SUMMARY ➩ Jack Abbot is the perfect neighbor who is always willing to offer you a helping hand. Until you ask him to take your virginity.
WARNINGS ➩ age gap (reader is early 20s and jack is 50), they have sex and all the things that sex brings along, jack might be ooc
AUTHORS NOTE ➩ Well for once I tried to deliver real smut for you guys so buckle up and leave me some feedback on this one if you like it! NOT PROOFREAD AT ALL and it’s probably obvious so be kind about mistakes lol I wanted to get this to you guys asap!
“I need a favor.”
Jack was used to you asking him for help, had been for the two years since you moved into the apartment directly across from his.
He didn’t mind offering you a lending hand when he saw you struggling to carry your boxes from your small run down car, it wasn’t an inconvenience to collect your mail if you ever had to leave town for a few days, and he really couldn’t complain about having to remind you to get your laundry from the unit down below because it held him accountable too.
It was such a common occurrence, you asking him for a favor, that he wasn’t too surprised to find you at his door. He only gave a soft sigh as you pushed past him to enter his apartment, offering you a lot more patience than he did the newbies at the hospital.
You were always sweet, maybe a little bossy at times, but it gave him some amusement in his otherwise strict routine.
Plus it was admittedly nice to feel needed.
You came to him when your apartment had a leak or your air conditioning went out, knocked on his door whenever it was raining and you’d forgotten an umbrella after locking yourself out, and you even sometimes popped over just to get his opinion on what you should wear out on a random night.
Everybody was always telling Jack he needed a hobby that didn’t involve putting his life on the line, so he rarely told you no and tried his best to brush off Robby whenever he asked what was keeping him so busy lately.
It would be hard enough to explain the dynamic he had with his much younger neighbor but even more so considering you were now standing in the middle of his apartment with a frustrated look on your face, hands on your hips as you tapped your bunny slipper covered foot.
“What is it now?” His voice was gruff and disinterested but you knew well enough that he would do whatever you asked and he was well aware of that too. Still, it helped him just a little to pretend to contemplate it for a second or two first.
“I need you to have sex with me.”
You said it like it was as simple as asking him to come over and check your water pressure, falling out of your mouth casually and landing heavily in the quiet room.
There was no need to pretend this time as he fell into a bewildered silence, raising an eyebrow in your direction and letting his eyes track you as you dramatically sighed and went to flop down on his couch. You’d demanded about a year ago that he got some pillows for it, along with a few other interior design suggestions.
He’d picked up four after his shift that night.
“Please say something.” You were turned around on the couch so you could face him over the back of it, arms crossed as you rested your chin ontop of them.
“I have nothing to say to that.” He shook his head immediately, that stern expression he used on an unruly patient or Robby when he got a little too pushy.
This just made you sigh again, loud and exaggerated as you turned back around to fully lay flat on his couch.
“Why are you even asking me that?” He didn’t want to pry because he knew you well enough by now to know you’d just be encouraged by that but his curiosity got the best of him, circling around to sit across from you on one of the living room chairs.
You didn’t sit up but you turned your head to the side to look at him, a slight frown on your face that he didn’t think was particularly genuine. Your personality was always something Jack admired, not getting a lot of time in his own life to be so bold with his emotions and carefree in the way he spoke and behaved.
He was serious and guarded where you were a walking billboard for spontaneity, coming to him crying about random problems after only half a week of living in the building.
It was mostly endearing but there was the more critical part of him that wondered how lonely you must be to be making friends and finding comfort with some random guy across the hallway, a much older one at that.
Jack knew he had a bit of a hero complex but it typically manifested in a more extreme way, quite literally jumping into battle to save lives or operating on them in their lowest moments. This dynamic with you was a new form of care taking and there’d been a handful of times he’d doubted his own motives.
“Because I have a date next week and I am a complete lost cause when it comes to all things intimacy.” You still had a theatrical flare to your voice, not facing him anymore and instead rambling straight up to his ceiling with your hands gesturing wildly.
He tensed up for two reasons now, one being the mention of a date and the other was your implication you didn’t have any experience.
“But you’ve had sex before.” It came out slowly and half like a question, half like an assumption.
There wasn’t any real reason for him to think that other than his own social expectations. You were gorgeous, one of the prettiest women he’d seen in a very long time, and had a naturally magnetic energy to you that even he couldn’t resist most of the time, platonically but also selfishly deep down, a little more than that.
He’d seen you go on a handful of dates in the last year or two, all guys your age that didn’t seem to know how to pick up a check let alone please you properly.
That’s where Jack’s problem stemmed from.
There had been almost no ulterior motive the first year he had known you, genuinely trying to be helpful and to be a good neighbor. He would get upset when his coworkers would call him anti social or make digs at how unfriendly he was because he hadn’t always been like that and he figured helping out the girl next door was a good first step to getting that part of himself back.
You’d told him after a few months that you had no family on this side of the country, completely starting fresh at a new company you’d applied to on a whim.
It was completely innocent.
Yes, you were undoubtedly beautiful in a way that made his head spin for a second when he first saw you. You had been standing near your car and fighting with a box, both by tugging at it and saying less than kind words in its direction like it could understand you.
Jack had hesitated for a handful of seconds before making his way over and offering to help, feeling this weird pull in his chest when you blinked up at him in surprise and eagerly thanked him.
Once you were in his life, you never left. And he made space for you effortlessly because, quite frankly, he had plenty of it to offer up.
About seven months ago was the first time he had ever seen you with a guy.
He’d been coming home from a long and rare day shift (covering for Robby so he could attend Jake’s graduation), dragging his leg behind him and praying nobody stopped him on the way to his apartment so he could crawl into bed for a few short hours before he had to do it all over again for his own shift.
The only distraction he would have allowed was you but you were clearly busy, standing in the hallway as he got off the elevator and touching the rather small bicep of a guy your age.
Jack hesitated, considered getting right back on the elevator before it could close on him, and then slowly walked to his door.
He had hoped you wouldn’t acknowledge him because his throat was already weirdly tight as he eyed you and the way you stared up at the man (boy, if Jack had to really label it) with that soft and curious expression you always had.
“Jack.” Your voice was full of excitement and he faltered, his key left in his doors lock as he turned to give you an attempt at a polite smile. “Covering somebody again?”
If this had been any other day then Jack would have invited you into his apartment to talk instead of lingering in the hallway. He would have ignored his exhaustion to pair his black coffee with the hot chocolate flavor you liked that he kept in his bottom drawer, complained to you about being tired and listened to you scold him for working too much when he didn’t need to.
But you were in a pretty dress that was clearly on its way to dinner and your date was giving Jack that possessive stare that guys fresh out of college thought was intimidating.
So instead he simply nodded his head and continued to unlock his door.
“This is Asher.” You continued abruptly as he turned his door handled, leaving it cracked as he stopped to look at you again.
He gave you a once over to make sure everything was okay, wondering why you were still insisting on talking to him when you were so clearly meant to be going somewhere else. You didn’t look too uncomfortable but you were watching him back just as intensely so he mentally stored the name and face of the guy anyways, just in case something happened.
“Ashton.” Your date finally spoke and his voice was annoyed and laced with immature bitterness, although slightly valid considering you had forgotten his name.
Your eyes widened, still boring into Jacks, and he smiled a little before giving you a small wave and heading inside.
Jack realized quickly after that encounter that his intentions were a lot less innocent than he had initially thought they were. He’d closed his door before immediately pressing his back against it, listening to the sound of your small heels leaving the hallway as you apologized to your date with a clenched jaw and a pain in his stomach.
The next few dates after that just confirmed what he had already realized from the first one.
He was attracted to you.
Maybe even liked you.
You talked to Jack about almost everything going on in your life, even things he definitely would not have cared about if it came from anybody else, but you never once brought up the dates. At first he had worried you had somehow noticed his weird demeanor that day in the hallway but Jack wasn’t very expressive in general so he figured you must keep that part of your life private for other reasons.
The attraction part was easy to accept mostly, he was only a man and you were clearly gorgeous. Although the age gap was something Jack couldn’t get himself to look past.
You were barely in your early twenties, over half his age younger and overly obviously so. You radiated youth, from your appearance and the way you spoke down to your hobbies and interests.
You were clearly a very young girl and he had felt like a pervert from the moment he saw you outside of that car for the way his body warmed. Jack hadn’t felt much attraction to anybody at all since his wife died, at first out of a lingering loyalty to her that barely faded and then just due to his busyness and his own mental blocks.
That was not a problem when it came to you and he had to give a genuine effort when he was around you to act normal.
You’d come over in tiny sleep shorts or a tight tank top that showed your hardened nipples through the thin fabric, join him for morning yoga in downright sinful leggings and he even was attracted to the stupid bunny slippers you wore.
But you were a young girl and he was a disciplined old man so he barely looked twice in your direction when you were bending over to get mail and he never once touched you, setting boundaries for himself and keeping them.
Which was why it was so hard for him when you slowly shook your head to his question about having sex before.
“What about those guys?” His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you and you sighed like you were embarrassed, a rare emotion to see from you.
“We barely kissed.” You shrugged and finally sat up from your dramatic position on the couch. “Please Jack, I don’t have anyone else to ask.”
“I’m not sleeping with you.” He said immediately, slightly offended you were seemingly only asking him because you had no other options.
You looked completely dejected now but Jack knew there was no way he could possibly accept this request, for too many reasons but especially because of his own moral code. He also didn’t want to ruin what you’d had going on, enjoying your company on his hard nights and finding himself finally letting somebody in after so many years alone.
“Okay so no sex.” You say softly and you stand up when he does, following him as he walks into the kitchen and leaning against the counter to watch him set the coffee machine settings. “But can’t you show me little things.”
He sends you a sharp look that you return with a gentle pleading smile, bouncing in place a little like you think your cuteness is the answer to everything.
And it just might be because Jack sighs softly and turns his full attention back to you.
“Like what?” He knows him asking for specifics will give you hope and he can see it immediately on your face, brightening and taking a step closer to him that makes him tense.
“Maybe just telling me what guys like?” You suggest softly and the words coming from your mouth make him almost groan, keeping his face flat and emotionless as you speak. “And some kissing lessons.”
“You know how to kiss.” He shook his head at you and went to turn back to his coffee but your hand wrapped around his wrist to stop him, successfully keeping his attention on you. He realized that it might be the first time you’d ever actually touched him, skin against skin. “I’ve seen it.”
His posture tightens as he reminds himself of that fact, easily recalling the vivid memory of leaving his apartment to head to work and finding you coming home from a date and making out with a guy against your door.
You hadn’t noticed him at first but he had slammed his door harder than normal, shamefully intentional.
There’d been a pang of guilt when you jumped in surprise and separated from the guy who looked the douchiest out of all of them but it was hard to feel it when you have him a slightly grateful look on his way to the elevator.
You were blinking at him now, almost like you were realizing something, and he looked away in favor of glancing at the clock on the wall.
“Not a kiss that feels good.” Your voice was more serious now, sounding genuinely disheartened by the conversation and the slow unveiling of your inexperience.
He sighed again, just trying to get rid of the tightness in his chest, before shaking his head firmly and fully turning away from you to fill up his coffee mug.
“I’m not doing it.”
—
Jack thought about your offer for the next two weeks. Obsessively.
He waited to hear you bringing somebody else over, someone who had jumped on the golden opportunity to touch you for the first time when he hesitated. You didn’t seem to go on any dates but he supposed you wouldn’t have told him anyways.
The thought of you experiencing sex with some asshole you met off a dating app, nervous and unsure on what to do without guidance, was eating away at him.
Jack was a fixer, he liked to help you, and he had already accepted the fact that he was extremely attracted to you. It wasn’t like he didn’t recognize the jealously in his stomach everytime he saw you with somebody else, a type of anger he hadn’t felt since he was preparing to go into a real life war.
Subdued by age and a calmer reality now but it was still fresh hot anger that he couldn’t shake no matter how much he tried.
You came to him with this problem, not just for pointers and tips but you had actually asked him to be the one to take your virginity.
Virginity.
Jack couldn’t get the concept out of his head and while he hadn’t necessarily considered himself somebody who would care about that type of thing, especially not as he entered his fifties, it did bring a wave of heat over him whenever he thought about it.
You’d never been touched before outside of a few unsatisfactory make out sessions. You, the pretty girl with downright sinful choices of pajamas that consumed his day to day life so easily after he spent such a long time alone.
He thought about it endlessly until it led to him knocking on your door, a rare switch of the usual dynamic that left him feeling a little awkward before you answered.
The sensation went away when you looked up at him, eyes a little wide with confusion as you silently stepped back to let him inside. It was rare for you to be so quiet but maybe you could tell what he was thinking by the look on his face, maybe you were thinking about the same exact thing.
“I’ll help you.” His voice was gruff and flat, waiting until your door closed behind him before he spoke. Your face immediately lit up but he silenced anything you were going to say with a raised hand, your parted lips closing as you waited for him to finish. “But I’m not sleeping with you.”
You pouted a little at the condition but stepped forward after a few seconds, far too close to him for his sanity but he figured you’d be getting a lot closer soon so he forced his breathing to stay level.
Jack used to consider himself quite smooth, still a natural flirt when he joked around with older patients or teased Robby.
But he was completely thrown off of any existing game when it came to you. He didn’t even know he could still feel this way about somebody, the yearning and lustful feeling having been dormant for a long time before you moved in.
“I’ll take whatever you give me.” Your voice was soft now and he’d never heard you like that, maybe a bit of a whine when you impatiently asked him to help you with something, but never so pleading.
You’d shifted even closer as you spoke and he couldn’t help himself now that he practically had permission, his large and rough hand sliding over your waist to rest on the small of your back.
You sucked in a sharp breath at the feeling and he was suddenly aware of how much fun this was going to be if you were that sensitive.
“Not tonight okay?” He replied and his low tone made your eyes soften, nodding eagerly and hesitantly letting your hands land on his chest in balled up fist. “We can talk about it more later and work out some conditions.”
“You’re giving me rules?” You’d collected yourself enough to finally give him some of that familiar attitude, smiling slightly as you stared up at him. He rolled his eyes but let his hand tighten against your back, moving you forward and just trying to test your reaction to the touch.
You lost your smile immediately, shuffling closer until you were pressed against him as your eyes darted all around his face with surprise. It was clear you didn’t expect him to accept at all let alone this easily, despite his two weeks of contemplation, he wasn’t at all hesitate now.
“You need them.” He retorted and his free hand brushed some of your hair behind your ear, the first time you were ever really touching each other being this intimate was sending another wave of affection through him.
A few years ago, Jack couldn’t even get himself to look at another woman, let alone hold one so gently. Even with the slightly out of the ordinary circumstances, he cared for you and you trusted him and that was all that really mattered in his eyes.
“You’re mean.” You’re whispering it and his head tilts at the sound it, overly fond and curious how you can affect him so much just by changing the tone of your voice. “Kiss me atleast.”
It comes out a demand and his eyebrows naturally furrow at the sound of it, knowing immediately that will have to be one of the rules he gives you when you talk them over.
Manners.
He doesn’t respond for a second but you seem to understand before he even needs to scold you, lips parting in realization before they form a small pout and you unclench your fist so your palm is flat on his chest now instead.
“Please give me a kiss Jack.” You sound sweeter now and he would think it was an act, making fun of him for his sudden silent sternness, if it wasn’t for the genuinely pleading look on your face.
The knowledge that you listen so easily, even when he doesn’t actually say it, overrides his senses so much that he actually does bend down to kiss you.
It’s soft at first which you don’t seem to understand, immediately trying to eagerly make out with him like that’s all you really know. He moves one of his hands from your side to hold under your jaw, applying a little bit of pressure near your throat to indicate he wants you to slow down.
You melt against him at the touch but do as he silently communicates and relax a little bit, still moving your mouth a bit sloppily against his but learning to adapt to his slow and easy pace.
Eventually you get the rhythm down perfectly, lips moving together without anything extra added. You asked Jack to teach you so he was going to do exactly that, starting from the basics.
Your face was completely dazed when he pulled back, instinctively shifting forward to try and kiss him again and making a small disappointment noise when his hold near your throat tightened in warning.
“You asked for a kiss.” He said in a low voice, still close to your face so he could perfectly see the way your widened eyes shifted around his features.
He was a bit mesmerized by the way you looked now, so unlike yourself on any other day. It both made his guilt over being perverse grow and also solidified that he didn’t care how wrong it was as long as you kept looking at him like that.
“Get some sleep.” He waited a few seconds before taking the necessary steps away from you, taking a sharp breath as he turned and left your apartment.
His own door had barely closed behind him before there was insistent knocks on it, his head immediately hanging since he knew exactly who it was.
Your eyebrows were furrowed when he pulled the handle to reveal you in the hallway, standing stiffly and glaring up at him but not making any move to come inside. You shifted in place and let out a huff of annoyance as you seemed to search for the right words to convey what you wanted.
“Can you kiss me one more time?” You eventually settled on the blunt question, shifting closer so you were both halfway in his doorway.
While he had a foot inside his apartment still, you had one in the hallway. It left you standing too close for his sanity, feeling it slip almost entirely again when your small hand landed on his forearm and rubbed softly.
“What’s wrong?” He asked softly, sensing your frustration but not knowing where it was stemming from.
He cupped your face with one of his hands, letting the other rest back on your side. You stared up at him as he took a few slow steps forward, backing you up with each one until your back hit the doorframe and took a soft near gasp from your lips.
“Nothing I just…” You trail off as you pout, scanning over his face and then down his chest until you can’t bend your head anymore to look. “I want one more. Please.”
You added it as an afterthought but it was enough for him, pressing his mouth back against yours.
This time, apparently a very quick learner, you were able to meet his pace right away and your mouths moved softly together. Your arms went around his neck so you could fully cling to him as you kissed deeply, heads tilting and quiet pleased noises rumbling in your throat.
You only got louder when his tongue pressed lightly into your mouth, mostly just to test your reaction but unable to stop himself when you were eagerly matching the actions.
It was sloppy and a little too wet, sounds of your tongues tangling together filling the silent hallway and sending a sharp heat down to his gut. He liked how clumsy you were, growing addicted to the way you seemed to have no idea what you were doing but too desperate to stop yourself and ask him for his help.
Jack knew he liked feeling needed but this was a whole different beast, one that came paired with some light shame.
You weren’t innocent and you knew exactly what you needed to about sex but your body was inexperienced and it was getting clearer by the second, your little gasp when he kissed you deeper and the way you tightened your hold on him everytime he went to pull back and attempt to slow down.
You’re red in the face by the time he manages to get you to stop eagerly kissing him, still instinctively shifting closer when he moves back. He gives you a lighthearted sigh, occupied by the softest smile he can manage so he doesn’t actually hurt your feelings when he presses you back against the doorway with the hand that’s still on your hip.
“Time for bed.” He tries to keep his tone light but it comes out more authoritative than he had meant for it to, most likely driven by the way you automatically started to frown as soon as he held you away from him. “We can talk tomorrow.”
You clearly weren’t happy about that but you surprisingly gave him a soft nod, shifting your body until you were out of his entrance and closer to your own.
He watched you and your dazed face, slightly wobbly on your feet, as you disappeared behind your apartment door with a small wave.
-
Jack had started off his day rough the following morning, barely able to sleep after what had happened.
It was a completely split mixture of wanting you so bad it was driving him to literal insanity and feeling disgustingly guilty for even looking in your direction.
He almost considered calling Robby about it but he really didn’t need to hear the lecture that would undoubtedly come his way about the situation. Plus he figured that whatever Robby knew, Dana knew, and if Dana knew then it was only a matter of time before the entire emergency department was gossiping about Jack Abbot and his young neighbor.
The dilemma was so strong that he had almost completely forgotten about the fact he had told you that you’d talk today, although almost intentional.
He was halfway avoiding having to actually sit down and make this arrangement a reality, still having a hard time believing what had happened last night was even real.
He had just started to get changed for work when the knocking on his door started and he knew it was you immediately, standing still and hanging his head for a few seconds like he figured he could just wait you out.
It didn’t take long for his senses to kick back in and he was pulling on a plain black shirt before making his way over to the door, raising his eyebrows at you when he saw how irritated you looked.
You brushed past him immediately and he lingered with his hand on the door knob for a moment before closing it and preparing himself to face whatever wrath you were about to send his direction.
“You didn’t come over.” You immediately accused, finger pointing in his direction as you stood in the middle of his living room with an angry expression. “You didn’t even text me.”
He was already walking closer to you as you spoke and your defenses naturally crumbled at the proximity, especially when his hands were sliding over your ribs to both hold you steady and let him feel your breathing as subtly as possible.
“You can’t just kiss me like that and then ignore me.” You continue on but your tone is a lot softer now that he’s touching you, already getting that dazed edge to it he had heard last night.
“I didn’t mean to ignore you.” He shakes his head and frees a hand to tuck some hair behind your ear, your features have completely softened now at the movement.
Jack wonders for the first time if you might have feelings for him beyond trust and attraction.
For some reason, he hadn’t really considered the possibility before. You were practically his polar opposite and he had nothing in common with any of the boys you went on dates with.
But now, with you blinking up at him like you were hanging on to his every word, he let himself think it might just be likely.
“I figured you changed your mind.” Your words are a little slurred from the insistent pout you have on your face and he sighs again, gently leading you over to sit on his couch.
Your knees brush together as you scoot closer to him the second he’s settled on top of the cushion, your hand wrapping around three of his fingers and squeezing lightly as you wait for him to respond to your fear of being rejected.
“I didn’t but I want to make sure you understand what you’re asking.” His voice is low and nearing stern, the same tone he uses on the new med students who seem a little more cocky than they are willing to learn. He knows that’s not the case with you, knows you’re desperate for any expertise he can offer you, but he still wants you to pay attention and properly understand him. “There’s other ways for you to do this.”
“What, like other guys?” Your eyebrows furrow like the thought confuses you.
His stomach tightens immediately, sick at the thought of it, but he stiffly nods his head.
You’re shifting even closer immediately and he lets out a breath when you’re leaning over his knee nearly, closer to his face than before and scanning over it again.
“I don’t want another guy Jack. I just want it to be you.” You’re whispering now and he can’t stop himself from pressing a light kiss to your mouth, brief but necessary when his brain processes the lack of distance between you. That makes you smile finally and he suddenly feels very stupid for ever questioning you when you’re making a request like this.
“Tell me why.” He mumbles, easily sliding his hands around your middle so he can tug you over more and into his lap. You kiss him again once you’re settled in his lap, still quick like you’re both using it as punctuation during your conversation. “Why me?”
He wants to hear you give a legitimate reason, to undo the hesitance you gave him when you said it was only because you didn’t have anybody else to ask. That’d been weighing on him more than anything else, the thought that you had just settled for your older lonely neighbor who was clearly willing to help you with anything in spite of himself.
Your next kiss was much longer, deeper as you fully sink down in his lap and move your mouth against his desperately. He’d accept that alone as an answer, big palms rubbing over your back and sides so he can keep pulling you impossibly closer.
Your nose is rubbing against his when you pull back, the sounds of your breathing being heavier now making his head spin with the necessary impulsivity to keep making terrible decisions with you.
“You’d make me feel good.” The answer you’d landed on was much more devastating than he was prepared for, his eyes darkening at how confident you sounded in that fact. “I know you would.”
His hands tightened around your soft skin for a second, needing to take a deep breath to ground himself.
It takes a second for him to reply, tucking his face into your neck and inhaling sharply. You smell as sweet as you always do but it’s intoxicating to have it this close after so long, skin soft under his lips as he kisses you softly.
Your breathing gets shaky, arms looping around his neck so you’re practically hugging him. You’re warm on top of him and making the sweetest noises when he moves along your jaw, shifting in his lap to try and get his attention back on your conversation.
“You’ll do it right?” You ask softly, running your hand through his hair and tugging just enough to make him finally look back at your face. His eyes are dark and unfocused as he stares at your pretty features. “Jack?”
“Yeah honey.” He says back after another long silence, voice deeper than he’d ever heard it as he leans in to kiss you again.
You kiss for a long time, wiggling around in his lap when your tongues tangle together and you get to taste him properly again. It’s addicting for both of you, both of your hands running all over the other’s body like you’re trying to learn every part of it you can reach.
Eventually you’re fully rocking against him from your neediness and it takes a second for him to process it, snapped back to focus when he hears the way your whines are getting higher pitched. A near growl leaves his throat as he grabs your hips firmly, thumbs pressing into the bone so he can stop you from moving on top of him like that.
“Jackie.” You whine desperately, kissing him again and successfully distracting him long enough that you can start humping again.
“Stop baby I have work soon.” He scolds in between the sloppy kisses, lips and chin slightly wet from how uncoordinated you still are.
You make another soft noise and he’s confused for half a second before he realizes it’s because of the pet name, smiling softly from his fondness for you as you hide down in his neck for a second.
“You’re hard now, I can feel it.” You’re whispering right against his skin and a shiver runs over him at the lewd words falling from such a pretty mouth, high pitched and almost innocent voice making the sentence sound so much dirtier than it needed to be.
At first Jack doesn’t think you’re right, knowing himself and his body enough to expect he’s not stirring down there even if he wants you so bad it makes him feel insane.
He’s had issues with it for years now, a deadly combination of his age, his traumas, and the carousel of medications he has to be on for a variety of things he wouldn’t disclose to you out of his own pride. That was the reason Jack had stopped trying to hook up with people years ago, giving up on porn entirely when he’d have to spend an hour trying to get hard before he could even attempt to actually get himself off.
It was in the back of his mind when you’d asked him to help you with this but he figured this was about your pleasure, he wouldn’t need to be hard to get you off especially if he stuck to his guns about not actually having sex with you.
He was sucking in a deep breath to explain this to you in less detail, make sure you understood that he wasn’t hard but it had nothing to do with you or his attraction to you, when you gave a particularly deep and slow roll of your hips.
And the effect was completely undeniable.
A shudder ran over him, eyes dropping to his lap that you were still rocking on top of. Your tiny little shorts were so clearly pressing against the tent in his scrub pants, catching on it whenever you lost the energy to move properly as you let out another needy whine and hid back in his neck.
You were completely unaware of his current mental situation, baffled at how easily you’d gotten him to this state from just some sloppy kissing.
You must’ve thought he was ignoring you because you picked up your head to glare at him, a pout on your swollen lips.
“Sorry sweetheart.” He sighed and kissed you gently, rubbing your sides up to your ribs and coming back down right when he felt the swell of your breast against his fingertips. “I really have to go.”
“Let me suck you off.” You requested easily and his breath caught, nearly choking at how simple you made it sound. “I wanna learn and you’re so hard right now Jackie. Please let me do it.”
“That’s not the point of this.” He shook his head immediately and moved you by your hips so you were sat next to him and no longer settled in his lap, clearly upsetting you as you scrambled up on your knees and gripped his bicep so he couldn’t get off the couch yet.
“The point is to teach me things about sex and I’ll need to know this.” You counter, eyebrows furrowing in confusion at why he’s rejecting you.
He finds it a little amusing that you’re so used to him accepting your requests for things that you’re genuinely lost when he doesn’t immediately fold for you. It’s a bratty habit he should have corrected months ago but he can’t find himself caring too much, liking how dependent you’d become on him.
Jack has to contemplate this because he knows you’re right, stomach turning a little at the reminder that you’re going to use whatever he shows you on somebody else down the line.
That selfishly makes him want to cancel this whole thing and leave you completely clueless, hopefully to the point you decide to swear off sex with other men entirely. But he knows how stubborn you are and how stuck you get on something once it catches your attention, figuring you’d get on a dating app and find some idiot in finance to take your virginity as soon as he put an end to this arrangement.
So he lets you slip to your knees off the couch, taking his hesitance to decline again as a positive sign.
“Wait.” He interjects and you freeze, sighing in annoyance as you prepare for him to give another reason you can’t do it. Instead he pulls one of the pillows off the couch and slides in near his feet, your eyes softening as you shift so you’re kneeling on the plush cushion instead of the floor.
“How do I start?” You ask softly, eyeing the bunched up fabric in front of you with interest. He has to stare at the ceiling for a second, slightly losing it at the sight of you kneeling on his floor between his legs. “Do I have to get you ready?”
“No.” He says it gruffly and you tense again, his tone way sharper than he’d meant for it to be. “It’s… I’m ready baby trust me. Just give me a second.”
That calms you down immediately, enough that you rest your head on his knee as you try your best to be patient. His eyes go back to you at the touch and he watches the way you squirm against the pillow, clearly still riled up from the kissing and maybe even the thought of taking him in your mouth.
“Has it been awhile Jack?” Your voice is ridiculous now, clearly teasing him and developing this soft purr that almost irritates him.
His hand goes into your hair at the sound of it, tightening enough that you lift your cheek off his knee and stare up at him with wide eyes.
“Watch it.” He says lowly, using his free hand to untie his scrub pants as you eye the movement with fascination. Your lips part as you stare at his hand and the way his fingers twist the strings, he has half the thought to make you choke on the digits before you try and take anything bigger but your attitude has left him feeling just as impatient. “We’ve got to work on your manners if you want me to teach you.”
That makes you snap back into focus, frowning at his words and shaking your head as you straighten up on your knees.
“I have manners Jack.” You’re clearly trying to convince him, small hands smoothing over his thighs.
He starts to deny it but he’s cut off when you lean forward to nuzzle against him, face pressing right where he’s currently aching under two layers of fabric. His breath catches in his throat and he instinctively tightens the hand that’s in your hair, mumbling out an apology when you make a pained noise but barely loosening it after.
He feels like he needs to keep it there to have any sort of control in this situation, especially given the way you’re almost desperately rubbing your face on his lap.
“Should’ve told me you were this needy.” He half scolds as he shifts his waistband down lower, waiting for you to notice and pick yourself up just long enough to get his pants down.
You don’t give him long at all before you’re back to obsessing over the sight in front of you, eyes fully dazed now that it’s just his boxers separating you from putting your mouth on his hard length.
You’re clearly trying to be patient in an attempt to prove you have any sort of manners, a little pride rippling through him similar to the feeling he got when you had corrected yourself the other night to politely ask him for a kiss.
“You wouldn’t have done anything about it.” You say softly, not accusatory but confident in it like you know it’s true. You lean forward and kiss against the covered bulge, a groan leaving him. “You’re too good of a guy.”
“Clearly not.” He rasped just as you start to lose that faux patience you’re trying so hard to pretend you have, tugging at the waistband of his underwear and smiling softly when he lifts his hips off the couch without arguing. “And you know I never tell you no sweetheart.”
“Yeah?” You’re still trying to talk to him but now you’re completely lost in the sight of him half naked and sitting there with his legs spread in front of you, too desperate to even be intimidated by the size of him. “You would’ve let me do this months ago Jackie?”
He sighs and tightens his hold in your hair again, bringing you forward until he can feel your breath where he’s most sensitive.
Your eyes flicker up to him and the sight is devastating for how deprived he’s been, a pretty young girl like you sitting so nicely on your knees for the first time ever. He can barely even feel that guilt and slightly sick sensation, knowing how perverted it is that he could probably get off just looking at your face and thinking about the way he’s about to corrupt you.
“Stop talking.” He instructs gruffly and you nod eagerly, eyes back on his length and only now looking a little nervous as you swallow before your lips part in anticipation. “You sure you want to do this?”
“Want it so bad.” You don’t hesitate to answer and your voice is a little whinier, swaying forward like you don’t even realize you’re doing it.
Jack lets you move until you’re right there, eyes locked on your face as you give him a nervous look and try to take him in your mouth.
It’s awkward and you’re tense, expression full of hesitation like you’re waiting for him to tell you how to do it properly but he lets himself bask in this for a few seconds.
He knows it’s sick but he finds you the most beautiful like this, confused and desperate to please him without knowing how to. You go between sucking and licking at the tip of his length and while it feels good, no doubt about that especially after how long it’s been, it’s nothing compared to how clearly inexperienced you are.
Finally, he snaps out of his sick fantasies of watching you embarrass yourself trying to please him, and he decides to actually do what you’d asked and teach you something.
“Relax your jaw baby. Just take what you can okay?” His voice is low and gentle, hand loose in your hair but clenching into a tight fist whenever you brush against his sensitive skin with your teeth on accident or try to overachieve and take him deeper.
You do seem to calm down a little now that he’s finally speaking, shoulders slumping and your eyes fluttering shut as you get used to the feeling of him on your tongue.
You’ve barely taken him at all but he’s transfixed by the sight, perfectly content to sit here and cock warm your mouth until you were ready to move him down your throat.
He watches you closely as you pull back to take a few deep breaths, pouting a little at his length and hesitating before you’re touching him with your hand. It’s all experimental, tugging and feeling the skin against your palm while he grunts above you and tries to control himself.
It’s barely sexual on your end considering how fascinated you are by the new experience but he’s halfway losing his mind knowing this is the first time you’re touching somebody like this.
“I gotta go soon sweetheart.” He says and your eyes finally snap back up to him, turning a little red considering you’d been caught just staring at his length as you touched him. “You can play with me all you want after my shift.”
Now you’re full on blushing but you nod your head obediently and lean back in to take him in your mouth again, a little more confident now as you lick around the head and repeat movements whenever it draws a sound out from him.
Jack can barely stand it and he has to put both hands in your hair to keep himself from fucking up into your warm mouth, groaning from the effort it’s taking and considering telling you to get back on the couch before he goes too far with you too early.
You’re clearly just as impatient because you try to take more of him finally and immediately gag at the sensation, pulling back and frowning up at him.
“Help Jackie.” Your voice is whiny and has a little rasp to it now and he kisses his teeth at the sound, petting your hair back out of your face.
“I can’t help with that baby, you’ve just got to practice.” He tries his best to soothe you but you’re clearly frustrated.
“Can’t you just force my head down?” You’re rubbing his thighs as you speak in that ridiculously bratty voice, wiggling around on the pillow like the thought alone is exciting you.
He wants to say no, wants to tell you why it’s such a terrible idea for him to forcefully fuck your throat right before he has to go to work. There’s a million reasons he should be rejecting you right now but that sick voice in the back of his head is struggling to get the words out, especially when you go back to softly kitten licking at his length to keep him hard.
“Fuck you’re nasty.” He gruffs out and your eyes light up at the words, nodding your head and taking him back in your mouth as you keep trying your best to fit him deeper. “You want me in your throat that bad?”
You can’t talk now but your desires are obvious.
He eyes the way you’re shifting on the cushion below you, adjusting his foot the best he can so it’s between your thighs as you kneel. That seems to make you even more desperate, rubbing against him almost feverishly now as you try to focus on having him in your mouth.
There’s no option to do so when he brings his hands back to your hair, silently showing you he accepts your request when he moves his hips off the couch and keeps your face firmly in place so he can push deeper down your throat.
He feels you gag slightly around him but your eyes roll to the back of your head at the same time and you hump against his foot even faster so he can’t find it in himself to stop, thrusting slowly to make sure you don’t end up getting sick or feeling too sore by the time he’s finished.
Jack knows this is far beyond teaching, he’s not even speaking anymore and instead just using your throat to get himself off but you’re even more eager for it than him and he’d never deny you anything you asked for.
“This tiny little throat.” His voice is nearing a growl as he helps move your head up and down his length, reveling in the way you gag and drool around him. “You’re doing so good baby.”
The praise seems to do it for you more than anything else, rubbing your core against his foot so eagerly that you can barely focus on sucking him off. You’re getting too messy to control yourself, mouth slipping off every few thrust before you whine at the loss and immediately take him back in your throat.
Jack takes pity on both of you, both for his own sanity and because he can’t stop thinking about the fact he’ll need to leave as soon as this is done.
You’re clearly upset when he pulls you off, making a loud noise of disagreement that barely sounds like an actual word and frowning at him when he sends you a stern look and wraps his hand around himself instead.
You seem to forget your anger pretty quickly as you watch him touch himself, hips slowed down to a slow rock against his foot as you stare at his length and the way he’s making himself feel good above you.
Jack has to look away when he comes because he feels pretty close to forcing your head back down and making you swallow it, although half positive you’d actually enjoy that more than him judging by how eager you are to try things.
You’re laying your head back on his thigh while he grunts and curses, tightening his fist and going back to staring at your face just for a brief moment so he has a clearer picture to think about.
It’s quiet in the living room afterwards and he feels an odd sense of embarrassment, a rare vulnerability considering you’re still fully clothed and kneeling on the floor. He fixes one of those problems by effortlessly pulling you up by your arms, settling you back against the cushions.
He stands and pulls his pants up while he does so, knowing he’ll have to shower off before he can go to work and get a new pair of scrubs anyways.
There’s a second of hesitation before he goes to get you some water, leaning over your dazed frame and kissing you softly.
“Was it good?” You ask quietly against his mouth, hand tangling in his hair like you don’t want him to go anywhere without answering you first. “You stopped me.”
“You were perfect.” He answers simply and he means it, would probably feel the same if you had accidentally bit him though.
“I wanted to taste you.” You’re pouting again and every time he thinks he gets used to you, you prove him beyond wrong. He sighs and leans further against you on the couch so you’re fully sinking into the cushion below you.
“Next time.”
It comes out before he can stop it and he fully plans to backtrack but your eyes light up at the idea of him letting you do that again so he doesn’t, letting it linger for a few seconds.
“Not when I have to leave you right after. You won’t like it and I don’t want to hurt you.” He’s talking in the stern and no nonsense way he does at work, trying to make sure you understand even though you’re slowly starting to smile as he speaks and he realizes you’re probably not paying any attention.
“You won’t hurt me Jack.” You whisper and it’s so sweet he almost considers calling in so he can stay with you a little longer. “Not in a way I won’t like.”
That makes him scoff out a laugh, a rare sound from him and you look even more pleased at the noise.
“You don’t even know what you like sweetheart.” He says softly and brushes your hair out of your face, letting both his fingertips and eyes trail down your neck until he reaches your collarbones. “But I’ll show you.”
“You’ll show me?” You’re teasing him now, biting your bottom lip to try and hide your smile to no avail.
“Yeah I will.” He smiles too and kisses you again, a little too soft considering what you actually are to each other.
He eventually manages to get off of you long enough to get you some water, watching carefully as you take a few sips and rubbing your knee when you wince at first. He wants to feel guilty for making your throat sore but he can’t, sick enough to admit he just feels the urge to make you take him deeper next time to see if you’ll really let him.
You’re still laying on his couch when he gets out of his brief shower, having changed his pants and taken a few deep breaths while staring in the mirror to try and get ahold of himself. He needs to switch back to reality for atleast a few hours, become the weathered doctor who doesn’t lose his mind over a pretty girl asking for favors.
You set your phone down on your chest, giving him your full attention as he moves towards the door to tug his shoes on.
There’s no indication you plan to leave before he does but he can’t find it in himself to mind the intrusion, going back over to the couch to give you a kiss on the forehead.
“Staying here?” He says in a low voice and you nod eagerly, eyes locked on his.
He lets himself think about his entire way to work, the image of you being there when he gets home from a hard shift. It had been a long time since he had someone to come home to and having you across the hall was already a gift within itself.
Now you’d crossed a line and if he let himself forget the terms and conditions, the fact you were loosely using him just to end up with somebody else as the actual end goal, then he could pretend for a moment that you were the person he got to crawl into bed with when work was tough.
Despite how much he thought about you during his shift, every moment he wasn’t being bombarded with questions or saving somebody’s life on autopilot, you weren’t actually there when he came back.
He knew it before he even opened the door, confirmed by how neatly the pillows on the couch were placed again and the fact your glass of water was rinsed and put away in the dishwasher.
You’d made it look like you were never even there and he knew you still enjoyed his company, maybe enjoyed the newly added sexual dynamic even more, but that didn’t mean you wanted to comfort him after he lost a patient or help soothe him when his leg was bothering him from standing all day.
Jack had to remind himself of the part he was playing in your life currently and try his best to not be disappointed.
It’s two days until he sees you again and he thinks it’s one of the longest spans you’ve gone without talking in almost a year.
He’s just about to start really acting out of character by banging at your front door and asking if you’re avoiding him when he runs into you downstairs, freezing as soon as he enters the lowly lit laundry room to find you leaning against one of the washers and looking extremely bored.
You’re as beautiful as always, casually dressed in nothing but an old band shirt that hangs off your shoulder and a pair of shorts so small he’s pretty sure it’s just boxy underwear.
You don’t look up when he comes in until his leg slightly catches on the step, accustomed enough to the sound of the light dragging he sometimes can’t stop from happening when he’s extra tired.
It’s a relief to find that you don’t have any awkwardness on your face, no sign of being uncomfortable or upset with him.
Then he figures that might just be worse.
He would just about die if he had done anything that made you want to avoid him but the alternative seems to be that you just didn’t want to speak to him and that makes his chest sting.
There’s nothing but silence and the rattling of the old washer as it rocks back and forth on the cement floor, both of you seemingly having decided to not speak to each other first.
(sorry for the brief awkward spacing tumblr says this is too long)
It’s another five minutes of the now awkward stretch of quiet before you clear your throat, turning to face him where he’s fidgeting with his laundry baskets broken handle just to have something to focus on.
“So I went on a date last night.” You say softly, eyebrows raised like you’re genuinely interested in his reaction.
His stomach turns but it’s a relief to have you looking at him again so he takes it, swallowing hard and racking his brain for a response that’s appropriate.
“How’d it go?” He’s asking out of politeness but he’s silently praying you suddenly decide you don’t want to tell him about it. It wouldn’t even make him feel better to hear it had ended terribly, not wanting you to feel any type of negative emotions even if it technically was in his benefit.
He definitely can’t take any sort of mention of you being with another guy physically. He knows it’s coming eventually, it’s the sole purpose behind why he even gets to touch you, but he’s not ready just yet.
You’re quiet again and he really looks at you now, takes in the silent contemplation on your face and the way you tap your fingers on the metal of the washer for a second before pushing off of it entirely.
Then you’re in his space again and it’s like an instinctive move to cup your face, hand on your waist so he can lightly push you back against the machine he’d been in front of. You touch his chest, lightly rubbing in soft circles, and he wants to sigh in relief if that wouldn’t be so painfully obvious.
“Wasn’t a great time.” You whisper and your eyes are on his lips as you speak.
His eyebrows raise and his hand on your body tightens slightly at the same time he uses his thumb to press under your chin and make you tilt your jaw back.
“Why not?” He hates the thought of getting details but he needs to know some idiot from a dating app hadn’t done anything to hurt you.
You don’t answer right away, just standing there and letting your eyes scan over his features on rotation. You finally let out a small breath like you’re about to speak but it never comes, small hands moving to grip his biceps.
“Did he touch you?” He can’t stop himself from asking even though the question makes his voice come out low enough that your eyes flash with surprise for a second, snapping away from his mouth to meet his stare again like you’re looking for something in it.
You shake your head immediately, squeezing his arms and shifting against the vibrating machine.
He’s kissing you then and he tells himself it’s out of relief, the knowledge that you’re still untouched by anybody except for him instantly making this conversation easier.
You’re returning it right away and he’s pleasantly surprised by how quickly you caught on to the type of kissing he likes, his personal preference. He figures he should eventually tell you that not ever guy was going to like your constant licking into his mouth but for now he lets it be, wants you to be trying to please him specifically and not whoever you’d use these lessons with.
It’s ridiculously cute how desperate you get, only needing a few seconds of your tongue inside his mouth before you’re arching off the machine and making soft noises against his lips.
His hands are all over you as soon as he notices the state of you, sliding down to cup your ass with both palms and tug you tighter to his frame.
That makes you out rightly whimper, clumsily trying to hitch a leg around his waist and sighing in relief when he holds your thigh to keep it there. The wet sounds of your mouths fill the small room, body slightly shaking both from need and from the way the washer is vibrating against your back.
“Missed you.” You whimper it out when he pulls back to let you breathe, kissing down your jaw and tightening his grip on the soft curve hidden under your underwear. “Didn’t call me.”
“Were you waiting for me to call baby?” He asks softly, despite how much it had been bothering him, he would never want to make you feel guilty for not reaching out to him after what you’d done.
You don’t answer so he pulls his head out of your neck to look at your face, seeing the soft frown and the hesitation in your eyes.
“Hey.” He breaths out and pushes your hair back to get your attention fully on him, your body softening and completely leaning against his to the point you’d definitely fall if he took a step backwards. “I wanted to give you space. Let you decide when you wanted to continue this, if you did.”
“I don’t want space.” You counter and it’s a little past bratty but he’s so beyond fond of you that he can’t help but let the corners of his mouth turn up at the sound of it. “You’re supposed to take care of me.”
He’s not sure when your dynamic became this way but he feels it as much as you apparently do, knows it’s his duty to make sure you’re always fine and not needing anything he can’t fix. Now there’s the added element of making you feel good, touching you in ways you’re not used to and showing you what pleasure can be like, and he’s not taking it lightly.
“Then I’ll call.” He say softly and your eyes lock on his as you nod in agreement, his hand cupping your cheek so he can keep you still enough to kiss you briefly. “You want me to chase you and I’ll chase you.”
“Right now I just want you to kiss me.” You whisper and he doesn’t need to hear anything else.
You’re back to kissing and it’s feverish now, more tongue than anything and your hands groping each other anywhere you can touch.
He’s lifting you up off the ground just so he can press himself between your legs and swallow the soft needy noises you let out at the feeling, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist so he can’t pull away at all. You’re pressed back against the metal with his hands under your shirt and wrapped around your frame to make sure you don’t fall, thick fingers splayed out against your ribs.
It’s getting hotter in the room and it’s mostly due to the way you’re whining and trying to roll your hips into him, unsuccessful considering how hard he’s got you pinned back to the washer.
“Jack please.” You pant and pull away from his mouth, tucking into his neck and rubbing your soft cheek against his stubble like a needy cat. “Please touch me. Do anything.”
He’s grunting at the request and gently setting you back down on your feet so he can free up a hand, using it to push your shirt up to your neck. He’s not too surprised to find that you’re not wearing anything underneath and your surprised gasp swallows the sound of his low groan.
You’re whining lewdly when he leans down to press kisses against your skin, middle of your breast first to avoid putting his mouth where you really want it. You’re panting, chest rising and falling under his mouth, and tangling a hand in his ash colored curls to try and steer him where you need him.
He wants to smack your hand away and warn you to be patient but he wants you too bad to try and discipline you right now, letting his mouth latch onto to one of your hard nipples so he can hear whatever noise that brings out of you.
It’s loud and intoxicating, his head spinning a little as he keeps sucking and licking your skin, letting your shirt rest on the top of his head so he can use his other hand to roughly grope your other breast and make sure you’re getting equal attention.
“Oh fuck Jack.” You’re whimpering and trying to hump against nothing, back arching as you whine and hold him to your body like he has any plans of getting away from you. “T-that feels so good.”
“Come upstairs.” His voice is so rough it surprises himself, picking his head off your chest and letting your shirt drop so he can kiss you swiftly.
You frown at the loss of contact, rubbing your nose against his and still lightly petting his hair.
“Why not here?” You ask softly and he gives you a disapproving look that makes you sigh and rest your forehead down against his shoulder for a few seconds while you catch your breath. “It’s too far.”
He thinks for a moment before he’s adjusting his stance to pick you up off the ground, abandoning your laundry and his that both likely need to be switched out soon. He’d gladly let it sit and wash it again later if it means getting you up to his apartment as fast as possible.
You make a small surprised noise and cling to him, arms behind his neck and legs wrapped around his middle and he makes his way up the few stairs towards the elevators.
“Jack your leg.” The sight of the steps seems to remind you of his disability and he’d be more irritated by your worry if it didn’t sound so genuine.
You clearly don’t ever think too much about his leg restricting him, never shying away from asking him to lift heavy things or walk with you down to the store. You don’t treat him like he’s fragile or any less of a man for having limitations and he’s always liked that about you, same way he somehow likes your gentle concern even though it would have bothered him if it was anybody else.
“Think I can’t throw you around because of my leg?” He mumbles and you tense in his hold as he walks like you think he might be serious before you’re breathing out a laugh and hiding in his neck.
Jack finally gets back to his apartment, going crazy from the way you’d started to kiss his jaw and whine impatiently in the elevator. Your hands run up and down his arms like you’re marveling at the strength it takes to carry you for as long as he was, making soft needy noises and squirming around.
He can’t even care about the possibility somebody could see him with you, one of the neighbor he’d lived next to for years watching as Jack Abbot carries the much younger girl next door through his entry way as she whines for him to touch her more.
“Calm down baby.” His voice is soft once he gets to his room, setting you down on his bed and taking a few seconds to stare at you as you lay there and pout up at him.
You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and his gut twists a little at the observation, a mixture of desperate unfamiliar need and the same guilt from before accompanied by a new layer of it.
He thinks of his wife for the first time in a while. He used to spend every waking second with her on his mind but she had naturally started to fade from his mind once he met you, something he hadn’t even noticed until you’d already been living across the hall for a few months.
You’d came over for the first time and asked him to borrow some ingredients, strolling around his living room and eyeballing the photos on his walls while he poured some sugar into a small tupperware bowl for you to take back to your place. You had turned to him with a curious face and asked him where his wife was, obviously confused considering you’d never heard of her before despite how frequently you and him small talked.
That was the first time Jack noticed how little he’d been thinking of her lately, not just in the painful mourning way he’d been suffering through since she passed but in general too.
Now he was waking up in the morning and anticipating the next time you’d knock on his door, focusing on his health again so he could occupy you on your walks and not picking up too many extra shifts at work just incase you needed something and he wasn’t there.
Jack was thinking about her again now as you laid on his bed but only because he couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted something this bad, trying to compare the feeling of you to how he felt in his marriage and still thinking it fell short.
He had loved his wife, undoubtedly, but he craved you in a way that almost felt inhumane.
“You’re being mean to me.” You say softly to break him out of his trance, having zoned out just staring down at you and the way your chest was rising and falling with every deep breath.
“I’m never mean to you honey.” He whispers back and finally moves to lay down with you, hovering over your frame and running a hand from your waist to your ribs as he kisses you softly. “I take good care of you, don’t I?”
It’s a bit mean to throw your words from earlier back in your face, especially as he lets his mouth trail down your neck. You make a whiny noise and grip his shoulders, nodding your head and shifting under him so your legs are spread further.
“Yes Jack yes, you take care of me.” You’re practically whimpering and he feels almost drunk from how easily you get this needy, pausing his soft kisses to shift up on his knees and tug your shirt over your head.
You’re the prettiest sight he’s ever seen and he can’t help himself from bringing his mouth right back to your chest, drinking in the way you gasp and moan while he’s licking and sucking on your nipples. His other hand is softly groping whichever breast he doesn’t have his mouth on at the moment and your backs arching off his bed, scratching his shoulders through his shirt.
“Please touch me.” You’re begging after only a few minutes of the slow torture and he lets out a sharp breath, shifting so he’s more to the side of you than on top.
You’re quiet when he rubs his hand down your chest and over your stomach, rubbing at the waistband of your underwear for a few seconds just to hear the way you pant before he’s smoothing over your thighs.
Your back is basically against his chest as he hooks your leg over his to make sure yours are nice and spread for him, kissing your neck softly when he rubs your hips above your underwear.
You bare your neck for him easily and he’s selfish in the way he marks you, sucking any part of your warm skin he can reach so you’re left purple and red all over. He wants anybody you see for the next week or two to know you’ve been with somebody else, to see the claim he laid to your body even if he doesn’t let things go as far as you want him to take it.
Jack doesn’t need to be asked twice to touch you, big hand leaving your hip so he can fully palm your core.
Your reaction is just the way he had hoped it would be, sharp gasp leaving your lips as you instantly buck up against his touch. You whine desperately when he goes back to rubbing your thigh instead, giving you a second to work yourself up to the point he wants you to be at.
“Jack.” You don’t even sound like yourself now and it’s intoxicating, so pleading and broken. “Please.”
“Please what?” He’s practically whispering, perfectly calm and the direct opposite of how broken you sound just from him lightly touching you.
He moves you so you’re fully between his legs, back against his chest as he cages himself around you to keep you from moving.
You’re practically shaking, whimpering and moving your hips against nothing with the hopes he’ll cave and end up touching you again. You’re distracting to look at, body bare except for the pathetic excuse of underwear shorts you’d been wearing under your shirt, like you’d just been hoping he would be the one to find you in the laundry mat.
He has half the thought to make fun of you for that, make you tell him exactly what you were thinking when you left your apartment wearing so little, but he doesn’t think you could handle him saying much at all right now especially not something so demeaning.
“I’m going to touch you.” He says gently instead and kisses the side of your head, letting his hand go back to groping your chest just to make sure you stay worked up.
Even though he doubts at this point he even needs to touch you for that to happen.
“Yeah yeah.” You’re nodding in agreement, seemingly pleased at his decision as you relax back against him and let him touch you freely.
His other hands back between your legs now, letting you get used to the feeling of somebody touching you where you’re most sensitive. He’s just rubbing back and forth, listening to the way you pant and pulling back whenever you start to try and shift against his hand on your own.
“You’re wet just from that?” His voice is a little mean now but you don’t seem to mind, trying to clamp your thighs around his hand but being stopped by the sharp swat he sends to your skin. You wince but move your foot back to the other side of his leg so yours stay open, pouting softly at the silent punishment. “Answer me when I ask you something.”
“I’m always wet around you.” You admit with an embarrassed tone lacing your words, squirming like you wish you could hide yourself from the way he’s staring down at your body. “Want you so bad.”
“I want you too.” He kisses the side of your head, still rubbing you with just enough pressure to make you feel the friction but not to actually get off. “Gonna make you feel so good, you’ve just got to be patient.”
“Stop being scared to hurt me.” Your voice is shaky but as firm as possible, trying to show him you’re a big girl and can handle a little bit of the roughness he’s so clearly holding back.
It’s obvious in the way he was grabbing your throat your first kiss, moving your body around easily whenever he needed to, and scolding you just enough for you to be able to catch the mean tone seeping in accidentally.
Jack clearly has a darker side to him that he’s not letting you see and it’s obviously frustrating you, wanting to be taken seriously.
“I’ll hurt you if that’s what you want sweetheart but not for your first time.” His words don’t leave any room for argument so you don’t even try, sinking back against his firm chest and letting out a deep breath when he shifts behind you and presses himself forward.
It’s not long before you’re not able to wait anymore and he lets you scramble to tug down your underwear, keeping his fingers lightly rubbing between your folds and watching as you struggle to get the fabric past his insistent hand.
Eventually he lets you pull them off and then he’s right back to touching you, bare this time. You both suck in a breath at the contact and you’re practically laying down from how far you’d slid down his chest, spreading your legs as wide as they can go and whimpering while he touches you.
“Do you touch yourself like this baby?” He can’t help the curiosity, the image of you in your bed trying to get yourself off stuck in his mind now.
You shake your head and frown, trying to twist your neck to look at him but being stopped when he uses his free hand to roughly grip your chin and make you keep your eyes on the way he’s touching you, thumb on your sensitive clit now while you roll your hips the best you can.
“No I…” You can barely think let alone speak, clearly struggling as you make a pained and desperate noise. “I get nervous.”
Jack sighs and collects some of your wetness on his middle finger before finally pressing it against the tightness of your hole, not pushing in just yet but teasing it with light pressure and letting you get used to the feeling.
“When you’re with somebody, they should always be this gentle with you at first.” He’s saying softly, remembering that he’s supposed to be actually teaching you something and not just getting you off because he desperately wants to.
You frown deeply as he starts to talk and he doesn’t really understand why, thinks maybe you’re still being pouty that he won’t get rougher with you.
He tries to distract you by finally pressing a finger inside of you and it seems to work for a second, another gasp leaving you as you instinctively clench around the intrusion. He groans, his length throbbing against your back at the thought of being fully inside you instead of just a finger.
“Fuck you’re tight.” He rasps and buries his face in your hair for a few seconds to try and collect himself enough to keep teaching you something, anything at all so he doesn’t keep letting himself think this is something it isn’t. “They’ll have to really get you stretched before anything okay? You need to remember that baby.”
It bothers him so much he can barely focus, the thought of somebody not taking their time with you. He doesn’t want to picture you with another man in general but especially not in a way that hurts you, leaves you too sore the next morning with nobody to take care of you.
He’s so distracted by his own thoughts that he doesn’t notice your face stiffening at first, body a little tenser against him even though you’re still softly squirming to try and get him to put his finger deeper inside you.
“Jack stop.”
He does so immediately and goes to pull out of you before you’re making a panicked noise and closing your thighs around his hand. He lets you this time, pauses all movements just to wait for whatever it is that you need.
“N-no don’t stop that, god please don’t stop that.” Your voice is breathier now like the thought of him taking his hand away from you makes your chest tighten. “Just… stop talking about anyone else.”
It takes him a few seconds to register that and then his hands moving again, enough for you to relax and spread your legs back open.
You’re both quiet now as he adds another finger, lingering in the weight of your request and what it could mean if anything. He’s half sure you only asked because it was pulling you out of the moment, maybe making you nervous to think about doing this again with actual stakes, but the way you desperately tried to stop him from pulling away lets him pretend it was for another reason.
He’s selfish in the way he touches you now, thick fingers moving in and out of you while you cry and whine, gripping at his forearm whenever it feels like too much. He likes the way your nails dig into his arm when you think you might be close, thighs clenching and shifting when his thumb gently circles your swollen clit and how your lips part in breathy cries of his name.
He especially likes that.
You come with moans of his name filling the room and nobody else’s after you’d specifically asked him to stop mentioning other guys. Jack knows it’s selfish, even a little sick and perverted, but he could probably finish just from hearing that.
He’s throbbing against your back and he’s sure you’d be able to feel it if you were able to focus on anything after coming, body shaking a little as you pant endlessly and fall limb in his hold.
There’s a lot of softness that comes after, kissing the side of your head and being gentle in the way he cleans you up. It’s torture to be between your legs and getting to fully appreciate the sight of you for the first time without be able to touch you more but he doesn’t want to overstimulate you so early on.
He does let himself think about that vividly though, kissing against your thighs and picturing when he’s going to be able to put his mouth on you.
You’re quiet above him, eyes a little tired but still overly soft as you run your fingers through his hair and watch him wipe you down.
Then he’s back ontop of you and kissing you softly, shifting your back so you’re laying back against the pillows and not sitting up. It’s soft and bordering on romantic which makes his chest tighten, hoping you have no plans to leave his bed anytime soon.
“You okay?” He asks quietly against your mouth and he can feel you smiling, still touching his hair with one hand and letting the other drift down to the back of his neck.
“Felt so good.” You whisper back and your voice is a little hoarse from all the whining you’d been doing, nose bumping against his and then rubbing on his stubble for a few seconds. “Can I take a nap here?”
“You can do anything you want.” He says immediately, no hesitation as he gets up to get you one of his shirts and help you get comfortable, jumping at the opportunity to keep you with him just like he wanted.
Jack typically has a hard time sleeping through the night in general so he definitely never naps, needing to be truly past the brink of exhaustion to ever rest.
Yet he finds it to be the most simple thing in the world to crawl into his bed with you after taking off his leg, kissing you for a few more minutes before he’s wrapping you in his arms and tugging you back against his chest. He’s rubbing your stomach softly, hand under the shirt he’s given you, listening intently until he hears your breathing even out and then drifting to sleep right after you.
—
It’s one of the highlights of his decade to get to wake up with you still there, warm and making soft tired noises when you feel him start to stir.
His room is dark now other than the slight illumination coming from the moon outside of his window, casting just enough light for him to be able to watch your eyes flutter open.
You give him a soft sleepy smile and instinctively lean in to give him a kiss.
It’s easy to pretend that you are more than whatever this is when you act like this, mouths moving together sensually as if you have nowhere else you’d want to be.
Jack groans softly when your tongue pushes into his mouth, meeting it eagerly with his own and moving so hes hovering over you. Your hands are on his back, spreading your legs below him to let him slot between them.
He feels like a teenager again from how quickly he gets hard, your soft body under his putting him under some sort of spell. His hips shift and you let out a needy whine, scratching his shoulders lightly like you’re trying to encourage him.
You’re still making out slowly when he starts to thrust down against you, slow rolls of his hips to give you just enough friction to start to get desperate.
You’re tugging at his shirt fabric and he takes only a second to sit up and pull it over his head, back on you immediately and kissing you even more frantically. He’s moving your own shirt up towards your ribs but neither one of you wants to stop long enough to take it off, only able to when you need a quick second to take a breath.
It’s the first time you’ve both been nearly undressed together and he feels the effects of it instantly, your chest pressing against his when he lays back over you. Your skin is soft and hot to the touch, those now familiar soft whines leaving you when he lets his hand knead at your chest again.
“Jack please.” You’re whimpering and he finally stops kissing you in favor of sucking at your neck, bringing those marks from earlier back to the surface. “Can’t you just fuck me?”
He groans at the words and has to tuck his face in your shoulder, still rocking his hips against you even though they stuttered when you said that in that whiny voice of yours.
“Trust me, I want to fuck you so bad I can’t even think.” It leaves his mouth before he can stop it, not wanting to reject you again without making sure you know how badly he wants you.
“Then do it.” You’re begging now and he picks his head up to look at you, eyes wide and a little frustrated like you know he’s going to say no. You gasp when he thrusts down even harder, biting your lip as you stare at each other desperately. “Please Jack? Want you inside me.”
“I can’t baby.” He growls and kisses you to give himself a second to think without you arguing.
You’re quick to forget you were trying to convince him of something because you’re kissing him back deeply, angling your head so his tongue can get further and further inside your mouth.
He has that sick and perverted thought again that he’s coincidentally training you to be the perfect girl for him, kissing in a way he likes and not knowing how else to do it. Jack is selfish and wants everything you do to be for him, wants your body to instinctively move and react how he taught you regardless of who gets you next.
The thought of somebody else makes him want to forget his morals and fuck you like you’re begging him, be the one to take your virginity and fill you up for the first time.
He starts to reason with himself that it would actually be a good thing because Jack would never let himself hurt you in a way you didn’t like, he’d make sure you felt good around him and came so hard you weren’t able to see straight.
There’s nobody else who could fuck you like he could so he’s almost convinced himself that it’s a good idea when your phone rings on the nightstand.
You both stop, you’re completely tense under him and he sighs as he kisses you one more time and rolls off of you.
He lays there on his back as you sit up to grab your phone, screen a little too bright in the dark room and causing you to wince. He stares at your pretty face under the light as you open it up and answer it, not thinking much about the interruption despite the small disappointment he feels.
His hand is on your bare knee and rubbing your skin is soft circles, soothing both you and himself by keeping the contact.
“Hello?” Your voice is as soft and sweet as always, a little confused sounding which makes his eyebrows raise. “Oh Carter.”
Jack tenses up at the sound of a males name leaving your lips, his hand freezing and falling still on your knee. You’re avoiding looking at him as you listen to whoever it is speak on the other line, a deep voice bleeding through the speakers just enough for him to hear but not enough to make out the words.
“Tonight?” Your eyes go to the small digital clock on Jacks side of the bed, having to glance over his body in the process. You meet his eyes just for a second before they’re darting away again and it makes the pit in his stomach grow in understanding. “Of course I didn’t forget. I’ll be ready by nine.”
You’re hanging up after a quiet goodbye and now it’s suffocatingly silent in the room.
You’re still sitting up with your legs crossed under you, avoiding looking at him like you’re not still wearing his shirt and covered in marks he’d given to you. He waits for a minute before he’s sitting up and running a hand over his face, on the opposite side of the bed from you and facing the wall so you can’t see his expression when he finally gets himself to speak.
“You’ve got a date tonight?” He rasps out, trying his best to sound unaffected even though it comes out low and tight.
“I forgot.” You whisper back and you sound further away now, a glance over his shoulder confirms that you’d stood up off the bed and are searching for the shirt you’d shown up in so you can swap out of his. “He’s taking me to some art show downtown.”
Jack stares at you as you move around the room, eyes scanning over your body when you pull his shirt over your head and neatly fold it before putting it on his dresser. It feels really final to watch you change back into your own clothes, turning to meet his eyes and letting out a soft sigh when you see he’s already watching you closely.
He hopes it doesn’t show on his face, doesn’t want to be too obvious that he’s probably about two seconds away from throwing up.
“Carter.” He says simply and now you really stiffen.
You stand there for a few seconds like you’re waiting for something, eyes a little expectant and then full on disappointed when he scoffs and moves to put his leg back on so he can stand up and get out of the room that’s suddenly suffocating.
You leave his apartment and all the warmth goes with you.
He stands in his dark kitchen with regret sitting heavy on his chest, wishing he had stopped you and asked you to stay with him instead.
He isn’t sure if it’s the fear of rejection or his own guilt that stopped him but he knew he couldn’t ask you to do that. You deserved better than him and his baggage, his late hours at work and his dangerous hobbies that he needed to keep himself busy with to not think about the things that sent him spiraling.
He couldn’t imagine forcing you into a life where you had to explain him to your friends and family, ignore the curious and judging looks from his own when they realized just how young you were.
Jack knew you were lonely, it was obvious considering how much time you willingly spent with him and it was bad enough he’d taken advantage of your desperation for connection and nearly slept with you.
He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he stopped you from enjoying your youth, having a fun late night in the city surrounded by artsy people your age and not stuck on his couch watching old reruns because he’s too tired after work to properly take you out.
Jack hates himself for thinking all this and then still obsessively wanting you.
So much so that he purposely lingers near his truck right around the time you’d told your date you’d be ready. In his defense, he did actually need a few things from the corner store, so he sat in the parking lot and waited until he saw you come down.
Your date met you at the entrance of the lobby but didn’t take your purse from you or the jacket you were holding, smiled at you politely but couldn’t be bothered to open the door of his car or even wait for you to get in before he did.
It made Jack sick to his stomach all over again, jaw clenched as he sat in the dark interior of his truck and watched you drive off with some asshole only an hour after he’d had you sleeping next to him, panting under him and begging him to fuck you.
Jack decides right then that it all needs to stop, not just the sex lessons but helping you in general. He can’t be that person for you without wanting more, he’s selfish and possessive over somebody that was never supposed to be his and he knows it’s not fair to you.
So he doesn’t answer any of your texts that night, stays quiet in his living room whenever you knock on his door and waits until he hears you leave for work before he goes to check the mail.
He feels terrible for avoiding you but keeps trying to convince himself it’s in your best interest.
Jack is half asleep when the silent treatment finally breaks.
He’d fallen asleep on his couch accidentally, a beer can too many on the table in front of him and the same movie he’d been watching beforehand starting to roll credits. He should have been in bed sleeping after pulling a double at work but he couldn’t stand being in there lately, tossing and turning and trying to catch the faint scent of you lingering on his pillows.
There was a second of confusion, not sure why he had waken up in the first place, until the sharp knocks on his door made him flinch.
He was standing up on autopilot to open it, wincing at how stiff and sore his leg felt from falling asleep with it still on.
Any thought of his pain was gone the second he opened his door and saw your face, tears on your cheeks and your eyebrows furrowed in frustration.
“I need to talk to you.” You said immediately and he ushered you into his apartment, not necessarily wanting to be in an enclosed space with you but recognizing your tearful voice was far too loud to have a conversation in the hallway.
“What’s wrong?” He said softly and takes a few steps towards you on instinct, cradling your cheek and staring down at you when you nuzzle against his touch. “Why are you crying?”
“Because you’re an asshole.” You seem to remember that you’re mad at him because you step away from his touch, pushing his arm back down to his side and storming further into his apartment.
He stands there completely frozen as you toss your purse onto the chair near the couch, your eyes scanning over the beer cans and the obvious indent of where he’d been sleeping.
Then you’re back to looking at him and he knows what he probably looks like to you. The exhaustion is obvious on his face, clothes a little baggier than normal from a lack of taking care of himself and a constant awkward shifting on his leg to keep pressure off of it.
“Why aren’t you talking to me?” Your voice cracks a little and he deflates, taking a few steps closer again even though he doesn’t think you want him to touch you. “Did I do something wrong?”
“What?” His face faces in disbelief at the idea you could ever do anything wrong in general, especially to him. “Of course you didn’t sweetheart.”
“Then why?” Your words are louder now and they linger in the tense air, face pained as you wait for him to answer.
He sighs and runs a hand over his stubble that desperately needs some maintenance, wishes he had the time to plan out everything he wanted to say to you so he doesn’t accidentally fuck it up more than he already had.
“I just… I can’t do it anymore.” He lets his hands fall to his sides with a loud defeated clap and shrugs his shoulders. “I can’t watch you go out with these idiots knowing they can’t take care of you.”
He hopes what he’s trying to say is an obvious to you as it is to him, not able to bring himself to actually voice the fact that he has feelings for you beyond helping out a neighbor.
“You didn’t stop me.” You sound devastated, head shaking like you don’t believe anything he’s saying to you.
You’re not crying anymore thankfully but you look so hurt and disappointed that it makes him physically ache, moving to grab your arm softly and guide you to sit down on the couch with him.
“I waited for you to stop me and you didn’t.” You continue once you’re sitting beside him, legs pressed together in a small amount of addicting content. “Isn’t it obvious by now that I only want to be with you?”
The words hit him so hard that he doesn’t even have time to process them, eyebrows furrowing as the need for more information pushes him to speak.
“Why would that be obvious? The entire point of this was for you to be ready for other people.”
You look a little embarrassed at his sound logic, staring down at your lap where your hands are fiddling with your fingers. He sighs and takes one of them in his, squeezing it softly until you let your gaze drift back up to his.
“I don’t want other people.” You whisper, staring at him with a small amount of hope in your eyes like you’re just waiting for him to understand. “And I don’t want you to be with anyone else either. I just figured… you wouldn’t cross that line without a good reason.”
Jack thinks it’s a little juvenile of a plan but he also knows you’re not wrong. He would have never touched you without the feeling of helping you out with something, no matter how much he had wanted you since the second you moved in.
That little lie was all he needed to get himself through the shame and guilt, the ability to pretend it was for a greater cause and not because he was sick and desperate for a girl half his age.
“Jack.” You sigh when he doesn’t respond for a few seconds, turning so you can face him better and press a soft kiss to the side of his jaw. “Stop thinking.”
“That’s a big ask.” He mumbles back but he gladly turns to give you a real kiss, holding your face in his hand and keeping your mouth against his.
You kiss until you run out of breath, pulling back from him but rubbing your nose against his and letting your small hands grip his forearm desperately.
“Then just be with me for tonight.” You try to reason with him in any way you can, rubbing his arm softly and blinking at him with those big pretty eyes that drive him so crazy.
He stares at you for a moment before he’s standing up off the couch and tugging you along with him, ignoring the little surprised noise you make in favor of lifting you up with his hands on the back of your thighs. You gasp and then giggle softly once he’s got you in the air, arms behind his neck and legs around his middle as he starts to walk you to his room.
“You’re crazy if you think you’re going anywhere after tonight.” He tells you once he gets you settled on his bed, kissing the smile off your face as he climbs over you.
It’s a direct mirror of the other night as you get each other undressed fully this time, kissing the entire time and tasting his tongue deep in your mouth when it starts to get more heated.
“You’re going to be mine.” He says firmly once he’s got you in nothing but your panties, making sure your eyes are locked on his when you hear it. His free hand is all over your body, rubbing from your smooth thigh up to your chest and cupping around your neck for a brief moment while he waits for you to respond. “If I fuck you then you’re mine.”
“I’ve been yours.” You whisper easily, like you didn’t have to put any thought into it.
He falters, hand tightening around your throat on instinct and then releasing the pressure when he sees the way your eyes light up with interest.
“Don’t be nasty baby.” He’s teasing, kissing the corner of your mouth and bringing your leg up so it’s around his waist and he can press himself against you. “Gonna be gentle with you for your first time. You deserve it.”
“I want you to fuck me.” You’re pouting and gripping at him impatiently, running your hand between your bodies to touch his stomach and fidget with the waistband of his boxers. “That’s what I want Jackie.”
“Didn’t ask what you wanted.” He grumbles back, not caring that it comes off a little mean because you whine at the sound of how rough his voice had gotten and he knows you like it.
He’s back to kissing you and it’s filthier than normal, more tongue and spit than anything else.
You’re as vocal as always, whining and begging impatiently when he gets your underwear off and starts to touch you again.
Jack can barely think straight when he’s back inside of you, fingers pushing in easier this time now that you’ve felt the intrusion before and know what to expect. You’re gasping and crying out immediately, unintelligible words that he blocks out in favor of focusing on how you feel when he’s stretches you out.
“Want it so bad.” Your near sob gets through to him and he hisses through clenched teeth at how wrecked you sound already, shushing you softly and kissing your cheeks to try and calm you down.
“I know baby I know.” He’s whispering but you don’t seem to be hearing him, spreading your legs further to try and make space for him to slot back between them instead of using his fingers.
Jack is just as impatient as you but he’s terrified of hurting you too early, although throbbing so hard in his boxers that it’s painful to shift around.
It’s not long before it’s too much prep for both of you and you’re watching him with your chest heaving as he gets himself undressed the rest of the way, leg going on the floor right alongside your underwear that he had slowly pulled down your body before climbing back over you.
Your eyes go down between your bodies where his leg is and he tenses for a second despite knowing you mean well with the concern you have on your face.
“Let me ride you.” You say softly and his chest tightens with that old familiar shame he was still actively working on ridding himself of.
“I can fuck you.” He says gruffly and your eyes flash with regret, pouting a little like you’re worried you’ve hurt his feelings with your thoughtful suggestion. He kisses the expression off your face, a long deep one followed by a few quick pecks to try and ease your mind. “Next time baby.”
He says it both because he knows realistically he has limitations, there will be plenty of nights he’s not able to rail you into his mattress like he wants to, but also because he knows he would die a happy man the second he got to see you bouncing on top of him and desperately trying to get yourself off.
You look like you want to argue but you’re stopped when he’s pushing your legs apart and moving between them, sharp gasp leaving you when you feel his hard length pressing against you finally.
“Fuck Jack.” Your voice is sharp and already a little pained just from the dull sensation of him lining up with your hole, a growl leaving him at the sound of your distress.
“Just relax baby.” He says as softly as he can even though his throat feels tight and raw, kissing you gently to try and get you to calm down enough for him to push in. “You’re too tight sweetheart.”
“I… I can’t.” You let out another sharp cry when he shifts forward, nails digging into his shoulders so deep it makes him wince and lower his head down on your shoulder.
Jack has to use every ounce of self control he can muster to not just fully push himself into you and feel that tight heat he’s getting a taste of, that same sick and selfish part of him that wants you in the first place begging him to just take you already.
Instead he takes a few deep breaths before he’s kissing you with more focus, going back and forth between softly rubbing your side and massaging your inner thigh to try and urge your body to relax and accommodate him.
It’s a torturous ten minutes, especially due to your soft whimpers and the way you cry his name whenever he accidentally moves himself deeper.
Then you’re finally calm enough, bare chest rising and falling with the deep breaths he’d instructed you to take.
“Want you inside Jack.” You’re whining in his ear, clinging to him tightly and almost suffocating him when he immediately takes your queue and pushes in. You tense up again at the brief surge of pain and then let out a satisfied cry when you feel how full you are, clenching around him so ridiculously that he almost needs to pull out to give himself a break despite barely starting.
You’re both too overwhelmed to speak much more once he starts to actually fuck you, deep thrust accompanied by filthy kisses to keep you from waking up the neighbors with how desperately you’re whining for him to keep giving you more.
It’s pure need on both ends, your hips eagerly rocking upwards to try and meet his thrust sloppily while he uses his free hand to roughly push down on your stomach and keep you in place.
“Jackie.” It’s nearly a sob from you now and he can tell you’re close from how much tighter you’d gotten, almost an impossible squeeze for him to keep fucking you through.
He’s grateful you’re so inexperienced because he doesn’t think he’d last long either, not with the way you look as you stare up at him with teary and trusting eyes.
“I know baby you’re doing so good for me.” It’s more of a growl than anything else but he can barely think let alone speak enough to keep encouraging you. “Taking me so well sweetheart.”
“I’m so full Jack.” You whimper and cling to him tighter, nearly pulling him fully down on top of you and knocking him off his balance. “Feels so good.”
You’re stuttering through your sentences and slurring each word, eyes a little dazed in a way that makes him need to squeeze his shut to avoid coming inside you just from that fucked out look you have.
It’s more sweet than heated when you actually do finally reach your peak, holding onto him still and kissing the side of his jaw softly with your face buried in his neck as you squirm and shake your way through your orgasm.
He stays inside of you for as long as he can so you’re not shocked from the sudden feeling of emptiness but you’re squeezing him too tight and he has to pull out as soon as you’re starting to relax. You whimper immediately at the lose and pick your head up to pout at him, eyes panicked like you’re genuinely distressed he didn’t finish inside you.
He shushes you gently and kisses your face over and over, rubbing your side as he lets you fully come back to reality before attempting to clean either of you up or get you dressed.
“Jack.” You’ve got the needy and frustrated tone he loves so much and he knows you’re not dropping it, meeting your eyes with a fond sigh as you glance down at where he’d came instead of inside you.
“Next time.” He promises again and he means it, fully intending to have that conversation with you ahead of time now that he’s got you like this.
Jack isn’t too opposed to the idea of getting you pregnant, not even sure he’s able to with the amount of pills he takes, but he has to push down that thought along with the rest of the sick ones he gets when he looks at your needy eyes.
You smile a little at the loose promise and tuck yourself back into his shoulder, soothing any concern he has about what just happened or how you’re supposed to operate going forward.
He’s undoubtedly the luckiest guy in the world to have you wanting him like this, feeling safe in his arms and desperate for him in the way he’d been for you since the second he laid eyes on you.
Jack was never the type of person to take the duty of taking care of somebody lightly and he doesn’t plan to let you down for even a second, kissing the top of your head softly and letting himself forget about any shame or insecurity just to hold you for awhile longer.
andrew knew it'd take time, but he can't help but feel his heart swell as he watches you, making dinner for him like a goddamn housewife. he truly was the luckiest man alive.
he remembers the day he first took you home, the way you kicked and screamed, even spat in his face like a fussy brat, which definitely didn't make him hard. he tried everything, making his voice as soft as he could, no sudden moves. but you still fought him.
even when he showed you the hairbrush he bought at the store, with hair ties and clips in your favorite colors, offering to do your hair for you to...how did he put it again? bond.
"c'mon, baby, it'll feel really nice. n you're hair's all messy from kicking around, ill be gentle, promise."
the look of disgust on your face almost made him feel bad for taking you away, but he reminded himself that this was necessary, the two of you were soulmates. you just didn't know it yet.
clearly, when you screamed at him, crying, "'m not your baby! you're sick, andrew!"
like he said, it took time, and eventually you let him feed you, and later, even dress you.
and now look at you, those same hairclips he bought placed carefully in your now, much longer hair.
padding over to him, sweetly kissing him on the corner of his mouth, telling him that dinners all ready, honey.
letting him pick you up and place you on the counter, lifting your dress, letting him slide his thick cock into your ready cunt, and even begging for him to cum inside, to get you pregnant for him, so you can be the perfect wife n give him a family like he's always dreamed about.
Lena’s legs are kicking back and forth on the counter that she’s sitting on. The sleek marbled countertop is a mess, thanks to you. For as long as you’ve known Lena, she’s made it abundantly clear just how much she loves pancakes. All sorts of them, blueberry, chocolate chip, and brown sugar— all of the possible combinations. Sprinkles, maraschino cherries, and a crap ton of whipped cream.
“No sprinkles today, Lena Beana.” You hum as you mix the batter in the bowl. You can’t get it right. It’s either too watery or too thick. You can’t put the correct amount of ingredients and Lena’s amused as she watches you.
“Cherries?” She asks, holding onto her stuffed bunny.
You think about it. It’s ten pm, she can’t have much sugar or she’ll be too rowdy. Even now, she tells you she can’t sleep, you can’t worsen it. “Only natural, not maraschino.”
She pouts, bottom lip jutting out. “Those aren’t as yummy.” But she’s distracted when a glob of your batter spills out of your bowl.
“Fuck.” You curse, hands sticky.
“Curse word.” Her soft voice tries to scold you.
“Sorry, mama.” You apologize as you grab far too many napkins to clean yourself up.
The laugh that leaves the little girl has you turning to look up at her after minutes of concentration. “What are you laughing at?” You poke her belly, making her giggle some more.
“You’re really, really bad at this.” She glances at the mess of ingredients you’ve created. There’s flour on counter, spilled milk and water, butter and oil smeared all around.
You sigh, admitting defeat. “Yeah, I am.” You grab the cereal Nicky had picked up specifically for moments like these. “Froot Loops instead?”
She nods, her leg hair bouncing around her. “Yummy.”
You grab a bowl from the cabinets, along with a spoon, clattering across from where she’s now sitting, having moved to a stool.
“You should ask my uncle Pope for help.” She speaks with a mouthful of cereal. “He likes to clean.”
The grin falls to your lips easily at the mention of Pope. “You, Lena Blackwell, are a genius.” You press a kiss to her temple, whipping your phone out. You send him a text that reads, ‘NEED HELP ASAP.’
He doesn’t rush downstairs, not like you thought he would. His eyes are immediately on Lena, even with his calmed demeanor, making sure she’s not injured. And then, to you. You’re grinning as you lean against the counter, “funny story, handsome,” you hum. “There was a robbery! Wasn’t there, Lena?”
The little girl nods with a mouth full of cereal, scooping some more in her spoon.
“That right?” He asks roughly, unamused.
You nod, “yes. And you know what’s so horrible? They tried to take the expensive stuff but then they changed their path to the kitchen. And then, they tried to make pancakes.”
“Tried?” He asks as he makes his way to the countertop, lifting a spoon that’s in a puddle of the white sludge.
“No. They succeeded because they were really smart and knew how to cook.” You watch as he takes the mess in, carefully moving around the countertop, circling you and Lena. “And then, they took the cooked pancakes and told Lena she could only have Froot Loops. It was sick.”
Lena nods, speaking with a mouthful of food. “It’s true, uncle pope!”
Pope shakes his head, grabbing a towel from the sink, ready to get to cleaning. “Lena, don’t follow in her footsteps. Lying is bad.”
You grin, turning to Lena who’s already watching you, waiting to hear what your argument is. You shake your head at her, silently telling her to forget his words. She’s content with that response, going back to her cereal.
“It’s not lying. It’s story-telling.” You defend playfully, letting him clean the mess you’ve made. “I’m building up her imagination. She’s going to write best-selling novels.”
He scoffs, “says the liar.”
“Not a liar.” Both you and Lena speak at the same time. You two fall into fits of giggles.
“You’re copying me.” You tease her.
She grins, “no, you’re copying me.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Yuh-huh.”
“Children.” Pope chastises, both of you turning to look at him as he’s moving the used plates and utensils into the sink. “Lena, go get ready for bed. You,” his glare isn’t tense as usual but it’s directed to you. “Wash the dishes.”
You groan as Lena runs off with a giggle to her temporary bedroom. “Come on, it’s not my fault. It’s the robbers.”
“Yes.” He repeats, “it was the robbers fault but they left and you’re here. Wash.”
Despite the attitude that you have, you do decide to do it as he does the rest. You two clean in silence. It’s not horrifically awkward but silence means you overthink. And overthinking is bad. You have to keep going or it’ll be too much to handle.
“Pope?”
He doesn’t speak, a simple hum tells you to keep going.
You don’t respond immediately, and you can feel the way he turns to face your back, “what?” His voice seems to be naturally harsh so you don’t flinch or stress over the tone.
You put the plate down, turning to face him, wiping your wet hands with the dry rag beside the sink.
You’re not nervous around men often. Most don’t hold a candle to you. To how great you know you can be. To how great you know you are. But Pope isn’t just any man. From the second you saw him three years ago at the grocery store, you know this was it. You knew even then, that Andrew Cody is the guy you’re going to end up with. And yet, you still don’t speak.
The air is charged with tension. No, not tension. Softer. You can’t quite put your finger on it as you two stand there, barely a few scuffles apart, staring at each other.
Your breath hitches, itching to say these words out loud. “I really like you.” You admit, a little too easily, because of how intensely you mean them. Wholeheartedly. Irrevocably. In any way to describe how truthful you're being.
He doesn’t hesitate, “you’re lying.”
Your eyebrows furrow, a scoff bubbling out of you. “Excuse me?”
He shrugs, swinging a clean rag over his shoulder, arms crossed as he leans against the countertop. “That’s your hobby, right?”
Now you’re offended, crossing your arms over your chest as well, “is that why you never take me seriously? You think that, because I like to lie, that my feelings for you are a lie, too?”
“Would I be wrong to think so?”
It’s your turn to not hesitate, “yes.” Breathily, “I wanted you the second you walked into the store.”
“What?” His face scrunches in confusion, in that same cute way that makes you smile.
“Nothing.”
“No,” he takes a single step forward. “What store?”
You wanted to hang this over him longer but you can’t. The excitement is burning through you. You need to tell him just how long he’s been invading your thoughts without even knowing his name. You need to tell him how much worse this need for him has intensified since getting to know him.
“You really don’t remember me?”
“Of course I remember you.” He sounds offended by whatever accusation you’re throwing at him. “I think about you all the time.”
You take a step towards him as well. “You do?”
He rolls his eyes, “don’t let it get to your head.”
You laugh, “you’re letting it get to yours.”
“What? It’s not.”
“Not that one.” You hum.
He grabs the towel on his shoulder and covers his crotch as you cackle. “Shut up.”
You shrug, still grinning. “Helen’s.” You speak the name of the grocery store. It’s a small, family owned grocery store, one where the owners are always over and chitchatting with the customers. A staple in the tight-knit community.
“That your mother or something?”
You shake your head, “the grocery store.”
“Okay… you want me to go to Helen’s? What do you need?”
You groan, eyes shutting momentarily, trying to keep your emotions intact. You open them to his body much closer to yours, closing the distance. His hand is ghosting over your cheek, scared to touch you. “Do it…” your voice is small and desperate.
It happens so fast. His hands fall to your cheeks, forcing your face up as he pushes you to lean against the sink, knee slotting between your thighs. His nose is nudging against yours, breath heavy against your lips.
You’ve had his thumb in your mouth and his fingers in you. And not a single kiss. A forehead kiss but you’re not counting that. You need to kiss him. Have to. You’re desperate for it. You try to push your face to his but he holds your face back. “No.” His voice is whiney as he speaks, forehead against yours. “No.” Neither of you pull away.
The camera linked to the doorway chimes, reading the license plate out loud in its robotic and monotonous voice. A button beeps and a familiar voice is heard as the machine asks to state his name. “Barry Blackwell.”
He doesn’t fully pull away, not until the front door opens and in comes Baz.
You clear your throat, fixing your shirt as Pope goes back to cleaning. You smile politely at Baz, “Mr. Blackwell.” You greet. “Welcome.”
His smile toward you is seen as charming by most. And you don’t hate it, but you don’t care for it. “You can call me Baz.”
You grimace softly with a laugh, shaking your head. “No… my step-dad tells me to never put my boss at my level.”
Baz ignores this, turning to his brother, watching him carefully. “You good, bro?”
Pope nods stiffly, “good.”
It’s awkward. Pope clearly isn’t good and his brother knows this. You know this. And Baz is about to push, about to ask again, when you jump in. “I’ll show you to your room.” You push off the sink. “It’s right across Lena’s. Come on.”
Baz nods, grabbing his bags again and following behind you as you lead him out of the kitchen. You don’t turn to look at Pope, scared to see how upset he is. Not for fear, but because the disappointment in his features will make you want to rush back to him in front of their company.
“This is a really nice place.” Baz chimes as he inspects the walls and furniture around.
You hum, nodding. “Yeah. Sammy’s parents are really well off.” You tell him. “He’s a stockbroker or something like that, I don’t know, some boring stuff. Mother’s a lawyer.”
He whistles softly, “fuck. Should’ve picked a different career.”
You huff a small laugh, opening the door to his bedroom for the next few days. “Property manager isn’t cutting it?” You joke.
“Not even close.” He drops his bag as she leads him into the sleek and clean room. “They happily married?”
You smile softly, “very happily.” You answer, unsure of what to say next. “Uhm… it’s late. I’m gonna go put Lena to bed and—“
“How is she?” He cuts you off. “Lena? Was she… upset?”
It almost warms you to know that he does care, which gets harder and harder to believe the longer you take care of the little girl. “At first, yeah. But she got over it. She’s having fun here. She picked some fruit with the gardener and Nicky when we got in. We’re thinking of making a pie tomorrow.”
He lets out a breathy little laugh, nodding as he slumps onto the edge of the bed, taking a much needed seat. You’re slowly sliding back to the door, needing a quick escape. “So, you—“
He interrupts you again, “thank you, by the way.” He hums. “Allison’s boyfriend doesn’t want her to watch kids anymore while pregnant. And her mother…” he trails off for a moment. “She doesn’t care for being a mother any longer, clearly. Know you weren’t fond of kids at first, heard J mention it to Nicky. But youre good with her.”
You take the compliment, “thank you. She’s… she’s a really great girl.” You add, “so, can—“
Again. “You are too.” You tense at his words. “You’re a great girl.”
“Oh… uhm…” you wipe your sweaty palms against your bottoms, drying them as best as you can. “Tha-thank y—“
You almost want to yell when you’re interrupted again. But you feel relief wash over you when Lena rushes into the room, “daddy!” She jumps into her fathers arms, cheering happily and rambling away about what she did today.
This gives you the chance to slip out of the room, a heavy breath leaving you once you’re in the clear. “Fuck…” you mutter softly, anxious from the too long moment.
You push off the wall you were leaning against, eyes falling onto Pope’s as he stands at the stairway, watching you with a cup of warm milk at hand. For Lena, of course. He’s watching you carefully, worried. You send him a small smile and walk to your bedroom, embarrassed.
authors note . . . hiiii sorry for the lag!! hope you guys like it <3
taglist (purged it a little, sorry if i took you off and you DO interact, just message me and I’ll add you. other than that, taglist is open, only a few spots open) . . . @theariespov @slytherclaw1978 @manilovewomen1 @harhar0777 @cassierins @hhusbuds @shitface-t @firstlyferrari @marauvderss @vesperazhier @love-pluto-love @peachyfckingkeen @wylewhims @byfragonard @xreader1989 @inbred-eater @verygentlementrash @sagelovesbooks @callmestgalex @robinavitchabbotslut @momdancingtomcr @pr3ttygirlavenue @cherryybombbthoughts @tatoda @cosmicneptune @buckystwilight @iansunibrow @cosmosnkaz @feminine-ominon @caterppillar @milestellerismybf @scream4mami @niyizh @4ngelest @4rtem4r
word count: 4.6k
warnings: dead dove: do not eat, rape/non-con (bc of implied somnophilia), afab reader (no mention of gender, but i do use “clit” and “pussy” still, sorry!), stalking, self harm (he hurts himself so you'll take care of him oop-), blood and mild injury, alcohol (you both drink together), murder (yep!), possessive behavior, unprotected sex, squirting, size difference, delusional thoughts, might be the tamest smut ive written in a while (this is indeed a warning!)
summary: pope is a hopeless romantic. he sees things that are simply not there. he thinks you love him like he loves you. but you have no clue where he got that idea.
so he needs to show you that you want him just as much as he wants you.
a/n: based on this ask, usually I dont do requests but I was called in to work again and this sparked joy so i wrote it up on my shift real quick for funsies!
hope it's a sick read ♡
There was only one good thing about being put in the hole. It meant Pope got to see you after.
His beacon of hope. His ray of sunshine after more than a week of solitude and darkness.
Seeing you meant it was over.
“You cut yourself real good this time, Andrew.” You sigh, patting the cut he made in his lower abdomen gently with some disinfectant. “How does this always happen when you get out of that hellhole?”
“Keep snagging on the doorframe on the way out.” There's a piece of sharp metal that Pope is privy to on the door to the hole. He always makes sure to get caught against it before he heads out, which gives him ample reason to see you.
“They need to get that fixed. You'll come in here with your organs spilling out next time if they don't.” You brush your fingers lightly along the scars from the many other times he's done this.
Pope loves the feel of your hands on his skin. He doesn't hide how hard his cock is in reaction to your touch.
You always have the cutest look on your face when you notice he's hard. You never mention it.
He likes that you're shy about it. He knows you must be looking forward to the day he gets out of here and can finally be inside of you.
“There won't be a next time.” He tells you, his hand grabbing onto yours, squeezing it. “I'll be out soon.”
“Oh really?” You had no idea.
Pope likes how you're pretending to be surprised. He is certain you've been counting down the days like he has. Just a few more weeks and he'll be free.
“They approved my appeal. I'll be out even sooner than we thought.” He laces his fingers in yours and you squeeze his hand back.
Because you assume he's feeling a lot of pain and needs someone to steady him. You have no idea that Pope believes you're showing him a sign of affection.
It's your job to care about people, especially the prisoners at your workplace. Someone has to do this work and you have lots of compassion and empathy.
Traits that Pope reads as love and desire.
“That's wonderful, Andrew.” You say to him with a smile before letting go of his hand so you can start bandaging him up. “What do you plan to do when you get out? Got anything special planned?”
He smiles back at you, loving that you're so curious about what he has in store for you once he's free from this place. He has so much planned for the two of you.
Pope can't wait to touch you like he's been dreaming about since the first day he met you. It takes all of his willpower not to grab you and kiss you right here. He settles for taking a lock of your hair between his fingers, memorizing the feel of it in his hand.
“I have a lot to do when I'm out.” He tells you and you don't know why chills run down your spine. His words are rather ominous.
Which is why you say back, “just be sure not to do anything too crazy, okay? I would hate to see you back here.”
“Don't worry about me. I promise I will never come back here.” He would never jeopardize his time with you. He wants to be free to hold you, care for you, love you.
Pope will not risk doing anything that would hurt his chance at a happy life with you.
“Well that's good.” You finish bandaging him up. “Since I worry the next nurse won't be as kind to you.”
Your words startle him. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh.” You realize you let it slip that you'd be leaving this place too so you might as well just reveal, “I took another job. Better pay. I start in a few weeks.”
“Where?” He asks because he needs to know where he'll be moving to.
“Just a local hospital. Near the beach.” You can't wait. You love the beach.
“I live near the beach.” He should've known you wouldn't want to keep working here once his time here was up.
“That's right! I think you've told me before. How nice. Glad you have a place to go to after this. Not everyone is that blessed.”
Now Pope realizes that you must've changed jobs for him. Because you knew he lived by the beach. You wanted to be closer to him. He should've known you wouldn't want to have to commute so far from him for work.
“I'm lucky to have you.” He leans in, unable to help himself anymore, giving you a kiss on the top of your head. “You've helped me survive this place.”
“You did that all on your own, Andrew.” You give him a smile, stepping away so he can't kiss you again.
Try as you might, it's difficult to avoid inmates displaying some forms of affection towards you. So, as long as it's harmless, you don't bat an eyelash at it or overreact. You won't be working here for very long anymore anyways.
What's the harm in letting him give you a light peck on the head?
More harm than you'll ever see coming.
Because once you've started your new job, you see Pope again.
At your hospital. Hurt.
“Andrew?” You rush up to his bedside, concern coloring your features. “What happened? What are you doing here?”
“I broke up a bar fight and the guy smashed a beer bottle over my head.” He turns so you can see the cut they've stitched up on the side of his temple.
“Did you press charges?”
He shakes his head. “I don't like getting involved with the cops.”
“I'm sorry this happened to you.” You let out a sad sigh. “How long have you been out?”
“Just a few days.” He wanted to see you sooner but it took him a while to figure out where you worked.
“Are you…holding up alright?” You sit down on the stool beside him. “There's some pamphlets I can give you of resources that might help your transition.”
“I'm alright. Glad I got to see you.” He puts his hand out and waits for you to hold it.
You know you shouldn't. It was just something you let happen because he was in pain. But he is in pain now so…you lay your hand in his. His hand engulfs yours, holding it gently but firmly.
“I missed you.” He says to you, his eyes full of love that you don't notice. “You're a better nurse than the one that stitched me up just now.”
You chuckle. “Don't let them catch you saying that.”
“It's the truth. You took really good care of me. I hope I can do the same for you one day.” His words don't phase you the way they should.
“Are you thinking about going into the medical field?” You interpret what he's saying as interest in helping others.
“Do you think I should?” He wants your input.
“I think you can be anything you want to be, Andrew.” You squeeze his hand, your tone soft and sweet. “You've got a long life ahead. Spend it doing things that make you happy.”
“I will.” Pope is so deeply moved by your words. You have always been such a wonderful light in his life.
Where would he be without you?
He needs to keep you safe, to make sure no harm will ever come to you.
That's why Pope takes care of anyone who seems to linger around you for too long.
“Do you have an alibi for the night of the 5th?” The police officer at your door asks.
“I was at work. You can check the cameras and my timesheet. Why, what's wrong?” This is the third visit you've gotten from the police in the last few weeks.
And again, it's the same scenario.
A guy you went out with ends up dead.
You're the connecting dot but you have alibis for the time of each murder, so the police can't pin this on you. It may just be a strange coincidence.
“Is there anyone in your life who may have it out for men you've shown interest in?” The detective for this case wants to figure out something, anything to help solve these murders.
You shake your head. “I mean, I'm an ER nurse. I see tons of patients every shift. It could be one of them but I'm under oath. I can't tell you about any of them.”
“If you think of anything, don't hesitate to call.” You take the detective's card.
The card disappears the next day. You don't know where it went. You should've saved the number but you've been so tired from back to back shifts that you spaced. You figure if you need it, you can go down to the station.
For now, you decide to stop dating. If there is someone out there going after the men in your life, it's better for you not to put anyone else on their radar.
You don't think anything strange is happening. Other than the fact that you swear you were out of cereal but suddenly the box is full again. Or the milk in your fridge was supposed to go bad tomorrow, but now it's good for another week.
You've been exhausted from work lately so you blame your mental mishaps on that. But you can't remember going to the store and replenishing anything.
You plop down on your couch after a long shift, leaning your head back. You pass out right there. You're sure you did.
But you wake up in your bed.
You don't remember getting up from the couch. You don't remember putting on your pajamas. You don't remember tucking yourself into bed…
Nor do you remember the dream you had that resulted in so much slick to build up between your legs.
You touch yourself, feeling how wet you are. How sensitive your clit is, how swollen it is to the touch. It's like you were rubbing it in your sleep.
Did you?
“You look beat.” One of your fellow nurses comments at the end of your next shift. “Having trouble sleeping?”
“No, actually, I've been sleeping really well.” You can't wrap your head around it.
As weird as it has been, you have been sleeping great. But you're troubled as to why.
Because you keep waking up with that same, overstimulated feeling between your legs. Sometimes, you even ache inside.
As if your body wants something buried deep, like it craves it.
It's been a long time since you've had sex. You could just be needing to satisfy the itch.
You aren't looking for a one night stand, though.
At least you aren't until you run into Pope on the way home from work. He waves to you and you wave back, unsure how to turn him away when he starts walking towards you.
“Just got off work?” He asks, even though he knows.
He memorized your schedule. He knows exactly when you'll be home every day.
“Yeah. You?” You remember he said he lived around here. “Out for a walk?”
He nods. “Was thinking of grabbing a drink. There's a nice bar nearby. Can I buy you one?”
“A drink?” You should say no. This is definitely not the first time a patient has asked you out.
But a drink does sound nice…
“I want to thank you for always being so kind to me.” Pope says with so much sincerity that you don't see it as manipulative.
That's why you agree to the drink. “Sure. Just one though. I'm a lightweight.”
You follow Pope to the bar and it is a nice bar. You both sit at the counter. He orders a beer. You order the special for the night to try.
You find it oddly easy to talk to Pope. It's like the two of you have known each other for so long. He knows exactly how to make you laugh and tells such crazy stories.
You have another drink somewhere down the line. Then another. Because you reason to yourself that you're off work tomorrow so you can live a little.
You're a bit tipsy by the time the bar closes. Pope offers to walk you home and you agree, since you live a couple blocks away. He holds your hand the whole way, keeping you steady beside him.
“Thanks, Andrew.” You lean into him a little more than you should. “I think I went a bit overboard. I don't usually drink that much, I swear.”
“I know. It's okay. You had fun.” He's watched you on many dates not finish your drink. But you did with him.
And that makes him feel special.
Because you're comfortable enough around him to show him this alternative side of yourself, the one you hide from other people, worried you're bothering them with your mindless babbling.
“I did have a lot of fun.” You tell him, smiling up at him. “Thank you for paying. I'll have to treat you next time.”
“I'd like that.” He likes that there will be a next time.
Usually you don't go on more than one date with someone. Because if you do decide to, he kills them before you can.
He doesn't have to worry about that now.
You seem fixated on him, which he is grateful for.
Because you let him kiss you when the two of you get to your door. You let him press you up against your front door, his body flush to your own, his kisses more feverish than anything you've felt recently. You have to stop yourself from moaning when he deepens the kiss and pins you in place with his body.
“Wait, Andrew.” You try to catch your breath so you can say, “I should sober up a little first if we're going to do this.”
“Can I kiss you while we wait?” He doesn't mind waiting, since you're open to having him touch you. This is what he's been waiting for. He can wait a little longer.
“Okay.” You nod, your heart hammering in your chest.
You don't normally do anything like this.
This might be a first. Having a one night stand with someone you met at work.
A one night stand with someone you met at a prison…
But your mind seems to ignore that bit.
Because the moment you open your door and walk inside with Pope, he locks it behind him before dragging you to your couch, pulling you onto his lap, then kissing you with that same unwavering desire he had at the door.
You feel how hard he is underneath you, grinding up against you, your body aching to know what he would feel like inside of you. Your brain flashes to the memories of seeing the outline of his cock while you would treat him. You tried to ignore it, but it was difficult to when he was so big.
You've never had a cock that big before. He could make you cum just from you rubbing against it.
You haven't felt this riled up in a long time…
It must be the liquor lowering your inhibitions. Or the fact that Pope has tugged off his shirt and you're able to stare at his muscular chest in an intimate setting, not a medical one.
Your fingertips trace along the scars on his lower abdomen, the ones you treated. It makes his cock throb under you and you bite back a moan.
“I want to hear the sounds you make.” He reaches up, brushing his thumb against your bottom lip to stop you from biting it. “Don't hide them from me.”
You've never been seduced before but this might be the closest you've ever felt to being completely seduced. Because he's staring at you with so much desire in his eyes, you feel like you're drowning in his intense gaze.
Then, you remember, “wait, I don't think I have any condoms.”
“It's okay.” He was never going to fuck you with a condom anyways. “I just want to go down on you.”
Pope knows exactly how to make you cum on his tongue by now. He's done it plenty of times in your sleep. You'll surely let him fuck you once your pussy is aching to be filled.
“Really?” You've never had a guy offer before.
“I want to make you feel good, like you have for me.” Pope leans in, giving you another kiss, making you melt into him.
“It was my job to make you feel better.” You don't want him to give you too much credit for just doing what you were paid to do.
“And now it's my job to make you cum.”
Pope proceeds to haul you up by your legs, wrapping them around his hips as he carries you so easily to your bedroom. He lays you down on your back before kneeling in front of you, his hands at the waistband of your pants.
“I-I should shower first.” You've been at work all day. You're sweaty and you should rinse off a bit.
“You're perfectly clean.” He waits for your permission. “Let me do this, please.”
You put your hand over your eyes, shielding yourself from the embarrassment that floods you when you allow yourself to feel this much lust to tell him, “okay, if you're sure.”
Pope doesn't wait a second longer. He pulls off your pants, leaving you in just your underwear. He plants kisses in a line, trailing up your thigh until you can feel his warm breath over your soaked underwear. Shyness overwhelms you at the realization of how wet you are. You can't believe you're this turned on. It's like your body yearns for the pleasure it knows he can provide.
Like it's tasted it before, many, many times.
Even if you don't know anything about it, your body remembers.
That's why when Pope tugs your underwear off and finally dips his tongue inside of you, you gasp, startled at how quickly he found where you like being touched, the tip of his tongue flicking that spot inside of you over and over again until your legs are shaking.
“Andrew, how, oh god—” You're already so close to cumming. You could explode any second now.
You do when he rolls your clit between his fingers at the same time as he ravages you with his tongue. You grip the sheets beneath you like you might topple over if you don't, your orgasm hitting you so hard.
You hear him lick his lips. You must've made a mess.
You go to apologize but then Pope says, “can I do that again?”
And you stop resisting him entirely.
You always told yourself that you had to maintain some kind of decorum, especially in bed. It's an incredibly vulnerable experience to let someone unravel you completely.
But you can't seem to care about appearances right now.
Because the moment you nod, Pope is back to playing with your clit, swirling circles around it perfectly with his tongue and you just let loose.
You don't even register how loud you're being, how the things coming from your mouth must sound to your neighbors. You couldn't care less when Pope is making you cum more than you've ever cum in bed before.
And he hasn't even fucked you yet.
But you want him to.
You want him to desperately when your mind drifts to how big he is.
“Are you clean?” You ask him, against your best judgment. “Have you slept anyone since you got out of prison?”
He shakes his head. “I've only wanted to fuck you.”
“Then you can.” You need him to. “If you want to.”
Pope pulls off his pants immediately, kicking them off before climbing on top of you, dragging your body upwards so your head is nicely cushioned by your pillows. He stares down at you, his eyes drifting to your chest so you pull off your shirt, letting him see you completely naked now.
It's even better when you're awake. He loves getting to look you in the eyes while he's touching you, his hands siding up and down your bare skin, caressing you all over.
“You're beautiful.” And all his. Every piece of you is all his. “I can't wait to be inside of you.”
Your hands drag down the length of his chest, enjoying the warmth of his skin under your palms. Then, you wrap your hands around his cock, feeling it twitch in response. You can barely wrap your hands around it.
“It'll fit.” He doesn't like the worried look on your face.
Pope has prepped you enough these last few weeks. You can surely take him. He would've fucked you in your sleep but he decided he wanted to wait until he could hear you scream his name while he pounded into you.
“Come here.” He lays down beside you, pulling you so you're facing him. “We'll take it slow. I'll use my fingers to loosen you up.”
“I don't want to be the only one feeling good.” You feel a little too spoiled by his generosity. “I can put you in my mouth?”
He leans forward, shaking his head so you can feel his nose brushing against yours as he does, “I only want to be buried inside your warm pussy. Let me get you ready first, okay?”
His hand slips between your legs and you spread them, making it easier for him to thrust a finger inside of you. You cling onto his shoulders, unprepared for how thick his finger would feel. You hadn't noticed how big his hands were…
“Focus on me.” He turns your attention back to his lips pressing against yours, kissing you again.
You kiss him back, your tongue wanting to taste his. He smiles against your lips before thrusting another finger inside of you, stretching you out more. He draws out a moan from you when his fingers curl, finding the same spot his tongue was flicking earlier. He starts thrusting his fingers right there, over and over until you're grabbing a hold of his hair, pulling him flush to your body, your hips grinding against his hand.
“Andrew, I'm going to cum.” You lean your forehead against his, your breaths so heavy as you let out, “oh god, it's coming, I'm going to cum—”
He steals your breath away right as you squirt all over his fingers, his tongue slipping into your mouth, denying you of the air you so desperately need while your orgasm shoots through you. You hold onto him tighter, not wanting to let go, not wanting to be apart from him.
“Please, I need you.” You want him inside of you right now.
He nods, climbing on top of you, pulling his fingers out of you with a pop that makes your whole body convulse. “I hope you do that on my cock.”
“Just give it to me already.” You whine and he loves it.
Pope has been waiting to see you this needy. You're absolutely everything he has ever wanted.
Such an eager partner.
He lines his cock up and then slowly pushes into you. You feel like you're being torn apart, the pressure unlike anything you've felt before. He is really big.
“Relax.” He presses his hand down on your lower belly, kneading right there. “If you let me in, you'll feel me right here. It'll feel amazing, so breathe and don't fight it.”
You look down, at where his hand is, at how deep he'll be inside of you. He feels you loosen up, letting him in.
“Good job.” He praises you when he's halfway inside of you. “Just a little more to go.”
“There's more?” You can't believe it…
“You'll take it.” He starts slowly rolling his hips, pushing a bit more of himself inside of you with every stroke. “Almost there.”
Such a wave of bliss crashes through you when Pope finally hilts. You open your arms up, wanting to hold him. He welcomes it, hooking his arms under you to hug you back.
“If you start moving, I'm going to lose it.” You tell him, your nails digging into his back already. “I might hurt you.”
“Make me bleed.” He invites you to tear up his back. “You'll treat me after.”
You want to laugh at his joke but then you are immediately hit with him ramming his cock deeper into you and your nails actually do slice into him when you drag them down his back. You continue to claw into him as he pounds harder into you, his cock rubbing up against every spot inside of you that makes you see stars.
Your vision blurs completely once your orgasm hits. You've never cum from penetration before. It's a different kind of orgasm, your pussy milking his cock, wanting him to fill you up with his release.
You want it too. You're consumed with thoughts you never thought you'd have.
All because he's fucking you like he owns you. Like your body is his completely.
“Say my name when you cum.” He instructs, since he knows he's getting close.
And you are a great listener because you repeat his name over and over again with every orgasm that rolls through your body, “Andrew.”
He doesn't last much longer, his release spilling deep inside of you. You didn't know how warm it would feel. Or how addictive that feeling is.
Sex has never felt so fulfilling before.
Pope lays beside you and pulls you in for a kiss. The two of you kiss until he's soft and slides out of you. Then, he takes you into your bathroom with him.
You shower together. He dries your hair for you. You let him have a toothbrush so he can brush his teeth because for some reason, you don't like the thought of him leaving.
You want him to stay the night. You want him to stay every night.
Because you have to feel that again.
Once you find him something to wear, the two of you lay down in your bed together. He wraps his arms around you, tugging you to lay on his chest. You don't resist, closing your eyes, listening to his soft heartbeat.
“Be careful, Andrew.” You tell him, a bit nervous.
“What's wrong?” He really doesn't like when you get that worried look on your face.
“It might just be a coincidence but…the last few guys I've gone out with have ended up dead. I just…I don't want that to happen to you.” You cuddle closer to him, clinging onto him.
“So, does that mean we're dating?” He elects to ignore your concern since you have nothing to worry about.
He won't kill himself, after all. He will kill anyone else that tries to get close to you, though. Hopefully no one tries anymore. It was difficult enough to not get caught.
“Would you want to date me?” Suddenly, you're all shy.
He likes it when you have this bashful look in your eye. “Yes, I would. I like you a lot.”
Actually, he loves you but he'll wait until he's sure you love him back before telling you.
“I like you too.” You smile into his chest, your eyes getting droopy with sleep. “I can't wait to spend more time with you.”
You're out like a light, the warmth of him snuggling close so comforting. He presses a kiss to the top of your head before laying his head back and looking up at the ceiling.
So very grateful everything worked out exactly the way he planned.
And he hopes it stays that way.
Because if it doesn't, he'll have to do something drastic.
Pope would rather not have to resort to that. He'd rather you stay content in his arms just like this.
Forever.
a/n: so in the original ask, the end bit was to have him kidnap you and make you his, which is something I do plan on writing in the follow up to this, where you inevitably find out he's been killing people and you freak out. looking forward to that if people are interested!
hope you enjoyed the read ♡ big thanks to @peachjellyy for the lovely idea! made my night shift a bit more fun hehe ~
Stalker!Pope who no matter how hard he tries to resist, can’t keep away from you
Stalker!Pope who breaks into your place in the middle of the night through an open window, to watch you sleep. God how he loves to watch you sleep.
Stalker!Pope who feels the urge to fuck you right there and then, but instead just grips his cock in hand, slowly stroking himself, doing his best to muffle his groans so he doesn’t wake you.
Stalker!Pope who steals your worn panties from your laundry hamper, so he can inhale your scent and masturbate using them when he’s at home alone. He then returns them the next night and proceeds to take another pair, and so on.
Stalker!Pope who installs hidden cameras around your apartment so he can watch your every move.
Stalker!Pope who watches you on his cameras every night as you masturbate before you go to sleep. How he wishes you were thinking of him.
Stalker!Pope who puts a tracking device on your car so he can know where you are at all times
Stalker!Pope who always seems to show up in your time of need.
Stalker!Pope who always happens to be around to scare off any men and their unwanted advances.
Stalker!Pope who can’t help but feel slightly guilty as you call him your saviour.
Hi Mae! Coming in to request Whitaker x reader! She was off the last year on a doctor’s without border’s trip and her first shift back as a doctor she comes in doing cpr on a patient that coded in the ambulance bay? Also everyone has a nickname so can hers be Siren? Cause she’s a baddie
Dennis Whitaker x Reader₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎⋆˙♡
holy shit I'm so sorry this took almost a month. I've had terrible writers block. Imma try to get back into the groove, and maybe make a part two cus this was cutie.
Summary: simple fluff, meet-cute I think? <3 kinda shy Dennis whitaker, Santos langdon robby and Dana appearance. not proofread!! I'm sorry.
wc: 1.2k
After being away from the pitt for a year, you were nervous to return, which you would never admit. You had already envisioned yourself walking in there like it was any other day, like you had never left. Same confidence, same understanding of the space. But as you walked into the department, you stuttered, fidgeting with your hands and avoiding eye contact. You stood in front of your locker trying to build the courage to just go in there, nothing to worry about. No one forgot who you were, you would all still get along, it would be a good day. You take a deep breath and close your locker, freezing for a second before pushing yourself backwards to just go for it, unfortunately colliding your entire back with someone.
“Woah, careful…Shit, hey Siren I didn’t even realise that was you.” You turn to see Dana, grabbing your shoulder to steady you, giving her usual big smile.
“Hi Dana, sorry about that.” You awkwardly laugh. Never in your life have you felt awkward around dana, even on your first day you basically followed her around, eventually giving her the nickname ‘mama bear’ which everyone came to use. She was a welcoming presence for everyone in the pitt, but today you just felt so out of place.
“Nervous to be back?” Dana asks, guiding you out the doors, throwing you into action. You mumble some kind of response, taking in the busy emergency room. There are familiar faces, but also some new ones. You see Robby talking with Abbot at the nurses station, and decided in that moment to ‘lock in’. Robby was someone you looked up to, and you didn’t want him seeing you nervous. You also knew he’d hover the rest of the day, something he did if he noticed anything slightly off about you.
Robby and Abbot gave you a warm welcome, Abbot giving you a side hug before heading home, and then Robby had you follow him to a trauma room. Robby always threw you onto difficult cases, so when you walked into the trauma room that was filled with doctors and nurses, all surrounding the one patient you weren’t all that surprised, just ready to get right into it.
Things seem to fall together just right, your presence fitting just how it always did. The situation seemed to ease a bit once you got in there.
You stand in front of the board, taking all the names and complaints in. As you try to decide between taking an easy or difficult case, Dana calls you over,
“Siren, we have an anaphylaxis en route, can you get outside and wait for that ambulance?”
Walking backwards towards the doors to the ambulance bay, you call out to dana,
“We know anything else?”
“Nope.” She tells you, shrugging her shoulders.
You get outside, appreciating the nice weather and hope it's a simple case. Surely they've administered Epi, and there wasn’t much else that needed done here. But with a lack of information you had to be prepared for whatever they had.
Sure enough, the patient was unstable the whole trip to the Pitt, and so you helped rush them into a trauma room, counting out compressions as you went. A couple nurses and other doctors followed you and the paramedics into the room, getting information from said paramedics before they left. You hand off compressions to the doctor next to you, a new, soft face. You hold your eyes for just a moment, making sure this new person had it under control, but he took over immediately, focusing on cpr.
Robby comes into the room, asking you for the run down. You take a step back, expecting him to take over the oxygenation, but he just nods at you and backs away, leaving it all to you. You figured as much from Robby, he always pushed you forward. You had no choice but to intubate the patient, which the doctor you didn’t recognise stepped in immediately to help.
Thankfully everything went smoothly, and as you headed out of the trauma room your eyes seemed to follow the new doctor, the one with curly hair and soft eyes. You debated approaching him, but decided it would be better to give it some time. You make your way to the nurses station, hoping to catch Dana. Caught up in your thoughts when you felt a tap on your shoulder.
“Hey uh, good work in there.” The new face says, tapping his knuckles with unsteady eye contact.
“Oh, thanks, you did great too.” Your voice seems to trail off, train of thought leaving you. This wasn’t normal, not for you. You had never been the person to be awkward with a man, you seemed to have an endless supply of confidence, at least on the outside. It was why the department had given you the nickname Siren. You were put together, poised, even something about your voice and eyes seemed to fit into the nickname, according to your coworkers. It was a flattering nickname, so of course you went along with it, even though inside you didn’t feel anything like that. But unfortunately the version of you people typically perceived faltered with this new guy.
“Thank you..I’m Dennis by the way, Whitaker, uh Dennis Whitaker.” He smiled, his unfortunate stuttering making you ease up, you weren't the only one being weirdly awkward. You tell him your actual name, mention how you’ve worked here awhile but it's your first day back after a year away helping with doctors without borders.
You ease into a conversation, learning about how long dennis has worked at the pitt, when Langdon passes by,
“Good job with that intubation, siren!”
“You’re so kind, er ken!” You yell back, familiarity washing over, you had missed the back and forth with everybody.
“Hey, why does everyone call you siren?” Dennis asks, voice lowering so just you hear, not wanting to expose how out of the loop he really is.
“Oh, uh it’s just my nickname around here, we’ve all kind of given them to each other.” You’ve never really had to explain the name, everyone just kinda got it. You weren’t particularly keen on explaining why people said it.
“Because…You like to swim?”
“What? No, it’s just, it’s stupid…” You feel your face getting hot, suddenly hating everyone for giving you such a vain nickname.
“What’s it mean then?” There was sincerity in Dennis's eyes, he wasn't trying to mock you, he genuinely didn’t get it, and wanted let in. He brought his face in closer, which tuned out the rest of the er, just so you were more comfortable letting him in on this stupid inside joke, an inside joke that you never thought too much into.
“It’s just like, I’m usually really confident, that kinda thing.”
“Oh, it’s cause you're pretty.” Dennis blurts out, more focused on the fact he figured it out then on what he just said, out loud.
“Woah there, huckleberry, professional setting?” Santos says, appearing seemingly out of nowhere, giving Dennis a (kinda) friendly punch in the shoulder.
“What? No, I was just-”
“I don't care, can you go help Ogilvie in south 18?” Santos yells to Dennis, disappearing into another room.
“Huckleberry?”
“What?”
“Did she just call you ‘huckleberry’? You say, biting back a laugh as Dennis's face gets even more red.
“N-no!” He says, eyes darting around, praying the situation doesn't escalate further, the rest of the er catching him so embarrassed.
“She definitely did!” You say, covering your mouth to not giggle in his poor face.
“Ok, please stop, please,” He says, laughing into you as he tries to shush you, leaning in to whisper, ‘stop ohmygod’ which just makes you laugh harder.
“Can you two please get to work?” Robby appears, arms crossed as he tries to look intimidating.
sweet older brother dennis subtly clicker training his sibling..? or even attending dennis doing it to his intern..? am i muted chat?
You’re not muted. I’ve just lacked the inspiration or motivation to answer most of these lately. My brain has been split into multiple factions of interest lately, including once upon a katamari, my new web comic, and categorization games. But hey, I’m here now so let’s talk about it.
I like the idea of attending Dennis doing this with an intern reader. Like maybe it’s not even a sound so much as a gesture. You notice the way he uses his hand to scrub idly at his chin when you do something impressive, maybe he makes this low whistling sound and you come to associate the two things with a job well done. You perform a perfect tracheotomy? He does the chin thing. You advocate for a patient in spite of a pushy cut-happy surgical attending? The whistle. Each time you walk away beaming with a spring in your step.
You don’t expect him to use it against you after a bad shift. He finds you sitting alone in the family room, head in your hands, tears streaming down your face. For what it’s worth, he tries talking to you like a normal person first, like your boss. He tries to tell you that days like this happen, that you can’t save everyone, and that you did everything right.
That gets you fired up. Angry. You didn’t do everything right. You missed a symptom and someone died. That’s on you. You’re more than a failure, you’re a killer. You’re a waste of space in this ER.
A sharp whistle then. Your head jerks up in response, you’re undivided attention on him. Mouth shut. It’s…weirdly grounding. It shakes you from the self loathing spiral your in. He whistles again and you sit up a little straighter. He raises an eyebrow then. He rubs his chin and your shoulders visibly relax. He needs to try something.
“Down. On the floor. On your knees.” He tells you. It’s risky, but it pays off. You slink down from the rigid office chair and onto the floor, perfect supplication. He smiles, points to a spot by his feet. “Here. Here.” He says. To his delight, you don’t stand you crawl. When you reach the spot by his feet he tilts your chin up to look up at him and he gives a low appreciative whistle. “Look at you, you’re so good. The best. Come home with me. Let me show you.”
Summary: You had spent 23 years living up to the nickname your family gave you at birth: Stormy. Grumpy and moody throughout your entire life, your teenage stepsister didn’t do anything to make it better, in fact only making it worse. Until your father forced you to bring her back home from her boyfriend’s house, in which one of the various older men catches your eye and entirely reroutes your life.
Warnings: Pure smut. That’s it. Fingering, suggestively language, praise, slightly bratty!reader
You could only get a few feet away before his hand came down on your wrist. “Not so fast.” He warns pulling you into the bathroom, locking the door, and pinning you against the sink, your back pressed against his chest as he stares you down through the mirror.
“You think I’m gonna let you leave after speaking to me like that? After practically begging for me to take you right here, right now?” You run your tongue over your bottom lip, nodding as you hummed your answer.
He places his face in the crook between your neck and shoulder, leaving open-mouthed kissing that’ll be sure to bruise over later. He tsked softly, shaking his head in disapproval.
He snakes his dominant hand around your waist, crawling up your dress and cupping your lace-covered pussy, eliciting a mix between a gasp and a moan from your mouth.
“Is this what you wanted? Wanted attention?” He asked, tightening his grip on your hip with his other hand. When you barely nod, focused on the way his fingers circled over your panties, he mumbled into your ear.
“So needy,” Slipping his fingers underneath your panties and between your folds, he kisses your ear lightly, “and already so wet for me.”
You let out a moan, loud and breathy, stopping the movement of his hand. “Sweetheart, if you want me to fuck you with my fingers then you need to be quiet. Wouldn’t want anyone to know how good I make you feel, hm?”
You shake your head in agreement but seem to only make him more upset. “Need to hear you promise it.” He insists, making you want to roll your eyes in annoyance yet refraining.
“I promise. I’ll-I’ll be quiet and good for you, please.” You whimpering, rocking back as his middle finger circles your entrance.
“Good girl, so good.” He hums, rewarding you by sinking one finger inside of you. You hold back noises that claw at the back of your throat, throwing your head back on his shoulder.
After toying with you for a bit, you speak quietly. “More, please. Need more.” He slows his finger slightly but enough for you to notice and whine.
“Nuh uh, baby. You’ll take what I give you, and you’ll thank me when I’m done with you. Do you understand?” He says lowly, almost a growl.
Accepting your nod as an answer, he decided to take it easy on you and cater to your needs, joining his middle finger with his ring finger.
Your mouth opens wide at the feeling of his fingers thrusting in and out of you, paired with them curling to hit just the right spot, but you refuse to let noise come out, not wanting to face more disappointment.
He hums along your neck, kissing sweetly and keeping heavy eye contact through the mirror. “Look so pretty taking my fingers. So good for me.” He praises, guiding you closer to the edge causing your hips to rut against his hand.
“So close, I can tell. Can feel you around my fingers, so tight.” His words along with the addition of his thumb rubbing your clit are enough to push you into your climax, finishing long and hard against his hand.
Once the waves are over, you lean your weight onto his frame behind you, whining lightly when his fingers leave you.
He kisses your cheek softly, washing his hands and holding you up with his arms. “Thank you, Pope.” You say breathlessly, still recovering from your orgasm.
He grunts, turning you around to face him. “Don’t call me that, not with your mouth. You can call me Andrew, or anything else. Just not Pope.”
You nod, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth gently. Your name being called from the living room telling you to leave was enough to pull you away from him.
“I um…I can see you another time right?” Before you can overthink your words and end up in an endless rant, he nods firmly, brushing back a stray strand of hair behind your ear.
“Course you can. Not done with you yet.” He whispers against your ear, placing one last kiss before leaving you alone in the bathroom.
Authors note: wow what a short fucking chapter! i love not being able to write! (pls pick up on my blatant sarcasm)
lmk if there’s anything anyone would like to see more/less of and i’ll try to make dreams come true!
pairing: dad's best friend!titus danforth x female reader
summary: you lose a game you didn't even realize you were playing.
warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), arranged marriage, dubcon, unspecified age gap, referenced devil worship, smut, piv sex, brief painful sex, wedding night sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming, breeding kink, dirty talk, possessive sex, possessive behavior, marriage kink, pet names, stockholm syndrome, happy-ish ending?
word count: 2.4k
a/n: i've been struggling to write/finish anything since i posted my chef jack abbot fic, but then the first line of this fic popped into my head and i knew i had to write it. i did not expect to write for titus before pope but i just haven't found the right inspiration yet i guess! this isn't really fleshed out to my normal standards but it's a fun, smutty little read and i hope y'all enjoy it!!
You never thought you'd marry Titus Danforth.
For one, he was your father's best friend.
For another, he was so much older than you.
For a third, you'd already rejected his proposal.
But most of all, you never thought you'd marry Titus Danforth because he was the man responsible for damning your family to hell.
Your father had met Titus when you were in college, and the two had become fast friends. By the time you'd graduated, your father had pledged his undying loyalty—and that of your family—to Mr. Le Bail and his High Council.
In the months and years that followed, you came to learn more about the council as a network of rich and powerful people who helped each other out. It was during this time when you met Titus and his twin sister Ursula.
They were both polite, but when Titus looked at you, there was something covetous and hungry in his eyes; it made you feel like a prey animal being stalked by a predator.
Still, you remained cordial with the Danforths because they were close with your father.
That is, until Titus proposed to you, and you discovered the truth about who, or rather what, Mr. Le Bail was. Then, you ran.
You cut ties from your entire family, changed your name, and moved to some backwater town in the middle of nowhere. For a long time, you lived in fear, thinking your family or one of the Danforths—or Mr. Le Bail himself—were going to show up at your door.
But eventually, your fear settled down, you became complacent, and you set down some roots. Not too many—you didn't date and you never got too close to any of your friends, but you made a life for yourself. It was a half-life, but it was yours.
Until it wasn't.
Until the day that Titus Danforth appeared on your doorstep and you learned you'd never escaped after all. The High Council had known where you were all along, but they'd been delayed in coming to fetch you because your father had assured them you would return one day.
But their patience had grown thin and you knew too much to shirk your duties to Mr. Le Bail. As a daughter of a council member, you were expected to marry and reproduce, to create progeny to continue worshipping Mr. Le Bail and do his bidding in the world.
It was only your father's assurances that you would submit to your duties that saved your life. It was decided that you would marry Titus Danforth, the only member of the High Council who had not yet taken a wife.
You were dragged, kicking and screaming, to the Danforth estate for your wedding. You refused to see your father or any member of your family, so you were stuffed unceremoniously into your pristine white wedding gown by the Danforths’ attendants.
The wedding itself was a small affair, only attended by the closest members of the High Council, and your family. Your father walked you down the aisle to keep up pretenses but as he handed you off to Titus, you turned to him, caught his eye through your thin, white veil, and hissed your parting words to the man who'd given you life.
"I'll never forgive you for this."
Titus smirked at your father as he took your hand in his, looking for all the world like a man who'd won a game no one else knew they were playing. He led you the final few steps up to the altar, ducking his head slightly to speak in your ear.
"I always knew I'd be the one to get you."
It was then that you realized the depth of Titus's deception. After you’d rejected his proposal, he'd conspired for years to make sure you still ended up marrying him. And you'd played right into his hand. You'd given him everything he needed—leverage over your father, a way to steal you from your family, and worst of all, he'd gotten Mr. Le Bail's blessing to do it.
You spent the signing of the book and the wedding ceremony cursing yourself for being so naive, barely paying attention to the lawyer’s words about devotion and duty. You were so deep into your self-recrimination, you barely noticed when Titus turned to you and began lifting your veil. It took all your effort to maintain control of your face and give your soon-to-be husband a look of disdain.
It didn't seem to bother Titus in the least. That covetous, hungry look was plain as day on his face as he stared at your mouth. He barely waited for the lawyer to give him permission before he was grabbing your face and pulling you toward him.
Titus's mouth crashed against yours, and your traitorous body reacted instantly—your belly swooping and a hot, pulsing throb beginning between your thighs. You tried to gasp for air only for Titus to kiss you harder, his tongue invading your mouth and staking his claim so vehemently, it made your knees week.
It was bad enough how good his mouth felt on yours, but the sounds he made, like he was a starving man eating his first meal in years, had lust blooming disloyally in your body.
Your new husband devoured you voraciously, licking into your mouth and stealing the breath from your lungs until you were dizzy and dazed, wobbling so badly on your feet that when he finally pulled away, you collapsed against his chest.
Titus's arms wrapped around your waist, crushing you to him like a child might hold a toy he worried someone might steal from him. His head lowered until his mouth brushed the shell of your ear, making you shiver in his tight hold.
"And now, you're all mine."
Those words echoed in your head as you went through the motions for the rest of the ceremony and reception. While you shook hands and accepted the congratulations of your family and the High Council, all you could hear was the feral possessiveness in Titus's voice.
It shocked you how much you didn't hate it.
You only returned to yourself when the door to Titus's suite at the estate clicked shut, the lock sliding into place with a resounding thud, like the period on the end of a sentence. It marked the end of your old life—and the beginning of your new one.
Titus was on you before you could even turn around or get your bearings. His hands grabbed your hips and spun you to him, his lips claiming yours even more ferociously than they did at the wedding ceremony. He walked you backward until your legs hit the bed, tearing the bodice of your dress so he could reach inside and palm your tits.
Desire warred with disgust in your body, though you didn't fight your husband as he pushed you down onto the bed and climbed on top of you. Titus's eyes glittered with a darkness that had your heart beating faster, your pulse pounding between your thighs when his expression turned greedy and he took his time looking his fill.
You were splayed on the bed beneath him, your tits out, chest heaving from all the breath he'd stolen during his kisses. But that wasn't enough for your new husband. He growled his frustration, got down from the bed and began ripping the skirt of your dress to shreds, until you were bared entirely for him from the waist down.
All of a sudden, you realized the error in your judgement when you'd gotten dressed. Along with the wedding gown, a set of lacy lingerie had been set out for you, and you'd chosen to forgo wearing it. But that meant that when Titus tore through your dress, all that was left was you.
At least you didn't seem to disappoint your new husband.
Titus's hazel eyes blazed bright and hungry as his gaze raked ravenously over your body, taking in the curves of your hips, the plushness of your thighs and line of your legs. His hands settled on your knees, and with surprising gentleness, he eased your thighs open for him, a low, feral growl rumbling in his chest when he laid his eyes upon the delicate petals of your sex.
"This is mine," Titus snarled, his eyes flicking up to yours as if he expected you to protest. His hand cupped your pussy, his palm cool against your heated core, his wedding ring hard and unyielding against your soft, naked flesh. "All of you belongs to me now, but this, especially, is mine."
All you could do was nod mutely, but that didn't seem to be good enough for your new husband, because his face contorted into a furious glare. It was obscene how hot he looked when he was angry, his eyes sharp and narrow as a blade.
"Did you hear me, wife?"
You nodded more vigorously, rushing to say, "Yes—yes, husband. It's yours, I'm yours.” The words babbled out of you so easily, it felt like a betrayal as much as a submission to your new husband.
You'd never thought, all those years ago when you first met him, that you would marry Titus Danforth. Nor did you ever think you'd submit so easily to him as his wife. But that was exactly what you did on your wedding night.
It took very little effort to allow Titus to climb on top of you, to take his cock out when he ordered you, to line up the tip of his thick shaft with your entrance. It took embarrassingly little effort to spread your thighs wide around Titus's broad body and accept his cock into your cunt.
Your new husband pushed deep into your pussy with one thrust, stretching you so quickly that it stung, even as it felt deliriously good to be filled. He claimed your body as wholly as he'd claimed your mouth, wringing a cry from your lips that he swallowed down greedily.
Every part of you—your pleasure, your pain—it all belonged to him.
Without giving you time to adjust, Titus set a savage pace, fucking you into his bed with your wedding dress in tatters around you. He was still mostly dressed, an ascot tied around his neck, his jacket buttoned tight and his pants only undone enough to free his cock. It was as if all that mattered to him had been getting inside you, claiming you, and once he'd started, he couldn't stop.
You held on tight to your new husband as he fucked you, his mouth breaking away from yours only to whisper filthy things in your ear—things about how he was going to use your body in every way he wanted. He was going to bend you over his father's desk, claim you in his sister's bed, set you free in the woods around the estate so he could chase you down and ravage you on the forest floor.
And every time he'd fuck you, he promised, he'd cum deep inside your cunt, right against your cervix, until he knocked you up. He was going to fill you with his seed until it took, and you were going to give him an heir.
But not just the one. Oh no. That wasn’t enough.
On your wedding night, while Titus fucked you for the first time, your new husband vowed that he would keep you pregnant until you gave him a whole horde of children—a whole new generation of Danforths who would serve Mr. Le Bail and carry on the family legacy.
And the worst part was, you'd always wanted a big family.
Your heart squeezed with yearning at the thought of having so many children to love and dote on. It no longer mattered that those children's father would be a man who'd manipulated you into marrying him. All that mattered was that Titus wanted them to, and that he promised to be a good father to them—better than his had ever been.
"Cum on my cock, sweet wife. Let your husband fill you up, let me knock you up. Make me a daddy and I'll give you the world, pretty girl. I'll be such a good dad, such a good husband, just give me an heir."
Titus slipped his hand between your bodies, pressing down on your lower belly and making you cry out as you felt his cock pound into your cunt more acutely. He felt thicker and bigger than before. With more rasping, filthy commands, his thumb found your clit and rubbed, rubbed, rubbed until you saw stars.
The whirlwind of your pleasure built in your body until it unleashed, sending you spiraling through a torrent of euphoria as you came. Your cunt clenched tight around Titus's cock and he grunted, fucking you through your release as he chased his own, finding it a few moments later.
True to his word, Titus spilled deep in your pussy, your inner muscles milking him dry as your body conspired with your new husband to give him the child both of you so desperately wanted.
Once he was wrung out, Titus collapsed on top of you. His weight was a delicious blanket, and your mind was delightfully blank after such an obliterating orgasm. That was the only reason you could think of for why your hands found Titus's hair and your fingers began carding through his silver curls.
You barely knew what you were doing until he gave a pleased rumble. His cheek was pillowed on your breast and he shifted, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking gently, sending little sparks of desire down between your thighs.
"You'll see," he mumbled, his eyes slowly sliding closed, his softening cock still buried in your body. "It's not so bad to be mine."
You held your husband close, taking shelter in his warmth as the contentment from your release abated and you were left with the cold, hard truth of your life. For better or worse, you were married to Titus Danforth, and you had pledged your soul to Mr. Le Bail. The life you'd wanted was gone.
You never thought you'd marry Titus Danforth, but here you were. His wife. The only thing you could do was make the best of it. So that was what you'd endeavor to do.
And it turned out, your husband hadn't been lying—it wasn't so bad belonging to him.
thank you for reading!! reblogs and comments are appreciated! ♡♡♡
summary: Pope pays you a visit at work, leaving you shaken by his recent snooping into your past.
Tags: season 4 pope, stalking, pining, angst, etc, threats of violence, physical violence and injuries (cuts, bruises), mention of vomit/nausea, mention of sexual content, hints of past trauma and bad memories, flashbacks, reader is anxious and off-putting, slow burn, eventual smut, original characters, little physical description of reader (usually relating to boxing and height)
word count: 3.7k
note: consider me a witch who's been brewing something special in my cauldron just for you – enjoy!
You’ve recently decided that one of the best feelings in the world is the weight of sand over your feet. You bury them until it piles around your ankles, the tiny particles feeling cool against your skin the deeper you push. You wiggle your toes, letting the sand fall through them.
You have a shift at the diner in thirty minutes. You’ve been working more since winning your fight last weekend, just to have something to do. Your rent and the rest of your bills are paid up for the next couple months, your savings are looking good, and you finally got your car’s air conditioner fixed. Luckily it didn’t cost as much as you expected.
You needed a break from the fights. Your body is sore enough.
There’s a nice breeze at the beach today, right in front of where the diner lives on the boardwalk. The wind lessens the burn on your exposed skin from the sun. You close your eyes, listening to the sound of the waves meeting the shore. You’re in complete solitude, as if everyone else in the world suddenly vanished from the planet. If you open your eyes, all you’ll see is the endless water, extending past the yellow hue of the far horizon. Whatever exists beyond that is not for you to worry about.
In reality, a child runs past you, laughing hysterically and kicking sand up in their wake. It sounds like an echoed memory. You let go of your trance, watching the little boy shrink with distance. He runs to where his father has a towel and cooler laid out.
Laughter. A playground filled with it. Beams of sunlight shining down on the blacktop of the basketball court you’re watching from. Your watch tells you it’s almost time to go back inside. A small, content smile set on your face. A cool wind floats past.
A van. The sound of sliding doors. Your head turns, but you don’t register the moment fast enough.
The little boy jumps on his father’s chest, both of them laughing hard enough to bring you back.
Your eyebrows lower. You have to get to work.
Nine hours later, you’re wiping down the counter in your button-down waitress dress. It’s old-fashioned, but your boss insists that the vintage aesthetic attracts more tourists. He’s right, you do get a lot of tourists. But locals still come in to see you and the other servers they know from around town.
Everyone else has gone home by now, leaving you to lock up. Your back is turned, breaking down the milkshake station when the bell above the front door rings. You should have locked that first.
“We’re closed,” you call, turning around to face whoever wandered in. You’re met with a familiar stranger.
“The door’s unlocked,” Pope Cody responds.
He doesn’t make a move to sit down, just standing in the doorway, between the backs of two booths. He looks like he’s been through hell, you notice. He has bruises all around his eyes and a nasty looking cut on his cheekbone. He’s staring at you with a haunted look on his face, eyebrows lowered in a permanently menacing way.
But his shirt is purple. Not just purple, but lavender. Everytime you’ve seen him he’s been in some shade of black. Tonight he’s wearing a lavender button down, which you can tell has been ironed.
You look down to his hands. His knuckles are badly bruised. He must’ve had a fight recently. The last time you saw him, he walked away after you were knocked out in a spar. Embarrassment creeps up your neck, remembering that he didn’t stick around to see if you were going to get up.
You swallow. “We’re still closed.”
He breaks eye contact with you, looking around the room. His breathing is heavy, like he’s overwhelmed or maybe nervous. He looks unsure of himself. Of what he’s doing here. You should be more freaked out that he showed up at your job, especially because you’ve never told him where you work.
This is the second time he’s done something like this. Showed up unannounced, for no clear reason. Your instincts tell you to put your foot down. He can’t keep doing this.
“What are you doing here?” You put a scowl on your face but don’t commit to it. “Why do you keep showing up everywhere?”
Pope doesn’t answer right away, avoiding eye contact. He’s taking in everything on the counter, gaze pausing on something to your left.
“You did good last weekend. At the fight.” His tone is gruff and low.
You force a glare at him, putting emphasis on each word, “How did you find out where I work, Pope?”
He shuffles on his feet, shifting his eyes from the counter, to you, behind him to the front door and then back to you, like he’s trying to decide if he wants to stay or not. He’s definitely nervous, but why? You’ve never seen him like this. You feel very unprepared.
He gives half a shrug, “I followed you.”
Right, of course. Naturally. “Followed me when?”
He walks up to the counter, somewhat abruptly, but still doesn’t sit down. The shape of his muscles show through his long sleeves.
His eyes are fixed on yours. You’re reminded of last week, when you had to imagine your friend-with-benefits, Markus, as Pope just so you could orgasm. The image you created in your head of what Pope would look like on top of you, his large arms caging your head, his chest brushing your own with each thrust. His stare clouded with pleasure as he pushes into you.
Blushing, you break eye contact and turn back around to finish your closing tasks. Your fingers fumble the part of the milkshake machine you’re cleaning.
“You work a lot,” Pope grumbles from behind you, breaking the silence.
Head shaking in disapproval, “Why are you following me?”
“Is that pie?”
What? You turn, shifting your gaze to where his eyes point. He’s staring at the glass pie stand at the far end of the counter. There’s still a few pieces left from this morning.
“Apple,” you answer. He’s not going to give up the information you want easily, so you might as well humor him.
Pope slides onto a barstool, resting his interlocked fingers on the counter. A silent declaration that he’s not going anywhere without a piece. You don’t want to give in, challenging him with your stare. He stares back threateningly, daring you to object.
Your mouth twitches with irritation, stomping over to the glass case and retrieving a piece of apple pie from under the dome lid. You pivot to the microwave behind you, using unnecessary force as you shove the slice onto a plate and into the machine. You have to brace your arms on the counter and hang your head, taking deep breaths.
You don’t appreciate being blindsided like this. What worries you the most is why Pope has taken such an interest in you. You’re not delusional enough to believe it might be personal, not anything like how you’ve been thinking of him.
The only other explanation would be his family. What could the Codys want with you? You made it clear to Pope that you don’t want anything to do with their business, legal or not.
Once the pie is done reheating, you bring the plate over and set it in front of Pope, not letting go just yet. As he reaches for it, you pull back. “What do you want from me?”
He looks up at you, annoyed. “A fork would be great.” Dick.
Rolling your eyes, you grab him one from underneath the counter. You watch him eat, waiting for him to say anything at all.
After a few bites, Pope scrunches his eyebrows at his plate. “It’s too starchy,” he complains with a full mouth.
“It’s frozen,” you deadpan.
He takes a large breath. And another, before meeting your eyes again. You feel a pit in your stomach from all the unknowns.
“Can I give you a ride home?”
You step back. “What? Of course not. Why would I need a ride home?”
“Why not?”
Your mouth is slightly gaping in bewilderment. Fixing your face, you close your eyes and try to conjure up some patience. “Because I have a car, because I don’t know you, and because you just told me that you’ve been following me and I don’t know why you’re even here to begin with.”
“Well, I already know where you live,” he says, sounding put-out like that’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“Pope–”
“Andrew. Call me Andrew.”
You give him a hard look. “...Andrew. I need to know why you’re here. Why you’ve been following me. What you want with me. I already told you I’m not interested in any Cody business—”
“I’m not here for my family.”
You’re lost. “Is this because I called you a motherfucker? Haven’t we already been over this? Look, I was just trying to cheer on Jackie—”
He interrupts you again, flustered with your guessing. “I’m not mad that you called me a motherfucker. I’m just– I was just in the neighborhood.” He’s lying. You never see him this far down here unless it has to do with MMA.
You lean a little closer, “Why?”
His mouth is twisted as if trying to stop himself from answering. “I like watching you fight.”
You drop your head, shaking it. “So do a lot of other people. That’s not a good enough reason to stalk me, Andrew.”
You take his unfinished plate back to the kitchen, tossing it in the sink for morning crew to deal with. Leaning into your manager’s tiny cut out office, you grab your purse from off the hook and head back out the swinging doors. You walk straight past where Pope is now standing, diner keys in hand—fully willing to lock him in if he doesn’t move.
His voice is right behind you as you push open the front door. “Was it bad?” He reaches over your shoulder, holding it open. You try to make distance, mostly because whatever soap he uses lights a fire in your core.
“Was what bad?”
“Your knockout. At Sil’s.”
You turn to him after locking the door from the outside. You tilt your head up only slightly to look at him, “You don’t care. You left.” You can’t help the hurt that leaves your mouth with the words. It shouldn’t matter to you, but his exit combined with the knockout in general was too much for you to process rationally.
He follows a step behind you to your car, parked just down the block. “Were you alright after?”
“Yes, I was fine. Clearly I’m fine. Now leave me alone.” You snap, picking up the pace.
He doesn’t listen. He lets silence hang over you too for a couple minutes before continuing, “Why are you working at the diner? You win plenty of fights. Even without those, you have your degree—why don’t you use–”
You stop. Pope nearly crashes into you from the abruptness. Your fist tightens around your purse strap hanging over your shoulder. Nausea shoots down your throat to the bottom of your stomach like poison. No one is supposed to know that. If Pope knows about your degree then he must know about other things. You’re going to throw up. Keep it down, breathe. You swallow, clenching your teeth.
“What did you say?”
Pope looks at you from the side, confused. “I just don’t get the whole diner thing. Why don’t you teach anymore?”
Anger shines through the hole in your heart.
You turn, taking a step towards him and using both hands to push hard at his chest. He doesn’t expect it, falling back a few steps off the sidewalk and tripping onto the sand. You get closer to him, pushing him again, “How the fuck do you know that!” Another shove, again, again.
A man, masked and gloved.
He jumps out of the van, running towards the playground. You fumble with the whistle hanging around your neck, willing your feet to move faster. Your ballet flats aren’t built for running, you slip out of them and onto the blacktop.
Your scream dies at your throat, fear washing over you like it does in your dreams.
“I looked you up. Found your real name, what—enough.”
He grabs both your wrists, tightly, looking down at your distress with a glare of shock. You tug down, ready to knee him in the balls, “Let me go, Pope!”
He does, silently. Hesitating to see if you’ll push him again. His eyes burn into yours, trying to find answers in your face. You shake your wrists from his hold, scraping your short nails over the sides of your head.
“You stay away from me,” you huff. “Understand? Don’t follow me, don’t come around the diner.” His signature glare is back, but you can tell now that he’s only processing your words. “If you show up at Sil’s again, I will beat you to death.” Believe me believe me believe me.
Neither of you say anything after that, you only stare at each other. Your chest is lifting rapidly with heavy breaths. You don’t wait for him to call your bluff before gathering your purse off the sand and stepping back on the paved sidewalk, heading towards your car.
Grief takes the place of anger now. Your eyes grow heavy, pressure pushing from behind them as you walk. Your vision blurs with tears, our mouth contorted into a closed frown in a sad attempt to keep from crying. It doesn’t work and the tears fall anyway. You know Pope is probably still watching, so you don’t dare bring your hand up to wipe your face.
You have no memory of the drive from the beach to your apartment—unsure of how long you’ve spent in the parking lot, engine off, staring at your steering wheel. You’re all out of tears at this point, breathing shakily. You can’t move.
You would like to move. You would like to climb up your apartment steps, crawl into your shower and just sit there while warm water rushes over your naked body. But you can’t. Your mind won’t cooperate.
A scream, not your own.
You get up to your feet, leaving your flats behind. The sound of your whistle blends together with the surrounding terror, creating a symphony of panic.
A van door sliding shut. Wheels squealing. Burning rubber.
Gone.
Everything is too loud.
Finally dragging yourself into your apartment, your shoulders feel like they’re being pushed down by two giant hands. You’re drowning, far out from shore. There’s no escape from here.
Not giving yourself time to think, you decide to start packing a bag. You’re not sure where you’re going, but you have the sudden urge to go anyway.
No, that’s stupid. You drop the bag, walk to the bathroom and turn on your shower, instead. Get fully undressed. Your phone, which lays forgotten on the kitchen counter, dings from a text. You drop your head. You can just ignore it, it’s not like you’re anyone’s emergency contact. There’s no where to go, not at this hour of the night.
How dare Pope invade your privacy like that. It’s not even the physical stalking, really. Well, it is, but that’s nothing compared to snooping around your past. You slide down on the floor, back against the kitchen counter. Staring at the wall helps. You try box breathing, waiting for your heart rate to slow down to a normal pace. Guilt crowds you.
You juggle Pope’s intentions with the discoveries he revealed to you earlier.
Pope said he wasn’t following you for his family. He said it’s because he likes watching you fight. He could be lying. This could be some kind of long-con that Smurf cooked up. You don’t know the details of what they got up to, but rumors spread like wildfire along the different beaches. The news is always reporting on different robberies. Would they be trying to get work closer to San Diego? Stealing or whatever they do?
How would you be of benefit to them? You don’t know anyone like that. You keep to yourself, to your own problems. Maybe you’ll talk to Markus the next time you see him. You can ask what he knows about Andrew Cody.
Sil’s noticed how bad a mood you’ve been in, so he’s taking it harder on you than usual today. It’s helping. You haven’t heard from Pope or seen him around at all. Not that you would, since he’d been following you for who knows how long, without you noticing.
You’re working the bag, sweat flying off you at how much you’ve been exerting. You’ve been throwing mostly hooks, feeling comforted by the pressure it puts on your biceps.
Sil walks over to you and watches silently for a few minutes. At certain points he’ll nudge you, correcting your form, but otherwise he doesn’t speak.
Until, inevitably, he breaks your mindless serenity. “You know, you could just let your boyfriend come inside.”
You only falter for a second and decide to switch to uppercuts, “What are you—talking about, Sil?”
“I’m not getting involved with your lover’s quarrel. But it is hot out today, and he’s been waiting outside for almost an hour.”
You turn to him. “Sil, I don’t have a boyfriend. Go find someone else to bother.”
“Well, then can you please go tell Pope Cody to stop staring a hole through my wall?”
You sigh, realizing that you were so deep in your training you didn’t even consider that it was Pope outside.
Staring back at Sil, “He’s not my boyfriend,” as you rip your gloves off and throw them to the mat below you. You’re going to have to kick his ass.
You’ve grown very confident in your ability to fight a man in the past couple years.
Pope sits in a black truck parked across the street from the gym. He’s staring at the entrance from through the passenger side window as you walk out. The frustration in your walk doesn’t seem to stir him.
You cross in front of the car, feeling his eyes follow you until you reach his open window. He’s wearing a black sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off. The bruises on his face have only lightened slightly.
“Get out of the car, Pope.”
“I wanted to talk to you about the other day—”
“I don’t care. Get out of the car.”
“Are you gonna beat me to death if I do?” His eyebrows raise sarcastically.
You glare at him. “I’m gonna reach through this window and strangle you if you don’t.”
His mouth closes in a tight light, huffing out through his nose. “If I knew it would upset you, I wouldn’t have brought it up.”
You shift on your feat, settling your hands on the door ledge. “That’s not the point, Pope. You’re stalking me. Digging up shit that doesn’t concern you.” You breathe out, rage subsiding to sorrow at your own words.
“Obviously I’m not making myself clear. So you’re going to get out of this car and I’m…” Your heart’s not in it anymore. “I’m gonna beat you up or something, I don’t know.” Your head falls to your hands rested on his open window.
Pope shuffles at your defeated stance. You hear him breathe out a couple times, hesitating. “Are you…Do you want to go for a ride?”
You don’t look up. “No.”
His question makes you start thinking, though. You need to know what exactly he wants from you, but if he skirts around an answer again you’ll probably combust on the spot.
“Tell me something true,” you mumble from your position.
He takes a beat. “What?”
You step back, crossing your arms over your chest. Pope keeps his eyes on yours, head titled down. “Tell me something that’s true. No bullshit.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Anything.”
His face stutters. He’s sizing you up, trying to figure out what angle you’re playing.
When you’re really just grasping at straws.
For a split second, his menacing expression drops into one of vulnerability. “I needed to get out of the house.”
He reminds you of a sea stack way out past the shore. Waves crash into it, but it’s immovable, a constant force. You think he’s beautiful, his hard stare and firm mouth. The curls of his hair. The freckles peppering his tan skin. You want to ask what that has to do with you, but you don’t have the stomach for it right now.
“That’s all? It really has nothing to do with your family or…or your work?”
“They don’t know I’m here. And I– I don’t want to talk about work with you.”
You hold each other’s stares. Nodding, you respond, “Okay.” He waits for you to say more.
Looking back towards the gym, you feel the need to make a decision. Either you tell him to kick rocks again—using cruelty in response to his honesty, hoping that it drives him away. Or…
You’re not sure what an alternative is, actually. He’s snooping into your past, sending you spiraling about things you’re haunted by. At the same time, you can’t keep your mind off of him, he captivates you in a way that no one else has before.
Every crime documentary you’ve watched tells you not to get into his truck. He’s a stranger, he’s stalking you. This could be the stupidest decision of your life. Looking back to him, his hardness is tinged with patience.
“I’m not getting in your car. Stop following me around.” He brings his eyebrows together, barely nodding his head and looking down to his hands in his lap.
“Just, you know. Text me before you want to show up somewhere.” You reach into his truck for his phone sitting in the cupholder. He watches your every move, tracking your hand as it extends across his body.
You hand him his phone, waiting for him to unlock it. It takes a second for him to realize what’s happening. Only when he has his phone back with your number added, does he grumble a response.
“Can I call you? I hate texting.”
You’re sitting in the back of an ambulance, vaguely aware of the scrapes across your palms from tripping onto the hard blacktop.
Your dress is ripped above both knees.
From a distance, you see his mother fall to the ground as a police officer breaks the news. His father freezes, losing his hold around her waist.
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