Sharkbait

• Offically ran of our fics to read so now I have to write my own :/ • sorry I thought this was already in here lol I'm 30 • No minors •

[impactmintsfreshagain]

My ongoing existential crisis

Apparently I deleted my old blog sometime over the last two years so here we are again. Obsessed with a new batch old fictional men

Masterlist • requests always open (but might take me a while to write)

Kinks: ddlg, bdsm themes, fauxcest/pseudocest, daddy kink, age gap, dubcon, cnc, pet play, somnophilia, praise kink, piss, free use, & size kink.

[pitbolshevik]

this collar isnt a sex thing it's so the scientists who are studying me know where i am

[cokezerovape]

[pearlessance]

r/AmITheAsshole?

u/dr-abbot.j: AITAH for provoking my girlfriend because i think it's hot when she acts crazy?

+18 mdni, age difference, fem reader, bratting/brat taming, jealousy (from both jack and reader!), lowkey ragebaiter jack, size difference, 'i'll pay for it' jack abbot, oral sex (f! and m!receiving) semi public, cum swallowing, finger sucking, overstim, dirty talk, praise, possessive behaviour, one use of the word daddy said unseriously, alcohol consumption, club culture, unprotected piv, clit stim, begging, creampie, written in one day and bareeely edited!

┊MASTERLIST┊AO3┊

everyone always tells jack abbot that what he needs is a real nice girl to settle down with. someone who will bake him sweet treats and warm dinners, who will make cozy nights in alluring enough to get him to stay home every once in a while.

but the thing is, jack likes the chaos of his life. he likes working twelve hour shifts and then clocking in to dodge bullets immediately after. his therapist says it's a coping mechanism—can't relive old ghosts if you're fast enough to outrun them.

and that might be true for some things, but not with this. not with you.

sure, jack can't deny that he loves the little rush he gets when you somehow manage to look down your nose at him even though he towers over you. he loves that crazy look you get in your eye. he loves when you raise your voice and point a perfectly manicured finger in his face (a manicure that he paid for, mind you).

but more than that, he loves what follows. he loves the groveling apologies and the soft makeup kisses. he loves taming that craziness of yours and soothing you back into that sweet little thing you truly are.

he loves it so much, in fact, that he occasionally finds himself pushing your buttons just for fun.

sometimes he turns his location off in the middle of a shift and make bets with shen about how long it'll take for you to show up to ptmc.

jack comes out of a trauma half an hour later to find you talking with lena at the charge desk, and he thinks you look real cute wearing a pair of his boxers, a hoodie, and your house slippers.

he smiles big and says, "hey, baby. what're you doin' here so late?"

lena snorts and mutters under her breath, "give him hell, kid."

you give him that scowl jack knows all too well, saying, "don't hey baby me. why the fuck did you turn your location off, jack?"

he wraps his arms around your waist and sneakily slides his hands just a liiitle lower than what should be acceptable in a place like this. "just wanted to see you, sweetheart. that so bad?"

"me, or your other girlfriend?"

it makes jack laugh. the idea alone is insane—there would never be anyone else for him but you. his pretty little brat. "c'mon. let's go talk about this somewhere quiet, hm?"

you let him lead you to an empty room, and jack locks the door behind him because he knows good and well what comes next.

he admits he'd stopped sharing his location because he knew you'd show up, and he'd just missed you sooo much. jack sets you on the hospital bed and stands between your legs, his hands roaming down your shoulders, over the curves of your hips, thumbs massaging little circles on the inside of your thighs.

"just been such a long day, baby," he tells you, pulling over the stool to sit between your spread legs. jack presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, mouth moving upwards until he's pressing kisses against your pussy through the cotton fabric of his boxers that you've stolen. "m'sorry i upset you. just missed you so much, you know? can i make it up to you, hm? you gonna let me do that?"

and you do, of course. let him pull your bottoms off so he can lick and suck at your clit until you're writhing, moaning so loud he has to stuff his fingers in your mouth to quiet you.

there's something addicting about it, about having you like this. you're always so strong and sure of yourself, yet you turn to putty in his big hands. so pliant and perfect for him.

jack makes you cum with just the warm slide of his tongue against your clit, circling the pulsing nerves until you're begging him for reprieve, so overstimulated there's not a trace of that attitude left behind.

when he does finally come up for air, his chin is slick with your arousal and he wears a knowing little smirk. "that's better, isn't it? hm?"

you roll your eyes, but the action is full of playfulness instead of irritation and jack knows he'll get through the rest of his shift a whole lot easier now that he's had a little pick me up.

by the time you leave, jack's sharing his location once more and he's twenty dollars richer (much to shen's dismay).

jack's favorite button of yours to push is the jealous one, though. and he knows it might be a little mean, but god. he just can't help it. you get so territorial and it's not like it's his fault that it makes his dick hard.

the two of you will be out shopping one afternoon. jack has the things you've already picked out draped over his arm, and you're carrying a few items you're not sure about when you find a employee to ask for a fitting room.

the woman is nice enough—she wears a tight-lipped smile and leads you to the back of the store and opens one of the rooms for you with the key around her neck.

but then she turns to jack and her smile brightens. "one for you too, sir?" the words are sweet and soft and overly bubbly, and jack fights the grin that starts to form on his face when you turn rigid at his side.

your fingers find his bicep, curling around the thick muscle. "uhm, no. he doesn't. thanks," you answer for him—tone stiff and final. not rude exactly, but something pretty close.

you then pull him into the fitting room and lock the door, already shaking your head as he sits on the little bench across from the mirror. "she was just being nice, baby," he says, but it's a lie, and you both know it.

"yeah, sure. too fucking nice if you ask me." you scoff. "i bet you she was hoping you'd say yes so she could go in with you and suck your dick or something. i mean, seriously. what the fuck is her problem? she didn't see me right next to you? you guys offer eye exams at the ED? i bet she'd love to come see you sometime, jack—"

"okay, hey. come here." you do as he says, coming to stand in front of him with your arms folded tightly over your chest. jack takes your hands in his and untangles them. he's grinning up at you—he can't help it. jack thinks you just look so sexy all riled up. "don't care what she wants, cause i only want you. hm? yeah? you listening?"

you still sport a crease between your brows, but nod in acknowledgment.

jack reaches up with one hand and takes your jaw gently between his fingers. "i only want my dick in this mouth for the rest of my life," he says.

you giggle and try to hide your amusement by shyly turning your head into your shoulder. but there's nothing shy about the way you kneel before him and reach for his belt buckle. there's nothing shy about the way you pull his cock out, already hard watching you indulge those strong feelings of yours.

jack's hands are tender as they stroke your hair away from your face while you swallow him down. your tongue swirls around the tip, your saliva collecting and dripping down to the base of his cock. his muscles go slack at the sensation when you hollow out your cheeks, sucking him hard.

"you look so pretty like this," he murmurs. "taking it so well, baby. feels so fucking good."

he lets you take what you need, lets you prove yourself the way he knows you need to.

"so much better than anyone else could ever be," jack encourages, cock throbbing between your plush lips. "yeah, there you go. that's it—shit—"

he finishes at the back of your throat, groaning as his cum fills your mouth. he slides out slowly, but keeps a firm hand on the back of your neck.

"show me," he instructs, and you obey immediately, sticking out your tongue and looking up at him with wide, glassy eyes. jack feels himself twitch at the sight of what he's made of you. filthy little thing. "mmhm. good. swallow now."

you do, swallowing his release like the perfect girl you are. a small drip spills down the corner of your mouth, and jack swipes it away with his thumb and makes you lick the digit clean.

he tucks himself back in his jeans while you stand. you reach for his hand next, pulling him to his feet to lead him out of the dressing room.

jack tries to grab the clothes you'd picked out earlier, but you tell him to leave them. "over my dead fucking body am i letting her check us out while she checks you out," you grumble. "we're leaving."

he doesn't argue, but he does ask parker to go back a week later with his credit card to pick up the things you liked.

that jealousy appears again a few weeks later when trinity invites a few people out for drinks at a new bar that just opened a short drive from the hospital.

but as it turns out, it's more of a nightclub than a bar—not exactly jack's scene. not for the last twenty years, anyway.

you and trinity have always gotten along so well, and jack thinks the invitation might've only been given to him in hopes that you'd attend, too. robby shows up late, his invitation given from dennis, of course—and the night quickly turns into drinks and a show.

jack and robby sit at the bar, nursing a couple of sweating beer bottles while they watch the group of you dance together animatedly. there's strobe lights and poppy synth music playing. you're wearing a pretty sequined dress, giggling and twirling victoria around in a circle.

and try as he might, jack can't keep his eyes off you—so passionate and full of life, young and carefree in a way he wants to soak up. he could stay here for hours, jack thinks. just watching you have your fun with a smile on his face.

later in the night, you come over to order another one of those garnished pink drinks and a round of green tea shots. you've got your arm around jack's shoulders and his is bracketed tight around your waist, pulling you into him, close enough he can smell your sweet body spray and the faint scent of you underneath.

the bartender is a young guy—far closer to you in age than jack is. he's got a shaggy hair cut and a nose ring and when he sits your drink and the shots on the bar in front of you, he grins and says over the music, "i like your nails."

and jack…well. jack doesn't think it's funny at all, when he's on the other end of this.

you immediately glance at him, at the amusement that falls from his face—and then you turn back to the bartender and say, "thanks! my boyfriend paid for them!"

jack's arm tightens around your waist. he's never considered himself a jealous man, not really. but the way the bartender's looking at you doesn't sit well at all.

you take a drink from your glass and swallow the shimmery pink liquid. "mm, it's so good, jack. here, try some."

at first, he thinks you're going to pass the glass to him to take a small sip. but what you do instead is take his jaw between your manicured fingers and kiss him hard. your tongue slips lewdly into his mouth, sliding against his own. he can taste the alcohol and the sugary sweetness on your lips.

jack doesn't think he'd be able to fight off his big ass grin if he tried.

you pull away, laughing girlishly, and then turn his head to playfully lick the stubble on his cheek. "thanks for the drinks, daddy!"

jack squeezes his jaw and chuckles low as you gather the shots in your hand before returning to the dance floor.

the bartender mixes someone else's drink now, jaw feathering as he pointedly avoids jack's gaze.

beside him,robby shakes his head before taking a slow swig from his beer. "you've got your hands full, brother."

it makes jack laugh.

because yeah, he does. and he fucking loves it.

and later that night, back at your apartment? well, jack's got his hands full of something else.

you're bent over the mattress, dress pushed up around your hips, panties pulled to the side. he palms the pillowy globes of you ass as he fucks his cock into you, pussy slick and dripping for him.

"yeah, there you go. fuckin' take it," he says, hips snapping forward. "my girl. my girl, baby. no one else can fuck you like this, huh?"

"only—hmm—only you," you whimper. you're a trembling mess beneath him, fingers clutched tight in the sheets. your moans echo against the four walls, the obscene, wet slide of his cock making him throb.

"say it," he orders, a low sound rumbling in his chest. "tell me who you belong to."

"m'yours, jack—oh god, oh—yours, yours yours—i'm your girl—fuck—"

"that's right, sweetheart," he says, slipping a hand around your hip and beneath you to find your clit. he circles it gently, applying the perfect amount of pressure. "can feel you squeezing me. you wanna cum, baby? hm? you like the way i fuck you?"

"yes, jack—oh god, so fucking good, please please—"

he drives his cock deeper, spreading you open so he can watch it go in. he can feel his own release threatening, a white hot bliss coiling tight at the base of his spine. "give it to me," jack says. "mmhm. yeah, that's it. this pussy belongs to me. my pussy. my fuckin' girl."

the sticky walls of your cunt tighten around him, pulling him in impossibly deeper, and it sends jack over the edge. he fucks you through it, filling you up with his release, fingers circling your clit until you're shaking beneath him.

when he's spent, jack falls forward, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades as he tries to catch his breath. he presses sweet, soft kisses to your skin, whispering all the while. "did so good for me. my favorite girl. so pretty."

he feels you stiffen beneath him, and jack stands to allow you the space to move. you turn over, tugging your dress up and over your head to discard it on the floor.

you're still panting and your thighs are still trembling, but jack can see the irritation in the way you move.

with his mouth turned up at the corners, jack asks, "what's wrong, baby?"

and he knows the answer before you narrow your eyes at him and say, "your favorite girl, jack? how many girls do you have?"

[romantic-insomniac]

TEN OUT OF TEN !!!!

this dynamic is everything to me

[f1uffysplace]

Brendon sends you a photo right before he gets caught up in work so you have a nice present for whenever you wake up

[helvyeah1]

robby gives whitaker his new doctor ID badge (and something else)

[wesandresons]

SHAWN HATOSY as TITUS DANFORTH READY OR NOT 2: HERE I COME (2026) dir. Matt Bettinelli-Olpin, Tyler Gillett

[avocado-berries]

[apfelkernchen]

Jack, who's absolutely obsessed with true crime, blabbering on about his latest murder-case hyperfixation while cooking dinner and Robby listens patiently, only to reply: "The real true crime here is the way you murdered my favorite pan. Maybe they'll make a podcast about this so you'll learn not to scratch it with a bloody fork." And then he just walks away.

[cryingondowntime]

[avocado-berries]

[whatif-ialreadydid]

true blue juniper - j.a

pairing: jack abbot x buttercup!reader

wc: 1.3k

the pitt-verse masterlist | 2k celebration event (open!)

summary: your favorite regular at the farmer's market never fails to leave you weak in the knees

contains: implied age gap, reader has enough hair to fit into two braids but otherwise no physical description

a/n: new reader alert! i wrote this in a whopping 2 hours in a freckle-induced hallucinatory fervor. i hope you enjoy <3 | divider from @strangergraphics

A little girl and her mother thank you for helping them pick the ripest peaches in the pile, then leave you to your booth.

Around you the North Shore Market flows, spray from where the Ohio River meets the Allegheny making for a cool, refreshing breeze. It’s more than welcome in the June heat, which has yet to beat down on the bustling Saturday morning market. 

Customers flit from vendor to vendor, filling canvas totes with fresh produce, flowers, and other wares boasting attributes like ‘homegrown’ or ‘artisan’. 

For a side hustle, working the booth for your friend’s farm isn’t so bad. The canopy keeps you in the shade, the patrons are friendly, and you’re usually all wrapped up by one in the afternoon, leaving the rest of your Saturday ripe for the taking.

Of course, that typically just means a long, afternoon nap, but that’s beside the point. 

You should be reveling in the start of what is meant to be a serene Saturday, but there’s something holding you back.

It’s a buzzy, humming feeling in your chest. Not quite anxiety, not quite excitement, but it's been there all morning. As you set up the canopy and the folding table, stacked your peaches and tomatoes so the ripest end up on top, and even as you tied the crocheted bandana around your two braids — a necessary accessory to keep flyaway from escaping in the early morning breeze.

Anticipation. And as you swipe your hands over the apron looped around your waist, you glance down the aisle of booths, and spot the very person you’re anticipating. 

He strides toward you with purpose, ignoring the surrounding booths.

A black scrub top and mocha brown cargo pants, accompanied by work boots that have seen better days. He looks worn down, like he always does when you see him first thing every Saturday morning. But the lines on his face crinkle when he spots you, recognition lighting the smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Good morning, buttercup,” he says when he sidles up, eyeing the pints of strawberries. It's a simple booth: just a folding table filled to the brim with pints of berries, peaches, tomatoes, and a few jars of honey from a local beekeeper. “And how are you today?” 

Buttercup. You glance down at the fruit-centric logo on your apron — Buttercup Farms, a locally owned small batch produce farm, owned and operated by your friend just ten miles past city limits. A nickname born out of weeks of shy, sideways glances and small talk, exchanged both ways until it became too late to ask for your name. 

But you know his— well, his last name, at least. Spotted it on his hospital badge the fifth consecutive Saturday he came to see you.

DOCTOR, it said, in bolded white letters on a green background. Then, just barely readable from where his shirt covered it, a surname that you know but you’ve never been brave enough to test on your lips. Abbot. 

You've found your thoughts drifting on more than one occasion, daring yourself to say his name aloud. Wondering how he might react if you said it to him. Wondering how it might taste on your tongue. Dr. Abbot.

“Good morning!” You chirp, taking your post at the end of the table. There’s some familiarity here — you, standing in the same place each week, and him, making a show of selecting the best produce while making conversation. 

You tried to convince yourself he was just being polite, taking pity on the market girl running a booth all by herself every Saturday morning. But after two months of recalled details, week after week, you can’t help but think maybe he might like talking to you just as much as you like talking to him. 

“I’m good today,” you pause, daring yourself to insert a cheeky Dr. Abbot into the conversation, but instead suffer an awkwardly elongated silence. You clear your throat. “How are you?” 

"Oh, you know. Same shit, different day,” he raises his eyes from the strawberries to shoot you a winsome wink. “No blackberries today?” 

You glance at the folding table with a start. Oh, no, no no. He's right. There are no blackberries. 

“Shit!” You exclaim, hand flying to your forehead in a resounding smack. “Shit, shit, shit.” 

“Woah,” Abbot chortles, extending his hand, but not quite touching you. As if he’s not sure if he’s allowed. “What’s the matter, buttercup?” 

“I left the blackberries in the truck,” you drag both hands over your face. “I left the blackberries in the truck!” 

“It’s okay,” his voice comes out firm and assured, as though he’s already hatching a plan. “Where’s the truck?” 

“It’s—“ your hand flies in the general direction of the parking lot, all the way across the park. It’s probably half a mile, if you had to guess, it doesn't matter. You’re not allowed to drive in the grass. "Oh, my god."

Panic sets in as you rattle off context to the poor man trapped in a predicament he has nothing to do with. “One of the volunteers helps me unload the canopy and the table and all the produce each week, a-and it usually takes two trips, and I must have forgotten the blackberries!" Your voice comes out a puppy whine, reduced to uselessness when you're otherwise perfectly capable of handling things on your own. "Shit, and they’re so ripe, too.” 

But it’s the fact that this isn’t your business that will suffer because you forgot the blackberries that sends you down a spiral. It’s your friend’s. Her profits for the week won’t be nearly as high as expected, all because of your thoughtlessness.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse so much before,” Abbot attempts a joke, to which you crumple even more. An exasperated whine is your only response.

“Hey,” his voice evens out again, and before you can register what’s happening, his beefy, calloused hand cups your bare shoulder. You glance up, meeting eyes the color of a carnival kaleidoscope. You can't decide what the dominating shade is: blue or green or gold. “It’s okay. Will you take a deep breath with me?” 

With his free hand, he mimes a long breath in, then a sustained, steadying breath out. You follow his lead.

“There you go,” he murmurs, the rumble of his voice shooting electric shocks up and down your veins. “That’s a good girl.” 

Your jaw goes slack. It takes everything in you not to shudder.

“How many pints of blackberries are in the truck, angel?” He asks, providing a quick rub to your shoulder before reverting back to his own space. Your skin feels especially cold now that his hand is gone.

“Twenty,” you gulp, guilt clouding over any lust for the older man before you. 

Abbot reaches into his back pocket, tugging out a weathered, camo print wallet. “And how much are they going for this week?” 

“Five dollars.” 

He flips open the wallet, then tugs out two crisp fifties, and a twenty. He extends his hand to you, the bills poised between two fingers.  

“What are you doing?” Your brow furrows, eyes dipping to the money, then back to him. The sun peeks out from the bottom of the canopy, striking him over the bridge of his nose. He's all polka dotted with freckles.

“I’m buying your blackberries,” Abbot husks. You swear the sentence sounds a million times more provocative than it should. Your knees give a little wobble. “You can give ‘em to a food bank or something.” 

“What?” You blink. 

“My arm’s gettin' tired,” he shakes the money at you, though not impatiently. “Take it, buttercup. Please.” 

“What’s the extra twenty for?” You swallow, plucking the cash from him. You move with reluctance, your bones heavy with guilt.

“Whatever a pint of these strawberries is worth, and the rest you can use for a coffee or something,” he shrugs. 

“That’s fifteen extra dollars,” you mutter, dumbfounded.

“Aren't you smart? Even when you’re stunned,” he smirks. It takes you longer than you’d care to admit to realize that he’s teasing. “Coffee and a pastry then. On me, okay?” 

You nod, then shove the cash into the pocket of your apron. On him.

God, your thoughts are veering to a place that would rip the family friendly status away from this farmer's market.

Abbot lifts a pint of strawberries without looking at them, then cradles it close to his chest. “I’ll see you next week, alright, angel?” 

A hum vibrates through you. “Okay…” you pause, nibbling your bottom lip. The breeze picks up, ruffling his delicious, greying curls. “Thank you, Dr. Abbot.” 

The look of bewilderment on his face is enough to make you wish you forgot the blackberries every week. 

He throws his head back in a sharp, heart-shattering laugh. He says goodbye a second time, then stalks off, only stopping to throw you one last grin over his shoulder.

[taknbythewind]

howling outside your door

pairing: ex!jack abbot x reader

summary: your ex boyfriend is determined to get back together, despite your cold facade that he knows is bound to crack.

wc: 1k

warnings: kinda possessive jack, ex bf who keeps bothering you (but you love it and would be offended if he stops), workplace (ex)relationship, implied age gap, bad writing...

a/n: >.< so...i have no excuse as to why i still have not posted the fics i've mentioned other than sometimes things start to feel like homework to me and i just procrastinate. but i can not stop thinking about ex!jack so here's a little messy thing about that...(ily)

i’m obsessed with ex!jack abbot who doesn’t seem to be on the same page when it comes to what being broken up means as you.

he still flirts with you, constantly. his touches are far too lingering for any professional setting. and he refuses to retire the badge clip you got him while you were still together—the one that matched your own, which has since been replaced with a new different one that made jack frown when he noticed.

however long it’s been since the breakup, jack is no less deterred by your cold shoulders and eye rolls. the night shift was worried at first when they had heard the news, concerned that things would be tense and awkward between the two doctors.

they weren’t wrong, but it was in a much more confusing way than they had anticipated. instead of the classic bickering of exes they expected, they are forced to watch their attending and his pathetic attempts to win back your favor, which you seem keen to thwart...sort of.

like now, as they watch jack saunter up next to you at the start of a shift and casually place a coffee in front of you—your exact order that he’s had memorized since you started at ptmc.

you barely spare it a glance, eyes focused back on the tablet in hand as you review labs for a patient.

“what’s that?” you ask dryly.

“just a little something,” jack shrugged like it was something exes did all the time.

“jack,” you sighed out. you turn to face him with a stern expression and when you open your mouth to speak again he beats you to it.

“i know, i know. ‘s not a big deal, sweetheart,” he placates.

“jack,” you say again, firmer this time. “we talked about this.” exes don't buy each other coffee or call each other petnames.

“i don’t know what you mean,” he shrugs and nudges the cup towards you before sauntering to the lockers, camo backpack slung over his shoulder.

you sigh in defeat, only taking a sip of the drink you already know is exactly to your liking once he's out of sight. damn him.

orrrr

someone else getting too close with you, maybe a thread of your sweater got caught on your earring (the ones that jack bought you when you were together, they’re your favorite pair and it has nothing to do with him, obviously) and the new med student that’s been following you around like puppy the last few shifts since he’s switched to nights who jack has been less than warm to is already at your side to help you untangle the offending fiber from your delicate jewelry.

jack’s in the middle of talking to parker when he stops mid sentence and beelines straight towards the scene the second his view of you is obstructed by the student’s back, whose face is too close to your’s for jack's comfort. parker just scoffs. rude, she will remember this next time he asks her to do something.

he’s across the floor in record time, “excuse you, how ‘bout you let me handle that?” jack announces himself a little sternly, hands moving into the space to take over and nudge the man away. he says it like it’s obvious, like he should know that it’s something jack is supposed to take care of; the delicate and intimate task of rescuing your earlobe. “gotta be careful,” he’s grumbling out, fingers gentle against your skin as his brow furrows in utter concentration.

the student backs up a step, looking a little startled as he glances between you two and the way you allow the older doctor to free the thread from your white gold stud without any fuss. you’re finally able to drop your shoulder and stand straight, but jack still remains pressed to your side.

“oh—sorry, are you two, like, together?” he asks like it’s already been answered.

“no.” you shoot down immediately, a little hastily if jack was to say.

“something like that” jack’s reply comes at the same time, his head tilting back to size the med student up down his nose. you scowl at him.

the kids face scrunches in confusion at the mixed answers.

“no. we are not together,” you state firmly. more like you were making sure jack knew and not the new guy.

jack’s mouth pulls up the slightest bit at the corners as he looks at you and your stern face. god, he’d love to kiss you. it’s dropped quickly when he turns back to the student, crossing his arms and maybe flexing his biceps for extra oomph as he looks him up and down, “what’s it to you?”

you let out a small groan, glancing up at the ceiling in a silent plea for strength to deal with your ex-boyfriend-still-boss, “oh my god, ignore him,” you say, “i always do.”

“oh..kay,” the student’s saying before scurrying away from whatever that situation was.

you take a two steps back and turn so you’re facing jack.

“that was a bit much, don’t you think?”

he takes one step forward, “just restoring balance,” he shrugs, arms still straining at the sleeves of his scrubs where they’re crossed over his chest, definitely flexing for you now.

“oh please,” you wave off, “he was harmless. and you are annoying.”

jack takes a moment to tuck the hair that’s fallen from your updo behind your ear with a gentleness that is incredibly too loaded for the middle of the night in the emergency room, making your breath stutter. his fingers skim the earrings he remembers buying you for your 3 month anniversary and you try your best to fight your body from leaning into his familiar touch. he leans in a bit closer, hand falling away from your face.

“you love it,” he whispers smugly before heading towards the ambulance bay, leaving you tingling all over and fighting to maintain the walls he keeps trying to break down around your heart.

later, when the new med student walks up to parker, eyes glancing across the room to where he see's dr abbot walking beside you to a patient room, his hand coming up to usher you by the small of your back before you reach back and swat it away harshly. he watches as jack just clasps his arms behind his back and leans closer to you, undeterred.

"so what's their deal?" he's nodding towards the pair. parker looks up from the patient chart briefly to see what he's talking about. she snorts and shakes her head.

"i don't even know how to begin to answer that," she says dryly.

[bloodiedskirtts]

Wake Up Call

jack abbot x pervy!fem!reader

just a lil voyeurism blurb with a pervy reader watching her sexy, older neighbour NSFW + MDNI! 18+ ONLY!

You first meet Jack Abbot when you're lugging your boxes into your new place. He's your neighbour and he sees you struggling to move your stuff inside. He helps you and makes it look easy. You can't believe how turned on you are just watching the way his veins bulge in his thick arms as he lifts the boxes into your new place. Your eyes focus on the muscles rippling under his tanned and freckled skin. Jesus, control yourself!

You don't really see, your friendly neighbour, Jack Abbot after that. Sometimes he'll wave over at you when he's on his way home from work in the mornings as you set out for your day.

But one morning, you're struggling to sleep. The sun is barely up and you've been tossing and turning for hours. You're glad you don't have work today. But when you pull back your curtains, your breath catches in your throat. Your bedroom window looks right into Jack's garden. In the few weeks you've been here, you've never seen anyone out in the backyard.

You know he's a night shift doctor in one of the local hospitals. So you're not surprised that he's not spending hours in the garden. He's a busy man.

But as the sun peeks over the horizon you can see Jack Abbot out in his garden, going through a yoga flow. You didn't expect him to enjoy yoga. He's an older guy; he didn't fit the profile of a yogi! But what made it even more shocking was the fact that he was completely naked. You know you should pull the curtains back and walk away. Unfortunately, you are glued to the spot.

You watch as he spends the next hour, moving from one position to the next effortlessly. You watch as the sun begins to bounce off his skin which is covered almost head to toe with freckles. And you understand why. You watch as the muscles bulge and ripple with each movement. And your mouth goes dry as your eyes drift to his cock. It's thick and heavy and you can imagine taking it in your mouth.

You desperately want to take him in your mouth. You desperately want to take him inside you, have him fill you, inch by fucking inch.

You can feel how wet you're getting by just watching him. Your nipples are peaked against your pyjama top. And you can't help but bring yourself back to your bed. You're so turned on, you drag your fingers over your clit, using your other hand to palm at your tits.

You cum in record time, panting out your neighbour's name.

You definitely shouldn't but you make it a habit. You check if Jack's truck is still in the driveway in the evenings and then you set your alarm so you can watch his yoga routine. You spread yourself on your bed, making yourself cum to the thought of him.

The days when he's working, you feel empty. You don't get your little morning treat, and you don't know what to do with yourself.

You really should start dating. But the idea of someone getting in the way of your morning routines with Jack (even if he doesn't know) makes your stomach sink. You only want him.

One afternoon you bump into Jack, ironically, on your way back from a yoga class. You're dressed in your matching co-ord with your yoga mat slung over your shoulder. You notice how Jack's eyes drag over every inch of your body. He's trying to be subtle, you can tell.

"How was your workout?" he asks pleasantly as he cuts the lawn mower engine from where he's working on his front garden.

"Good, thanks, Dr Abbot," you tell him, sugary sweet. "It's a really good way to de-stress."

He nods, "Yea, I took it up a few years ago. More for my mental health than for the workout aspect."

You pretend to be surprised that he likes yoga, "Oh well, maybe I could join you sometime."

The smirk that quirks on Jack's lips doesn't go by you.

He nods as he says, "Yea, I'd like that. We could help each other de-stress."

a/n: thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! any and all feedback appreciated. requests open

taglist: @sweetashhh @orangecheescakeleftover @elenamoncadaibarra @joelmillrenthusiast @abbotaes @onlyforyuto @meetmeatyourworst @czarina55 @user153639937

[opulentpeony]

theory crafting - billionaire!jack x fake wife!reader 

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

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

hope it's a sick read ♡ 

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

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

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

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

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

You did the math. 

The math is never wrong. 

It sold more than either of you could imagine. 

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

But you could only achieve it by playing dirty.

That's how this whole thing started.

With a dirty little secret…

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

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

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

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

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

And you've made him millions. 

Subsequently meaning you've made yourself millions. 

Money you don't really care for. 

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

It makes you good at your job. 

Maybe a little too good. 

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

None of these ideas would work. You knew this. 

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

Who the hell are these people trying to fool? 

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

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

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

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

Jack can't fire you.  

You're his greatest asset. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's never seen you smile before… 

Why does he seem intrigued by the sight of it? 

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

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

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

To which you reply, “not yet.” 

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

Why? He doesn't really know. 

He doesn't really understand you at all. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Really good at it. 

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

“How did you—”

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

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

All the possibilities align exactly as you intend them to. 

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

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

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

Of course. It's all he wants, ever. 

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

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

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

Which is how you figured it would go. 

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

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

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

Opposites attract, after all. 

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

You're thinking bigger. 

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

An agreement the two of you never made but you simply cornered him into. 

Jack can't possibly marry you without a plan in place. Definitely not without a pre-nup to protect his money.

So, he snaps at you when you get to his penthouse apartment, where you've been living for the last few weeks, from that interview. “We never agreed to get engaged. And if we were to, you will be signing a pre-nup.”

“No, I won't.” You shrug off your jacket, hanging it at the coat rack by the door, completely ignoring the irritation building on your boss's face. 

Jack never had a coat rack before. You brought yours here. You brought a lot of your things here. 

You actually live here now, which is something Jack is not used to at all… 

He has always been alone. A bachelor at heart. He had thought once of maybe settling down, having children, etc, but then life got in the way.

Jack made his first billion investing in the medical field and his second billion after he lost his leg overseas. 

He's about to make his third billion by marrying you. 

Somehow you've accumulated that much value, at least in social currency. People love how straightforward you are. No bullshit, despite it all being bullshit. 

Jack won't win this fight. He'll slowly learn that he can never win when he comes to you.

You will always be several steps ahead. 

You convince him against a pre-nup. You convince him to elope with you. You convince him to go on a honeymoon to a place specifically where a luxury chain you have a stake in owns every hotel on the island. 

Your money is now Jack's money. Much to his surprise, it ends up being a lot of money. Still not as much as he has but enough that anyone would find you well within the 1%. 

You don't need to make any more money. You could live the rest of your life comfortably.

But what's the fun in that? 

Jack learns your habits over the year the two of you have been in a fake relationship. 

You wake up early. You read the trends. You scope out options that you might want to look into. And you always, always make him money. 

He definitely doesn't need any more money but your abilities have allowed him to create a more relaxed workplace with plenty of safety nets. He is able to convince several private health companies to invest their employee pensions with Abbot Financial, a trend that continues to grow as your decisions create a healthy cushion for any possible mishaps.

His firm is juggling megatons of money now, more money than most firms will ever see in countless lifetimes.

Jack has everything he has ever wanted. 

That is, until he wakes up in the morning and sees you sitting on his couch, in his home. 

And he realizes he doesn't have you. 

Not truly. 

He looks down at the wedding ring on his finger then turns his attention back to you. He can see the matching band on your finger, along with the engagement ring you picked out and billed to him, not that it cost anything all that substantial to a billionaire like him. 

The two of you are married but…it's not real. 

Your eyes shift to him, furrowing your brow at the sight of him staring at you. “You do that a lot, sir.” 

“Do what?” He feigns ignorance. 

“Stare at me.” You don't like that he stares so much. 

Makes you feel things you shouldn't towards your boss. 

Things that a wife would feel towards her husband, if he were actually her husband. 

Like the desire to ask for a kiss in the morning. 

You shake that thought away, going back to looking at your laptop, staring at the numbers for the day. 

Numbers are safe. 

The thoughts that just swarmed your mind were not safe…

Because he fuels those delusional thoughts when he responds like he always does, “am I not allowed to stare at my wife?”

“I'm not your wife.” You answer the same way you always do to this joke of his. 

“You'll have to be my wife for the charity gala tonight.” It's Abbot Financial's annual charity gala.

The first one since you and Jack got officially married, which means you will indeed have to be by his side then.

“I know.” You've been dreading it. 

There is too much to account for. While your distant act worked well when you and Jack were “dating”, you can't do the same act now that you're married to him.

You have to act like you're in love with him and that disturbs you because…you won't need to act. 

You are in love with him. 

You've never felt anything for anyone before but over these last few months, you've grown to care about Jack more than you've ever cared for a person. 

And it has you making mistakes you shouldn't be making.

Like when someone asks you what you'd like to drink at the gala.

But you don't drink, so why did you tell them to get you Jack's favorite drink, the one he always has when he's at home, his favorite brand of double barrel whiskey…

You figured since you were asked, you might as well get him something. 

Big fucking mistake. 

You have no stake in that brand and neither does Jack. You should've ordered something you had a stake in because now, your trends will be off. People will invest in that whiskey brand knowing a billionaire enjoys drinking it, which means they'll be investing in the materials that make up the bottle and the wax label. None of which you had accounted for in your projections… 

The weight of that glass of whiskey felt heavier than it was in your hand once you received it. 

It feels even worse when you give Jack the glass and he exclaims rather happily, “my favorite! Thanks, baby girl.” 

And he kisses you on the temple, causing your stomach to do flips…

You don't like that he chose that nickname for you. It's playful because of your age difference. The media eats it up whenever he calls you “his baby girl” when he talks about you. People love how “affectionate” he is when it comes to talking about you. 

You hate it. You hate knowing that it's all a lie and that all the pretty words he says about you are just to keep this ploy going.

So why did you care enough to get him his favorite drink? 

That's when you catch the truth. 

The calculated truth. 

That your subconscious mind knew he'd give you a kiss for it because that's what a husband would do if his wife thought of him dearly enough to bring him his favorite drink. 

You feel sick realizing this…

“Is my baby girl feeling alright?” Jack sets his glass down on a nearby table so he can cup your face in his warm palms, which only has your heart beating faster than it already is.

He can feel your rapid pulse. He wonders what's wrong—

“I feel a little nauseous.” You say in a fake attempt to whisper. You speak loud enough for the crowd around the two of you to hear you say, “it must be because…you know…”

Jack doesn't know what you could be implying. Not until he reads the news the next day after the gala and people are speculating that you're pregnant.

But he knew your nausea was not pregnancy related. He's never touched you. 

No one has ever touched you…not that Jack knows that. 

Jack does know, however, that you were actually feeling unwell. 

So, he asks you when he sees you in the living room on your laptop, like you always are in the mornings, “should I get you some medicine?”

“I’m fine.” You aren't fine. 

Your trends are off. 

They're never off. 

But they're off today…

They're off for a whole week before you can level them back out properly. 

Jack wouldn't be able to notice the things you do, so he has no clue why you've been glued to your laptop for days on end. He just worries that you're working yourself sick. 

“You need to rest.” He tells you when, for the eighth day in a row, you've been barely sleeping. 

“I'm fine.” Again, you lie. 

“You are not fine. There's obviously something wrong. Just talk to me.” Jack goes to sit next to you on the couch and he flinches when he sees you stare at him with a startled expression.

He has never ever sat down next to you at home. He has never been this close to you in private before.

It causes you to snap your laptop shut and stand up quickly. Too quickly.

You clutch your head, the blood rushing out from it, making you dizzy enough to stumble. 

And your heart stops in your chest when you feel Jack's hands on your arms, steadying you. 

He's close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body, reminding you that he just woke up and he's wearing what he usually does to bed. A high end brand of athletic shorts and a shirt that clings a little too nicely to his upper body, showing off that he trains in his free time with a specialized workout instructor for people with prosthetics. 

Your eyes shift down for a second because you feel something brush against your thigh. 

Is that his…oh fuck! 

You scramble out of his hold and without saying a word, you run off into your room.

You don't come out for an entire day. 

Jack knocks several times to make sure you aren't dead in there. He, again, has no clue why you're acting so strange. He hadn't realized he was sporting a hard on from waking up and it had casually poked at you through the fabric of his shorts. 

You have to tell yourself that it's just something that happens with men in the morning. It had nothing to do with you. Nothing at all. 

You shouldn't want it to have anything to do with you! Why would you want your boss to get hard for you! 

This is…beyond horrific.

You can't look him in the eye, which is fine because usually you can't anyways.

But you forgot about the children's dinner. 

It's an event for children with disabilities that Abbot Financial hosts. It's a community cooking event and you're supposed to cook alongside your husband Jack. 

The entire time, you act the role of the shy wife beautifully because whenever Jack touches you casually or gives you a kiss, you react with such shock that everyone around finds you adorable. Including Jack. 

He's never seen you act so cute before. Every time he kisses you, you look at him with the most surprised expression that he can't help messing with you for the rest of the event. Especially when the two of you bake some cookies and he tries one and they're so delicious that he picks you up and twirls you around in front of everyone, telling them all how talented his wife is.

“My baby girl is brilliant in more ways than one.” He says to the crowd before pressing a kiss against your lips. You can taste the flavor of the cookie on his lips.

And to his shock, you lean in and kiss him.

Just so you can memorize the feel of his lips against yours. 

You shouldn't have done that. You really shouldn't have done that. You didn't think it through. 

You always think things through.

You always play out all the possibilities. 

But in that moment, you didn't.

And now everything is uncertain… 

Like how you don't have a plan for when Jack is driving the two of you home from the event and he asks, “what was the reason behind that kiss?” 

“Hmmm?” You pretend not to understand what he's asking. 

“You always have a reason behind everything you do. I'm just curious what the reason was there.” Jack can't wrap his mind around why you decided to kiss him back. You've never shown him affection before, which is what you're known for. 

So, why did you kiss him? 

You shrug, not answering verbally, leaning your head against the tinted window. 

His eyes shift over to you, to your lips, to the memory of you kissing him for the first time. 

And he hopes you'll do it again. 

A hope he shouldn't have because he has no clue that you have feelings for him.

He isn't sure you could have feelings for anyone and if you did, it would have to be well within your calculations. 

You would never just fall for anyone. 

Whoever you fell in love with, it would have to be someone who fits into your numbers. 

Someone who definitely isn't him…

But, little does he know, you only have eyes for the man who is playing the role of your husband in the public eye. The man you consider your boss even though you've been his wife now longer than you've ever been his employee. 

Three years have gone by and…your feelings for your fake husband have only grown by the day. 

You find yourself looking forward to the events where you have to be seen with Jack because during those events, you can enjoy being loved by him. It's not real and it makes your heart ache when it's over and you're reminded that it's all an act, but you try to enjoy it in the moment. 

Try as you might, it doesn't aid in the lump that forms in your throat every time Jack asks you why you do certain things, like hold his hand the whole night or give him a kiss. You simply shrug and so far, that's enough. He doesn't push for an answer past that. 

He believes you must have your reasons. In his mind, he can't fathom that reason being that you just want to hold his hand or kiss him. It has to be a piece in a puzzle that only you can see somehow. 

But then, one night, you slip up. 

And you hold onto his hand even in the elevator up to the shared hotel room, where there are no eyes to see the two of you. 

No reason for you to still be holding his hand. 

Jack stares down at the way your fingers are interlocked with his. At the way your thumb is casually brushing against his skin. At how relaxed you seem. At how content you are to be holding his hand. 

Until you realize what you're doing and you quickly slip your hand out of his, hoping he hadn't noticed. 

It's the first time Jack sees you clearly. 

He sees that you're just a shy girl who seems to like him, though you'd never say anything about it. 

Not even when the two of you are legally married and there's no reason for Jack not to grab you and kiss you right now. 

You are his wife, after all. 

No one would bat an eyelash if he pinned you to the wall of this elevator and grinded his body up against yours until a moan slipped from your lips. 

What's stopping him now that he knows you feel something for him? How long have you been hiding this from him?

Is that why you're never in bed when he wakes up on the rare occasions you and him have to share a bed, like tonight? 

Are you nervous about what would happen if he slid a little closer to you in your sleep and touched you? 

Would you…let him? 

Thoughts race through his mind that are sinful and perverted. His lovely wife is interested in him. Maybe even the whole time the two of you have been married…

Jack starts feeding into the delusion that perhaps this has all been a ploy to make him fall in love with you. A clever girl like you would think that far ahead, after all. 

While that isn't true at all, it doesn't matter.

It's what Jack believes now. 

And you hardly prove him wrong when the two of you share a bed that night and you don't push him away when he spoons you. 

Why don't you shrug him off? Why don't you move? 

You can't figure out why you're letting him hold you…  

Maybe it's because you actually enjoy how his body feels pressed up against your back. How good he smells when he's this close to you and his scent wafts in your direction.

You and Jack are currently attending a five day long retreat, run by an eccentric billionaire who thought it was a good idea to rent out an entire ski resort just for a handful of people. 

Jack usually declines by booking something to overlap with the retreat dates but this time, he hadn't. Because he told you about it and you said that it would be a good idea to go. To show people he's in a happy relationship, as many billionaires are not. 

He would be in an even happier relationship if he could sink his hard cock into you and hear you beg for him to cum inside. 

Your heart starts pounding in your chest when you feel how hard he has gotten in his sleep. His cock is resting between your thighs…and you have to stuff your face in your pillow to stop yourself from making a sound when he rolls his hips against your ass. 

You don't know what to do. He's surely asleep. He probably doesn't even realize he's doing this. 

You should scoot over. You shouldn't keep letting him dry hump you like this in his sleep.

But he is asleep…right?

So, can't you pretend that he has no clue this is happening so you can cum from the feeling of the tip of his cock brushing against your clit over and over again? 

Jack swears he hears you moan. It's so faint but it had to have slipped from your lips. 

And now he has to hear it again. 

He keeps fucking your thighs, humping you like an animal in heat, and you bury your face further into your pillow, digging your nails into the sheets to hold yourself steady so that his cock can rub up against you where you need him to make you cum.

The orgasm that shoots through you feels better than when you've touched yourself. You've never been this wet before. There's an ache between your legs. You wish he'd just slip his cock inside of you and start fucking you. 

Wait, what? No, you shouldn't be thinking that. He's asleep. He's probably having a weird dream. 

You need to just go to sleep and—

Another moan slips from your lips when you feel him draw a line down the length of your slit with the tip of his finger before dipping inside of you. He curls his finger just right as his palm applies pressure on your clit and suddenly, stars flood your vision. You can barely keep in your voice anymore.

And nothing can stop him when his name leaves your lips all breathy and nervous, “Jack?” 

No “sir”. Just Jack. 

You never call him Jack. 

Now, he needs to hear you moan his name again. And again. 

In that soft, shy, scared voice of yours, so lost in the pleasure he can give you.

You don't know how long he bullies your pussy with his fingers. You've cum so much that you feel hollow when his fingers finally free you from their grasp and your pussy is left wanting more.

Then, before you ask him anything, Jack feigns a little snore before flipping over, his back now to your own. He mainly did that so he can lick the taste of you off his fingers without you catching him. But it also helps him hide the fact that he had done that all consciously and you let him.

You don't mention a word about it in the morning. 

Like usual, you aren't there in bed when he wakes up. But his hand slides over to where he had fingered you last night and there's a dampness there that tells him that it really did happen and he didn't just dream it. 

He can still taste you on his tongue. 

Jack wants to bury his face between your legs and hear you moan his name from his mouth ravaging your pussy. 

But, first, he needs you to admit that you want him.

Something that proves almost impossible. 

Over the rest of the retreat, you're much more cautious around Jack, especially in private. You do the bare minimum of affection. You don't push the bounds like you had before with holding his hand or kissing him. You try your best to maintain a proper sense of decorum. 

Until the two of you lay down in bed together.

Then, everything gets thrown out the windows.

Because you don't stop Jack from touching you in his sleep. 

You let him grope you under your sleep shirt and pinch your nipples while his cock grinds up against your ass. You let him finger you into multiple orgasms that have you reeling by the end of them, your body tense and aching for him to go further. He never goes further. 

You won't get his cock until you beg for it. That's what he has decided. Jack will play your game of pretend for now but he knows one day, you have to cave. 

Either you will, or he will. 

And for once when it comes to you, Jack likes his odds. 

Because now, in the corner of your eye when you look at him, there's a heat that wasn't there before. 

Even if it isn't love, Jack will accept your lust. He can turn that into love. He can make you truly his. 

He wants you to be his wife, his actual wife. 

So, he starts asking you to go on more “business” trips with him. Excuses to force you into the same bed as him disguised as necessary ventures for capital. 

Excuses you allow because your body has grown a bit too attached to the pleasure he spoils you with in his sleep. 

You miss his touch when you sleep alone in your bed at his penthouse. You wish he'd slide into bed with you and make you cum and just fuck you already. 

You know that this can't be some strange type of sleepwalking. Jack is actively touching you and he knows you're letting him. 

But neither of you will admit to the other the truth.

That you want each other, in a way that is deeper than just momentary pleasure. 

Despite all your genius, you can't reason the “correct” approach to confessing this to him.

It feels like it's too late, or too impossible to do now. 

Your feelings for him are growing to be too overwhelming. You find it hard to focus when you're slick between your legs at the thought of him. 

You've never been like this before so you never had a reason to fathom the possibilities. Your logical brain assumed that something like this could never happen because why would you ever let someone touch you the way Jack has been touching you? 

Why are you letting him…

Why does it have to feel so good? 

This is fucked up.

You're not his wife. You're not even in a relationship with him. You're practically a stranger he shares a bed with on occasion. 

You're a toy he likes to play with. That's the conclusion you've come to because you can't reason that he loves you too. Such a thought is more than unlikely, even though it's the truth. 

You've never been so wrong before. 

But your judgment is clouded heavily by the idea that he only agreed to be with you for money. 

The moment you're no longer useful to him, you'll get thrown out. It's inevitable. 

That's why you start looking for back up plans. You should've done this earlier and built your own safety net. 

But you couldn't have known you'd fall in love with your boss of all people… 

You would've never suggested this if you thought for a second you'd feel something for him.

Feelings make everything more complicated than they should be.

Like the jealous rage Jack gets when he checks what you've been searching for on his internet. He had been keeping tabs on your internet history. He owns the provider so it wasn't difficult for him to get the information he needed. 

You're looking for ways out. 

He finds it adorable that you think you can get away from him of all people. 

Don't you know what he did for the military? 

Jack was a combat medic but he was special ops first, specializing in surveillance. 

There's not a corner of this Earth you could go where he couldn't find you. 

You can never leave him. Hadn't you calculated that in your head? 

Why would he ever let you go? 

You're his. 

Whether you want to be or not… 

He just needs to make sure you're aware of it. 

So, Jack buys a new apartment. He buys an entire building, actually, where the penthouse suite is rather large but only has one bedroom. On purpose. He built it that way. 

And he makes a grand showing of how he curated the building for you, his lovely wife.

You had no clue about any of this, which is why you had no idea that he built you a cage. 

A cage you walked right into with a smile for the world to see… 

“Why is there only one bedroom?” That's the first question you ask when you walk into the new penthouse for the first time.

And for once, Jack is the calculated one. “Because the design plans are available to the public and we don't have a need for a guest room so it looks better for our relationship to only have one bedroom.”

The logic is sound. You can't argue with that. 

Jack figured you wouldn't. He assumed that maybe you'd even look forward to having to sleep next to him every night. 

You do look forward to it, for all the wrong reasons… 

You can't keep letting him touch you. You try to just fall asleep, to ignore how easily Jack can make you cum but to no avail. He knows your body better than you do at this point and that's only with his hands. 

Imagine what he could do to you with his mouth or his cock. If only you'd just tell him how you truly feel about him.

But the fear of losing him completely prevents you from ever mentioning it. 

It prevents you from giving him more than a polite nod in the morning even though the night before he made you cum so hard on his fingers that you squirted all over the new bed while crying out his name. 

You're beginning to test the limits of his patience. He can't keep cumming in his hand and wasting it when he could be buried deep inside of his pretty wife.

You're his baby girl, who has no need for protection because you never thought you'd ever have sex so why would you be on birth control? 

He could put a baby inside of you. 

That would ensure you're his forever. 

Maybe he should just take you. Rip the choice from your hands. It's not like you'd stop him. He knows you want it too. 

If you won't admit it to him, then he'll just have to make you… 

Jack hasn't touched you since he made that decision. You're confused by it. 

You're uncomfortable with the fact that you miss those late night aggressive touches from him. You haven't cum in what feels like weeks. Your own fingers can't get you to the same pleasure Jack can so you don't even try. 

You've been left desperately wanting to ask him why he stopped. 

Is he…tired of you? Has he lost interest in you? 

You knew the time would come eventually so you prepare yourself to leave him first. You won't be here for the heartbreak. 

You'll end this on your own terms. 

Or, well, you try to.

Only for Jack to laugh in your face. “You can't be serious.” 

“Our marriage has run its course.” You tell him with that bluntness of yours, trying to maintain that cold, calm expression you usually have on. “We'll divorce amicably. I already have other firms lined up to hire me so there won't be any mess—”

Your back is against the wall in an instant and you can't hardly register the feel of Jack's lips on your own until he forces his tongue into your mouth. You squirm, shoving him off of you but failing miserably when he grabs your wrists and pins them to the wall, holding you steady there with his body pressed firmly against your own. 

Jack has never kissed you like this before, where he's purposefully stealing every breath you take, making you feel lightheaded. It's so aggressive that your knees start to buckle from how much you want him to keep going. 

But you can't let him do this. 

What is he doing? 

“Sir, I—!” You let out a yelp when Jack bites your neck all of a sudden. “What are you doing!”

“Marking my wife.” His words have heat rushing to your core. 

“Your…” You stare at him in disbelief. “I’m not your wife.” 

Again, he lets out a laugh that is so sinister, goosebumps form on your skin. Though, that might be from the words that decide to leave his lips with such menace, “I wonder how many times I'll have to rape you until you finally admit that you want to be my wife.” 

“W-What?” You must've gone crazy. 

Did Jack really just say that—

He grabs you and drags you to the bedroom, locking the door. Then, he tosses you onto the bed before kneeling down and ripping your bottoms off completely. 

You hold in a shriek of surprise when Jack buries his face between your legs and starts eating you out like he has been dreaming of doing since the moment he first got a taste of you. And you cum way too quickly…

Drawing yet another sadistic laugh from his lips. “You really like it when I make you cum.” 

Heat shoots through your whole body when you realize he's trying to get you to acknowledge all the times he has touched you up until now. 

“Oh, don't be shy, baby girl.” He says as he drags his tongue along your slit, causing your legs to tremble in his strong hold. “You're allowed to like the pleasure your husband can give you.” 

“You're not my—” You clamp your hand over your mouth to stop yourself from letting out a scream when Jack seals his lips around your clit and starts sucking the life out of you until you squirt all over his face from the intensity of his actions.

Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest at the sight of him licking his lips and smiling up at you. “I am your husband. We're legally married. It's finally time to consummate our marriage.” 

Jack stands up then, slowly unbuckling his belt. You're too stunned to move. Your eyes are glued to the bulge in his pants, to him pulling his cock out for you to finally see. 

You hadn't realized how big he was. 

There's no way that's going to fit inside of you. 

You're scrambling to get away from him the moment you realize he's actually going to try to put that monster inside of you. But he snatches you by your hips and drags you back towards him, lining his cock up with your entrance from behind.

That's when you scream, “I'm a virgin!”

In your mind, that was supposed to get him to stop. But again, your predictions have not been accurate.

Because Jack simply pushes forward, sinking the tip of his cock inside of you before saying, “you won't be for much longer, baby girl.” 

“Please, sir, stop this!” You try to claw yourself away from him but he's too strong, his hands digging into your hips, holding you steady as he thrusts more of his cock inside of you.

And again, you had no clue how easily your body would swallow him up…

You can't believe it when Jack hilts inside of you, his hips meeting your ass, his cock fully seated inside of you. 

Jack can't believe it either. How did he last so long without knowing how warm and wet your pussy would feel wrapped so tightly around his cock? 

He needs more. He has to hear you begging for his cum. 

So, he slips out of you. Then back into you. Then out again. He repeats this devilish movement over and over until you're trembling beneath him, your body desperate for an orgasm that refuses to build from the lack of stimulation. 

“Please, sir.” You can't take it anymore… 

“Say your husband's name properly.” He won't let you call him “sir” anymore. 

“Please, Jack.” The moment his name leaves your lips, he pushes his cock back inside of you and you let out a whimper and plead, “please don't pull out again.” 

“Why not?” Such a surge of pleasure rips through him when he slides out of you and you bury your face in the sheets, muffling your cries of disappointment. 

“I want to cum.” Your words are suppressed by fabric but Jack still hears you clearly.

“You don't need my cock to cum.” He dips two fingers inside of you and you tense up immediately. “You've cum plenty on my fingers. Don't you remember?” 

Of course you remember. Your body remembers all too well because it only takes a few thrusts and him curling his fingers just right to have you making a mess on his sheets like always. 

Jack pops his fingers out of you before lining his cock back up, the tip of it teasing your slit back and forth, making you so needy for him to be inside of you that you've lost all rationality. 

He's fucking you stupid, which is unbelievable, given that you're a genius. You can't be so swayed by the pleasure he can give you.

But you don't know how to do the math for this. 

What will get Jack to fuck you other than you completely giving into his every whim? 

He's in control here. You're smart enough to know this for a fact. 

That's why your hand slips between your legs and you spread your pussy wide for him and tell your husband, “please fuck your wife, Jack.” 

And you can't see the smile on his face but you can hear it in his response, “so you're finally my wife now?”

You nod. “I've been your wife. I've been all yours.”

“Since when?” He demands answers and you'll give them to him because he will reward you if you do. 

“Since that first time I kissed you.” All those years ago…

Jack flips you over so he can look at you. So you can look at him as he strips completely, letting you see his bare body for the first time. 

“Take it off.” His voice is so commanding that you listen without hesitation, pulling your top off until you're naked too. “My wife is so beautiful.”

Jack climbs on top of you, grabbing a hold of your face, kissing you the way he has needed to for years. Happiness floods his system when you moan his name on his lips from his hard cock grinding against your pussy. 

“Please.” Your hand slides down, positioning his cock back at your entrance. “Please fuck me, Jack.” 

That draws a laugh deep from his belly that you feel so prominently on your lips. “I can see the gears churning in your head, baby girl. Is that what you thought would get me to give you my cock? Try again.”

You bite your lip. He's right. You did think that would be enough. 

And it could've been if Jack wasn't a more patient man. If he was more desperate for you. But he has you now. 

He needs you fully committed to him. 

He has waited a very long time to hear you say the words that finally leave your lips, “please put a baby in your baby girl, Jack.” 

Your eyes roll back when his cock thrusts back inside of you, filling you up so deep that you can feel the tip of it grinding against your womb. Jack presses his hand down on your lower belly, massaging where his cock is resting inside of you, making the feeling of him more vivid than ever. 

“Eyes on me, baby girl.” Jack won't let you get too dazed. He wants you present for when he pumps a baby into you. 

“I'm here.” You reach up, cupping his face, brushing your fingers along the stubble that has grown on his jaw. “Can I kiss my husband?” 

“Of course.” He never thought he'd be so happy hearing you say that but when you lean up and kiss him on the cheek, he realizes just how much he loves you. 

Only you could give him such a light peck and it would be enough for him to want to give you the entire world. 

You are his whole world. Everything he has ever wanted and dreamed of. 

He'll have to spoil you rotten if he wants to keep you looking at him with so much affection like this. 

So, Jack spoils you with the one thing you weren't certain about, by telling you, “I love you.”

And he fucks the shock right off your face, your expression going from startled to pleasurable in a second. 

“Wait, Jack—” You need a second to think. 

He can't just drop that on you and then start fucking you!

But he does. Because he likes how panicked you look, all flustered and adorable, unable to comprehend his words combined with the pressure coiling in your core.

You feel like you could cum at any second.

He won't let you cum, though. Not until you say it back. 

“Come on, baby girl. Tell me what I already know.” He slows his strokes when he can feel you tightening up, your body wanting to cum but he stops moving right when you're close. 

You cover your face with your hands, feeling so shy, completely unprepared to confess your love for Jack. 

So, he slips out of you and you reflexively yell, “no!”

And then you scream into your hands, embarrassment filling your body when he lets out such a sadistic chuckle in response. 

“If you want to cum on my cock, tell me you love me.” He pushes your thighs together, fucking them like he would when he was pretending to be asleep, your pussy aching to be filled.

It takes every ounce of courage in you to say, “I love you, Jack.” 

Only for him to go, “say it to my face, baby girl.” 

You move your hands away, anxiety consuming you when you see the smirk on his face. He is way too happy about this development. 

You're in danger. There's nothing safe about what's about to transpire. 

If you were smart, you'd find a way out of this. You know better than to give yourself up to a billionaire crazy enough to marry you for money and then make you into his actual wife. 

The math is there. It proves you're going to be stuck with him for life. There will be no escape. 

You're going to be his. 

But you knew that, didn't you?

From the very first moment you laid eyes on Jack, you knew that he was capable of this and you still chose to go through with it. 

You can pretend all you like that you didn't see this coming but the truth is, you had known this outcome could happen from the very beginning. 

And you still chose him. 

Because you really are as crazy as he is. 

“I really love you.” You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer to you, grinding your hips up to meet his. “So please make me yours, Jack.” 

That's what you've wanted this whole time.

Your true goal in all of this.

It was never about the money. 

It was about getting this man so whipped for you that he’ll eagerly give you anything you'll ever want, including the kind of sex you never thought would be possible for you to have. 

You had to find someone who matched you in every way and make sure he had no idea that you've lured him into quite a snare. 

Jack may be fucking you stupid, but you're fucking him right back. 

You give him what he wants, to hear you beg for him to make you cum. And the orgasms he draws out of you are so incredible that you know you've made the right choice. 

You whisper words of adoration and affection that have him so elated that he's kissing you all over and eagerly fucking you now. You giggle at how cute he can be for an older man who is very much in love with his baby girl. 

“I'm not going to last much longer.” Jack may have great stamina but seeing you so consumed with pleasure has him wanting to fill you up right now. 

“We have all the time in the world.” You pull him in closer, giving him a kiss before telling him, “we don't need to waste time making money anymore. We should spend our time making babies from now on.” 

And just like you predicted, Jack groans and starts fucking you faster, full of need and desire to do exactly as you said. 

He seals his lips over yours when he cums inside of you, capturing your moans from the feeling of how warm it is coating your insides.

You could get used to this...

“I can't wait for you to get pregnant, baby girl.” He slips out of you and shifts downwards, laying his head on your belly, peppering your skin with kisses.

You rest your hand in his curls, loving the look of the grays scattered in between his reddish brown locks. You love the look in his hazel eyes when he looks up at you. 

Jack loves you so dearly. 

Just as you predicted he would. 

a/n: I have a thing for a reader who secretly has a few screws loose (maybe bc I have a few screws loose LMAO!) and also just love writing jack batshit crazy ~ 

this one was a super fun one to write. it's been a while since I wrote something a little longer! I've been experimenting a lot lately writing wise so this one had a bit more…idk how to describe it, like more internal monologue? I always have such a blast trying new things out in my writing hehe! 

hope you enjoyed the read ♡

[mcybank]

⋮⟢ drabble: jack abbot’s controversially young gf is (very) clingy (and he loves it!)

⋮⟢ note: guys she is crazy this is basically how to lose a guy in 10 days but it’s Forever for her!!! forever promoting the chalant agenda

send requests for controversially young gf!reader!

jack had been alone for a very, very long time romantically before you came along. if he had to think back on it, you’d been a sweet little thing he’d courted properly – dinners, doors held, the whole nineteenth-century shebang – and you’d been perfectly amicable. he was pretty sure you’d told him at some point that you waited to text him back. you’d been two drinks deep when you told him, and he’d been confused and asked you, “who taught you that?”

you’d shrugged, so breezy, the picture of cool, which told him everything you’d learned about dating in your entire life.

he’d tipped his beer at you, very unimpressed. he didn’t like it one bit! there you were – the girl whose texts he’d been answering at red lights (sometimes even while driving) like a criminal, whose name coming up on his phone had him feeling like a silly teenager and twice his blood pressure – thinking that you had to make yourself scarce. some asshole had clearly gotten to you before jack did and taught you this stupid thing.

so he’d told you right then and there, on your second date, “well, that doesn’t work on me, and you don’t need it. you can just text me back, sweetheart. i’m gonna want you either way.”

looking back, that was probably what killed the girl who left his place at a reasonable hour, had plans that really, really couldn’t be shifted for a last minute date, and said things like “i’ll check my calendar!”

he would’ve been lying if he said he wasn’t glad that girl was long gone. he’d spent so long being a man whose comings and goings were nobody’s business, and now you noticed new things about him in under four seconds. he had no idea what he’d done to deserve being watched with such loving and he was careful never to ask, in case some higher deity somewhere would realize this wasn’t for him.

and sure, he knew that there was some deeply unhealthy codependency at play in this relationship. especially on nights like these where he had somewhere to be that wasn’t the precise square footage of the couch you’d zoned for him. the plan was at a bar, a send-off for a resident he actually did like. he’d said it out-loud at six-thirty and you’d gone so fucking quiet and went to the far end of the cushion.

“whatcha doin’ there?” he’d ask finally, turning the tv off. he was watching jaws on mute (he was pretty sure you’d picked it earlier, back when you still liked him), which was its own kind of torture. it only made your silence louder. jack wondered if he was more interested in self-flagellation than he’d initially thought.

scroll. scroll. scroll. you leaned further into the arm of the couch, further away from him. he never knew what was so damn interesting on your phone – he was pretty sure you could scroll all day, and would if he wasn’t there. it seemed like you were just preparing yourself for your night without him, a first.

“i asked–” he made a sound low in his throat, because this was immensely grating on his nerves. he just hated when you didn’t give him attention.

he hooked two fingers in the waistband of your denim shorts, and reeled you back a few inches with his strength, almost snapping the fabric right off. he just wanted to prove to you he could. “what’re you doin’ there, baby?”

you locked the phone and set it face-down on your chest. “go get ready. you’ll want to look nice for everyone.”

he clicked his tongue and slouched further into the cushions, arm slung along the back of the couch, and looked up at the ceiling in faux-thought. “for all the nice ladies at the bar. it’s jus’ gonna be crawling with them.”

“exactly,” you huffed out, rolling your eyes. “i’m gonna go back to my apartment and hang out with my friends.” when his body stiffened up and he rolled his neck on the couch to look at you, you added, “yeah. the one i pay for. remember it?”

“vaguely,” he murmured. and because he loved the sight of you needy for him too much, he said, “i can drop you off on the way.”

you made a wounded sound, and jack had to bite back the smile at the frown on your face.

“whaat? you go see your friends. i’ll go see mine. we’ll reconvene later and tell each other all about it. it’s healthy.”

“stop.” you smacked his chest with the flat of your hand with zero force. “i don’t wanna go to my apartment.”

“you literally just–”

“i know what i said.” your jaw was clenched, and jack could see the pout forming on your lips that came whenever you’d worked yourself into the corner and hated the fucking view. “it was jus’ a threat.”

“ah.” he nodded slowly. “to make me feel bad.”

“yes.”

“and now you’ve walked it back, so.” he spread his hands, helpless and delighted, shrugging a shoulder. “where does that leave us? seems like i’ve still got a bar to be at.”

you made a sound of pure frustration and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, hauling yourself into his lap. he let you. he’d let you do anything. he got a hand on your lip the second you were in range and his tongue instinctively peeked out slightly between his lips, pulling you in the rest of the way. if you were going to do it, you might as well do it properly.

“hey, look you’re back with me,” he murmured, smiling slightly. finally. “decided to take the scenic route.”

you rolled your eyes, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. he used a hand to tug slightly on your hair to look at him, and when you reluctantly pulled away, he caught your mouth to swallow whatever you’d loaded up and kissed you quickly. your hands uncurled from his shirt and flattened against his chest. which was, of course, the second he pulled back.

“okay,” he said easily.

you chased his mouth halfway again before you caught yourself. “okay, what?”

his thumb came up to drag along your bottom lip where he’d just been. “okay, you’ll get me all worked up. i promised everyone i’ll get the first round–”

“i don’t care about everyone.”

“i know you don’t.” he kissed the corner of your scowl, once, there and gone, just to feel you huff against him. “you don’t care about anyone, baby. it’s one of my favorite things about you. now up.” he patted your hip twice. “go change into somethin’ pretty. we’ve gotta get to a bar.”

he could see the sliver of your smile starting, but you didn’t move. he tried again. “i’d really, really love it if you came to a bar with me and my coworkers and sat on my lap the whole time.”

you pretended to consider it, then breathed out a sigh. “fine. if you say so.”

“attagirl.”

for the record, you did always sit on his lap whenever the two of you went out. it annoyed people to no extent, but he’d say it wasn’t so much PDA as as it just was. and a bar without you on him was just noise and other people’s problems. with you there, he had a place to put his hand and anchoring him to the place itself.

sometimes, jack could admit, he liked to test it. you’d be almost halfway to sleep on the couch, clocking in for you cat nap of the day, and he’d say, into your hair, “gotta go get my haircut.”

you’d groan against him, turning your face against his chest for a second, then turn back. you pushed yourself up by your palm to sit up properly, sleep-filled, and said, “fuck. fine. let’s go.”

you were already scrubbing a hand down your face, blinking yourself awake, reaching for the sneakers you’d left by the couch.

“whoa, hey.” he caught your wrist. “you were asleep.”

“up now.” you yawned wide, tugging one shoe toward you by the heel as your gaze briefly flickered onto him. “you need it. s’getting shaggy. i’ll tell him not to take too much off the top. and to keep it looking as gray as it can.”

suddenly, he didn’t want to go. why? because he couldn’t very well keep holding you while a barber took a few inches off his hair. he was just as bad as you.

“actually,” he tried, “it can wait a week–”

“no.” you stood up, and held your hand out for him, and he felt like somehow, this wasn’t even his idea in the first place. “you said haircut. we’re doing haircut.”

other times, he couldn’t think it’d possibly make sense for you to join him somewhere, but he’d still try to get you to come. or push it until he could make it seem like it was your idea all along. he’d run at the most inconvenient times, pencilling them into the schedule on his nights off at absurdly strange times, especially when he wanted to listen to the police scanner for SWAT earlier in the morning.

which was how how ended up, at five in the morning, standing in the kitchen tying his laces. “headin’ out,” he called out from the hallway, testing. “be back in a bit.”

he waited for a second, one shoe half-tied. then, from the dark down the hall, he heard you muffled and outraged say, “where?”

“on a run.”

the sheets rustled, and then you appeared in the doorway, backlit and squinting at him, wearing his shirt with nothing under it. “jack, please don’t annoy me.”

he huffed out a small laugh. “m’not doing anything. i’ll be back and cuddle and then call in for SWAT.”

a few minutes later, he was jogging the empty dark, and there you were crawling beside him in his car, hazards blinking orange, and his hoodie swallowing you whole.

“you’re going slow,” you called.

“pacing myself,” he panted out.

“slow-guy word.” you kept the car at its faithful pace of four miles per hour.

“i’ve got one leg,” he said. “stop heckling me.”

he groaned, and tried to speed up, though. you leaned your head out the window, chin on your folded arm, watching him with sleepy eyes. “come here. you’re getting ahead again.”

jack breathed through his nose and cut over to the window anyway, jogging alongside close enough to reach in. you turned your face up and he dragged his knuckles down your cheek without breaking stride, thumb catching the corner of your mouth.

“you look good all sweaty,” you said.

“oh yeah?” his mouth pulled into a smug smile. “i like it when you catcall me.”

“if you think that’s catcalling, then you’ve got no idea what i’ve got up my sleeve,” you said, giggling. and then you slumped deeper into the seat, steering with two fingers at the bottom of the wheel. jack made a mental note reminding himself to never, ever let you drive anywhere real.

he clocked two miles like that. every so often, you’d lean out and say something to him. somewhere around the second mile, you got tired and just watched him, eyes half-shut.

“alright, hot stuff,” you called out eventually, voice filled with sleep. “wrap it up. you’ve proven whatever this proves.”

“one more mile.”

“jack,” you whined, and when he didn’t slow. “if we go home now i’ll make it worth your while.”

his steps hitched just slightly, but he continued. “you’re just gonna go to bed.”

“well, we can just cancel it.”

he paused, halting his footsteps finally, breathing hard. “no need to be hasty.”

you smiled tiredly, and was on his way to the passenger seat when you honked, causing him to jump slightly in front of the car. “what?”

you peeked your head out of the window. “well, i’m not driving.”

he put his hands on his hips, staring at you incredulously for a second, then watched you crawl over the console to the passenger seat. he sighed, and dropped into the driver’s seat.

you smiled. “you’re so trainable. you’re like a–”

he leaned over and kissed the rest of the sentence out of your mouth, but you made a soft sound and curled your fist into his shirt. when he finally pulled back, you followed him, and he had to huff out a fond laugh as he physically held you back in your seat.

“belt,” he murmured.

you shook his head at him confused, pointing at the belt. he made a perplexed face and reached across to buckle you in.

“you smell all sweaty,” you murmured. “s’awful. don’t shower.”

“that’s the worst thing you’ve ever said to me,” he murmured, starting to drive.

two minutes seconds in, he had to catch your wandering hand by the wrist – flat against his stomach – and held it there. he had to clear his throat. “you,” he said, casting you a sideways glance, “are supposed to be sleepy.”

“would you like me to be?” your fingers flexed against his hold, and he placed your hand back on his stomach.

he clicked his tongue. “what’s the clock at right now?”

“fifty eight minutes.”

“drive home’s ten. shower’s fifteen, if you’re in it. which you will be.”

“so bossy,” you murmured.

robby had asked jack to grab a drink on one of their only nights off to rant, vent, talk about anything on god’s green earth without having to filter it through workspace etiquette. jack knew that there was probably some rule in the handbook that said you don’t bring your girlfriend to such things, and he hadn’t. it’d truly stuck this time, too.

you’d been scrolling through some streaming service on the tv, tucked under the covers, lips pulled into a frown, and being strangely normal about jack’s night out. well, that was until he saw you let out the tiniest of a groan before you slipped under the duvet.

he placed his shirt on the couch, tilting his head at the shape of you under the duvet, and walked over. his palm pressed over what he guessed was your elbow as you turned to your side.

“can i get a goodbye kiss, baby?” he murmured.

your lump shifted a woeful roll away from him, deeper into the mattress.

jack’s mouth twitched as he sank down onto the edge of the mattress by your hip. he found the top of the duvet and peeled it back slowly. you were frowning and your eyes were pinched shut. “you hidin’ from me?”

“sick,” you whispered, eyes still closed. “can’t kiss. you’ll catch it.”

“oh, that’s a shame,” he whispered back. he laid the back of his fingers to your forehead – cool and healthy as a horse, obviously – and his thumb swept across your cheek. “big bad fever, huh?”

“maybe i should go to the ed?” you hummed, nuzzling against his hand, causing him to cup your cheek.

“you wanna get admitted for this?”

“yeah.” you nuzzled deeper into his palm, and your lashes fanned against your cheek. “might be something bad. you should feel my glands.”

“alright, then,” he murmured. jack had decided if you were going to malinger, you should probably get the full workup. sliding his hand back to cradle the side of your throat, thumb sweeping the hinge of your jaw. “feel perfect to me, actually.”

“thanks, jack,” you murmured, like he’d complimented your outfit. he barked out a laugh at that.

“it’s a shame,” he said, pushing himself forward to lean down to press his lips to your forehead. “was gonna ask you to come to the bar, but you’re too sick. can’t drag you out feelin’ like this. it won’t be right.”

your eyes came open and your nuzzling stopped dead. “oh–”

he clicked his tongue, pressing a frown over his lips. “i’ll swing by the pharmacy on the way back and grab you somethin’ for the fever. maybe some of that tea you like, too.”

you pursed your lips and jack watched you realize that sick girls don’t rally for bars. he moved his hand away to tuck the duvet more snugly around your shoulder and patted it, the picture of concern.

“um–”

“comfy?” he asked, sweetly, tucking a pillow under your head.

“you don’t have to get me tea,” you tried weakly.

“course i’ll get you tea. anything for my sick girl.” he leaned down and pressed another kiss to your forehead, long, a little sloppy, and warm, and you went rigid. “you rest up. text me if it gets worse.”

he stood and he watched your wide, confused eyes track his movements.

“jack?” you said, voice small.

“yeah?” he tugged his shirt over his head, and when it went on him, he was grinning.

you stared at him, and he could see you weighing your options of whether to cop to the lie, or hold the fever. he loved that little look on your face so much he nearly caved right there.

“you look very handsome,” you murmured.

“you think so?” he said, cocking his head to the side.

“mhm.” you gave him a small smile, your eyes tracking down the length of him and back up. you reached out to catch his hand, and your thumb brushed over his knuckles. “the most handsome. robby’s lucky.”

he sank back to the edge of the mattress and brought your knuckles up to his mouth, kissing them slowly as you gazed at him like a woman sending her love off to sea. “you’re bein’ real brave about this.”

you pressed the back of your free hand to your forehead then let it flop down. “you should have fun. tell robby i said hi. don’t think about me being all alone and unwell.” your fingers tightened around his. “i mean it. have the best time. you work so hard.”

god, you were laying it on thick. he leaned in to kiss your forehead, then your cheek, and the corner of your mouth. “i won’t be long.”

“take your time,” you insisted so nobly.

and then you turned your head quickly, trying to convert his kisses into a real one. he leaned back, tutting.

“can’t, sweetheart. you’re contagious.” jack pushed himself up, and with the sound you made, you did sound a little sick.

it should have been no surprise that around the forty minute mark, as robby was ranting about whether or not he should cut things off with noelle for good, jack caught a flash of movement past the bar’s front window. there you were!

you were shuffling down the sidewalk in his hoodie and plaid pajama shorts, a little white pharmacy bag swinging from one fist, walking so casually. jack’s beer landed on the table as his eyes narrowed.

“–i keep going back and forth, ‘cause a part of me thinks–” robby stopped, following jack’s line of sight. “hey, look. your girlfriend’s stalking you now.”

jack’s brows furrowed. he rested his forearms on the table, tracking you through the glass. then you found him, and to your enormous credit, your face jumped in surprise. you pushed through the door on a rush of cold air, the bell jangling.

“jack?” you rasped. “i had no idea this is where you were.”

“i know, angel.” he caught you by the wrist as you drifted close, drawing you out of the cold gush of air. your hand was freezing. you’d walked here. “you’re like ice. what’re you doin’ out?”

you sighed softly, holding up the bag of medicine. “i was feelin’ worse. couldn’t wait until you came back so thought i’d just get it myself.”

he frowned. he folded both your hands between his and brought them up to his mouth to breathe over. “wanna go home?” he murmured.

“can i–” you cleared your throat, looking away from him sheepishly. “maybe after a cocktail?”

jack’s shoulders dropped and he laughed. he pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “for your fever?”

you were fighting a smile. “might warm me up.”

“i can warm you up.” he tugged your wrist and you folded sideways across his thighs, and his arm swept around your back. his hand slid up just slightly under the hoodie to press against your cold skin, drawing a sharp little gasp out of you. “jesus.”

“hi, robby,” you said.

robby picked his drink up with an incredulous look on his face. “you don’t look sick to me.”

“you think i look pretty?”

robby pointed his drink at the two of you. “nothing about this is normal.”

jack shrugged. he didn’t think anything was better for him than a lapful of his little liar.

“hey, maybe she can give you some advice on your love life,” jack said.

“you’re working nights sunday through thursday, right?” you asked one night, thumbing through your phone, tucked into his side.

“yeah.” his hand traced shapes over your hip, eyes on the tv. “why, you plottin’ something?”

“kind of.” you kept typing something away, head tilting at your screen.

“what?” he murmured, leaning over to look at your phone.

“i think i’m gonna stay at my apartment those nights. the girls and i are planning a whole thing – feels like fun. and it’s kinda dumb to keep paying rent i’m never in. figured i’d use it for once.”

jack felt his mouth curve up slightly, and he leaned in to nuzzle his head into the curve of your neck. “you askin’ me to take a night off?”

“no?” you huffed out a small laugh, head tilting so you were resting on his.

“you’re gonna sleep at your own apartment,” he said, smiling slightly. “you’ll last one night, start missing me, and you’ll text me to come get you after my shift.”

you pulled back from him slightly, brows narrowing. hesitantly, you said, “i don’t think i’ll miss you that bad.”

“huh?”

“i think i’ll miss you a normal amount,” you shrugged, lips jutting out slightly at the look on his face. “but it’s four nights, jack. i’ve got roommates that i miss and my record collection i worked really hard on – and spent a ton of money on.” you sighed wistfully. “my friend said the turntable’s got dust on it.”

jack felt his own brows furrow. he was sure he was pouting like a fucking teenager.

at his silence, you hummed, shifting uncomfortably on the couch. “you’re working all those nights, anyway,” you said, trying to offer it as some sort of resolution.

something was very wrong about this, jack thought.

“this is the part where you say, go have fun, baby.”

“you live here,” jack said dumbly.

you smiled uncertainly. “no, i live there. i just stay over at my boyfriend’s all the time.”

“no, you live with your boyfriend,” he corrected.

“when did i move in with him?”

jack opened his mouth, determined to name exactly when, and realized he had no idea. because – technically – you hadn’t moved in. that just won’t do. he made a small sound, got a hand behind your knee, and pulled, dragging you over into his lap. both palms slid up to grip your waist and hold you there as he frowned at you.

“why haven’t you moved in?” he asked, grip tightening on your waist.

“didn’t wanna seem crazy and come here with a moving truck–”

“since when do you care about that?”

“i didn’t want to assume,” you mumbled, and jack’s mouth itched to press against your mouth.

he leaned in, mouth grazing your jaw. “since when do you get shy?”

“since you never asked,” you huffed out, fingers tugging slightly at his hair. “figured i’d just keep my place. just in case.”

he nipped at your skin, eyes fluttering. jack didn’t like that idea at all. his hand went up your spine to pull you flush against him. “get out of the lease–”

“i won’t have a home,” you said, grinning.

“move in.” he said, groaning slightly at how this all turned out. “i thought you’ve been living here for months.”

you made a small sound as your hand smacked the side of his head lightly. “do you know how much stuff i could’ve got if i stopped paying that rent?” then you smacked him again. “asshole.”

“okay, okay–” he caught your wrist, grinning as he ducked from your hand. “will it help if i take you shopping?”

it was safe to say, that was enough to get you to move in!

[sunshinehoneyyy]

risky and you hit send (smau) | brendon park x sunshine!ERdoctor!reader | pt. 1

in which you accidentally message brendon about how much you want him

a/n: this is extremely short and silly. i just had to stratch an itch so i won't be turning this into a series (...unless?)

next

there is no plot. just reader wanting brendon bad and being a mess (self-insert)