I last saw you."
Robby snorted, clapping him on the back. "The Pitt will do that to you.”
Jack caught your eye over Robby’s shoulder, his expression running a fine line between faint amusement and annoyance.
Robby stepped back, shaking his head before gesturing to Jack.
“This is Jack Abbot, night attending.”
“Nice to meet you. Mark Sloan.” Mark stuck his hand out. “Head of Plastic Surgery at Seattle Grace.”
“Plastic surgery?” Jack's brow lifted slightly as he shook Mark’s hand. “Explains the soft hands.”
Mark laughed loudly enough that several people looked over.
“Oh my god.” Whitaker mumbled as he watched Jack and Mark shake hands. “It’s like I’m seeing double.”
Santos shook her head. “She’s got some serious issues.”
McKay folded her arms over her chest as she studied the two men. “Or just good taste.”
“I second the good taste thing.” Princess murmured as she appeared beside McKay.
Perlah took a sip of her drink and nodded. “I third that.”
The handshake lasted just a fraction longer than necessary as Mark glanced over at you. “I get it."
Robby’s eyes narrowed as he gestured between you and Mark.
“You two know eachother?”
“I was an intern at Seattle Grace." You supplied quickly.
“Oh yes, Cupid and I go wayyy back.” Mark smirked.
Robby's confusion only deepened. “Cupid…?”
You shot Mark a warning glare, which he very intentionally ignored.
“Yeah Cupid.” He answered smoothly. “'cause you know she’s got these little angel wings tattooed right above her-“
“Okayyy you know what.” Robby clapped his hands letting out a bark of awkward laughter. “I think a hospital tour sounds like a great idea right about now."
Mark's eyes gleamed as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I was going to say shoulder blade."
“You are going to walk with me." Robby said, already steering him away, “And tell me absolutely none of the rest of that story.”
Mark let himself be guided down the hall, still grinning smugly as he glanced back over his shoulder at you and winked, making you roll your eyes once more.
You dragged your eyes away from him to look at Jack who was yet to move. He watched Mark disappear down the corridor, then looked back at you.
He slowly stepped forward, eyes scanning your figure as he placed his hands casually behind his back.
"Ex?"
You sighed. "...Ex."
Jack nodded curtly. “Got it.”
“Abbot.” You looked over to see Dana studying both of you. “Dr King needs an attending in Room 8.”
Jack's eyes never left you. You watched him intently, waiting to see if he would say anything further. Instead he simply reached into his pocket and produced a protein bar.
You swallowed as he slid it into the front pocket of your scrub top, his fingers lightly against your side subtly.
“Eat.” Was all he said, unable to hide the affection in his voice.
Your throat tightened around a smile as you nodded. He held your gaze for one more second, then turned and headed in the direction of Room 8.
You watched him go, your hand subconsciously brushing over the side that he’d just touched.
When you looked back, Dana was still standing there, one hand on her hip as she watched you over her glasses with an expression far too knowing for your liking.
“Don’t you dare say a word.”
She raised her hands up in mock surrender. “Wasn’t gonna.”
You huffed as you turned, suddenly desperate to busy yourself in order to keep your mind off the cluster fuck that was your two worlds colliding.
For the next twenty minutes, you threw yourself back into work. Every few minutes though, your gaze betrayed you, either drifting towards the corridor where Robby had taken Mark or towards Room 8, where Jack had disappeared. The protein bar sat heavily in your pocket, your appetite now completely non-existent.
By the time you ended up at a computer to finish off your charting, your shift was close enough to ending that you had started to believe you might actually survive it.
“Oh damn, the patient in room 7 died.”
You glanced up to see Whitaker staring at a chart from the workstation beside you.
“The old lady with the chest pain?”
“Yeah.” Whitaker sighed.
You frowned. "That sucks."
“She had a husband right?” Santos chimed in from across from you, not bothering to look up from her own computer.
“Yeah she did, married nearly fifty years."
Without missing a beat, Santos glanced up at you. “Abbot better watch out.”
Your eyes narrowed.
"Nice. Very respectful." Whitaker shook his head, although you could see he was trying not to laugh.
"What?" Santos shrugged. "Our girl clearly has a type."
"Silver foxes?" McKay suggested as she walked past grinning like a cheshire cat.
"I hate all of you."
Whitaker looked over at you like he was genuinely offended. "What did I do?!"
Across the hallway, Jack had just emerged from Room 8. Your eyes met his. He didn’t react beyond the faintest lift of one eyebrow, but you could tell he'd heard every word.
You tipped your head slightly towards the supply closet. Jack looked at you for half a beat, then gave the smallest nod.
You waited a couple minutes before moving.
The supply closet was narrow, overstocked, and smelled faintly of antiseptic and cardboard. You shut the door behind you and leaned against a shelf, exhaling slowly for what felt like the first time in an hour.
A few minutes later, the handle turned. Jack stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him. He leaned back against the opposite shelf, folding his arms loosely across his chest as the two of you studied eachother.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“So… that’s your ex.”
“That’s my ex.”
He nodded. "You left out a few details."
"Such as?"
His gaze dropped briefly, then returned to your face.
“Well first of all I wasn’t expecting Mark Sloan.”
Your brows lifted in surprise. “You know who he is?”
“I’ve heard of him.”
“Of course you have.” You paused for a moment before your voice dropped slightly, unable to hide the insecurity in your tone. "Do you think less of me because I dated someone like him?"
Jack's brows knitted together. "Absolutely not." He said immediately. "It's just that I wasn't expecting your ex to be..."
Your brow furrowed. “Be what?”
“…old.” Was what Jack settled on.
You let out a disbelieving laugh. “He’s not old, he’s like your age.”
“Exactly.” Jack nodded. “I'm practically from the stone age compared to you.”
“You’re not.” You insisted.
Jack’s mouth twitched, but the smile didn’t quite hold as he looked down at the floor.
You studied him for a moment, admiring the lines etched deep into his face that you’d had memorised for as long as you’d known him. “Does it bother you that he’s older?”
“No it doesn’t bother me it’s just...” He sighed. “I thought I was the exception.” He confessed.
Your face softened instantly as you pushed off the wall and took a step towards him.
"Jack."
"I know it’s irrational.” He said, giving a small, self-deprecating shrug. “I just thought I was the first older doctor you’d made questionable life choices over.”
You huffed a small laugh as you closed the gap between the two of you, reaching up to cradle his jaw.
“Hey.” You said gently, guiding his eyes up to meet yours.
“When I met Mark I was young and overwhelmed and had just moved to a new city and he was…” You trailed off, glancing at the door like Mark might somehow materialise on cue.
“…well you’ve seen what he’s like.”
You brushed a thumb over his stubble that lined his jaw. “It barely even qualified as a relationship. And then it ended and we worked together for months. And then I moved.”
Jack leant into your touch slightly, his eyes never leaving your face as you spoke, attentive in the way that always made your heart ache a little.
“And then on my first day here I met a grumpy doctor up on the roof while I was mid meltdown.”
His brows drew together in feigned disbelief. “I don’t think he was grumpy.”
“He told me if I was thinking of jumping I shouldn’t because it’d be a shame to ruin a face like mine.”
The frown that had a hold on his face loosened just a fraction. “Why on earth would he think that line would work.”
“In his defence, I think he was a little out of practice.”
His hands settled at your waist, warm and steady through the thin fabric of your scrubs. “Or his brain short circuited when he saw you.”
Your smile widened as you slid your arms around the back of his neck, entwining your fingers absentmindedly around the silver curls at the nape of his neck.
“Well, lucky for him it worked.”
The reluctant smile finally reached his eyes. “Very lucky.” He corrected.
He glanced down, playing with the tie of your scrub pants.
“I just can’t believe you dated a plastic surgeon.”
You snorted softly. “Is that seriously what’s bothering you the most?”
“Yes.” He answered plainly.
You shook your head, a wry smile on your lips. “Not the stupid nickname?”
Jack glanced down at you, his grip on your hips tightening ever so slightly.
“If he calls you that again I may have no choice but to punch him.” He conceded casually as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.
His head tilted slightly as he studied you for a moment. “But at least he can fix his own nose up after.”
You let out a laugh, running a hand over his chest. “Don’t worry.” You soothed. “I already told him you volunteer with the SWAT team.”
Jack smirked down at you proudly. “Atta girl.”
Then he leant down and finally pressed his lips to yours in a slow, reverent kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes narrowed immediately.
“Did you eat?”
You winced slightly. “Not yet.” You patted the pocket that contained the protein bar. “I’ll eat this and then go.”
Jack frowned, clearly unsatisfied with your solution. “Go home and eat something more substantial.”
“I will.”
“There’s pasta in the fridge for you, all you have to do is chuck it in the microwave.”
Your interest piqued immediately. “The pesto one I love?”
“Of course.”
You grinned, pressing your forehead against his. “You’re very good to me Dr Abbot.”
His smile softened into something private, something reserved just for you. “Anything for my girl.”
You kissed him again, deeper this time, enjoying the feeling of his warmth seeping into you.
“Alright.” He muttered reluctantly against your lips as he pulled away. “Get going before I end up locking you in here.”
You smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He shot you a warning glare with absolutely no bite to it.
You huffed dramatically, “alright alright.”
You reached for the door, then paused, glancing back at him.
“And for the record, if you’re worried about feeling old…”
Jack raised a brow.
“You should meet my other ex, he checked into the nursing home down the road last week.”
“Very funny.” He muttered, trying but failing to look unamused.
“I know I am.”
“Go.” He urged as he tapped your backside affectionately.
You raised your hands in mock defeat, slipping back into the pitt without another word.
Jack shook his head as the door shut softly behind you, a lovesick smile spreading across his face.
As always always always, feedback is always appreciated because I thrive off praise. Please give it back here and consider tipping me! 🤍
➻ summary: jack abbot’s wife gives him a run for his money- intelligent, beautiful, witty, sarcastic. enjoy a series of short stories giving insight into their relationship.
➻ warnings: 18+ MDNI, age gap relationship (older man/younger woman), mentor/mentee relationship, smut, each fic comes with its own warnings
➻ series:
we kept dancing anyway. | TBA
➻ stand alones:
silent. | smut
Summary: No one pisses you off more than Jack. And no one frustrates Jack more than you. Sometimes you just can't take it anymore.
in passing. | smut
Summary: While working opposite shifts for two weeks, Jack Abbot finally gets a day off to spend with his wife. But in true Jack Abbot fashion- he needs to make sure you knew what you had missed out on.
wet. | smut
Summary: Not so innocently texting your husband during his shift.
warnings: age gap (jack is late 40s, reader is mid to late 20s), parenting, a child (they have a son who is 5) nongraphic mentions of falling down stairs and mild concussion, they call each other mommy and daddy but not in a kink way?? no smut but minors DNI.
notes: requested!!! i don’t 100000% love this, but currently it seems like that is not a new thing for me with my writing LMAO. i hope you guys enjoy this (especially the person who requested!! unedited. and as always, any feedback is extremely appreciated, it helps keep me motivated. especially reblogs/comments/asks!
wc.: 1.6k
Jack can’t help but sigh looking at his pouting son, a face that mirrors his own but eyes that are all yours.
“Buddy, you like Sadie. It’ll be a good night. Mom and I won’t even be out late,”
“But daddy, why can’t I go?”
Because you and Jack haven’t had a night to yourselves in who knows how long. Not that Jack would ever, ever, tell your son that.
“Because daddy wants to take mommy to dinner,”
Your son's pout somehow deepens, “I wanna take mommy to dinner too.”
Jack sighs, “Well, what if when dad gets off work, we both take mommy to a nice restaurant. And tonight you let dad take mom out. Plus,” He crouches down to his son's height, but more weight onto his left side than his right, “you get her all to yourself for three nights in a row.”
Jack watches as his son sighs, but nods his head, “Fine.”
Jack takes it as a small victory. The five year old is completely attached to you, and though he can’t blame him, it can get slightly annoying when he wants to spend time with you and the small boy refuses to stay with the sitter from down the block.
It’s a rare off night on a weekend for him, and he’s determined to have an actual dinner with you that doesn’t consist of your son eating off your plate, you eating off Jack’s, and Jack ending up eating dinosaur chicken nuggets.
It’s also a win that he gets to see you dressed up.
And dressed up you are.
He glances over at the stairs when he hears your heels clacking on the hardwood of the stairs, and he swears you never fail to make his breath catch.
Especially in a black dress.
A little black dress, at that.
Before he can even think to compliment you, a tiny voice beats him to it.
“Wow, mommy look at you!”
You grin, and do a dramatic turn, “Yeah? Looks nice?”
“Veeeery nice!” He giggles, and it makes you giggle.
You finally look at your husband, “Well doesn’t daddy look nice, huh?”
Jack huffs, “Yeah. Not as nice as mommy, though.”
You laugh as he gently grabs your wrist and pulls you into him, placing a quick, but firm, kiss on the corner of your mouth.
A knock on the door pulls the two of you out of your bubble. Jack quickly pulls away from you to go let Sadie in, while you kneel down in front of your son.
“Alright, bub. Be good for Sadie and mommy will bring home a dessert for the two of us to share.”
He gives you a toothy smile, “What kind of dessert?”
Dramatically, you furrow your brows and place a finger on your chin, “Hmmmmm,” He laughs at you, and it’s the best sound you’ve ever heard, “How about cheesecake?”
“Oooooh yes,” Dragging out the oh, he nods enthusiastically, giggles never ceasing.
“Okay, that settles it.”
You kiss the apple of his chubby cheek, standing up right as Jack and Sadie walk in.
“Right, we’ll be back around 11. He should be in bed by 8, but if he wants to stay up a little later and watch TV, that should be fine,” Jack glances at you for confirmation that your son can stay up a little past his bedtime.
Nodding, you glance at Sadie, “9:30 is the absolute latest, though,”
A few minutes later, the two of you are out the door.
In the fifteen minute drive to the restaurant, Jack’s hand lingers on your thigh, squeezing it every so often.
“Do you think he’ll sleep all night?”
You smirk, “Why?”
His voice drops slightly, “You know why.”
You laugh, looking over at him and smiling, “Yes, I think he will sleep all night.”
An all too familiar grin takes over his face.
“But we’ll have to be quiet. We’ve had one too many close calls.”
Thank god for the lock on the bedroom door. He’s never actually caught the two of you, but you dread the thought of it.
“I can be quiet,” He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, “You can’t.”
Dramatically, you gasp, “Excuse me?”
This time, he doesn’t even look at you, just huffs out a laugh, “You heard me, and you know I’m right,”
An hour and a half later, the two of you are well on your way to dessert, laughing like a couple of teenagers over pasta and steak.
He’s staring when you pull yourself together enough to look back up at him.
“What?” He smiles when you furrow your brow.
“You’re beautiful. And I don’t think I tell you enough,”
You roll your eyes.
“No,” His eyes are locked on yours, “I’m serious. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and you are absolutely the best mother ever.”
His fingers lace with yours, “You gave up a lot,” You immediately go to deny it, but he continues, “Don’t say you didn’t, because you did. You’re whole life changed when he was born, and you made every single sacrifice you needed to without any complaints. And I know, my life changed too, but not as much as yours did,”
His eyes hold a lot of emotions when he squeezes your hand tightly, “You’re the greatest person I know. And I love you more than anything.”
Tears well up in your eyes, but you give him a big smile, “I love him, and I love you, more than anything. All sacrifices have been far worth it.”
His phone ringing pulls both of you out of your conversation.
Jack huffs out a sigh as he digs it out of his pocket, mumbling under his breath, “The one fucking night,”
His brow creases when he sees Sadie is the one calling.
“Hey, Sadie,” You tense up in your seat immediately, she never calls when sitting. Never.
“Wow, hey. Calm down,” He keeps his composure, but the look in his eye tells you that something is wrong.
“The ER? Which one? Take him to PTMC. We’ll meet you there.”
Now you’re panicking, “Why are we going to the ER?”
Jack takes a deep breath and grabs both your hands, “He’s gonna be fine, but he took a pretty bad tumble down the stairs. Sadie said he slipped. His nose is bleeding, but he’s going to be just fine.”
You can’t tell if he’s trying to convince you or himself, but you start feeling overwhelmed.
“He fell down the stairs?” The way your voice cracks has Jack wincing. He had just taken the babygate out over the weekend.
“He’s going to be fine. Go get in the car started,” He digs his keys out of his pocket, “and I’ll take care of the check.”
You’re shaking as you stand, chest feeling tight and fingers going numb as you clutch the keys.
By the time the two of you make it to PTMC, you can tell Jack is panicking. You wish you could say something, make him feel better like he’s trying to do you, but you can’t think of anything to say.
You need to see your baby before you say anything.
“Hey,” Jack stops walking when he notices you aren’t right behind him, walking back to where you’re standing, “Hey.” His hands grab your face, “It’s a tumble down the stairs, and while it is scary, he is going to be just fine. Maybe a concussion but that’s probably it,”
You take a deep, shaky breath, “What if it’s not?”
Jack shakes his head, “He’s going to be just fine.”
A kiss on your head ends the brief moment before he grabs your hand and guides you into the ER, quickly making his way through and to the nurses station to look at the board.
E. Abbot S9
“C’mon.”
He gently guides you to the room your son is in, sighing when he sees Sadie.
“Oh thank god,” The teenager sniffles and walks over to you guys.
“I think he’s okay, they took him for a CT a bit ago-“ A sob cuts her off as she looks at you guys, “I am so, so sorry.”
“Hey,” You gently take one of her shaky hands, “it’s okay, you did everything right.”
She takes a deep breath, and nods.
“My mom is going to come pick me up, I’m gonna go wait for her in the waiting room. Please text me and let me know how he is?”
Jack nods, “Of course we will.”
You give her a tight hug before she walks off, which is perfect timing as Shen and Ellis both appear, wheeling your son though.
“Mom!”
You smile, despite the tears in your eyes, “Oh, my baby!”
You reach to hold his hand, “Are you okay?”
Shen, bless him, “Yeah, it’s a good thing for that hard Abbot head. He has a very mild concussion. I think the sitter was worried the bloody nose was from his head hitting the wall, but from looking at it, he also has bruising on his nose,”
Jack’s glaring, “What did you just say about my kids head?”
You turn and shush Jack, “You are hard headed, don’t start,”
Jack rolls his eyes before glancing down at his son, “You feel okay, bud? Neck hurt or anything?”
He shakes his head, “No and no.”
Jack nods, “Can we take him home?”
The question is directed at Shen, since Ellis is wheeling the two of you into South 9.
“Yeah, even if he wasn’t your kid, I wouldn’t think monitoring was necessary. I think the fall scared the sitter more than anything. He was awake and alert when she brought him in.”
Jack nods, “Good.”
Shen pats his shoulder, “I’ll go get the discharge paperwork.”
Jack walks in as Ellis is walking out, she smiles at him, “Best patient we’ve had all night, boss,”
Jack rolls his eyes and waves her off.
It isn’t surprising to find you laying with him in the bed, his smaller body sprawled over yours.
“Well, I guess he’s sleeping with us tonight, huh?”
The question is directed at you, but a small voice answers.
summary: Two keys and a list were given out by Michael Robinavitch before he went on his three-month sabbatical. One for his sister and one for his best friend, Jack Abbot. The list is pretty generic. No smoking, no parties, no pets, no babies. It was rather odd that he’d made the list so exclusive yet simultaneously vague. Good thing Robby didn’t say anything about crashing unannounced after bad breakups or long shifts that tired you just enough to refuse to drive home or that you weren’t supposed to have sex on his bed and have multiple-orgasms in the hands of the man he happened to have entrusted the care of his home and—albeit accidentally—his equally-willing slash consent-giving and stubborn sister.
pairing: jack abbot x fem!doc/robinavitch!reader
warnings: ass!jack abbot, full on enemies no lovers, your doctors want to kill each other, a very sick fern, plant resuscitation, reader and trinity santos are besties, the pitt crew interactions, ass!jack again for good measure. reader's discretion is advised from here on out. please be responsible for what you consume but also have some fun.
word count: 6k
note: chapter one is out yay! i hope you enjoy 𑣲
Hate is a strong word to describe how you felt about Jack Abbot. After all, it wasn’t the first feeling you had upon meeting him, courtesy of your brother of course, but to say that you were merely vexed by his existence was indeed an understatement.
You’ve joined the Pitt—much to Gloria’s disappointment for the moniker having caught on—ten months ago, exactly the same time as Santos, Whitaker, King, and Javadi. Robby had joked about that fateful day in September being less of a first shift and more of a rite of passage—baptism by fire as Abbot had eloquently put it.
They weren’t wrong though. That day in September had been ingrained in your memory despite your earnest efforts to adapt some other form of coping mechanism.
You can still practically smell it; picture the entirety of just how horrifying that day truly was. The metallic stench that stuck in every wing of the emergency department. The floors, painted in crimson, slippery and unnerving. The adrenaline. The colored slap bands. The deafening silence amidst the crowd of residents and nurses trying to keep one patient alive after another; refusing to have one die on their table. Jake. Leah. Robby.
You wished you didn’t have to remember it. You wish you couldn’t. That someday you’d wake up having forgotten about it or at least some parts of it. You’d be glad and live just enough without it. That was practically the thing that had solidified your friendship with Trinity. It was, as she had gracefully put it, “a baggage that's weighing me down.” And even though she’s living up to her word of “forgetting”—or at least her version of it, you found yourself remembering.
No matter the trigger nor the reason for it, you remembered. Stubbornly so like you did every aspect of your life.
Sometimes when you remember and decide to sit with it, you wonder if it had been the point that broke your brother into taking a much needed break from the ED. Michael Robinavitch, taking a sabbatical. Who knew?
He was so excited for you to join him in the city; to join a “brilliant” team of doctors he mentioned to you once and has made a point to never do so to any of the said brilliant doctors.
He’d introduced you to Jake that day. You also had the rather unfortunate opportunity of standing alongside him as you timed Leah’s death. Robby was nearly out of it. He was shaken up by her death you had to remind him of wheeling Leah’s body out of the room Jake was currently in.
That said, you remembered in complete defiance. As though forgetting every hour that passed in that shift would mean robbing yourself of how today came to being—as cliche as that sounds—the last four hours in particular. You remembered how night shift had been called to come early with Collins gone for some reason Robby wouldn't tell anyone. Not even Dana. You remember Ellis with her steady hands, Shen with his Dunkin and slap bands, and Jack—Abbot with his “Saving Lives One Procedure And A Blood Bag At A Time” propaganda.
It was fucking badass. You gotta give it to him. Besides, that’s exactly what you thought the second you saw him dripping into a blood bag Dana had given him. You never understood why Robby talked so highly of the man until you saw it yourself. You always knew healthcare workers were inherently selfless and fucked human beings at that, but Jack Abbot seemed to be entirely something else.
Seeing Abbot that day made you rethink the decision of choosing the day shift. Your brother had conveniently left out the perks that came with being in Jack Abbot’s command. And apparently, there had to be a mass-shooting for you to discover that much of a fact.
Between patients dying left and right, endless incomings, and cops littered all over the place, there hadn’t been a time for you and Abbot to be properly introduced. You like to think that had the circumstances that day been different, you might’ve actually ended up liking Abbot as a mentor and a colleague.
But alas, that dream had long since died by the time you performed a REBOA without a consensus from your peers, nor a ‘go-ahead’ from Abbot, which was really what made things worse.
Now, you just find him—what’s the word for it?
Irksome? Spiteful? Unprofessional?
The list could go on but to say that you were simply annoyed didn’t scratch the itch that came with every mention of Jack fucking Abbot.
There had to be a thin gray line—a word in the English language yet to be invented to describe such an insufferable man—perhaps then you’d be able to surmise what you actually and truly felt about the night shift attendant.
Exasperating?
Maybe.
Last night, Abbot had overstepped his bounds, misunderstood and overstayed his welcome in your brother’s home. Not only did he desecrate the sanctity of Robby’s bedroom with his presence, he had also managed to rob you of the glory, that is, crying yourself to sleep, exactly how you’d intended and the only reason as to why you have driven with a broken heart to Robby’s home.
The only thing you wanted for yourself was to feel—to wallow. To be pathetic without requiring an audience. To be, for lack of a better word, a girl who simply had her heart broken.
For some selfish reason, Jack Abbot had refused to give you that.
You went to bed last night with nary a tear in your eyes. They’d burned with anger and hatred so vile you could feel it in your throat. Instead of being angry at exes, said anger had been directed at no one else but the man sleeping in the next room.
He wasn’t even supposed to be in Robby’s house considering he had a hospital to run. But you take it that the idiot had interpreted the liberties extended to him by your brother as something he could wield willy-nilly by crashing to his home to take naps instead of spending most of his dreadful time in the breakroom.
Thankfully, you had woken up to a quiet house all to yourself. No pests. No Jack. No Abbot.
You take his absence to mean that he’s back in the ED being a menace—just like he evidently was hours before he left, unfortunately.
Abbot had left you a note—written in what you could only deduce to be his best attempt at what counted as “legible” handwriting—with it, a potted fern.
You stared at said note, astounded.
Salvageable.
— J.A.
The plant was placed in the middle of the dining table, looking a little less green and a bit more… dead.
You eyed the fern suspiciously and mumbled, “The hell am I supposed to do with this?”
Was it one of Robby’s? Did Abbot just assume you knew exactly what type of fern it was as if you were some fern-expert? Did old people behave this way after having used most of their free-will in their very old age?
Jack and I are not that old.
Robby would definitely say. Too bad he wasn’t around.
You took your phone and attempted to message Abbot.
There was still no word from Robby, but there have been two messages from your ex, Ryan.
Let me explain what happened last night.
I knew it looked bad. Please let me make it up to you.
The motherfucker. Of course, it looked bad. It was bad. What did he expect? He was head deep into another woman’s cervix for crying out loud! He couldn’t even bring himself to give you a decent apology. Now he’s got the nerve to make last night as though it had only been a simple misunderstanding? As if sex with your best friend of ten years amounted to a fight that can be reconciled by a quickie before heading to work?
You feel aggravated and disgusted. That man had been inside you—had touched you. The mere thought of it makes you want to flay your own skin and get new ones off E-bay.
You wasted no seconds in deciding to block him.
Right now, you have a trauma patient to tend to.
You find yourself typing a message.
I’m throwing this in the trash.
You looked at Robby’s antique Grandfather clock. You still have at least two hours before your shift starts. If you wanted, you could totally nurse this poor fern back to life.
Your phone buzzed with Abbot’s reply.
You wished for him to stop you or maybe tell you that he’d grown sentimental and couldn’t picture himself parting from it. Nothing new. Just something he’d willingly embarrass himself for.
Instead, he sends you a link.
Plant Guides: How to care for your Boston fern
You wanted to fucking kill him.
Did he really expect you to pencil in this—thing that he should’ve just thrown in the trash? You doubt your brother even knew it existed. If he did, he surely wouldn’t care about it dying, would he?
Furiously, despite yourself, you tapped on the link; taking thirty minutes of your intended coffee-time, learning how to reverse death and hopefully breathe life back to a poor sick fern, out of protest.
𓂃𓂁𓂃
“Buzzer beater?” was the first thing Santos had told you the second you opened the door to your locker.
“I had a fern emergency.”
“Fern?”
“A Boston fern, as I have been told.” you clarified, shoving your bag and the rest of your stuff inside your locker.
Who would’ve thought your first case for the day would be a potted plant waiting for death if it weren’t for Abbot finding it at some corner in your brother’s garage?
“Oh, is it like a band-aid baby for you and Ryan?”
With an audible sigh, you push your locker close. You hated this part. “Ryan and I broke up.”
Santos’s eyes widened in shock, “What—? NO.”
“Yes.”
“How? When? Are you okay?” She asked in a rapid fire—almost interrogating, keeping up with your pace as you began walking towards the big ER to meet everyone for hand-offs.
You gave it some thought. On the one hand, you can postpone having to tell Santos the truth on a later date. On the other, you fear that keeping the truth to yourself would just cause her to spill out details of your breakup, highly likely in the most inconvenient of times, that is, when she has her hands deep inside the torso of a trauma patient as though that would be the best time for you to spill your guts. No pun intended.
You gave her precise answers as if you were just listing a diagnosis. “Caught him in bed with Kaley. Last night. No, I’m not but I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Good enough for me.” Santos told you once the information has settled. “But why the fern?”
You stifle a groan, hoping Santos had forgotten about that bit but alas had not. You didn’t want to tell her about last night entirely, otherwise you’d have to get yourself through the mortifying ordeal of explaining how you stood barely an inch from a half-naked Jack Abbot in your brother’s kitchen.
“Passion project.” you said instead.
Santos’ lips quivered, nodding her head animatedly as though she’d believed what you told her. Whatever that look meant, so long as she didn’t ask another question, you’d take it.
“Ellis is handing over a head-lac. Wanna come with?” you see the same cheeky grin she seemed to have reserved for you and Whitaker.
“All yours, Santos.”
“All yours, what?” Speaking of the devil—Dennis chimed in, throwing his stethoscope over his shoulders.
Santos doesn’t waste a second of her time, “Just come with us.”
Hand offs were about to begin and members of the ED have started to pile and form a huddle. Ten months have passed since you came to know the unlikely roommates. Since then, you’ve been stuck together in every shift—three peas in a pod, the triplets of the pitt or so Dana have coined it, much to Santos’ delight and your own.
Across the room you acknowledged Mel with a smile she earnestly returned. You were both in your third year of residency and have gotten a liking to taking a junior resident under your wings. Santos with you and Dennis with her. It was supposedly the other way around but between Santos’ pleading and Mel cornering you in the breakroom—pleading—for the same thing, that is, “Please switch with me,” you didn’t have much choice but to concede.
Santos has been having a tough time with integration despite it being almost a year since the two of you joined the Pitt. And while you didn’t share the same predicament, having the unfair advantage of being the boss’ sister, you’ve grown to understand Trinity Santos at a level Mel King has not; and that’s not to say it was from the latter’s lack of trying.
She really did try.
So, after the last rotation, you figured why not make things easier for everyone? After all, Whitaker was rather skilled at establishing a good rapport with almost and quite literally anyone he meets; even chemistry at times he was determined to do just that.
You’ve gotten the hang of things quite fast and have fallen to rhythm with your respective duo’s. Making your decision to switch with King at the last minute has proven to be the efficient choice.
Javadi, who was shadowing every resident that would welcome her in their team, squeezed herself and her cup of coffee between Whitaker, who was with you and Santos, and King who was standing beside Langdon. It looks like she hasn’t made up her mind which team she’d join in today’s shift. Regardless, you’re certain she’d just bounce from one case to another with nary a care on whose name it was signed on the patient’s passport.
In about three minutes, you’d hear Robby’s voice commanding the team to move a little closer whilst simultaneously expecting everyone to make room for the late-comers.
That would’ve been the case had Robby been around.
You wouldn’t admit this to him—why would you—but his being ‘Robby’ in the workplace has grown on you since your arrival at PTMC almost a year ago. With him away knowing he could’ve been around has made you miss him just a tad more than you already had. Dana might’ve been right when she said the ED would survive without Robby, but you know these three months you’ve embarked upon wouldn’t make the ED the same as Robby had left it.
For now, you had to endure Abbot and the day shift version of his “night crawlers” cringe-worthy pep talk. Why couldn’t he just make it quick and fast? Even with Al-Hashimi around to keep him on his toes, he somehow still finds a way to take up too much room.
There he was, standing in front of everyone with his stethoscope slung around his neck, army shirt peeking through the neckline of his scrubs, salt and pepper hair tousled in all the worst ways, and his throat bobbing down his wrinkled neck, looking like the poster boy of ‘Blue Lives Matter.’ You rolled your eyes at the thought as you wondered. It would be some sort of vindication if that were indeed true.
Besides, why were you looking anyway?
You willed enough strength to refrain from rolling your eyes—meeting Abbot’s gaze as he stepped beside Al-Hashimi. The corner of his lips lifted infinitesimally and you found yourself having to deal with the creeping shame of having been caught in flagrante.
You bit your cheeks, hands balled into fist at your sides. You knew there was a hit coming your way.
Only there wasn’t.
Instead, he continued on with the handover, as per usual order of business, reminding the nightshift of the wonderful job they had done for the past fifteen hours or so. He’d mentioned Crus and Ellis, acknowledging the miracle they’d performed in saving the lives of—not one but two—babies in an ECS in time for Surgery to get off their high horses and come down the ED.
He scanned the huddle, gaze falling briefly onto Santos, who was standing beside you just before it flickered to Al-Hashimi. He gestured to her, giving the floor.
She swept in with practised ease as though she had been itching to speak long before Abbot had even started. It was the first week with your brother gone. You had expected nothing else but this from her.
She went on with the usual for the day shift, clip folder in hand—before going on a tangent. Something about making sure the right amount of dosages and controlled substances are double-checked before they get out with clearance. Langdon schooled his expression fairly when he caught your eyes. Al-Hashimi has had a hot-and-cold approach with the guy for some reason.
Trinity stilled in her feet, too. Not that you’d miss anything she ever did or came to think of doing.
“What?” you nudged her, voice just high above a whisper.
She only shrugged, the tone of ‘Why me?’ enveloping her voice. “What?”
You faced Al-Hashimi, who was just wrapping her morning rundown. “—following the lead of Dr. Abbot and his team, we shall—at the very least—make today salvageable.”
Your gut leapt at the word. The word “salvageable” has been tainted in the early hours of your day; etched in your mind and stuck with a plant you didn’t really feel like saving.
You absentmindedly looked his way at the instance, eyes meeting the same pair you wanted to gouge last night for simply existing. And perhaps, for staring.
A faint grin lifted on the crook of his lips.
Jack Abbot had already been waiting.
𓂃𓂁𓂃
Surprising as it was and a relief—quite frankly, Abbot made himself scarce after hand-offs and gladly left the hospital once night shift finally ended.
True to Al-Hashimi’s words, the day had been somewhat salvageable. Not too lax to allow everyone—except Joy—to leave at exactly 6:00 PM, but not too demanding as every other shift that started off with Robby’s huddle. That was something you’d have to tell him when he’s back.
You had seen little to none of Abbot when he arrived for his shift. Little, being his salt and pepper hair and none being that you’ve deliberately made sure you didn’t need to see him at all, which is why most of your patients had been passed off onto Shen’s careful and caffeinated supervision. They were his problem now.
You were welcomed by a quiet house by the time you got back to Robby’s place. It remained immaculate. Still clean up to its nooks and crannies as though your brother had never lived a day in it.
The Boston fern was still sitting on the dining table, exactly where you left it. Abbot’s note had long been vanished to the trash. He would have to thank you for that.
The fridge is still filled to the brim. It’s puzzling how you still managed to close it. Despite the fact, Robby had missed on including your preference of goods and junk food, save for the mandatory Häagen-Dazs. The fridge was stuffed with cold beers and all things that would count as a ‘healthy’ alternative. You grunted out of frustration as you closed the fridge door with a disappointed thud.
You don't need ‘healthy’ now. What you need is to wind down and let yourself crash just like you had intended last night if it weren’t for Abbot’s untimely meddling.
You rounded your way up the stairs, aiming for your brother’s bedroom. With Abbot out of your way, you can finally sleep in Robby’s much more comfortable mattress. You were hoping to abuse more of your sibling privileges not just by wearing your brother’s old clothes—the ones you knew he never used anymore.
Much to your dismay, you had only brought clothes appropriate for work along with a handful of undergarments that would last you about three days before you inevitably had to do laundry in nothing but a towel wrapped around your curves.
After snatching a vintage Metallica tee from his dresser and your take-out arriving, you’ve magnificently turned Robby’s living room adjacent to your own. Perhaps, better considering you no longer had to tolerate and then tune out most of Ryan’s incessant whining about work and how much he badly wants to quit his job despite not having the balls to do so.
You sighed upon recollection.
Ryan hadn’t reached out in any way after having been blocked nor did Kaley, which is worse considering she was your best friend for so long. Ryan was bound to end one way or another. You didn’t really see yourself with him far into the future—but Kaley—Kaley was going to be your maid of honor and the aunt of your future children. How she was able to throw away the years you’ve spent being in each other’s lives was beyond you. It was something you couldn’t comprehend. It hurt more than Ryan’s infidelity
You rest your chopsticks on top of your glass on the coffee table instead of jamming it haphazardly in your Chow Mein. If it weren’t for work tomorrow, you would have been wasted right about now. But alas, that would have to wait. Maybe you do need to talk with Trinity about the breakup even if that would mean having to tell her more of what happened last night. Anyway, at least you still had good sense to observe chopstick etiquette before downing the rest of your first can of beer.
After the second can, you returned half of your unlikely friends to the fridge. You limited yourself to three cans. You would just have to pace yourself with the third in the hopes of getting drunk enough to cry yourself to sleep and not be hungover the next morning.
Robby hadn’t reached out since last night. Good. After your self-deprecating rambling last night, you really didn’t want him to call back. What would you tell him anyway? That he was right all along? He could’ve earned some petty cash had he bet on Ryan fucking things up with his sister. You already knew that. You know he does too, not that he’d be a pain about it once he sees you hurting but it is still a possibility you didn’t want to face. Yet.
For as long as you were being your pathetic little self, Robby has all the time in the world to ride his bike around Canadian mountains just as you did making a mess of his house all to yourself for as long as he’s gone.
You have been nursing your third can of beer by the time you feel yourself falling to sleep. If it hadn’t been for the beep of Robby’s front door, you’re sure you would’ve woken up at exactly 5:00 AM to get ready for work.
Wait—Robby’s front door?
You find yourself scrambling out of the comfort of Robby’s couch, the slightest hint of sleep and inebriation gone in an instant. Good god. Somebody has broken into the security code.
You snatched the two cans of beer from the table, holding one in each of your hands, one empty and the other nearly finished. It was the closest thing you could find that would at least give you time to flee for the stairs and jump off the balcony.
Hopefully, it won't come to that.
With your heart pounding, you stared at the door waiting for it to open. Fucking shitting hell. What else is there to do but wait? Fuck. You should’ve learned self-defense when you had the chance. Now, Robby would come home to his sister dead in his fucking living room.
With the light dimmed, you watched the door swing open.
This is it. You’d be dead in the next hour.
With all your might, you threw a can towards the front door, hitting the man entering through the threshold—
“Fuck!”
Oh shit.
The light turned on to reveal the same salt and pepper hair you have been desperately trying to avoid at PTMC. The chances of you dying now being slim to none hadn’t eased the stress out of your stomach. You would have preferred to be murdered than needing to deal with this man.
He let out a satisfying grunt, the sound of the can against the hardwood floor just as satisfying as the man standing in front of you in pain and visibly livid.
“Why the hell would you do that?” He groaned, shooting a grimaced look your way.
Instead of answering, you interrogate, “Why are you here?”
He was massaging the side of his head kissed by a can of Coors Light. “Why are you here?”
“I asked you first!”
“I’m asking now!”
You groaned, the other can crinkling in your fist. Abbot’s eyes flickered onto your hand at the sound, causing him to take a step back, his own palm still caressing his head, threatening with a pointed finger, “Don’t you dare throw that my way.”
With a gallic shrug, you smirked. “Maybe I will.”
“Do it.” He warned as though coaxing as he looked at you, his features sharp and eyes somehow grim and dark. “See what happens.”
There was something unnerving in the way he said it that made you want to tempt how faithful he was in keeping his words.
“Is that a threat?”
He closed the door just as he took a step, advancing, “Do you want it to be?”
You huffed a laugh, disbelieving despite feeling threatened at the very least. But there’s no need to tell him that. Instead, you raised your free hand to your hip in an effort to channel dominance over the unfolding situation. He watched you eye the can of beer you were still holding. Surely, you wouldn’t throw it his way, would you?
“I don’t think you’re in the position to be making any.”
Then again, he can just cross the room and snatch said can out of your hold and be done with it yet he hasn’t done that.
He let go of his head, his wedding ring catching a subtle glint from the ceiling light and his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down his throat like it had during hand-offs.
“Let go of the damn can, Robinavitch.”
“Why are you here.” You demanded, no longer asking.
“I already told you last night.” He said through gritted teeth, already walking towards the kitchen. “I don’t need to repeat myself to you, of all people.”
You find yourself following, still holding the can of beer. “What the hell does that supposed to mean?”
You find him rummaging through the freezer, taking out a bag of frozen peas to nurse his aching head. There was a faint color on his temple suggesting that you might’ve thrown the can harder than initially intended.
You crashed the guilt inkling its way to your bones. To be fair, you were trying to not get yourself killed.
“Don’t you think you’re overdoing this ‘favor’ you ‘claimed’ to be doing for Robby?” You questioned, bunny quotes flying about wildly to stress a point. You hope you didn’t have to apologize.
“First, stop with the air quotes. You’d be doing both of us a favor.” He walked towards the sink and filled himself a glass of water, one hand still pressing the frozen peas against his head. “Second, I already told you I’m house-sitting for Robby. That would generally explain why I come here for naps and for cleaning. Do I have to spell it out for you?”
Now that explains why Robby’s house was immaculate.
“Well then, you no longer have to do Robby any favors. I’m his sister. I should be the one looking after his home.”
He shot you a look. ‘Oh, really?’
“Right. Robby’s lucky to call you his sister.” He sneered, murmuring, “What a fucking sister, that is.”
“Excuse me?”
“Please, Robinavitch. Mike’s been away since the fourth of July and it took you a whole week to get your ass in here.” You scoffed. Mike. You hated how he was too familiar with your sibling. “—stop acting as if you really care about house-sitting or being a good sister. You and I both know that’s not the reason why you’re here.”
You swallowed the bitter truth coiling around your throat.
He had a point.
If it weren’t for the breakup, you wouldn’t be here; not until a few more days or so. Maybe even longer, long enough to make sure all of Robby’s plants were guaranteed to greet death at the door.
“I was preoccupied.” you find yourself giving him an explanation, how little that was.
“Look, I don’t really care.” He said bluntly, words slicing through you like a dull knife. Messy and brunt on its edges as though to make sure it got to hurt more. “You could be the Queen of England or the President of the U.S. fucking A., I still wouldn’t shit myself to care. You aren’t Robby. So until you grow a pair and age twenty more years exactly like your brother, your word is as good as garbage to me.”
Garbage?
“What the hell is your problem, Robinavitch!”
Abbot dodged the can of Coors Light as its remains splattered over the backsplash. It hadn’t even registered that you had set the can flying his way fast enough to stop yourself, let alone care.
Shit.
You lost it.
“You.” You spat, “You’re the problem.”
You held your chin high, glad to be standing across the room from him as opposed to having to stare at him like you did last night; inches apart with him half-naked and evidently interrupted from his nap.
Abbot let out an exasperated sigh, gaze now set at you evidently reining himself in.
“As far as I’m concerned, your brother gave out two keys. As to why he told neither of us, I will never know. But that just means I enjoy the same privileges as you inasmuch as you share the same responsibility of keeping his house kept as I do. Throw all the temper tantrums you want, but I’m not going anywhere.” He set the glass down, hard enough to make a sound; to stress his point. “I’m taking my nap.”
He strode past you, heading for the stairs.
“Where do you think you’re going?” You spun on your heels and followed him.
“I’m not finished, Abbot!”
“Oh, but I am—!”
He turned to face you, movement so fast and harsh that you nearly bumped against his chest. You were fairly aware that unlike last night, he was fully clothed despite being enraged. You took a step backwards but held his gaze.
“I’m half-way through a god-awful shift, my head fucking hurts—thank you very much, and I’ve burned about half an hour off my break having to explain myself when there wasn’t a need in the first place. If you say you’re not finished, don’t come crying to me because I assure you I wouldn’t want to be of help.”
You stood there, conflicted as to whether to slap him for the double entendre or let go of this petty argument and let the man get some sleep.
He stared down at you, searching your eyes as he successfully extinguished the fire in them. He might have won this round.
“I want you gone in the morning.” You bite.
“I just want a fucking nap.” He breathed, tired and resigned to any more bickering. He took his leave, heading to Robby’s room.
“I want you out of my fucking face!” You yelled on the top of your lungs so as to make sure he heard and felt every bit of rage that accompanied such statement.
It wasn’t your finest moment, that you were sure of.
A breath is caught in your throat, feeling the burn of impending tears threatening to let loose out of the corner of your eyes.
It was going to be a long night.
𓂃𓂁𓂃
You succeeded in crying yourself to sleep as originally planned. Frustration bleeding out of your system instead of the pain and betrayal brought upon by infidelity and your relationship’s demise.
Abbot was gone by the time you woke up. It was as if he hadn’t been around last night—as if he hadn’t caught a can of beer with his head, as if he hadn’t insulted you and implied that you were something akin to garbage.
The Boston fern was no longer on the dining table. It was moved on the accent table near the living room window, looking more alive now that it had water and appropriate sunlight.
You let out a sigh. Perhaps you can miss work today and get back to your apartment. You would need more clothes anyway. But then Abbot would know he got under your skin last night and you know that’s the last thing you’d want to happen. You would gladly wear the same underwear for a week if you had to if it meant you prove a point.
Not that the current circumstances would come to that. You hope it wouldn’t. You have impeccable hygiene.
You find a postcard stuck to the fridge. It was from Robby. You deduce Abbot had taken it from his mail.
You didn’t even think of checking your brother’s mail yet have the audacity to reign over his house as though you owned it, lording familial ties over Jack Abbot just because you can and he couldn’t.
He brought in Robby’s mail simply out of consideration.
What have you done so far?
You flipped the postcard to see your brother’s note on the other side. It was dated July 13th 2026.
Canada is as beautiful as advertised. I met a hockey player. Turns out, they’re endemic ‘round here.
You scoffed a laugh.
I’m sorry about Abbot—and for losing my phone. I’m glad I won’t ever get to hear your voicemail about that unfortunate fact I left out.
At least, that explains why he hasn’t called back. It will probably take some time before he finishes setting up a new one.
You blinked at the latter portion of the note as you read it again. This time, making sure you got it right.
He’s a good guy. I like him. Please make sure he’s alive by the time I get back?
Hoping you’d do your poor brother a favor,
Mike
You put the postcard back where Abbot had left it, feeling resigned to the idea that he might actually have the same privileges as you did. You hated how manipulative Robby was being when he intentionally signed off with his nickname. He knew full well how to wield his brotherly privileges onto you just as much as you did with the contents of his refrigerator.
Begrudgingly, you opened said fridge—finding another note stuck on one of the three cans of Coors Light left from last night.
You owe me six more of these. — J.A.
You crumpled the paper with your fist, feeling the smothered anger from last night come back to life; sparked by an unassuming yellow sticky.
Robby had given you yet another responsibility. But sure, you’d be glad to do him a huge favor.
You’d keep Abbot alive.
After all, where’s the fun in beating up a dead man?
note: reblogs and comments are highly appreciated i would love a chat with yall ◡̈ ᥫ᭡
CW: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUT. Riding on the couch. Age gap implied [Jack is 60, Reader is mid-40s now]. Talks of Jack getting older [he's retired]. Talks of aging in general. Jack & reader are married & have been together for 15 years. They have two kids together (ages undisclosed). They are obsessed with each other, your honor.
I truly don’t even know what this is or where this came from (I do, I’m lying lmao, ask @maiamore) but I just wanted to talk about Jack Abbot who's retired and older and he's a little insecure about getting older and changing with age. That’s all.
Thinking about Retired! Jack Abbot who you've been with for about 15 years now. He was 45 when you met him, and now he’s much older. 60 years old with a teenage son that ran circles around him and a daughter that’s growing up too quickly for his comfort, both of them he had with you. You’re older too, the same age he was when you started dating, sporting a few grays and wrinkles of your own while you took over for him at the Pitt.
Things have definitely changed over the years in terms of your jobs, and you now worked as a night shift attending while Jack focuses on being a dedicated father and doing his emergency medicine teachings throughout the community and beyond. It’s nice for him to get a much needed break after everything he’s been through, after working so hard for years; and though he may be older, the passion and lust you felt towards him never really left.
In reality it got much worse. He’s been with you all of these years to experience the changes of each other’s bodies, accepting his dad bod, as you called it, and he watched your figure change through pregnancy and childbirth. Neither of you were complaining, far from it; that spark that you two felt was still very much alive regardless of the time that’s passed between you two. Though sometimes the reality of Jack’s age hits him like a ton of bricks.
The curly strands you love are chrome now, a light silver that he’s accepted before, but now there wasn’t an inkling of the pepper that was often paired with the salt. He was still thankfully blessed with a head full of hair, his hairline as strong as ever which Robby constantly talks about with playful envy. His once solid frame is covered with a soft layer of fat, still no doubt in shape and strong enough to do things around the house, and you often mentioned how seeing him wear crewneck sweaters still makes you go crazy. The slight limp in his gait is a bit more noticeable now, his leg growing increasingly achy the longer he’s walking with his prosthetic, but he’s grateful to still have mobility in the grand scheme of things.
Every day, you remind Jack of how much you love him, how he takes care of you and your family, and how he’s always made sure none of you ever have to worry about anything in the life you’ve built. And despite what he does for you and the kids, a part of him always grows anxious about his age, about the gap, not for the same reasons as before but because now he’s worried he can’t keep up with you. He thinks you’ll grow bored of him, that your sex life will eventually dull and wither away, and that there will come a time when he can't fulfill your physical needs the way he used to, something that he takes pride in and always has since the beginning of your relationship.
You knew what you were signing up for. You accepted all of him, all of the baggage he came with, and loved him regardless of the voices in his mind fueling his self-doubts. You know this didn’t come from a place of not loving you. He lived to love you, to serve you, to make you happy. But the rumors of the new younger, handsome, and charismatic surgeon at the Pitt causes the slightest bit of jealousy to flare in Jack’s chest. It’s not jealousy due to a shaky foundation in your relationship; he bought your ring 6 months before proposing to you after 3 years of dating you. Jack is as obsessed with you as you were with him, you’re not worried about that. It’s the jealousy of the new tech’s capability; of being younger, faster, more youthful—of being able to do the things the ER cowboy once did with better efficiency.
You don’t let those thoughts fester too long, not when you’re too busy riding him within an inch of his life on the living room couch, kissing him hard enough to make his bottom lip bleed and coiling a hand through his hair. The kids are already asleep upstairs, your glasses of wine sat empty on the coffee table with the sounds of the TV tuning out behind you. You whisper praises in his ear while nipping at his jaw, reminding him that you’d only want him, that it was only ever going to be him, that he’s the only one who can have you like this.
You tell him that you could give less of a fuck about anybody else when he gave you your two beautiful & rambunctious kids, the dream house he turned into a home, the love and support you needed to succeed and excel in your career while still having a life you didn’t know you could have. You bounce over him until your thighs grow sore, biting and sucking at the length of Jack’s neck until his eyes are rolling to the back of his head and he’s clawing at the plush skin of your hips. His biceps flex as he moves you harder over him and pins you down on top of him when he spills inside you with a deep groan, sinking his teeth into your collarbone as your slick walls flutter around him with the force of your climax.
You could give less of a shit about the new doctor. You could give less of a shit about anybody who wasn’t your husband. He was older when you met him, and he’s older now after being with him for years. You knew what you wanted, what you were dealing with, what you signed up for—and you wouldn’t change a damn thing.
Jack Abbot is an old man now, but he’s your old man. Yours to love, to hold, to fuck however and whenever you wanted. Exactly how it should be.
Part 3 of ‘Night Shift Love’ Series - Part 1 Part 2. Find the series here on AO3.
Summary: As you and Jack navigate through your new life of becoming a family of three, your lives start changing more than either of you thought they would. Luckily, you both have the best support system and found family. <3
Warnings: Pregnancy (??), explicit language, age-gap relationship, medical inaccuracies.
Word Count: 4k+
Author’s Note: Basically just Jack being the sweetest fiancé & soon-to-be dad he can be.
As you settled into your fifth month of pregnancy your bump continued to grow, Jack’s hand becoming an almost permanent attachment.
Brushing your teeth in the morning? Jack was behind you in the mirror doing the same, hand resting wide and gentle on the side of your belly. Making coffee in the morning or cooking dinner? Jack’s chin was on your shoulder, both hands wrapped around your torso, fingers tapping gently against the swell of your skin.
Driving to work? He’d reach over at every red light as far as he could, resting a protective hand on your bump, like it was second nature. In the early mornings after your shifts when you were cuddled up in bed, an old t-shirt of Jack’s hanging loosely on your shoulders? Jack was as close as he could get, rubbing soothing circles near your belly button.
It was like a magnet for him, any chance he got his hand was there, not possessive or showy, just there; grounding and safe, taking any second he could to feel the little life wiggling around inside you. And the first time Jack felt the baby kick? Waterworks.
You were settled on the couch, back resting against Jack’s chest as his hand pressed soft circles to the side of your bump, some old comedy movie playing on the tv in front of you. It was quiet, both of you half asleep when suddenly there it was. A flutter against Jack’s hand. Not like when the baby would move, this was more intentional, firmer and more determined to make itself known.
Jack’s eyes snapped open, catching your eye as you beamed up at him.
“Holy shit”, He breathed; “Was that?-“
You nodded, gently moving his hand across your bump to where the baby was kicking, there it was again; “Started last night when I was in the shower. I wanted you to get to feel it yourself first before I said anything.”
Jack rests his cheek against your head, eyes wide as he moves his hand around to feel. Each time a tiny kick hits his palm you can feel him chuckle. He’d felt countless baby’s kick before, especially with working in the ED, but this? This was different. This was his baby. Your baby. Something so delicate and raw about it. It’s quiet in your apartment, both of you holding your breath while you wait, like if you move too suddenly it’ll stop. Then you hear it; a deep inhale followed by the smallest sniffle.
You turn fully to look up at Jack, big tough veteran turned ER resident doctor who hardly ever let his facade crack; was crying. A few tears slipped from his glassy eyes, the widest smile you’ve ever seen on his lips.
You reach up to cup his cheek in your hand, humming softly as he immediately leans into it, letting your thumb wipe a stray tear away; “Jack…”
He squeezes his eyes shut once, shaking his head softly like he’s trying to snap himself out of it. But he’s still smiling, still amazed.
“Sorry I just-“, He clears his throat; “We made that…Makes it so much more real now.”
“Right, cause my clothes not fitting anymore wasn’t real enough?”
He chuckles a wet laugh; “You know what I mean.”
You do. The last few months cuddled up in bed, his hands roaming your growing bump, conversations about all the firsts. First kicks, first hiccups, first time seeing the baby move; it was all starting to happen now. And that? That’s what got Jack. That after all this time, after everything he’d been through and everything he’s seen; he finally got his stillness. A full family. Something he thought he’d left behind a long time ago.
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
The first ultrasound Jack went to with you had him a nervous wreck. You both knew all the possibilities, what could go wrong. Each one was playing through his head on a speed run. When you finally took his hand in yours rubbing your thumb over his knuckles, he stilled. Not completely, just a little, just enough to calm himself a little bit.
As the nurse moved the wand across your small bump, and the sound of your baby’s heartbeat filled the room; Jack’s breath hitched. He told himself he wasn’t going to cry, but here he was, hands clasped around yours as he let his chin rest against his knuckles; eyes watering and beaming with pride. And when the nurse turned the screen towards you so you could both see too, Jack let the tears fall freely. Not loud, just blinking his eyes, a soft sniffle and a smile that wasn’t going away anytime soon.
“Jack, that’s our baby”, You breathe, a hand going up to cup his cheek before running your fingers through his curls.
He hums softly in response, like all the words had been ripped out of him. The baby was safe, healthy, growing and meeting all the right growth measurements and standards. Hearing that made Jack finally let his shoulders drop; the tension easing out of him.
He’s mostly quiet the rest of the appointment, taking in everything the nurse and doctor tell you; slipping into doctor mode as he files all the information away. He slips an ultrasound photo into his wallet, the rest folded carefully in your hands. You exit through the ED, stopping to show the new pictures to Dana; Jack still hovering behind you with a smile on his face.
You lean in close to Dana when Jack isn’t looking, a small smile on your own lips; “Should’ve seen him in there…got him crying.”
Dana’s mouth parts in a moment of disbelief before she’s smiling, nudging you with her shoulder in a way that says ‘he’d only let himself get like that for you, ya know?’
When you’re finally back in Jack’s truck, he doesn’t start it right away, just sits there quietly for a moment.
“Jack?”, You ask softly, checking if he’s ok.
He shakes his head once, like he’s trying to push more tears away, before he takes your hand in his, kissing your knuckles softly before letting his hand rest on your belly; “You’re doing it, mama.”
And that makes your heart swell even more. Cause Jack Abbot, grumpy night shift attending, was so soft for you and your little family already.
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
When it came to finding out the gender Jack was on edge for days. You’d both decided to have the tech write it down and slip it into an envelope; waiting to be opened whenever you decided you were ready. Jack didn’t even last until that night when he padded barefoot into your bedroom, sweatpants hanging low on his hips; envelope between two of his fingers. He slid into bed next to you, tapping the envelope against his palm as he eyed you with raised eyebrows and his bottom lip between his teeth.
“Babe, it hasn’t even been a full day yet”, You laughed at him.
He dramatically drops his head to your shoulder, pretending to hide his face as he groans against your skin; “I know…but it’s killing me.”
You laugh; “Great show of self control from the big scary doctor over here.”
He’s still hiding against your skin, saying something muffled you don’t quite catch. You tap the back of his head, making him lift his head to look at you with expectant eyes. You bite your own lip at the way his eyes search yours.
“Ok”, You tell him; “Open it up.”
Suddenly he’s like a giddy kid on Christmas morning, flopping himself around to get more comfortable, fingers opening the envelope and pulling out the piece of folded paper.
He looks at you, eyes wide and chest heaving, asking if you’re sure. Like he’s scared to know, like everything in his world was about to change from this moment forward; and it was, for the both of you.
“Together…ready?” He asks, already letting you grasp half the paper.
You nod, nerves suddenly jolting up inside you.
“On three”, Jack says, making sure you’re looking at him, each of your hands carefully unfolding the paper between you.
“One…”, Jack’s eyes still wandering yours.
“Two…”, You force yourself to stare at him, not peeking, wanting to do this with him.
“Three”, You say it together, both of you hesitating for a moment before you turn your heads to read whatever’s awaiting you.
‘It’s a boy!’ written in blue pen.
You can feel the tears pricking your eyes, hear Jack’s huff of amusement, laughter and pride bubbling in his chest. Your hands are shaking, you can’t tear your eyes away from the paper, not until Jack speaks.
“Baby, a boy”, Jack breathes, cupping your cheek and resting his forehead against yours; “We’re having a boy!”
His laugh of disbelief is wet, you can see his shiny eyes again, tears threatening to spill. You don’t bother trying to hold yours back. You were having a boy, the little boy you’d been longing for since you found out you were pregnant; maybe even years before that. Jack’s lips are on your temple, then your cheek.
“We’re getting our boy”, Jack breathes gently against your skin, “Just like you’ve always wanted, baby.”
You melt into him, nuzzling your nose into his neck and inhaling his scent; fresh soap from the shower, cedar and musk and something underlying that’s so completely him.
“We’re gonna need a soccer van”, You choke out a laugh, already imagining what your future would look like.
Would it be basketball or soccer every Saturday morning? Tiny hands covered in dirt that someone spreads head to toe. Messy hair and faces, sticky hands and toy cars in every corner of the house. Mud covered shoes and grass stained jeans. Falling asleep on the couch with Jack and your son nestled between you.
Just another reminder that made this all so much more real, knowing a little boy was growing inside you, one that would soon join you and Jack and make you a family of three. His heart jumped at the thought; a dad to a little boy. A son. It cracked something in his chest wide open.
Jack kisses you softly, tilting your chin up towards him with a calloused finger. It’s soft and warm, not rushed or greedy, just filled with all the love that overflowed between the two of you.
Later, when you’re snuggled up against Jack, your cheek on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat fluttering against your ear; you speak softly.
“I hope he has your eyes”, You say, tracing a soft circle into his skin.
Jack hums in response before you speak again; “And your pretty curls and handsome smile.”
You feel Jack’s chest rumble with a laugh before you hear it, the scruff on his chin brushing against your hair; “So just a tiny version of me then?”
It’s your turn to hum back; “Ideally, yeah.”
Jack rolls his eyes above you, feigning annoyance; “What if I want him to look like you?”
He brushes a piece of hair from your face; “Bright smile and cute little nose.”
You swat his chest with a playful hand, snuggling closer to him. Silence lingering for a beat and then;
“We’ll just have to wait and see, sweetheart.”
Secretly Jack ached for the thought of his son looking like you. He hoped he’d get your kindness and zest for life, your passion for things and determination. You hoped he’d get Jack’s humor, the way he’s soft around the edges but hard working and stubborn. When sleep pilled you both in, the thoughts were still lingering in your minds, daydreaming about your future son and what was to come.
You broke the news at work in the most subtle way, not showy or even anything outright. A tray of cupcakes is silently slipped into the break-room, blue filling and decorated with blue icing. A small card taped above them; ‘For our hospital family. - The Abbots; Jack, your name, & baby boy.’
Both of your shifts are spent sneaking peaks at whoever’s hovering in the break-room between patients; your eyes flicking up when you’re in the hub or checking the board. Jack finds himself glancing over too, eyes flicking immediately to you afterwards. A few squeals of excitement echo from the break-room, certain friends being more excited than others.
Robby’s hands find Jack’s shoulders as he walks by, blue icing staining his lips, squeezing a little as he jostles him; “Boy dad, huh? Congrats, brother.”
Jack’s all smiles, can’t even feign being annoyed by the older man. Robby was soon by your side too, pressing a kiss to your hair as he hugs you close. You swear his eyes look glassy as he shakes his head with a breath of a laugh.
“Still can’t believe you’re having a baby”, He mumbles.
It’s soft and gentle, something that crept up on him while he was on his sabbatical.
Santos and Whitaker arrive next, their bags still swung over their shoulders as they lick blue icing from their mouths. Trinity gives you a smile and a thumbs up, never one for much of an emotional reaction, Dennis mumbles a soft “Congrats, guys”, as he goes.
Then there’s Dana, already teary eyed as you find her in the break-room, reading the card you’d left over her glasses. She takes them off her nose as she turns to you, pulling you in for a hug.
“You’re getting your boy”, She beams, soft in the nurturing way she always is. She wipes a tear off her cheek.
“Oh don’t tell me you’ve gone soft on us, Evans”, You smirk as she shakes her head, waving a hand at you.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She’s picking up her own cupcake now, removing the wrapper, pausing to look at you before she takes a bite.
“You know, he’s gonna end up looking just like Jack”, She teases you.
You cross your arms over your chest, still smiling; “Oh i’m counting on it.”
She finds Jack a little later when you’re chatting at the hub, arms wrapped around him as she says something your ears can’t quite pick up. Her hand rubbing on his shoulder, smiling up at him as he beams back with nothing but pure pride in his chest.
He finally catches you later towards the end of your shift, one hand immediately going to rest on your bump; the other tucking a loose hair behind your ear.
“Hey mama”, he says, voice tired and low after using it all shift; “How’s our boy doin?”
You let your fingers card through the grey curls at his nape; “Good. Kicking away like making me have to pee is his favorite thing to do.”
Jack chuckles softly before leaning down to kiss you, a soft peck needed after a long shift.
“PDA? In my ER?”, It’s Robby, eyebrows raised to his hairline in a faux shocked expression.
“Shut up, Robinavitch”, Jack shoots, but it’s teasing, there’s no real heat behind it, a smirk still toying at his lips.
“Technically”, You say, turning towards Robby; “This is Dana’s ER.”
“Damn right!”, Dana’s voice rings out from somewhere behind you, making the three of you laugh.
Robby holds up his hands in defeat, shaking his head before slipping them back into his hoodie pockets. Then Jack’s leading you towards the locker room with a hand rubbing gently at the small of your back, ready to take you home.
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
Around the six month mark, Jack finds you standing in the hallway of your apartment, frowning at the small office room like it stole your money.
“Baby?”, He says, trying to hide a laugh; “Did the office learn a new trick or am I missing something?”
You don’t turn to face him, just shift on your feet; “It’s too small.”
Jack raises his eyebrows; “What?”
“The office”, You tell him, like it’s obvious, “It’s too small.”
He’s behind you now, resting a chin on your shoulder to look into the dark room.
“It never bothered you before”, It comes out more of a question.
You huff; “No Jack”, You turn towards him now, “It’s too small for a nursery.”
His mouth falls open in an ‘o’ shape, realization suddenly washing over him as he realizes what you mean. He sighs, nodding to himself as he leads you towards the couch, letting you put your feet in his lap when you sit down; calloused fingers rubbing to ease the tension.
“I’ve been thinking about that too”, He finally says, not looking up at first; “I uh- I’ve actually been looking at a few houses online.”
You sit up straighter, eyes going wide.
“Without me? How dare you”, You’re teasing, mostly.
He throws up a hand in surrender.
“I didn’t know how to bring it up, so I didn’t…There’s a few places I think you might like…If you wanna go look at them together?”
You can feel the heat on your cheeks, already smiling as you push yourself up, nodding. You drape your arms around Jack’s shoulders now.
“So we’re really doing this? We’re…looking for a house?”, You ask, biting your bottom lip in anticipation.
Jack’s lips curve into a smile; “We’re looking for a house.”
You almost squeal, making him wince and squint an eye shut before you’re pulling him closer, kissing all over his face.
“I love you, I love you, I love you, Jack Abbot.”
He waits a beat, and then because he just has to be an ass and poke at you; “You better…houses aren’t cheap.”
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
The actual house hunting itself? That was more complicated. You’d seen at least three already, and they were nice, cozy, but they just didn’t feel like home. Didn’t feel like you and Jack. The fourth house you stood outside of was a pale green, white shutters and porch; already set up with a swing bench and some rocking chairs. The driveway went all the way back to the fenced in backyard. A tree shaded part of the front yard, a cute stone sidewalk leading to a mailbox that matched the house.
You squeezed Jack’s hand as you stepped inside, something fluttering in your stomach. The inside was warm and sunlit, a cozy little nook spot by the front door for shoes and coats, leading right into the living room. A large couch, a love seat and a cushioned rocking chair. Light carpeted floors and a half wall that looked right into the kitchen.
The kitchen was decent size, all tiled floors and light yellow cabinets, a set of huge sliding glass doors looking right out into the backyard. The backyard was spacious, a small wooden canopy built over some stone tile in one corner; barstools against the wooden countertop. A pale wooden deck with a hot-tub in the corner that matched the house, and in the further corner of the yard along the fence? A little garden area.
You could see your little boy playing out there. Running around with Nana, playing catch with Jack. Lying in the sun when it was warm. Sitting around the fire pit on cool autumn nights. It settled in your chest as you walked through the rest of the house; four bedrooms, two down stairs, two upstairs, and two bathrooms, one on each floor.
You stood against the door frame to the master bedroom, sighing as you took it in. Bigger than yours was now, plenty of room for your bed and a dresser or two, a cot for your son. There was a large closet, and spacious half bath attached to the room, wide windows above the bed, letting sunlight in. Downstairs and easy for Jack to get to after a long shift; without having to trek up a bunch of stairs when all he wanted to do was take off his prosthetic that screamed at him.
You turned to the room next to it, heart thrumming in your chest; the nursery. Spacious enough for a crib and changing table, a rocking chair in the corner, warm carpeted floors similar to the living room. You were already imagining bringing your son home to this room, to this house, when a hand settled on the small of your back and a chin on your shoulder.
“What do you think?”, Jack hummed softly, looking around the room with you.
You take a deep breath, nodding and trying to keep the tears that pricked your eyes from falling.
“This is it, Jack”, You tell him, squeezing his hand, “This is our house.”
He presses a kiss to your neck; “I think so too.”
Your eyes meet as he brushes his shoulder with yours; “I can see us bringing him home to this place. Him growing up here. You in the kitchen when you think you need to bake at 3am, me wandering half asleep after you to tell you you’re crazy.”
Jack’s voice hums against your skin.
“You asleep on the couch with him after a long day, having people over in the backyard”, You add onto his list.
He nods, squeezing your hand again; “So what do you say? Should we do it?”
You bite your bottom lip nervously before nodding; “Yeah, let’s do it.”
Jack’s lips crash against yours, soft and warm as you cup the side of his face, fingers still intertwined; you knew this was your home.
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
Moving in was much easier than you both thought it would be, with help from most of the Pitt crew it was done in a few weeks. Sure you still had some finishing touches to do; the nursery, hang some pictures and add some more decorations in rooms. Don’t even think about looking in the guest room upstairs that was currently being used for storage.
Nana found herself quickly, claiming her spot on the new couch that also happened to still be Jack’s spot. Her dog bowls in the kitchen, leash hanging by the front door, box of toys nestled into a corner in the living room.
Little by little more baby things started seeping into the house, a high chair in the kitchen, a pack n play and bouncer in the living room. You had a cart of everything you might need after the baby is born in your room; diapers, wipes, extra bottles and pacifiers. Some things for you to help postpartum. The only thing that really needed done was the nursery.
Jack insisted on building everything himself, and with a little pushing from you, decided to ask Robby for some help too. Now they were both mumbling stuff inside the nursery as they worked; you sitting on the couch with Dana as you looked through the few pieces of baby clothes you did have. You and Jack had invited them over for dinner to celebrate the new house.
“Guess I need to go baby shopping”, You sigh, tossing down the onesie in your hand.
The pile of clothes was small, maybe three or four onesies total. Now closer to entering the seventh month you realized how much you actually had to do.
Dana pats your leg gently, winking at you; “Don’t worry. That’s what the baby shower’s for.”
Jack had planned it all out for the next weekend, all the Pitt staff, family and friends invited. You didn’t want a big show, just something small and intimate with the people you loved most, and Jack promised that’s what it would be.
Eventually, dinner time rolled around and the two sweaty men exited the nursery, joining you and Dana in the kitchen. You sat at your small dining table, you next to Jack, Robby and Dana across from you. You’d ordered out, not having the energy to cook, Dana and Robby insisting that you didn’t need to.
You ate quietly, eyes flicking over to Jack every few minutes, who just squeezed your leg in return; trying to calm your nerves. The important question in the back of both your minds was getting harder to keep until the end of dinner. Finally, it seemed to come. The four of you sitting around the table and chatting, sipping on half empty glasses of iced tea and water.
Jack clears his throat once, not loud, just enough to make Robby and Dana look up. He reaches for your hand, holding it close to his chest and squeezing it once.
“We actually had something we wanted to ask you both”, He starts, eyes flicking between them both.
Robby raises an eyebrow, Dana sets down her glass. You take a deep breath.
“We want you two to be his godparents”, You say, finally letting the big question on your mind slip out.
The room goes quiet, Robby drops something. Dana’s fighting back the new set of tears in her eyes.
“You’re serious?”, Robby breathes out, eyeing you both like you’d take it back if he didn’t ask.
You both nod.
“Wouldn’t want anyone else in the world”, Jack says, “You guys are there for us the most. We wanna share that with him.”
He’s resting a hand on your bump now, rubbing it softly, only looking away from the pair across from you for a moment. Like he’s checking you’re still there.
You both watch as Robby and Dana share a look and a small nod, before Dana’s on her feet; “We’d be honored.”
She laughs wetly in disbelief as she pulls you close, Robby bringing Jack in for a hug next to you. And when you switch, Robby’s already pressing a kiss to your head again.
“Thank you”, He murmurs softly.
He says it in disbelief. Like he’s dreaming, still wrapping his head around the fact that this is all real and happening. In a few months you’d have a baby, and he’ll be an uncle. It had him laughing nervously every time the thought popped back into his head after a long shift.
When the chaos settles and the excitement lingers between you, Jack’s arm is around you again, pressing soft kisses to your temple; his nose and stubble tickling your skin. You can’t help but look around at your new house, still half decorated but already becoming home. And yeah, your little boy was going to have the biggest and best support system with so much love; but you and Jack? You realized you already have it.
thinking about how jack abbot's veteran basketball buddies have no idea just how 'active' he is.
! mdni !
you and jack had only been dating for a few months. not long enough for you to have met his group of fellow amputees he's played ball in the park with for the last two decades, but long enough to be smiling widely on his phone lock screen. which jack's oldest friend just happened to see when he checked the time halfway through the first game.
"jesus jack– i think havin' a playboy bunny as your background is considered creepy nowadays." jack shoved at his friends good arm, the other being a prosthesis, "watch it. she's my girlfriend." all the guys that surrounded the bench froze, some mid water sip, some mid re-tie of their shoe.
from that day on, the teasing came flooding in. jack would show up to the park to try and de-stress from a shift at the PTMC only to be met with taunts like, "isn't she a little too young for you old man?" and "didn't know you could still get it up soldier." or "caretaker or girlfriend, abbot?"
his least favorite was literally thrown at him at the picnic tables one morning before they had even started playing. one of the guys tossed jack an orange pill bottle that rattled as it soared threw the air. jack grimaced, knowing what is was before he even heard the jab, "brought these for you my man. just incase y’need some help from 'our little blue friend' when yer with yer young lady."
jack opened his mouth to snap, but a sweet voice that he heard moaning his name and 'oh god im gonna cum!' less than an hour ago, floated into his ears. "jackie?" every vet turned in unison to see your sexy self in a tiny skirt and even tinier tank top walking over to where they stood. jack wasn't expecting to see you till you picked him up later. "sweetheart? what're you doin' here?"
you had a mega watt smile on your face as you reached the table. jack tried to ignore the slack jaws that his buddies were sporting as you smacked a kiss to his lips and rubbed his chest gently. "sorry jackie, but you forgot to put on sunscreen when you left and i can't have you burning up." you pouted as you added, "you know your freckles are extra sensitive in this heat."
jack abbot, military veteran and swat physician, fought a giddy smile as you batted your lashes while worrying over the fact that he could potentially burn up on the public parks basketball black top.
one of the guys coughed a laugh and you turned your attention towards all the weathered veterans that were missing limbs and marred with scars. and just like you had done with jack, you didn't tone your bubbliness down to match whatever hypothetical grief you thought they carried, you just kept that pretty smile on your face. "hi boys! jack has told me sooo much about you all! does anyone else need sunscreen after i apply his?"
you popped off the bottle cap and squirted some onto your hands while brightly introducing yourself, then started to rub the white paste on jacks already pink cheeks to between the creases of his crows feet with a tenderness that made his chest twinge. you had them all say their names one by one and what positions they played on the court.
"back court? that sounds like a tough one, do you play that too jackie?" you asked him innocently while you covered his freckled shoulders that were exposed from his muscle tee, your tongue cutely poking out of the corner of your mouth in concentration.
one of jacks friends opened his mouth with a clearly crude intention at the ready, jack cut him off with a glare. "don't even think about it." jack raised a hand to point at him in warning, not realizing that he still gripped the pills in his hand.
your eyes snagged on the viagra bottle and your brows raised. "what's that?" jack tried to answer but it was too late, the vet with one arm and half a leg cut in swiftly, smuggly. "just a gift from us guys. from a few old timers to another, we thought abbot could benefit from some... alone time assistance." he winked at you.
you frowned in confusion. "but, jack and i have sex all the time."
jack choked on air, eyes widening instantly. "baby! you don't have to—" all the guys started to chuckle, half disbelief half pure amusement. "all the time?" someone chirped. "go on hon, tell us what you mean!"
you cocked your head to the side, truly not understanding that they were goading you. "well, he's never had to use any kind of pills if thats what you're asking. he can do it anywhere, anytime really. which we do"— jacks beet red face was not from sunburn as you started to list out examples on your fingers "—we've done it both of our cars—" his hand clutched at his chest, one guy spat out his water. "—we've done it in a few different elevators—"
the next few guys turned to gawk at jack, he felt faint all of a sudden as you just kept on talking "—oh! one time, i dropped him off thirty minutes early by accident and he was the first one here so we did it up against that tree over—"
"SWEETHEART!" everyone flinched at jack's shout. your pretty eyes simply blinked at him, innocent as a lamb, "w-what jackie?" he started to sputter, brain malfunctioning at the fact that you'd just shared more about his life to these guys than he had in the past twenty years. all the vets started to make their way to the court, patting jack on the back with congratulations and howling with laughter as they went, leaving the two of you alone.
jack exhaled when his heart rate was finally regulated, he didn't want you to know he was slightly mortified, you would've felt terrible. "just... i think they got the picture baby." he chuckled then placed a kiss to your forehead. the timbre of his voice dropped low, raising a suggestive brow as he added "you just had to add the time against the tree, huh?"
you bit your lip as you shrugged sweetly, "what? it's a personal favorite." jack shook his head as he pulled you into a deep kiss, the kind that had led to the tree rendezvous. only when you started to inappropriately paw at him did he pull back. "thanks for the sunscreen and a stroll down memory lane sweetheart." you rubbed in a stray streak of sunscreen on his stubbled chin. " 'course jackie."
jack glanced around to make sure no vets had lingered before he waggled his brows. "how bout you drop me off again tomorrow then? maybe an hour early this time?"
summary: inspired by @a-loveunlaced comment about Robby finding out about Jack and his daughter sneaking around from this piece
content/warnings: mentions of suicidal ideation, inappropriate relationship, unspecified age gap, dad's best friend
wc: 500
notes: just a silly short one...please give me ideas here.
Robby didn't tell anyone that he decided to cut his trip short. Everyone was right. He really couldn't last all alone out there. He needed his home comforts. And while things had gotten dark for him, he knew that he couldn't leave his daughter alone. So he came home.
He pulls his bike into his driveway, not paying much attention to the truck parked outside. He's tired, ready to order his favourite takeout and have a proper shower. So when he opens the doorway to his home and hears noises that no father should have to hear their daughter make, he cringes.
Okay maybe he should have called. He makes more noise than he usually would and takes his time turning the corner into the kitchen. He's expecting to see his daughter and some boy from the coffee shop or the gym or the library. Anywhere really. Not his daughter and his best friend standing there red-handed.
His brain slowly starts to remember what he saw outside. Jack Abbot's obnoxiously big truck. His brain didn't even register it as being out of place because Jack visited him so often.
"Welcome home, brother!" Jack attempts with a weak smile as you sneak into the shadows.
"Brother?" Robby chokes out. "She's...she's a kid! She's my kid!"
He calls your name, making you return from where you were trying to run away to.
"How long has this been going on?" Robby asks you.
"Dad," you begin, your face bright red. "I'm a grown woman, I really don't need to discuss this with you."
Robby stares at you, before rubbing the back of his head.
"Yes you do!" he all but yells.
Jack puts his hands up stepping in between you and Robby, "The first time was after that barbecue a few weeks before you left. And it just spiralled from there. Look, I'm not a bad guy. You know that, Robby. I would never take advantage of any woman. Especially not her..."
You close your eyes, pressing the heels of the palm of your hand against them. You really can't do this!
Robby just shakes his head.
"I need to take a walk," he snaps. "Actually no...no. You do. Get out of my house. I don't want to see you around her again! Do you understand?"
Jack looks visibly wounded. Robby is his best friend, and he never planned on hurting him. But he never wants to hurt you either.
"Okay, brother. Okay. Take your time. Cool off," Jack says gently, grabbing his things and taking off.
You look at your dad, whose face has gotten redder, his eyes wide with anger.
"I'm not a child," you remind him.
Robby looks at you, "Yea, but you're my child."
You bite your lip and shake your head.
"You know that Jack is a good man. He's your best friend for a reason. He would never hurt me. He's not that type of person. No one took advantage of me...I just wish...I wish you hadn't found out this way," you whisper.
Robby just threw his hands up.
"I can't have this conversation right now, kid. But Jack should know fuckin' better. And you should too."
a/n: thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! kinda wanna stay writing dbf!Abbot for a minute...
summary ⠀♱ ⠀in the words of lana del rey, “i got sweet taste for men who are older…” or, two times jack abbot was mistaken for your father, and the one time he wasn’t.
pairing ⠀♱ dbf!jack abbot x fem!robinavitch!reader
warnings ⠀♱ big time age gap — reader is in her mid 20s, jack is in his early 50s. smut, overprotective robby, probably ooc jack and robby. way too many instances of jack and reader getting mistaken for a father/daughter duo — usage of the nickname ‘daddy’ (only during sex), jack is insecure about his age, mentions of jack’s leg, jack takes viagra, BIG DICK JACK !!! reader works at the hospital with her dad and daddy, small brendon park threesome idea sneak 🙂↕️
a/n ⠀♱ this is genuinely probably the freakiest fic i’ve ever written. enjoy my little freaks <3 i am NOT normal about the way i feel about shawn hatosy and dat shark in his pants. THIS WORK WAS MADE BY ME, NOT AI. DO NOT PLUG MY WORKS INTO AI. not proofread, ignore any spelling errors.
#1 — AT A BARBECUE
An aroma of grilling onions and bell peppers on a heated Blackstone filled the air. You and Jack were at a Memorial Day barbecue hosted by one of his old Army buddies who he hadn’t seen in a while, the sound of your flip flops slapping around on overheating concrete making Jack look up at you as you handed him a beer with a soft smile. “Thank you, honey.” He smiled back at you, a stray curl flopping onto his forehead.
You nod, “Of course. You want some fruit or something? There’s some really good watermelon over there,” you point to a table with an assortment of different types of fruit: watermelon, pineapple, honeydew, and cantaloupe—with a manicured finger. Jack shakes his head, putting the rim of the amber bottle to his lips, “I’m alright, honey, thank you.”
You nod again, a small ‘okay’ falling from your lips before you make your own way to the table, adjusting your cover up on your shoulders. There’s a woman already there who looks to be in her late forties, and you can tell she’s the wife of one of the retired vets that Jack became close with. She smiles at you, holding tongs in her left hand as she picks up a few pieces of watermelon and places them on a plate. “It’s so nice of Jack to bring you here,” She says kindly, “Are you on summer break from the University of Pittsburgh?”
You shake your head, grabbing a paper plate from the stack as the wind picks up, making a few napkins fly away, so you bend down to grab them before responding. “I actually just graduated from the Pitt School of Health,” you correct, “I’m a phlebotomist at PTMC, I work with Jack.” She gasps, “Oh, a father-daughter duo at the hospital! That’s so adorable. I’m Teresa, I’m Emmett’s wife,” She holds out her hand, pointing in the direction of the pool at a tan Asian man.
You shake her hand, “Thank you, but Jack’s not my father—I’m his girlfriend,” You giggle, and Teresa blushes, looking mortified, “Oh, gosh—I am so sorry—” She apologizes profusely, but you just laugh it off, shrugging, “It’s fine, really—the age gap and all—it makes sense that you would perceive us that way.”
She apologizes once more before walking back over to her husband, and you just giggle again to yourself, placing a few pieces of cantaloupe on your plate before going back over to Jack. “What was that all about?” He asks gravelly, pulling you into his lap with a soft grunt, his hand rubbing small circles on your hip bone.
“She thought you were my dad,” you laugh, wrapping your free arm around the back of his neck, stabbing the cantaloupe chunk with your plastic fork and bringing it up to your lips. “Are you serious?” Jack responds, huffing out a laugh, “I don’t look that old, do I honey?”
You hum, looking over his facial features—the Crow’s feet by his beautiful hazel eyes, the greying stubble on his cheeks and chin, the silvery-white curls that you loved to tug on and run your fingers through—and just chuckle, “I plead the fifth.”
Jack scoffs, pinching your hip, “Brat.”
#2 — HAPPY FATHER’S DAY!
You knew that sometimes the age gap bothered Jack—not in a malicious way towards you, but towards himself. He could never understand why you of all people, his best friend’s daughter, chose someone as old and as grumpy as him.
His back ached almost daily. He had wrinkles everywhere. His hair was grey, white in some places, and he had to take Viagra to keep up with you, for God’s sakes—and on top of all of that, he was a war veteran missing the lower part of his leg.
But you still wanted him. You still chose him.
“Baby, are you almost done?” You call out, walking back to Jack’s bedroom, where you see him standing in front of a mirror, sighing as he struggles with his tie. “Let me do it,” You murmur softly, removing his hands from the fabric, breathing steady as you concentrate on untying it for him. “Fuckin’ hands are shaking,” he scoffs, “I’m a doctor, and my hands are shaking. What kind of fucking bullshit—”
“Hey, hey, hey,” You cut him off, your voice soothing as you lift your hand to his cheek, “what’s going on, Jack? Are you okay?” His hand raises to cover yours as he turns his head to kiss your palm, and he nods. “Yeah, just…what that waiter said at dinner—I guess it shook me up more than I realized.”
“Oh, baby,” you coo, “the Dad thing? That happens all the time with us, Jackie—”
He cuts you off, stepping away from you and your touch, “I know,” He says roughly, “It happens basically every time we go out, honey—I just—it makes me feel so weird sometimes. Like I’m some kind of predator, I mean—” He scoffs, “You’re my best friend’s daughter and he doesn’t even know about us. I was there for all of your major life events, hon—don’t you think that’s weird?”
Even though he’s stepped away from you, you step closer to him. “Jack,” You sigh, “I am a grown woman, who can make my own choices.”
“Honey—that’s not what I—”
“No,” You shake your head, “I knew what I was doing when I pursued you, Jack. For God’s sakes, I’ve had a ‘crush’ on you since I was a senior in high school. Who cares if someone thinks you’re my father? You’re not, you’re my boyfriend. And that’s all that matters.”
Jack looks down at you with softened hazel eyes, a smile perking up on his lips. “I’m your boyfriend,” He repeats, like he’s reminding himself.
“My hot boyfriend,” You affirm, placing a hand on his chest to slowly push him towards the bed, “my hot, sexy, beekeeping age boyfriend with a massive dick…”
His eyebrows raise as his back lands against the crisply ironed sheets of his duvet, “Massive dick, huh?”
“You know it’s massive, Abbot, shut up.”
+ 1 — SUPPLY CLOSET
You knew it was wrong to lie to your father—but he couldn’t know about your relationship with Jack yet, he just couldn’t. So when you told him you were going to Italy, and he asked with who, obviously you couldn’t tell him it was with your boyfriend who just so happened to be his best friend of more than two decades. So you lied.
“Just some friends from college,” You shrug, plopping down onto his couch, “Hannah, Veronica, Quinn—that group.”
Michael looks up from his book, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as you rest your head on his shoulder. He places a kiss to your hair. “You better be safe, sweetheart. Use the buddy system when you go to the bathroom, don’t take drinks from strangers, practice safe sex—”
“Dad!” You exclaim with disgust, lifting your head up from his shoulder. “What? You’re a single young woman in a foreign country, honey, and Italian men are very persistent. I’m just trying to make sure you won’t be going home with some foreign objects, honey, that’s all.” He chuckles at his joke, and you roll your eyes.
“You’re so stupid,” You grumble, “and old. And annoying. And for the record, I have a boyfriend. No sex with Italian men will be happening any time soon.”
This intrigues Michael, and he takes his glasses off, closes his book, and then puts both items on the coffee table. “Yeah? When do I get to meet this lucky guy who makes my baby girl so happy, hm?”
Fuck. You’ve already said way too much.
“Someday,” You splutter, “he’s really busy with work, so—”
“What does he do?”
“He’s a doctor,”
Shit! Way too much fucking said!
The next week, you come into work, and almost immediately, Ahmad is in your face with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “The great Dr. Robinavitch! Welcome in, my fair lady.”
You look up at him, amused. “What’s the betting pool this time?”
He just sighs, a look of defeat on his face as his shoulders deflate. He crosses his arms over his chest, “Who in the hospital you’re dating. Your dad put $40 on Park the Shark, caught making out in the supply closet. Said something like that happened when he first started working at the ED with your mom, and you know the saying—like father, like daughter.”
You fake gag, “First of all, TMI about my parents. Didn’t need to know that. And second of all, Park the Shark? Really, dad?” You aim the last piece of your sentence towards him, where he’s at the nurses’ station chatting with Dana.
“Sorry honey!”
Four—almost five—hours later, there’s a small chance for a break after the chaos of an MVC begins to wind down. It had required all hands on deck, bringing in multiple doctors from different departments, and also doctors from the night shift, meaning that Dr. Jack Abbot, MD and you were in the same vicinity.
After completing a CBC and CMP for one of the patients, you had a small break. You let out a sigh of relief as you snap your gloves off, stretching and rolling out your neck before going down the hallway, where, strategically, there was a supply closet. You shrug to yourself, figuring that you could do some organizing in there with the downtime—and shut the door behind you once you make your way inside.
A few minutes later, the door opens behind you, and you gasp, placing a hand on your chest before realizing it was just your boyfriend, who now has a grin on his face. He locks the door before walking closer to you, gripping your hips with calloused hands. “I scare you?” He teases, backing you up against the shelving, placing kisses along your neck and jawline.
“Mm—Jack, we’re at work…” You try to protest, but they get caught in your throat as his hands move from your hips to underneath your scrub top. “In a closet,” he states, “with the lights turned off. With downtime in an Emergency Department. Let me fuck you, honey.”
“You’re lucky I love you,” You giggle, pressing your lips to his. You moan softly as the kisses get more intense, and soon enough, Jack’s scrub pants and boxers are pushed down just enough to let his cock out. Your scrub pants are all the way down to your ankles, thong pushed to the side, scrub top on the floor and your undershirt pulled up to let Jack see his favorite thing: your tits.
“So fucking perfect for me,” He murmurs, taking a nipple into his mouth, sucking on it as he slowly starts to thrust into you. “Oh my God, Jackie…” You whine, head thumping against the shelving. He shushes you, pulling off of your breast, “Not my name, honey. And you gotta be quiet, can’t have our coworkers knowing how slutty their favorite phlebotomist gets for her daddy, hm?” He lifts his thumb to your lips, and you gladly take it, moaning around it as his thrusts increase.
“So big daddy—nghhhh,” You whimper, and he groans as you clench around him, shoving his head into the crook of your neck, “Oh, fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck,” He grits out, pace increasing as the knot begins to form in the base of his stomach—and as soon as it forms, it’s gone.
“What the fuck?!” Michael snarls, anger clearly expressive on his face as his grip tightens on the supply closet door’s handle, his teeth gritted. Jack scrambles to pull up his boxers and scrub pants, covering you up with his body as he turns around to face the older Dr. Robinavitch.
“Robby, man, I can explain—”
The door slams in Jack’s face.
“I thought you locked it!” You squeal, rushing to put all of your clothes back on: you pull your undershirt down, put your scrub top back on, put your thong back in the right place, and then pull your scrub pants back on before smoothing your hair and trying to ignore the dull ache that formed between your legs.
“I did!” Jack sighs, running a hand through his hair, “I forgot it unlocks if you pull on it hard enough—Robby must’ve already been irritated.”
“My dad just saw me having sex with you,” You whine, “my life is over.” You hide your face in his chest, and Jack just sighs again, placing a hand on your back before kissing the top of your head. “I’ll deal with it, honey. Just—go back to working, okay? Shut down any shit that people try to talk.”
You look up at him, nodding, and quickly exit the supply closet, avoiding eye contact with any staff as you try to busy yourself with bloodwork labs. Jack, still in the supply closet, grips both sides of his stethoscope, sighs, and then looks up at the ceiling, shutting his eyes before whispering, “God kill me now.”
After taking a few more deep breaths, he exits the closet, looking around for Robby. His heart drops to his ass when he looks out the doors to the ambulance bay, seeing Robby—and you—in a heated argument. Against his better judgement, he decides to go outside.
“He’s fifty years old and my best friend! You are not to date him, and that’s final!” Michael shouts, a finger pointed in your face.
“I’m a grown woman, dad! I can date who I want—who cares if he’s your best friend?” You argue, brows furrowed as you step closer to him.
“Guys—” Jack starts.
“Stay out of this!” You and Michael both yell in unison, and if Jack wasn’t about to get his head bit off, he’d make a comment about how alike your mannerisms were.
“You motherfucker,” Michael growls, walking up to Jack and immediately taking a swing. It lands, hard, and Jack groans as his head snaps to the side, a large bruise forming on his cheek as he spits blood from his mouth. You gasp, covering your mouth as your eyes widen.
“I deserved that,” he heaves, and the automatic doors open as Dana rushes outside, “Robby! Go somewhere else, now!” She yells, helping Jack to his feet.
EXTRA — SECRET’S OUT
“I didn’t know that was gonna happen,” You mumble, cheek smushed to Jack’s shoulder as he holds an ice pack to his cheekbone in Central 5, “I’m really sorry, Jackie.” Your hands are laced with his as the two of you sit on the edge of the hospital bed.
“Don’t be, sweetie,” He says softly, “I knew it was gonna happen.” Jack chuckles, “Your dad has always been protective of you, especially after your mother’s death. Plus, I really think he was expecting it to be you and Park making out in that supply closet.”
You pinch his thigh, and he winces playfully as the doors to Central 5 open with a mechanical hiss—you unlace your fingers from Jack’s immediately as your father walks in with Dana following behind him.
“Apologize,” she nudges the back of his leg with her foot like a mother scolding her toddler. “I’m sorry for punching you, Jack,” Michael sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face before turning back towards Dana, who snaps her gum at him before pointing her chin towards you, “And I’m sorry, baby girl, for reacting that way towards you. You’re right—you’re a grown woman who can make her own choices and I have to trust that you’re capable enough to make your own choices.”
You grin, standing up from the hospital bed to wrap your arms around your father. “I forgive you,” You whisper softly, sighing as he wraps his arms around you in response, squeezing you momentarily.
“What, I don’t get a hug?” Jack jokes, wincing as the stitches on his cheek almost split open when Jack cracks a smile. Michael huffs, pulling Jack into a hug—which is a lot tighter than the one he just gave you, and Jack can tell it’s a warning.
“I’m not saying I approve of this,” Michael mutters, the sound low enough so that only Jack can hear—you were doing something on your phone—“but I tolerate it. I love you, brother, but I love my baby girl more. If you hurt her, so help me God, I will find you down and hunt you.”
“Yep, point taken,” Jack strains out, feeling his lungs get restricted from how tight Robby was holding him.
“First thing in the morning, baby girl, report this damn relationship to Gloria,” Michael says, aiming the sentence at you, his voice louder now.
You nod, laughing as you snap a picture of Jack and your father hugging, sending it to Perlah. “Best buddies!!” You caption it.
EXTRA #2 — FOOL’S GOLD
“Come on, just tell me who won the money! I already had to go basically spill my entire sex life to Gloria,” You whine, standing in front of Ahmad as he shakes his head.
“Can’t,” He sighs, holding up three fingers and placing his hand over his heart, “Scout’s Honor.” You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “Thanks for nothing, Ahmad!” You turn on your heel, exiting the security office as you make your way over to Trinity as she snapped a glove against Whittaker’s back.
“Do you guys know who won the bet? I asked Ahmad who won and he won’t tell me,” You pout, resting your arms against the nurses’ station. “You mean the bet about who in the hospital you were dating, which was started by your meddling father, who then punched your boyfriend, who turned out to be his best friend?” Trinity says matter-of-factly, and you huff.
“Way to call me out,”
“Park won it, I think he won like fifteen-hundred dollars,” Dennis shrugs, ripping open the wrapper to a granola bar. Your’s and Trinity’s jaws drop as you look towards Trauma Two, where Brendon ‘Park the Shark’ Park works on reattaching the severed limb of a construction worker.
“What was his bet?” You ask, tentatively.
“Dr. Abbot, two years and not HR-approved, found out by Dr. Robby in the supply closet,” Dennis replies, his words slightly gargled from granola.
You don’t think you’ve ever whipped out your phone so fast as you text Jack:
what would you say if i asked about a potential threesome with park?
"alrigh' I'll see you later, honey " jack pushes the car keys into his pocket before looking up at you standing by the door and pressing a sweet goodbye kiss on your lips like he does ever other morning before leaving for work, but as soon as he broke the kiss, you turned around and wiped it off with the back of your hand— and god he noticed. He was so confused, looking at you with his wide eyes, slightly furrowed brows, tilting his head at you. gosh he looked so much like a sad puppy right now who just got denied a pat on their head. That old man's heart was broken at his baby wiping his kiss off but he soon realizes this is yet another one of your stupid 'Tik-Tok pranks', So what he does next is that he cupped your cheeks with his hand, squishing them between his rough fingers. Making your lips form a plump pout, Opening your mouth nice for him before catching your lips with his teeth and demanding a rough kiss, his tongue deep in your mouth, lapping up your insides while having a rough grip on your chin. He could've ended it here but no being the gross pervy man he is, he ends up spitting a thick glob of his saliva in your mouth as if making a statement before letting you go—"Don't you dare to pull that shi on me again, sweetheart or It'll be worse."
making out with jack and he has to keep reminding you to slow down…
MDNI 18+
based of this perfect ask from my sexy hot mootie 🫶🏽
Jacks got you perched on his lap on his couch, his big hands resting on your hips, slowly guiding them back and forth on his bulky thighs. Your arms are draped over his shoulders, tangling in the curls that rest at the nape of his neck.
You’ve been making out on his couch for about a half hour now, and it’s agonizing. You’re sure if you were to get up there’d be a wet splotch on his jeans from how wet you are.
But every time you try to speed things up he’s slowing you down again. Both of your chins slick with saliva, you move your lips quicker against his, pushing your head forward to get impossibly closer.
But he’s raising a big rough hand to your chin, pinching it between his fingers and manually slowing down your movements. You can feel the sleazy smirk he’s wearing as you whine and your hips buck up once more, his hand finally sliding off your face back down your body.
“Stop whinin’” he’s growling roughly from the time his voice has been idle it’s gone a little raspy, “got all the time we want, promise I’m gonna make you feel good, just wanna kiss on you a little” he’s whispering against your mouth before sloppily licking his own saliva off your chin and shoving it back into your mouth with his tongue.
Every time you speed up, even if you don’t notice it, he’s grabbing you and easing your jaw, pulling it down as he licks into your mouth, and slowly pushing it back up to connect with his own lips to yours, setting a speed, a rhythm. He’s nodding when you finally catch onto the speed he’s content with “theeree ya’ go” you can feel his teeth against your lips when he smiles and lets out a little “you’re learning now hm?”
And you’re just nodding and whimpering, hips grinding harder against his jeans.
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