interests: the pitt, animal kingdom, shawn hatosy, movies, daredevil (born again & og netflix), criminal minds, star wars, midnight mass, succession, writing and lord of the rings
characters: jack abbot, joel miller, andrew “pope” cody, titus danforth, matt murdock, benjamin poindexter and more….
join the taglist here (email addresses are not collected) !!
fluff !!!!! & hurt/comfort blurb. babydoll!reader & soft!pope. established relationship. domestic intimacy. emotional vulnerability. gentle physical affection. mention of baz and smurf. post-argument comfort.
reblog is a creator's best-friend, thank you!!
Pope comes through the front door of your apartment already carrying tension in every part of his body.
You hear it before you see him; the sharp slam of the screen door against the frame, heavy shoes dragging against the wooden floorboards, the irritated exhale that leaves him like he’s trying not to put his fist through the nearest wall. You’re curled at the far end of the couch in one of those oversized pink knit cardigans you practically live in, a crochet blanket pooled over your legs and a half-finished cup of chamomile tea cooling on the coffee table.
The little lamp in the corner throws soft golden light over the space, making the entire house feel warmer than it usually does. Pope stands there for a second near the entrance of your living room, chest rising unevenly, jaw clenched so tightly you can practically see the muscle twitching beneath his skin.
“Pope?” you ask softly, setting your book down immediately.
His eyes flick toward you but he doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he runs both hands over his face, shoulders tense, frustration practically radiating off him in waves. “Baz,” he mutters bitterly, pacing once toward the kitchen before turning sharply back again. “Fucking Baz thinks he knows everything. Always has to push, always thinks he can tell me what to do.”
You don’t interrupt, you never do when he gets like this because it’s important for you to give him space, let him speak about how he feels.
Instead, you quietly push the blanket off your lap and stand, padding barefoot across the room until you’re standing directly in front of him. Pope barely notices at first, still breathing too hard, eyes somewhere far away where the anger still sits sharp in his chest. Then your hands find him; one settles gently against his forearm and the other presses softly against his chest. “Hey,” you whisper. Something shifts inside him immediately at the sound of your voice.
Pope finally looks down at you properly (really looks) and suddenly there’s this visible crack in all that tension, something softer flickering underneath the anger he walked in carrying. “He pisses me off,” he says quieter now, almost like confession.
“I know, lovely.” Your fingers slide upward slowly until both arms wrap around his waist, your cheek pressing lightly against the front of his shirt. The contact is delicate, careful, but unwavering; like you know exactly how much pressure his fractured edges can take. For a second he just stands there, a bit awkward like he doesn’t know what to do or say. Then, slowly, Pope exhales shakily and folds around you.
His arms come down heavy and certain, pulling you impossibly close against him, burying his face into the top of your hair where you smell faintly like vanilla lotion, mango perfume and fabric softener. You feel the tension leave him piece by piece when he’s closer like that.
“You always do this,” he murmurs against your hair, voice rough but softer now. You tilt your head up slightly, smiling gently at his words because you know what he is about to say before he does. “Do what?”
“Make me calm down, make me feel better and shit. Like all my problems just disappears.” Your hand rubs slowly along his back beneath his shirt. “I like taking care of you, that’s why.” Pope goes quiet after that. His grip tightens almost desperately, like he needs to feel something gentle after spending too long surrounded by sharp edges.
And with you standing there; soft cardigan sleeves, sleepy eyes, warmth pressed against his chest, the whole world finally stops feeling so loud. He forgets about Baz, about Smurf, about his brothers.
You stay tucked against him for another quiet minute, listening to the slow way his breathing finally begins to settle beneath your cheek. Your fingers continue tracing lazy patterns over the back of his shirt before you tilt your head slightly, just enough to look up at him through soft lashes. “Do you wanna tell me what happened?” you ask quietly, your voice careful in the way it always is with him when he comes home carrying too much anger.
Pope’s jaw shifts slightly and he looks away for a second, eyes fixed somewhere past the living room window. “Baz was running his mouth again,” he mutters, bitterness lingering there. “Acting like I can’t think for myself. Like I need him telling me what I should be doing all the time.” His arms tighten instinctively around your waist after saying it, like even talking about it irritates him all over again.
You frown softly at that, one hand sliding upward until your fingers gently brush through the hair near his temple, smoothing it back without thinking.
“I don’t like when he talks to you like that,” you murmur. Pope finally looks down at you then, some of that frustration melting the second he sees the genuine concern sitting in your expression. “You know…” you continue quietly, your thumb brushing lightly against his cheekbone now, “I think people forget you’re softer than you let them see.”
That catches him off guard enough that he actually goes still for a second.
You smile gently, leaning up just enough to press a tiny kiss against the corner of his mouth. “I see you,” you whisper. Pope stares at you for a moment before exhaling quietly, forehead dropping against yours. “Thank you for this… For listening without judging me. I love you so much, you know?”
The words leaving his mouth brings a brighter smile to your face and you lean it closer, nuzzling your nose against his own before replying; voice all quiet and soft. “I love you too, Pope Cody.”
taglist ﹏ @dumbbandpoetic @bluestrd @userhotd ( to be added )
i love smut but dude writing the smut is the worst thing ever. like i can’t just say he put it in and fucked you hard and you guys came. no i gotta go in detail and talk about how he rolled his hips and touched your womb sending you to the heavens or some shit. fuck this bro
Summary: A normal Friday night after a week packed full of lectures, Jack gets a knock on his office door from you, asking if there's any extra credit work you can do. However, he takes your stress into his own hands and shows you exactly how to de-stress.
Tags/Warnings: MDNI!!, dumbification, semi[public sex, praise kink, panty sniffing, allusions to Jack cheating but it's like a teeny tiny detail, aftercare, unprotected pinv, doggy
W/C: 2.7k
Acknowlegment(s): Thanks to @sammy-bryant for the gif <3
masterlist ★ taglist ★ blurb asks are open!
The bright, white, hot fluorescent lights of the faculty department ached between your eyebrows as you made your way through the rows of offices, stickers and flags plastered all over the doors – the faculty office was quiet at this time of night; the professors and students were taking advantage of the quiet Friday night.
Except you and the professor you’ve been meaning to see.
You slow your pace down after reaching his door – the plaque above it, gold lettering set in mahogany, displaying his name in a harsh, brutalist font.
It read:
DR. JACK ABBOT, MD.
PROFESSOR OF ANATOMY.
Outside of rationality, it was stupid to fear your professor. Especially when he liked you so much – passing you back exams with a slight smile on his face and a whispered “good job” under his breath before he walked past you to another student. Comments on margins, red ink on white, of your essays grew linearly; where he would make a great observation or note on a niche source you found, it grew into Jack praising you for your writing, even urging you to submit one for a professional medical journal.
It was normal given the circumstances. Except for the fact that your stomach jumped every time his eyes found yours in a sea of people, his eyes tethered you to his words as he gave his lectures.
Totally normal.
You turned sharply on your heel and walked fast to the end of the hallway, desperate to create any kind of distance between you and his office. You’d only got about halfway through before that nagging voice you were so certain you'd blocked out told you all of this was too stupid. You were a grown woman, for Christ's sake. A grown woman who could control her silly little crush on her own professor.
With a reluctant sigh and a rub of your temples, you slowly walked over to his office door, desperate to try and at least drag it out for a few more minutes. As soon as you were back face-to-face with that stupid, taunting name sign, you brought up your hand to knock on the door.
Once.
Twice.
Please don’t be in there.
Please don’t open the door.
Please–
The sound of papers rustling behind the door and the muttered string of curses jolts you out of your thoughts. A few moments pass with you standing at the door, the weight of your bag slipping down your shoulder, before Jack shouts a muffled “come in” behind the door.
Stepping into his office, Jack glances over the rim of his glasses to you as you cross the threshold, closing the door behind you with a small thud. He wraps up the conversation on the phone, the telephone cord wrapping around the expanse of his fingers.
You sit down in front of his desk, eyes sweeping the walls plastered in anatomy diagrams and his many, many accolades – the room suddenly feeling very small.
“So, what did you come into my office for?” Jack asks, finally putting the phone back onto its receiver and looking up at you.
Licking your dry lips, you tried to clear your throat. You stare at Jack, words caught in your throat for a moment before ripping your gaze away from him.
“I wanted to ask if there’s anything I can do to raise my grade. You know, like extra credit.”
Jack doesn’t respond.
Blinks once. Twice.
“Extra credit,” he echoes.
You frown. “Yeah. Well, I just want to do something more–”
“You do know that you have multiple high-scoring exam results in my class, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but–”
“No,” Jack exhales, biting his lower lip in an attempt to bite back a smile. He glances over your shoulder to the door before returning his eyes to you. “You’re not getting any extra work.”
When he sees that you show no sign of relenting, he shakes his head. He stands up, groaning slightly as the sound of his chair scraping against wood fills the room. Jack rounds the desk to lean on it, his gait languid.
“You are at the top of the class. consistently,” he starts, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants as he looks down at you. “You’re young; you need to go out and have fun; you don’t need all this stress.”
You fidget in your seat as he pins you under his gaze.
“I guess I can’t relax,” you chuckle slightly, a slight smile playing at the corner of your mouth. “Maybe I just need someone to show me how to relax.”
“Yeah. You do.”
A second passes. Maybe a minute. Between the silence of the office and the feeling of your heart pulsing in your ears, it’s too hard to tell the invisible stalemate growing with each passing moment.
Jack breaks the silence with a sigh, pushing himself off the desk. He walks up to the door, latching it shut with a loud thud.
“What’s going on?” You chuckle nervously, shifting your head to get a better look at him – eyes tracking the way he unbuttons the buttons on his sleeves, rolling them up out of the way.
“You want someone to show you how to de-stress?”
Jack smiles at your insistent nod, biting the inside of his cheek.
He gestures in a ‘come hither’ motion – his hand meeting the small of your back as he lightly grasps your forearm to pull you up from the chair, setting you down on the edge of his desk.
Jack rakes his eyes over you, lingering on the soft of your chest whilst he plays with the hem of your shirt.
“Is this okay?” he whispers, searching for any sign of reluctance from your part. When he doesn’t find any, he pulls the shirt over your head. He takes a second to look at you, studying the lines and the curves of your body as an anatomist would a skeleton, slow and reverently.
Jack reaches around to unclasps your bra, discarding it the same way as he did the shirt, somewhere on the floor behind him. His hand cups your breast, his thumb flicking your nipple momentarily before snaking his hand down the sides of your chest.
You lift your hips slightly, allowing him to shimmy your jeans off before he suddenly flips you over, ass in the air, as he takes a second to admire how pretty you look – your hair already rumpled, flyaways threatening to escape your ponytail, and he hasn’t even touched you properly.
Jack hooks two fingers into the waistband of the flimsy fabric, pulling your panties down – abandoning them in the heap of clothes on his office floor, the white of your underwear stark bright against the dark wood.
“This all for me, sweetheart?” he rasps, your thighs opening a fraction wider. Jack runs his ringed finger through your folds, the cool of the metal branding the inner of your legs.
You whine, hiding his face from him as he prods a finger at your entrance, gathering slick on the tip of his finger.
“You taste so sweet,” Jack hums, his voice muffled. You glance over at him, confused at the sudden volume change, only to see him swirling his tongue around the rough ridges of his index finger, spit trailing from his chin.
A sudden rush of embarrassment creeps up your skin, heat pooling in the lower part of your stomach as you quickly avert your gaze, suddenly aware that you’re stark naked in front of your professor, whom you practically idolise.
Jack tsks softly, hooking his still-wet finger under your chin, forcing you to meet his hazel eyes. “Don’t go all shy on me now, sweetheart.”
He pulls back, withdrawing his finger to make quick work of unbuttoning his dress shirt. His fingers work slowly to undo them one by one before shrugging it off with a quick upward movement of his shoulder, discarding the shirt somewhere on the floor beneath you.
Your eyes take one long look at him. He wasn’t jacked like the guys on the college football team – not skinny enough to pass for the nerdy guys who lived and breathed in the cadaver labs – Jack was just…perfect. Right in the middle. Deep, dark brown freckles on warm, olive skin that looked like he spent his day traversing out in the sun and not like he taught 20-something-year-olds in a windowless lecture hall.
Jack’s deep laugh pulls you out of your thoughts, forcing you to snap your gaze back up to his face. A small smile twitches at the corner of his mouth as you realise that you were staring at your professor for a good minute or two. “You like what you see?”
“Maybe,” you retort, biting your lip as you try to stifle a giggle.
“Ah.” Jack nods seriously. “Guess I’ll have to step my game up then.”
This time, you prop up your body with your elbow to get a better view of him as he undresses.
Jack slowly unbuckles his belt, the swoosh of the leather passing through the belt loops as he maintains eye contact, undoing the zip, revealing
“‘Lucky you’?” you read the stitching, head tilted barely an inch as you tried to make sense of the embroidered flap.
“What? Does it make more sense at an angle?”
You open your mouth, your brain already midway to firing a rebuttal, but then your stare falls to the white of his boxers peeking against the blue of denim jeans, your teeth biting your lip, the taste of metal flooding your mouth. Jack pushes both of them down in one fell swoop, his cock springing free and hitting his stomach.
Once he steps out, he walks slowly to where you are still bent over the desk, his face glimmering with a heat and desire you’ve never seen with guys your own age.
He pushes your head down, forcing your forehead to meet the desk surface as he runs the tip of his cock through your folds, coating it in your dampness before pushing into you.
“That’s it,” Jack rasps, his rough, calloused hands falling to your hips as he slowly sinks into you, inch by agonising inch. You whimper beneath him, his girth stretching you out as your hands scramble to find purchase on his desk, fingers gripping the edge.
“You’re doing such a good job, just a little more.” As he bottoms out, flesh meeting flesh, Jack leans his head on the curve of your spine, lips pressing open-mouthed kisses down the bend to your ass before leaning back slightly on his heels to take a proper look at you, the taste of salt lingering on his lips.
You look beautiful like this, Jack thinks. All laid out for him, bent over his desk as he thrusts back into you roughly.
“It’s too much,” you cry out; your voice soft and saccharine as he slams back into you, the desk jerking with each snap of his hips.
“Aw,” Jack coos, his hand reaching up to tuck the pieces of hair that stuck to your damp forehead. He slows down his strokes, taking a second to catch his breath.
“Please, sir–”
“‘Please, sir’ what?” Jack mocks, punctuating each syllable with a snap of his cock. “I’m not a mind reader, kiddo, you’ve got to use your big girl words.”
You babble in response, jaw slack as drool collects at the corner of your mouth, staining the wood beneath you. His hands leave crescent indents from his nails, the shooting pain giving you a moment of reprieve.
“Look at the mess you're making,” he exhales. “God, you’re such a dumb girl for my cock, aren’t you? Already my air-headed girl for me.”
He keeps on hitting the same spongy spot over and over again, the tension in your stomach making you see white, hot flashes in the corner of your vision.
“Don’t even care that your professor is fucking you, God, fuck,” Jack croaks out, hands trembling on your sides as he looks down on you through half-lidded eyes. Sweat beads on your back, your hair unruly; taking and taking every single thing he gives you.
You should care.
You should care that your professor is deep inside of you, hitting your g-spot with every unmerciful thrust. That goes against everything you’ve ever even cared about. But with each slam of his hips inside of you, your own body completely surrenders to Jack.
Jack’s head tips back as he feels your walls clench down harder around him, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to gain any semblance of control.
“Jesus, fuck, I’m gonna cum.” you manage to breathe out, sobbing as he drives himself even deeper.
“I know, baby, I know–fuck–Please cum for me, baby.”
His hips give a final jerk, a final slap of his skin hitting yours, echoing. Hot breath near your ears as you both cum at the same time, the heat in your stomach finally dissipating.
The room is plunged into silence for a split second as you press your hot forehead on the desk, condensation from the temperature change leaving rings of water on the hardwood. Clothes rustle behind you, belt clicking shut as Jack makes himself decent. You try to dart your head towards the sudden break in silence, wincing as a sharp pang runs through the nape of your neck.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” Jack frowns, picking you up carefully, hand cradling your head, carrying you bridal-style, sprawling you over his office chair. You pull your legs closer to your chest, smiling at him. He gives you a small, tender smile before pulling out a small towel from one of the drawers.
“What are you doing?” Your brows furrow in confusion.
Jack wets the cloth from a metal flask on his desk, looking up at you briefly. Setting the flask down, he rubs your knee in a small, circular motion, using his knee to nudge your thighs open. He wordlessly passes the damp cloth through the inner of your thigh, noting how sensitive you get when he presses with featherlight touches.
“You know I don’t mean anything I said during–”
“It’s fine,” you reassure him, stopping the small ministrations of the path he is tracking by lacing his fingers through yours. Jack snickers at your response, his cheek turning rosy.
He gives you a brief squeeze of your hand, letting go to dig for something in his pockets. You sit there, gathering your clothes from the floor, taking your time to drag them out – you knew it would end this way. Not the office visit, but the first time you both touched each other. An awkward dance of goodbyes and pleasantries.
Once dressed, you grab your backpack and make your way to the door – Jack’s hand brushing past yours when you walk past him. You reach the door and look back at him, Jack giving you a brief nod before turning away.
As soon as you leave, Jack collapses into his chair that you were just sitting in moments ago, his head trying to make any sense of how an innocent visit during office hours suddenly turned into showing his star student to accept pleasure.
A white piece of fabric catches his attention. He picks it up, studying it in his hand, letting out a large sigh of exasperation. He places it down on his desk, attempting to find anything to do with his idle hands. His hands flex and then unflex in a rapid motion, the white panties taunting him in his peripheral vision.
He picks it up again, fingers lingering on the gusset. Almost robotically, Jack brings it up to his nose. Taking a deep sniff, his eyes flutter close, the smell of you rushing through his nostrils – and it’s like being close to you for the first time.
Breaking out of his sudden reverie, Jack shoves the panties absentmindedly somewhere safe. A flash of guilt runs through him, but he shakes it off, wiping clammy palms on his pants, his brain working overtime to rationalise his actions.
He was just keeping you safe, right? God forbid it falls into the wrong hands.
Guess he’ll have to give it to you the next time you need extra credit.
Summary: A normal Friday night after a week packed full of lectures, Jack gets a knock on his office door from you, asking if there's any extra credit work you can do. However, he takes your stress into his own hands and shows you exactly how to de-stress.
Tags/Warnings: MDNI!!, dumbification, semi[public sex, praise kink, panty sniffing, allusions to Jack cheating but it's like a teeny tiny detail, aftercare, unprotected pinv, doggy
W/C: 2.7k
Acknowlegment(s): Thanks to @sammy-bryant for the gif <3
masterlist ★ taglist ★ blurb asks are open!
The bright, white, hot fluorescent lights of the faculty department ached between your eyebrows as you made your way through the rows of offices, stickers and flags plastered all over the doors – the faculty office was quiet at this time of night; the professors and students were taking advantage of the quiet Friday night.
Except you and the professor you’ve been meaning to see.
You slow your pace down after reaching his door – the plaque above it, gold lettering set in mahogany, displaying his name in a harsh, brutalist font.
It read:
DR. JACK ABBOT, MD.
PROFESSOR OF ANATOMY.
Outside of rationality, it was stupid to fear your professor. Especially when he liked you so much – passing you back exams with a slight smile on his face and a whispered “good job” under his breath before he walked past you to another student. Comments on margins, red ink on white, of your essays grew linearly; where he would make a great observation or note on a niche source you found, it grew into Jack praising you for your writing, even urging you to submit one for a professional medical journal.
It was normal given the circumstances. Except for the fact that your stomach jumped every time his eyes found yours in a sea of people, his eyes tethered you to his words as he gave his lectures.
Totally normal.
You turned sharply on your heel and walked fast to the end of the hallway, desperate to create any kind of distance between you and his office. You’d only got about halfway through before that nagging voice you were so certain you'd blocked out told you all of this was too stupid. You were a grown woman, for Christ's sake. A grown woman who could control her silly little crush on her own professor.
With a reluctant sigh and a rub of your temples, you slowly walked over to his office door, desperate to try and at least drag it out for a few more minutes. As soon as you were back face-to-face with that stupid, taunting name sign, you brought up your hand to knock on the door.
Once.
Twice.
Please don’t be in there.
Please don’t open the door.
Please–
The sound of papers rustling behind the door and the muttered string of curses jolts you out of your thoughts. A few moments pass with you standing at the door, the weight of your bag slipping down your shoulder, before Jack shouts a muffled “come in” behind the door.
Stepping into his office, Jack glances over the rim of his glasses to you as you cross the threshold, closing the door behind you with a small thud. He wraps up the conversation on the phone, the telephone cord wrapping around the expanse of his fingers.
You sit down in front of his desk, eyes sweeping the walls plastered in anatomy diagrams and his many, many accolades – the room suddenly feeling very small.
“So, what did you come into my office for?” Jack asks, finally putting the phone back onto its receiver and looking up at you.
Licking your dry lips, you tried to clear your throat. You stare at Jack, words caught in your throat for a moment before ripping your gaze away from him.
“I wanted to ask if there’s anything I can do to raise my grade. You know, like extra credit.”
Jack doesn’t respond.
Blinks once. Twice.
“Extra credit,” he echoes.
You frown. “Yeah. Well, I just want to do something more–”
“You do know that you have multiple high-scoring exam results in my class, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but–”
“No,” Jack exhales, biting his lower lip in an attempt to bite back a smile. He glances over your shoulder to the door before returning his eyes to you. “You’re not getting any extra work.”
When he sees that you show no sign of relenting, he shakes his head. He stands up, groaning slightly as the sound of his chair scraping against wood fills the room. Jack rounds the desk to lean on it, his gait languid.
“You are at the top of the class. consistently,” he starts, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants as he looks down at you. “You’re young; you need to go out and have fun; you don’t need all this stress.”
You fidget in your seat as he pins you under his gaze.
“I guess I can’t relax,” you chuckle slightly, a slight smile playing at the corner of your mouth. “Maybe I just need someone to show me how to relax.”
“Yeah. You do.”
A second passes. Maybe a minute. Between the silence of the office and the feeling of your heart pulsing in your ears, it’s too hard to tell the invisible stalemate growing with each passing moment.
Jack breaks the silence with a sigh, pushing himself off the desk. He walks up to the door, latching it shut with a loud thud.
“What’s going on?” You chuckle nervously, shifting your head to get a better look at him – eyes tracking the way he unbuttons the buttons on his sleeves, rolling them up out of the way.
“You want someone to show you how to de-stress?”
Jack smiles at your insistent nod, biting the inside of his cheek.
He gestures in a ‘come hither’ motion – his hand meeting the small of your back as he lightly grasps your forearm to pull you up from the chair, setting you down on the edge of his desk.
Jack rakes his eyes over you, lingering on the soft of your chest whilst he plays with the hem of your shirt.
“Is this okay?” he whispers, searching for any sign of reluctance from your part. When he doesn’t find any, he pulls the shirt over your head. He takes a second to look at you, studying the lines and the curves of your body as an anatomist would a skeleton, slow and reverently.
Jack reaches around to unclasps your bra, discarding it the same way as he did the shirt, somewhere on the floor behind him. His hand cups your breast, his thumb flicking your nipple momentarily before snaking his hand down the sides of your chest.
You lift your hips slightly, allowing him to shimmy your jeans off before he suddenly flips you over, ass in the air, as he takes a second to admire how pretty you look – your hair already rumpled, flyaways threatening to escape your ponytail, and he hasn’t even touched you properly.
Jack hooks two fingers into the waistband of the flimsy fabric, pulling your panties down – abandoning them in the heap of clothes on his office floor, the white of your underwear stark bright against the dark wood.
“This all for me, sweetheart?” he rasps, your thighs opening a fraction wider. Jack runs his ringed finger through your folds, the cool of the metal branding the inner of your legs.
You whine, hiding his face from him as he prods a finger at your entrance, gathering slick on the tip of his finger.
“You taste so sweet,” Jack hums, his voice muffled. You glance over at him, confused at the sudden volume change, only to see him swirling his tongue around the rough ridges of his index finger, spit trailing from his chin.
A sudden rush of embarrassment creeps up your skin, heat pooling in the lower part of your stomach as you quickly avert your gaze, suddenly aware that you’re stark naked in front of your professor, whom you practically idolise.
Jack tsks softly, hooking his still-wet finger under your chin, forcing you to meet his hazel eyes. “Don’t go all shy on me now, sweetheart.”
He pulls back, withdrawing his finger to make quick work of unbuttoning his dress shirt. His fingers work slowly to undo them one by one before shrugging it off with a quick upward movement of his shoulder, discarding the shirt somewhere on the floor beneath you.
Your eyes take one long look at him. He wasn’t jacked like the guys on the college football team – not skinny enough to pass for the nerdy guys who lived and breathed in the cadaver labs – Jack was just…perfect. Right in the middle. Deep, dark brown freckles on warm, olive skin that looked like he spent his day traversing out in the sun and not like he taught 20-something-year-olds in a windowless lecture hall.
Jack’s deep laugh pulls you out of your thoughts, forcing you to snap your gaze back up to his face. A small smile twitches at the corner of his mouth as you realise that you were staring at your professor for a good minute or two. “You like what you see?”
“Maybe,” you retort, biting your lip as you try to stifle a giggle.
“Ah.” Jack nods seriously. “Guess I’ll have to step my game up then.”
This time, you prop up your body with your elbow to get a better view of him as he undresses.
Jack slowly unbuckles his belt, the swoosh of the leather passing through the belt loops as he maintains eye contact, undoing the zip, revealing
“‘Lucky you’?” you read the stitching, head tilted barely an inch as you tried to make sense of the embroidered flap.
“What? Does it make more sense at an angle?”
You open your mouth, your brain already midway to firing a rebuttal, but then your stare falls to the white of his boxers peeking against the blue of denim jeans, your teeth biting your lip, the taste of metal flooding your mouth. Jack pushes both of them down in one fell swoop, his cock springing free and hitting his stomach.
Once he steps out, he walks slowly to where you are still bent over the desk, his face glimmering with a heat and desire you’ve never seen with guys your own age.
He pushes your head down, forcing your forehead to meet the desk surface as he runs the tip of his cock through your folds, coating it in your dampness before pushing into you.
“That’s it,” Jack rasps, his rough, calloused hands falling to your hips as he slowly sinks into you, inch by agonising inch. You whimper beneath him, his girth stretching you out as your hands scramble to find purchase on his desk, fingers gripping the edge.
“You’re doing such a good job, just a little more.” As he bottoms out, flesh meeting flesh, Jack leans his head on the curve of your spine, lips pressing open-mouthed kisses down the bend to your ass before leaning back slightly on his heels to take a proper look at you, the taste of salt lingering on his lips.
You look beautiful like this, Jack thinks. All laid out for him, bent over his desk as he thrusts back into you roughly.
“It’s too much,” you cry out; your voice soft and saccharine as he slams back into you, the desk jerking with each snap of his hips.
“Aw,” Jack coos, his hand reaching up to tuck the pieces of hair that stuck to your damp forehead. He slows down his strokes, taking a second to catch his breath.
“Please, sir–”
“‘Please, sir’ what?” Jack mocks, punctuating each syllable with a snap of his cock. “I’m not a mind reader, kiddo, you’ve got to use your big girl words.”
You babble in response, jaw slack as drool collects at the corner of your mouth, staining the wood beneath you. His hands leave crescent indents from his nails, the shooting pain giving you a moment of reprieve.
“Look at the mess you're making,” he exhales. “God, you’re such a dumb girl for my cock, aren’t you? Already my air-headed girl for me.”
He keeps on hitting the same spongy spot over and over again, the tension in your stomach making you see white, hot flashes in the corner of your vision.
“Don’t even care that your professor is fucking you, God, fuck,” Jack croaks out, hands trembling on your sides as he looks down on you through half-lidded eyes. Sweat beads on your back, your hair unruly; taking and taking every single thing he gives you.
You should care.
You should care that your professor is deep inside of you, hitting your g-spot with every unmerciful thrust. That goes against everything you’ve ever even cared about. But with each slam of his hips inside of you, your own body completely surrenders to Jack.
Jack’s head tips back as he feels your walls clench down harder around him, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to gain any semblance of control.
“Jesus, fuck, I’m gonna cum.” you manage to breathe out, sobbing as he drives himself even deeper.
“I know, baby, I know–fuck–Please cum for me, baby.”
His hips give a final jerk, a final slap of his skin hitting yours, echoing. Hot breath near your ears as you both cum at the same time, the heat in your stomach finally dissipating.
The room is plunged into silence for a split second as you press your hot forehead on the desk, condensation from the temperature change leaving rings of water on the hardwood. Clothes rustle behind you, belt clicking shut as Jack makes himself decent. You try to dart your head towards the sudden break in silence, wincing as a sharp pang runs through the nape of your neck.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” Jack frowns, picking you up carefully, hand cradling your head, carrying you bridal-style, sprawling you over his office chair. You pull your legs closer to your chest, smiling at him. He gives you a small, tender smile before pulling out a small towel from one of the drawers.
“What are you doing?” Your brows furrow in confusion.
Jack wets the cloth from a metal flask on his desk, looking up at you briefly. Setting the flask down, he rubs your knee in a small, circular motion, using his knee to nudge your thighs open. He wordlessly passes the damp cloth through the inner of your thigh, noting how sensitive you get when he presses with featherlight touches.
“You know I don’t mean anything I said during–”
“It’s fine,” you reassure him, stopping the small ministrations of the path he is tracking by lacing his fingers through yours. Jack snickers at your response, his cheek turning rosy.
He gives you a brief squeeze of your hand, letting go to dig for something in his pockets. You sit there, gathering your clothes from the floor, taking your time to drag them out – you knew it would end this way. Not the office visit, but the first time you both touched each other. An awkward dance of goodbyes and pleasantries.
Once dressed, you grab your backpack and make your way to the door – Jack’s hand brushing past yours when you walk past him. You reach the door and look back at him, Jack giving you a brief nod before turning away.
As soon as you leave, Jack collapses into his chair that you were just sitting in moments ago, his head trying to make any sense of how an innocent visit during office hours suddenly turned into showing his star student to accept pleasure.
A white piece of fabric catches his attention. He picks it up, studying it in his hand, letting out a large sigh of exasperation. He places it down on his desk, attempting to find anything to do with his idle hands. His hands flex and then unflex in a rapid motion, the white panties taunting him in his peripheral vision.
He picks it up again, fingers lingering on the gusset. Almost robotically, Jack brings it up to his nose. Taking a deep sniff, his eyes flutter close, the smell of you rushing through his nostrils – and it’s like being close to you for the first time.
Breaking out of his sudden reverie, Jack shoves the panties absentmindedly somewhere safe. A flash of guilt runs through him, but he shakes it off, wiping clammy palms on his pants, his brain working overtime to rationalise his actions.
He was just keeping you safe, right? God forbid it falls into the wrong hands.
Guess he’ll have to give it to you the next time you need extra credit.
Summary: A normal Friday night after a week packed full of lectures, Jack gets a knock on his office door from you, asking if there's any extra credit work you can do. However, he takes your stress into his own hands and shows you exactly how to de-stress.
Tags/Warnings: MDNI!!, dumbification, semi[public sex, praise kink, panty sniffing, allusions to Jack cheating but it's like a teeny tiny detail, aftercare, unprotected pinv, doggy
W/C: 2.7k
Acknowlegment(s): Thanks to @sammy-bryant for the gif <3
masterlist ★ taglist ★ blurb asks are open!
The bright, white, hot fluorescent lights of the faculty department ached between your eyebrows as you made your way through the rows of offices, stickers and flags plastered all over the doors – the faculty office was quiet at this time of night; the professors and students were taking advantage of the quiet Friday night.
Except you and the professor you’ve been meaning to see.
You slow your pace down after reaching his door – the plaque above it, gold lettering set in mahogany, displaying his name in a harsh, brutalist font.
It read:
DR. JACK ABBOT, MD.
PROFESSOR OF ANATOMY.
Outside of rationality, it was stupid to fear your professor. Especially when he liked you so much – passing you back exams with a slight smile on his face and a whispered “good job” under his breath before he walked past you to another student. Comments on margins, red ink on white, of your essays grew linearly; where he would make a great observation or note on a niche source you found, it grew into Jack praising you for your writing, even urging you to submit one for a professional medical journal.
It was normal given the circumstances. Except for the fact that your stomach jumped every time his eyes found yours in a sea of people, his eyes tethered you to his words as he gave his lectures.
Totally normal.
You turned sharply on your heel and walked fast to the end of the hallway, desperate to create any kind of distance between you and his office. You’d only got about halfway through before that nagging voice you were so certain you'd blocked out told you all of this was too stupid. You were a grown woman, for Christ's sake. A grown woman who could control her silly little crush on her own professor.
With a reluctant sigh and a rub of your temples, you slowly walked over to his office door, desperate to try and at least drag it out for a few more minutes. As soon as you were back face-to-face with that stupid, taunting name sign, you brought up your hand to knock on the door.
Once.
Twice.
Please don’t be in there.
Please don’t open the door.
Please–
The sound of papers rustling behind the door and the muttered string of curses jolts you out of your thoughts. A few moments pass with you standing at the door, the weight of your bag slipping down your shoulder, before Jack shouts a muffled “come in” behind the door.
Stepping into his office, Jack glances over the rim of his glasses to you as you cross the threshold, closing the door behind you with a small thud. He wraps up the conversation on the phone, the telephone cord wrapping around the expanse of his fingers.
You sit down in front of his desk, eyes sweeping the walls plastered in anatomy diagrams and his many, many accolades – the room suddenly feeling very small.
“So, what did you come into my office for?” Jack asks, finally putting the phone back onto its receiver and looking up at you.
Licking your dry lips, you tried to clear your throat. You stare at Jack, words caught in your throat for a moment before ripping your gaze away from him.
“I wanted to ask if there’s anything I can do to raise my grade. You know, like extra credit.”
Jack doesn’t respond.
Blinks once. Twice.
“Extra credit,” he echoes.
You frown. “Yeah. Well, I just want to do something more–”
“You do know that you have multiple high-scoring exam results in my class, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but–”
“No,” Jack exhales, biting his lower lip in an attempt to bite back a smile. He glances over your shoulder to the door before returning his eyes to you. “You’re not getting any extra work.”
When he sees that you show no sign of relenting, he shakes his head. He stands up, groaning slightly as the sound of his chair scraping against wood fills the room. Jack rounds the desk to lean on it, his gait languid.
“You are at the top of the class. consistently,” he starts, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants as he looks down at you. “You’re young; you need to go out and have fun; you don’t need all this stress.”
You fidget in your seat as he pins you under his gaze.
“I guess I can’t relax,” you chuckle slightly, a slight smile playing at the corner of your mouth. “Maybe I just need someone to show me how to relax.”
“Yeah. You do.”
A second passes. Maybe a minute. Between the silence of the office and the feeling of your heart pulsing in your ears, it’s too hard to tell the invisible stalemate growing with each passing moment.
Jack breaks the silence with a sigh, pushing himself off the desk. He walks up to the door, latching it shut with a loud thud.
“What’s going on?” You chuckle nervously, shifting your head to get a better look at him – eyes tracking the way he unbuttons the buttons on his sleeves, rolling them up out of the way.
“You want someone to show you how to de-stress?”
Jack smiles at your insistent nod, biting the inside of his cheek.
He gestures in a ‘come hither’ motion – his hand meeting the small of your back as he lightly grasps your forearm to pull you up from the chair, setting you down on the edge of his desk.
Jack rakes his eyes over you, lingering on the soft of your chest whilst he plays with the hem of your shirt.
“Is this okay?” he whispers, searching for any sign of reluctance from your part. When he doesn’t find any, he pulls the shirt over your head. He takes a second to look at you, studying the lines and the curves of your body as an anatomist would a skeleton, slow and reverently.
Jack reaches around to unclasps your bra, discarding it the same way as he did the shirt, somewhere on the floor behind him. His hand cups your breast, his thumb flicking your nipple momentarily before snaking his hand down the sides of your chest.
You lift your hips slightly, allowing him to shimmy your jeans off before he suddenly flips you over, ass in the air, as he takes a second to admire how pretty you look – your hair already rumpled, flyaways threatening to escape your ponytail, and he hasn’t even touched you properly.
Jack hooks two fingers into the waistband of the flimsy fabric, pulling your panties down – abandoning them in the heap of clothes on his office floor, the white of your underwear stark bright against the dark wood.
“This all for me, sweetheart?” he rasps, your thighs opening a fraction wider. Jack runs his ringed finger through your folds, the cool of the metal branding the inner of your legs.
You whine, hiding his face from him as he prods a finger at your entrance, gathering slick on the tip of his finger.
“You taste so sweet,” Jack hums, his voice muffled. You glance over at him, confused at the sudden volume change, only to see him swirling his tongue around the rough ridges of his index finger, spit trailing from his chin.
A sudden rush of embarrassment creeps up your skin, heat pooling in the lower part of your stomach as you quickly avert your gaze, suddenly aware that you’re stark naked in front of your professor, whom you practically idolise.
Jack tsks softly, hooking his still-wet finger under your chin, forcing you to meet his hazel eyes. “Don’t go all shy on me now, sweetheart.”
He pulls back, withdrawing his finger to make quick work of unbuttoning his dress shirt. His fingers work slowly to undo them one by one before shrugging it off with a quick upward movement of his shoulder, discarding the shirt somewhere on the floor beneath you.
Your eyes take one long look at him. He wasn’t jacked like the guys on the college football team – not skinny enough to pass for the nerdy guys who lived and breathed in the cadaver labs – Jack was just…perfect. Right in the middle. Deep, dark brown freckles on warm, olive skin that looked like he spent his day traversing out in the sun and not like he taught 20-something-year-olds in a windowless lecture hall.
Jack’s deep laugh pulls you out of your thoughts, forcing you to snap your gaze back up to his face. A small smile twitches at the corner of his mouth as you realise that you were staring at your professor for a good minute or two. “You like what you see?”
“Maybe,” you retort, biting your lip as you try to stifle a giggle.
“Ah.” Jack nods seriously. “Guess I’ll have to step my game up then.”
This time, you prop up your body with your elbow to get a better view of him as he undresses.
Jack slowly unbuckles his belt, the swoosh of the leather passing through the belt loops as he maintains eye contact, undoing the zip, revealing
“‘Lucky you’?” you read the stitching, head tilted barely an inch as you tried to make sense of the embroidered flap.
“What? Does it make more sense at an angle?”
You open your mouth, your brain already midway to firing a rebuttal, but then your stare falls to the white of his boxers peeking against the blue of denim jeans, your teeth biting your lip, the taste of metal flooding your mouth. Jack pushes both of them down in one fell swoop, his cock springing free and hitting his stomach.
Once he steps out, he walks slowly to where you are still bent over the desk, his face glimmering with a heat and desire you’ve never seen with guys your own age.
He pushes your head down, forcing your forehead to meet the desk surface as he runs the tip of his cock through your folds, coating it in your dampness before pushing into you.
“That’s it,” Jack rasps, his rough, calloused hands falling to your hips as he slowly sinks into you, inch by agonising inch. You whimper beneath him, his girth stretching you out as your hands scramble to find purchase on his desk, fingers gripping the edge.
“You’re doing such a good job, just a little more.” As he bottoms out, flesh meeting flesh, Jack leans his head on the curve of your spine, lips pressing open-mouthed kisses down the bend to your ass before leaning back slightly on his heels to take a proper look at you, the taste of salt lingering on his lips.
You look beautiful like this, Jack thinks. All laid out for him, bent over his desk as he thrusts back into you roughly.
“It’s too much,” you cry out; your voice soft and saccharine as he slams back into you, the desk jerking with each snap of his hips.
“Aw,” Jack coos, his hand reaching up to tuck the pieces of hair that stuck to your damp forehead. He slows down his strokes, taking a second to catch his breath.
“Please, sir–”
“‘Please, sir’ what?” Jack mocks, punctuating each syllable with a snap of his cock. “I’m not a mind reader, kiddo, you’ve got to use your big girl words.”
You babble in response, jaw slack as drool collects at the corner of your mouth, staining the wood beneath you. His hands leave crescent indents from his nails, the shooting pain giving you a moment of reprieve.
“Look at the mess you're making,” he exhales. “God, you’re such a dumb girl for my cock, aren’t you? Already my air-headed girl for me.”
He keeps on hitting the same spongy spot over and over again, the tension in your stomach making you see white, hot flashes in the corner of your vision.
“Don’t even care that your professor is fucking you, God, fuck,” Jack croaks out, hands trembling on your sides as he looks down on you through half-lidded eyes. Sweat beads on your back, your hair unruly; taking and taking every single thing he gives you.
You should care.
You should care that your professor is deep inside of you, hitting your g-spot with every unmerciful thrust. That goes against everything you’ve ever even cared about. But with each slam of his hips inside of you, your own body completely surrenders to Jack.
Jack’s head tips back as he feels your walls clench down harder around him, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to gain any semblance of control.
“Jesus, fuck, I’m gonna cum.” you manage to breathe out, sobbing as he drives himself even deeper.
“I know, baby, I know–fuck–Please cum for me, baby.”
His hips give a final jerk, a final slap of his skin hitting yours, echoing. Hot breath near your ears as you both cum at the same time, the heat in your stomach finally dissipating.
The room is plunged into silence for a split second as you press your hot forehead on the desk, condensation from the temperature change leaving rings of water on the hardwood. Clothes rustle behind you, belt clicking shut as Jack makes himself decent. You try to dart your head towards the sudden break in silence, wincing as a sharp pang runs through the nape of your neck.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” Jack frowns, picking you up carefully, hand cradling your head, carrying you bridal-style, sprawling you over his office chair. You pull your legs closer to your chest, smiling at him. He gives you a small, tender smile before pulling out a small towel from one of the drawers.
“What are you doing?” Your brows furrow in confusion.
Jack wets the cloth from a metal flask on his desk, looking up at you briefly. Setting the flask down, he rubs your knee in a small, circular motion, using his knee to nudge your thighs open. He wordlessly passes the damp cloth through the inner of your thigh, noting how sensitive you get when he presses with featherlight touches.
“You know I don’t mean anything I said during–”
“It’s fine,” you reassure him, stopping the small ministrations of the path he is tracking by lacing his fingers through yours. Jack snickers at your response, his cheek turning rosy.
He gives you a brief squeeze of your hand, letting go to dig for something in his pockets. You sit there, gathering your clothes from the floor, taking your time to drag them out – you knew it would end this way. Not the office visit, but the first time you both touched each other. An awkward dance of goodbyes and pleasantries.
Once dressed, you grab your backpack and make your way to the door – Jack’s hand brushing past yours when you walk past him. You reach the door and look back at him, Jack giving you a brief nod before turning away.
As soon as you leave, Jack collapses into his chair that you were just sitting in moments ago, his head trying to make any sense of how an innocent visit during office hours suddenly turned into showing his star student to accept pleasure.
A white piece of fabric catches his attention. He picks it up, studying it in his hand, letting out a large sigh of exasperation. He places it down on his desk, attempting to find anything to do with his idle hands. His hands flex and then unflex in a rapid motion, the white panties taunting him in his peripheral vision.
He picks it up again, fingers lingering on the gusset. Almost robotically, Jack brings it up to his nose. Taking a deep sniff, his eyes flutter close, the smell of you rushing through his nostrils – and it’s like being close to you for the first time.
Breaking out of his sudden reverie, Jack shoves the panties absentmindedly somewhere safe. A flash of guilt runs through him, but he shakes it off, wiping clammy palms on his pants, his brain working overtime to rationalise his actions.
He was just keeping you safe, right? God forbid it falls into the wrong hands.
Guess he’ll have to give it to you the next time you need extra credit.
( +18 ) mdni : explicit content ahead afab!watcher ִ ࣪ ⋆ ٫٫ must be logged on twt/x to watch these! do not watch in public or with sounds on, unless alone ★
teasing him when he’s mean ﹏ doing anal with your older bf ﹏ boobjob ﹏ riding him good ﹏ eating you out in the car after work ﹏ sensation&boobs play ﹏ making a mess on you ﹏ giving him head ﹏ giving you what you need ﹏ holes inspections with dr abbot! ﹏ impatient older boyfriend can’t talk ﹏ ghostface!abbot : grinding on his cock ﹏ the video he sends you when you’re away ﹏ slow morning sex.
this is so professor!jack abbot fucking you over his desk during office hours when you come and try to plead your case about your grades being lower than intended.
tags/warnings: power dynamic, dumbification, creampie, unprotected pinv, doggy, subtle sexism, breeding kink <3, jack abbot is a pervert
“yes, sir, please-”
“please what?” jack mocks, giving you another hard thrust of his hips. your palms smack against the desk he has you bent over, your pants “please flunk me? please fill me? please tamper with my GPA so i can get fucked by you, professor?”
you babble in response, drool collecting by the corner of your mouth, dripping down your chin to your sensitive nipples. the feeling of his hand between your shoulder blades whilst the other grabs your hips, rough, crescent moons from his nails leaving an indent on your flesh.
“can’t even speak, just all dumb on my cock, aren’t you?” he says, punctuating every word with a slam.
he removes the hand between your shoulder blades whilst not relenting on the pace to bring his hand down and smack your ass cheek, jack biting back a smile as he draws out a yelp from you.
“fuck me, sir!” you cry out, hands scrambling for purchase. papers topple on the floor with each sudden movement, joining the heap of clothes that were taken off in a rush, but the feeling of the tip of his cock hitting the spongy area is too good for you to even acknowledge the mess you're making in his office.
“see!” jack breathes out, chuckling underneath his breath. “knew you were good for something. it just happened to be jackie’s cock, didn’t it?”
you moan at his words, matching the thrusts of his cock with your hips. his forehead meets your damp hair as his movements begin to stutter.
“fuck, shit i’m going cum–”
“cum on my cock, baby,” jack rasps, cutting you off softly. his eyes squeeze shut at the feeling of your walls clenching around him, milking every last drop off him. the office fills with the sounds of flesh meeting flesh, and jack continues to fuck you through your orgasm - your vision blinded by bright, white, hot flashes. you collapse against the desk, your sweaty forehead meeting the sudden cool of the wood beneath you.
he continues fucking you before his movements stall, cumming into you with an unrestrained moan.
the room is plunged into silence - the only thing that you can hear is the rhythmic whooshing of blood rushing in your ears and the heave of your lungs as you try to finally catch your breath.
a suddden smack of jack's palm on the desk breaks you out of your train of thought. he withdraws it, revealing a decent amount of cash.
"buy plan b," jack orders, not even sparing you a glance as he puts his trousers back on. your eyes dart from the wad of money just sitting there back to his face.
"or don't. you can drop out and be my kept little thing. your choice."
been quiet lately because i’ve been cooking up a titus danforth x reader preacher’s daughter au (ethel cain but smuttier and more blasemphous) for which im going to hell for this <3
are we awake? am i too old to be this stoned? — j. abbot
summary: in the middle of the pittsburgh heatwave, jack abbot shows you he's not that old.
a/n: based on this and this. the title is from the 1975 song, “a change of heart"; it has NOTHING to do with this fic. also this was supposed to be a blurb.
tags/warnings: mdni!!!, use of kiddo and jackie, dad's best friend!jack abbot, stoner!jack abbot, perv!jack abbot, unprotected pinv, intox kink, weed kink, shotgunning smoke, consensual drug sex, breeding kink, age gap, cockwarming, the usual parade.
w/c: 1.5k
acknowlegement(s): thanks, @wesandresons, for the gif!!!
masterlist ★ taglist ★ blurb asks are open!
“you know, guys your age don’t smoke with girls younger than them.”
jack is lying on your bed in the high summer heat – one arm thrown lazily over his eyes, a meagre attempt to block out the sun spilling from the curtains. you sit cross-legged next to him, an old college shirt hanging off one shoulder, joint in hand.
the ceiling fan hums in the background – the odour of the weed sticking in the air.
“yeah well,” jack starts, flopping his arm on the sheets beneath him before sitting up with a low groan. he turns his face to see yours, his hair unruly as the light catches the silver at his temples. he glances down at your lips as you take another puff of the joint.
“you make me feel years younger, kiddo.”
he leans over, his calloused hand falling onto your knee where your shirt meets your thigh. rubbing small, lazy circles onto your kneecap as jack looks up to you through half-lidded eyes.
“come sit on daddy’s lap,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep and heat.
you raise an eyebrow, the joint hanging out of your lips. jack settles back on the bed, patting his thigh with a relaxed smile.
“don’t complain when your back hurts, old man," you giggle, swinging your legs over his lap, straddling his thighs with a slow, practised movement.
once you're settled, jack reaches up and plucks the blunt off your lip, the pad of his thumb pulling down your lower lip. he takes a puff; the cherry end burns orange when he exhales. a plume of smoke escaping his parted lips.
he looks up, taking you in.
the shirt has ridden up – the white of his stolen boxer briefs peeking out. your chest falls and rises in short bursts, nipples hard under the thin fabric. your hips grind instinctively against his clothed bulge as he pinches them through the shirt, his index finger and thumb tugging your nipples as you watch jack swallow around a moan.
his head hits the headboard. “oh, you’re trouble,” jack says, his hand sneaking up the hem of your shirt. his eyes search your bloodshot ones; in a silent agreement, he takes it off in one swoop, fingers deftly unclasping the bra.
he doesn’t take his eyes off the sight. not even to throw the clothes somewhere on the floor.
you, half-naked on his lap, wearing his boxers.
his pretty girl.
“you going to take those boxers off? or are you going to let jackie do everything?”
you hum in faux thought, dragging his free hand down to the waistband, leaning back on the heels of your feet. his fingers skim over the logo before slipping in and tugging them down halfway.
your hands make quick work of his belt, discarding it on the floor whilst he sets the joint on the glass ashtray beside him on the nightstand, hands stumbling when you palm him through his pants again.
with a moan, jack makes quick work of the rest of his clothes. he pushes the rest of the pants with his boxers off his legs in one frantic motion until his cock springs free and his stomach.
“look at what you did to me, kiddo,” he says, his voice hoarse and rough.
he spits in his hand before stroking the length of his cock in long, slow strokes. you bite your lip, beads of blood breaking skin at the intrusion.
“need you so badly, jackie,” you crawl up to his chest, hovering your cunt above him making work of his cock. you whine, your nails digging crescent shapes into his freckled shoulders. “god, jackie, please, fuck me.”
jack stops the pumps of his hand to dip two fingers in your folds, groaning at your wetness – you don’t even know whether it’s from the pot you’ve been smoking for the past ten minutes or sitting on jack’s lap, bare, laid out for him, but that doesn't matter.
not when he's fucking you with reckless abandon. not w
the only thing that crossed your mind was him, tunnel vision and the haze of smoke fogging any rational thinking – the world minimising to jack, your jackie, relieving the coil in your stomach.
“this all for me, kiddo?” he breathes out, bringing his fingers to his mouth. his tongue swirls over the ridges on his fingers, humming lowly under his breath. he smacks his lips, darting his tongue out to catch a stray drop. “god, she’s soaked for me. you want my cock that badly?”
you nod frantically, pawing at his dick helplessly. jack chuckles, his voice dropping with a hint of condescension. “oh, my girl is needy. but that’s okay. that’s what she has me for, doesn’t she?”
he rubs his cock slowly through your folds, his hand catching your body as you collapse further into him.
“jackie, its-”
“i know, jackie’s here,” jack hushes you, rubbing his thumb in circles against your hip bone.
he finally pushes into your entrance with a groan; his eyes squeezing shut as he nudges into you inch by inch. you let out a cry as he bottoms out – jack's lips smash against yours, swallowing your moans as he thrusts his hip up languidly.
you gasp as he moves beneath you, jack using this opportunity to slip his tongue past your mouth; the sticky heat and the faint tangy taste of your pussy on his mouth making your head spin.
you pull back from his lips for a breath of fresh air, leaning your forehead on his.
“god, you feel so fucking good for me, baby,” jack says, his voice husky from desire. with another roll of your hips, he lets out a low, strangled moan as his fingers leave small indents in the flesh of your hip.
“jackie, it feels so good,” you mewl, looking at him through glassy eyes; your jaw is slack as drool collects at the corner of your mouth, dripping down your chin.
“i know, baby, i know.” his calloused hands grab your waist, his grip sure and firm as he stalls your hips, movement coming all down to a halt.
reaching out blindly, jack’s hands feel out for the discarded blunt. once he’s got it, he sits up properly, his cock shifting inside you, causing you to whimper again.
“jackie,” you plead, sniffling. “please don’t stop.”
“shhh,” jack coos, biting your earlobe with a sharp tug; his other hand rubs your back up and down in a soothing motion. “i got you. you trust me don’t you?”
jack takes a massive toke, his chest heaving in as he stubs out the remaining embers into the glass tray. roughly carding through the hair from the nape of your neck, jack pulls you in to meet your lips, blowing the smoke into your lips as he keeps pressing into you.
the room quickly fills up again with moans and grunts, sounds of flesh hitting flesh as jack continues his half-hearted thrusts, chasing the pleasure as if it continues to slip out of his grasp repeatedly.
he lets out another groan at the feeling of your cunt clenching up on him. through the thin veil of smoke, he looks up at your fucked-up gaze, bouncing up and down on your knees as you take pleasure from him.
“baby, i’m going to cum-fuck—" he manages to choke out as you fuck yourself onto him harder. “shit, i’m going to fucking cum in you.”
you moan at his words, nothing he’s saying even registering in your brain. the only thing, at this moment, worth remembering is the feeling of his cock twitching inside you as he hits your g-spot.
“jackie, please i fucking want it!” you babble, the unrelenting heat in your lower back pooling.
“kiddo wants my cum?”
so unfortunate he didn’t record this one, he could listen to that on loop for hours.
“kiddo wants jackie to cum in her?” jack groans, continuing the bucking up of his hips. “jackie will make her all nice and round with his cum, yeah? and then she’ll have to explain to her father why his best friend got her all barefoot and pregnant?”
“you want that, kiddo?”
“god, jesus, fuck my father. shut up and just fucking cum in me.”
at those words, jack hips stutter as he fucks his load into you, feeling the walls of your pussy tightening on his cock – both of you cumming at the same time. once you ride out your wave, you lean fully into him, his softening dick still inside you as he flutters his eyes shut.
a moment passes, the room plunging into silence – the only noise coming from the faint zooming of the cars outside and the heavy inhales and exhales coming from both of you, a tangled mess of limbs, on your bed.
“jesus,” you groan, burrowing your face into his neck as jack puts his face into your hair. “you going to move?”
“well,” he starts, his voice lilted as he takes a large exhale, “you wanted my cum in you so...now we just have to wait until your daddy comes home.”
what part of MDNI do y'all not understand no offence but if you have "seventeen" or "xv" in your bio THIS IS NOT THE PLACE FOR YOU!!!! DO NOT follow me do not interact with my writing. put your age in your bio or you're getting blocked
THIS ! and this goes for asks too. i’m checking. i’m not going to answer if i don’t know your age. please please please, if you want to interact and you are of age, it takes two seconds to put it in your bio or your cute pinned post !!!! <3
tags/warnings: mdni!!!, medfet/medical fetish, latex gloves, dubcon, power imbalance, blowjob
you’ve been dreading your first oral appointment all week. what had started as a cough turned into a deep, irritating itch in your throat that constantly hung over you. the pit in your stomach deepened all morning; you could barely get a bite down to eat at breakfast – the looming weight of the examination following you from the parking lot of the hospital to the harshly lit waiting room.
now, you're sitting on the exam table when jack abbot walks in, glasses perched low on his face as he sits on the rolling stool near the feet of the bed.
over the rim of his glasses, his eyes survey you with a quick glance. “what seems to be the problem, sweetheart?”
“it’s um…” you clear your throat, rubbing at it awkwardly.
jack slides the chart into the plastic bin next to you before looking up at you. squirming underneath his gaze, you shift, paper crinkling underneath you as you try to get comfortable.
“my…my throat hurts.”
“your throat…hurts,” jack echoes, biting the inside of his cheek.
grabbing a pair of gloves, he looks at you sitting on the examination table – your eyes refusing to meet his. your hands fidget in your lap, fisting the fabric of your skirt. jack slowly puts the gloves on, finger by finger, eyes surveying the slight downturn of your smile.
silence stretches and folds within itself for a few moments.
a high-pitched squeak breaks the still of the room, forcing you to dart your eyes to the side of the bed as he picks up a wooden stick from the metal tray beside him.
“alright,” jack murmurs, turning around to meet you properly. his eyes are trained on you as he grabs his penlight. thumb grazing your bottom lip, he pulls it down slightly as you look up at him through your eyelashes. jack leans in close. too close to the point you can smell the faint lingering smell of smoke and wood clinging to his scrubs.
“now, open wide for me.”
he gently places the tongue depressor on the surface of your mouth, garbled sounds coming from you as you try to breathe through your nose. “what a pretty little mouth you have,” jack murmurs, the pad of his thumb scraping the front of your teeth. “good girl, you’re doing so well.”
“shhh, sweetheart,” jack coos, his dark eyes burning into your eyes. tears brim on your waterline as he pushes his finger in further. you gag around his girth, a coil in your stomach tightening every time your body tries to fight back against the pleasure building.
he withdraws his finger, disposing of the gloves in the bin as you rub your neck, the lingering feeling of his finger in your mouth still aching your throat.
"got good news and bad news for you, sweetheart," he starts, his free hand rubbing small, circular motions on your kneecap.
you frown, eyebrows furrowing. "what is it?"
"good news is that you caught your sore throat early," he starts, his eyes searching yours, his other hand palming his bulge through his scrub pants. "bad news is that...well, there's this special medicine that only i can give you."
your heart beats loudly in your ear; your breath quickens with the fast rise and fall of your chest as you rub your clammy palms on the skirt fabric.
“i’m a doctor, sweetheart,” jack smiles before snapping a new pair of gloves on. “i’m one of the good guys, remember?”
doctor abbot is at the top of his field.
doctor abbot is highly respected and admired.
doctor abbot wouldn’t hurt you.
he would never hurt anyone, would he?
“okay,” you whisper, tears threatening to spill over your waterline. sniffling, you stare back up at the ceiling, rubbing your face before they fall back to the armrest.
he stands up, the stool scraping the floor before hitting the far wall with a loud thud. with slow, practised movement, jack unties the loop that holds his scrub pants together – pushing them down to the mid of his thighs.
your eyes drop to the outline of his cock in his boxers before flickering back up.
“it’s okay,” jack whispers, fingers toying with the waistband. he pulls his underwear down slowly, his cock springing free to hit his stomach.
“you took my finger so well, sweetheart. this is the same thing. just open wide as you did before, okay?”
when you obey and open your mouth wide for him, jack couldn’t help but groan at the sight. pretty lady doing his bidding.
he enters your mouth with a grunt, his hands finding your hair as he grabs a fistful; you weren’t even past the tip, and you were already choking on his length.
guiding you to a pace with each lazy thrust of his hips, your nose brushes the fat of his pelvis; his hands are carding through your hair as he sets it. drool collects at the corner of your mouth and drips down to the linoleum floor, cursing curses underneath his breath as you continue working on his cock.
jack eyes briefly squeeze shut as you moan around his cock, the vibrations running through every nerve in his body. he could live and die here forever.
whe opens his eyes to look at you, he frowns slightly at the sight of you averting your gaze.
“no…look at me,” jack rasps, his grip at the back of your head tightening. “look at doctor abbot as he gives you your medicine…”
obeying his instructions, you look up at him, your mouth not faltering as it stretches around his girth. the places you cannot reach are jerked up and down by your soft hands, and jack thinks he can just cum on the spot.
“that’s it, fuck, you’re such a good girl for me.”
with the stuttering of his hips, jack cums into your mouth with a loud grunt. his head falls back as he fucks your mouth through his orgasm, ignoring your muffled protests.
he withdraws with a heaving chest, looking down at you as you lick the stray drops of cum at the corner of your mouth.
“you need to book a follow-up with the receptionist after you leave,” jack breathes out, his cock still twitching in front of your face with the aftershock of his orgasm. “are you free next week?
thinking about virgin!dex who always treated sex like a basic bodily function. he jerks off like he eats, drinks or takes a piss. it’s solitary, mechanical. it’s just a need that he has to take care of.
virgin!dex who watches porn but who always comes back to one of the first videos he discovered—some amateur stuff, badly filmed, badly acted.
“FreeUseFantasy.Home.Invasion.480p.mp4” by h0rnyl0vers141.
he likes that the guy is fully clothed; ski mask, green army t-shirt, black tact pants. the girl knows how to moan, how to cry. dex knows it by heart, can play it in his head if he closes his eyes. same food, same routine, same porn every day. repetition comforts him.
or at least this is how it was before meeting you.
now virgin!dex can’t get off like he used to. when he watches the video he has to picture you instead of the girl to cum. he badly photoshoped your face over hers on a still image from the porno, printing his pathetic little montage to jerk off to it.
virgin!dex stalks you every week-end and one night he sees you cry in your apartment. he knows he’s a sick fuck but he’s so hard watching you upset like that. he pictures you like in his porno, crying and moaning, pleading, no,no,no—dex s’toomuch pleaseplease, but fuck you’re a bad liar cause he can feel how wet your are for him when your cunt swallows his cock. he fucks his fist so hard in his car he comes in two minutes, his abused cock turning a nasty shade of red in his death grip. he spends the rest of the evening trying to wipe the mess he made all over the dashboard.
usually he’s cleaner than that, spitting his load in a paper tissue he can easily discard. but not when he thinks about you, not when he watches you. fuck, when he thinks about it, it's kinda irritating how much you disrupt him with so little. he's a bit mad at you for making him cum so much, in such a messy way.
when he scrubs the sticky spots on the plastic, he wonders how it’ll feel when he’ll fuck you for real. you’ll be on your back, legs bent, smothered between your two bodies, ankles hanged above his shoulders. split open when he’ll bottom out. how he’ll react when he’ll feel your cunt clenched around his cock and your juices drenching his pelvis, dripping on his balls. and the sounds you’ll make....
he hopes he’ll last long like the guy in the video.
you fell asleep on his lap during movie night, an old black and white flick illuminating the dark of your shared apartment. you’ve been so stressed lately with an internship rotation; you even nodded off for a few minutes during dinner when he had his back turned to grab the beer bottles you wanted.
you’ve been so stressed. and since you’d barely fucked him all week in favour of studying, you were at the end of the line.
so, between the heroine being saved by the man and the credits, jack hooked two fingers and pushed your panties inside before slowly rocking you on his cock, each thrust slow and languid.
jack quietly moans as you writhe beneath him, his hips bucking up ever so slowly. his hands reach around you to rub your clit, drawing out a breath sigh from you.
he wishes he could know what you’re dreaming of right now.
is it him, eating you out as he pulls out one orgasm out of another? the feeling of scruff on your thighs as his tongue doesn’t relent on the licking of your folds?
or is it him, pounding you into the into the mattress? the smell of fresh linen as he has you face down into your pillow, drool staining the sheets?
either way, by the look of your face, you’re clearly enjoying it. parted lips and your thighs parting themselves a fraction with each push of his cock.
“that’s it,” he moans, letting out a strangled gasp every time you let out a small whimper. “dream of daddy, you’re being such a good little girl for him.”
you burrow your face deeper into his chest and let out a big sigh as jack
when you wake up the next morning, your panties are damp; cum drying on the gusset. you pad into the kitchen, brows furrowed in confusion.
jack smiles and lowers the newspaper when he sees you walk in. “had a good dream, sweetheart?”
