Just a chick who loves movies, books, TV shows and villains. (28). Feel free to send me an ask anytime! If you like my writing you can check out my writing blog @jadegreywriting and my masterlist
Welcome to my blog! My name is Jade. I am a 28 year old fangirl. Who loves writing about any and all of her current hyperfixations.
My requests are always open. But I work in the medical field and I'm currently working on my bachelor's ☺️ so my schedule is always hectic which means I'm slow at writing.
🪷 You can find all my writings in my masterlist located here 🪷
This blog is very much NSFW +18
I own all the rights to my stories and do not give permission for my stories to be published, translated, reposted or fed into that AI bullshit. The only places I have my stories published is here on Tumblr or on my AO3 account (LadyAuthor711)
imagine being bullseye's target for a paid hit. he's so good at inserting yourself into your life, becoming an integral part of it. you're stupidly unsuspecting; he'd feel bad, but quite frankly, he's never seen such a high bounty placed on anyone's head yet, let alone a simple girl like you. it's almost too easy.
until it isn't. until he realises that he genuinely does like you, likes taking you out on dates and seeing you smile. even though you know him as tony, and he's been careful not to let the real him show, it's been slipping out anyway. and all the things he's catalogued in his brain about you under the pretence of knowing his target are things he keeps in mind around you—your coffee order, your morning routine, the temperature you like your shower water at.
he knows you charge your phone in the living room so you don't scroll in the morning, and your preferred way of waking up is when you're curled right into him with your legs tangled together, and when you're at home you skip more than you walk because you don't know what to do with the excess energy you have. and he's taken you on what, twenty dates now? and you call him your boyfriend and he's talked to your mum before—although it has been on the phone—and he has the spare key to your apartment.
he conveniently forgets to "do recon" sometimes, and he is not a man who ever forgets. he keeps on letting his guard down; he likes you too much. it has to be today.
or that's the plan, anyway.
it's a pretty warm day and you're already halfway through a tub of ice cream—or two; you've dumped both flavours in your bowl together and open the door with the spoon still in your mouth.
"hi," you say, but it comes out unintelligible, and he kisses your cheek and his hands slot into place on your hips. your free one traces the contours of his muscles up his side even through the hoodie he's wearing, and he kicks the door closed behind him.
"hi," he whispers back. you put the bowl and spoon down, licking your lips.
"y'miss me?"
"yeah."
then he kisses you for real, shuffling you back towards the wall. your arms loop around his neck, pulling him further into your space, and you taste like strawberry ice cream, a hint of vanilla. the weight of the gun, 3d printed to be untraceable, is devastatingly heavy from where it's tucked into the back of his jeans. just—just five more minutes, let me live this dream, he thinks.
you hum happily into his mouth, fingers brushing through the short hair at the back of his head. he doesn't mean to make a sound, but it happens, and you pull back to laugh at him. you're perfect, don't give him that look, now. you don't even know.
your eyes move to somewhere over his shoulder. "oh, my ice cream's melting."
he turns back, too, glaring at the offending mixture of pink and white. "oh."
you're scarfing it down at amazing speeds, sat beside him on the sofa with his arm 'round your shoulders. you'll get brain freeze if you keep going like this—
"i think i have brain freeze," you announce between mouthfuls of your strawberry-vanilla concoction. there it is.
he takes the bowl from you and finishes what little's left of it; your head's leaned back against the sofa, staring into space as you reconsider life.
"want me to kiss it better?"
you lift your head to stare at him, unamused. "tony, that's not how it works."
"i know that's not how it works," he responds, and his voice has dropped an octave, and you know what he wants, and you laugh.
"okay," you relent. he sets the bowl on the coffee table and you pull him down by the front of his hoodie to kiss him again and he makes the executive decision to not kill you tonight or forever. there's spit and teeth the way he likes it, the way you know he likes it. his knees bracket your thighs, arm braced by your shoulder as the other one tilts your head up; you push him away, back into the cushions, grinning at him with swollen lips already. he bites back a whine when you climb onto his lap, hand straying under the hem of your shorts. you guide his mouth to your neck with one hand, other one busy with god-knows-what (taking off your shirt, he hopes) and he's sure he'll leave bruises on your thighs, but the good kind, born of love and something more, ones only he gets to see, because your life will not end tonight. or anytime soon, if he gets to have a say in things.
the safety of your gun clicks off. you'd hidden it beneath the cushions, waiting for the perfect opportunity—as in right now.
"game's over, poindexter," you're still smiling, but its something sharper, meaner. so very unlike you, a mask fabricated for this very moment.
he draws in a breath, slow, controlled. "oh."
"i know why you came here tonight," you say. "to kill me, right?"
"wasn't gonna."
"no?" you realise with horror that even with your gun pressed up against his head, he's gazing up at you adoringly through his lashes, thumb still rubbing circles idly into your thigh. there's a faint flush on his cheeks. he doesn't seem scared.
"no," he repeats. "gun's under the hoodie. i changed my mind."
you reach behind him, pull it out, toss it to the floor like it burns to touch.
"you have no other weapons on you?"
his eyes flicker downwards, yours follow. then he looks up again, and your cheeks are burning because of what he's just implied. nothing you haven't seen before, of course, but under these circumstances…
"no, baby, i don't."
he looks like he wants to kiss you. and he isn't scared.
things are much, much worse, actually.
he's in love. with you.
a terrifying prospect, really.
(your heart skips a beat. or three.)
"you're my target," you say, more to convince yourself than him. "i'm going to have to shoot you now."
"okay." his voice is steady. he shifts, just a little, and the movement below makes your breath catch in your throat. "do you want me to put my hands up, or is this okay?"
your palms are sweaty, grip faltering. you're trembling. he tilts his head a little, surveying, and you push the barrel further into the side of his head.
"don't be scared," he murmurs. it's intimate, the way he's talking to you, like you're not holding him at gunpoint. "bravest girl i know."
"i'm not scared," you snap, but the gun's not even aimed at his head now; your hold falters. "any last words?"
his hand reaches up to yours, realigns it so it's like you'd originally held it.
"can you kiss me?" it's pathetic—he's pathetic, and he knows it. or maybe he knows you. "i know it was real for you too—"
he thinks he might've died and they accidentally let him into heaven.
or,
you chuck the gun away from you abruptly, scooting forward on his lap. you're not crying, 'cause you don't cry, especially in situations like this, but he swallows the distressed sound you make anyway and kisses you harder, licking into your mouth like a beast that's finally been uncaged. you're apologising with every breath, and a part of him wonders if he should too—
he pauses in place, pulls back just a little to look at you better, and you let out a soft tony, not liking the delay (even though you know it's not his name).
"dex," he corrects gently; you repeat it in the same breathless tone as before. he thinks he's never heard a prettier sound. when he cups your face, you lean into the touch with a sigh.
"i'm sorry," he says. he doesn't say it often, but he really means it when he does. "for everything."
and then a quieter confession. "i love you."
it's not like either of you haven't said it before, but something's changed this time. it's different, more honest in a way, even though you'd meant it every time you said it before.
"i know." it comes out a whisper, and you blink and swallow, hoping you don't end up crying. "me too. i mean—"
"i know," he echoes your words from before, before you lapse into a comfortable silence. it's almost normal for a second. then you sit up straighter, clearing your throat, and begin taking inventory of the situation. "we can't stay here for much longer. they'll know something's wrong."
he glances around, not as urgent as you. "we have time."
"hey," you say suddenly. "did you really get hard from being held at gunpoint?"
instead of responding, he shucks off his hoodie and his hand slips under your shirt, burning against your bare waist. he makes no effort to move it upwards; it just stays there, heavy, a brand on your skin. he looks up at you and grins, needy, wanting, and you get your answer.
hello god it's me gf2page BACK with ANOTHER fic about BENJAMIN POINDEXTER and before you ask YES i hate my life NO i will NOT stop writing. if you like this LMK :] 1.5K WORDS!
also thinking about jack picking you up from the bar after you get a little toooo drunk and him trying to hold onto his willpower because you're all over him and touching him and cooing at him but he shouldn't when you're so far gone...
maybe you push him a little too far and he gives in
18+ mdni !! cw: daddy kink
you stumble out of the bar, your friends hanging onto your arms, trying not to fall. you see jack's truck parked at the curb, window rolled down as he scrolls on his phone, waiting for you. his head perks up when he hears the bar door slam, face softening as he sees you--dress a little bit too hiked up for his liking, beautiful legs on display, heels dangling from your hand, dumb smile on that pretty face. fuck, he loved you.
"jackie!" you exclaim, untangling from your friends arms, running over to the passenger side of his truck. he chuckles, gets out to round the hood of the car, grabbing you by the hips to lean down, giving you a deep kiss. your friends squeal n he chuckles in your mouth, pulling away with a smile, "hi, baby--have fun tonight?"
you nod, a bit shy now as you paw at his arm, turning into him, "wanna go home--" he hums, putting his hand on the small of your back as he opens the car door, lifting you to place you in the seat. "say bye to your friends, honey." shutting your door, he walks back to the driver's seat as you wave to your friends through the window, giggling n smirking.
you're already on him the second he pulls off the curb, running your nails down his arm, tracing the veins in his hand, twirling your finger around the silver curls at his neck, trailing kisses all over his cheek, neck, hair, arm... you needed him now.
he's chuckling, trying his absolute best to keep both hands on the wheel and his focus on the dark road--but fuck you make it hard. "someone missed me--come on, baby. sit back in your seat until we get home."
you whine, pouting as you sling your arm across, bringing his face closer to whisper in his ear, "but daddy-- i need you right now." jack curses, swerving the car a bit as you nibble on his earlobe, trailing your hand down to palm his growing cock, murmuring another, "please". he jerks the steering wheel, causing you to yelp, falling a little back in your seat as he pulls over on the dirt road.
turning the car off, he looks at you sitting there--skin flushed, lace panties peaking out from under your dress, hair all wild, and grabs your arm, pulling you. "let's go, baby--sit on daddy's cock since you wanna be impatient."
you smile so wide, unaffected by his tone, giggling as you crawl over the middle console, throwing your arms around his neck to kiss him deeply, eagerly grinding down on him. he groans in your mouth, settling his hands on your plushy hips, hands moving up and down your waist. as you kiss down his neck he laughs, tugging your dress up your waist you palm your ass, "my girl's so needy, having daddy pull over--look at you."
you pull back, hands working on his belt to take out his thick cock, gripping him tight, jerking slowly as you both watch. lifting up, you move your panties to the side, lining yourself up with him, moaning as your pussy swallows him. your forehead falls against his shoulder as he fucks up into you, cursing, "fuck, baby. so fucking tight--that feel good?" eyes closed, you lean back, grabbing your tits through your dress, pulling it down to play with your nipples as you nod eagerly.
he coos, chuckling at how fucked out you are, unable to answer him properly, "'s okay, just let daddy take care of you--that's it." you try so hard to move your hips, but jack helps you, fucking yourself on him--using you like a toy. bringing his hand down to circle your clit, you cum fast, clenching around his cock--squeezing him so tight. he groans, moving you faster, tits bouncing in his face. jack comes inside of you, dick pulsing inside you as he holds you there, stroking your back as you snuggle into his neck.
he tries to move you off of him, wanting to set you back in your seat, but you pout, squirming as you hold him tighter n he sighs, "okay--okay, baby." tucking you in closer, still warming his cock, he moves to turn the car back on, pulling back onto the road, happy he's only got three minutes left of the drive.
♡ synopsis: grant reilly. authoritative head chef of the infamous michelin-star restaurant north & vine, army vet... and middle-aged man who's hopelessly in love with you, who he only knows from his employee's—your roommate's—instagram posts. then the fateful night arrives when grant finds you standing inside his kitchen and the two of you finally meet in-person.
same as any other chef, once he gets a taste of something sweet, he can't help but want for more.
♡ content: age-gap, pining & yearning, kinda insta-love, sugar!daddy grant, feederism (he likes cooking for & feeding you occasionally), he instructs you while cooking & it's erotic, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, creampie
When you sweep inside, past the polished glass entrance of North & Vine, it's to the welcome sound of silence. When the double-doors slide shut behind you, the bustling sounds of the city are left muffled behind solid red brick walls and deep-set windows.
You find the space to be rather comforting. You trail your eyes along richly colored hardwood floors, dim lighting which low-hanging bulbs provide overhead, and booths of burgundy that line the windows at the far wall while high-top tables litter the rest of the space.
By appearance alone, your wallet is already screaming in protest.
But you're not here as a patron.
Wandering past the hostess station, you catch a glimpse of a red plaque out of the corner of your eye, so you turn on your heel to study it. Your roommate, Andrea, had mentioned something about North & Vine having finally earned themselves a Michelin star some time ago.
The symbol looks more like a flower to you, though.
Either way, you're proud that the local establishment is now held in such high regard; particularly since you know the accomplishment means so much to so many.
You swing back around and continue on to the wooden door that'll lead you to the kitchen where your roommate should currently be.
Grant glances up from the assortment of ingredients he's currently considering for a taste test if he can combine them just so, when the kitchen door unexpectedly swings open and a strange young woman practically welcomes herself inside the private space.
He finds himself taken aback for a moment—someone barging into his kitchen with seemingly no hesitation is a first—before he springs into action. Tossing down the sharpened gourmet knife he holds with a clatter, he advances on you. "Excuse me! What the hell do you think you're doing back here?"
You open your mouth, but he cuts you off short before you can start pleading for a handout.
"The sign out front clearly stated closed. You're trespassing in a private establishment. You're lucky I don't call the police."
Grabbing you roughly by the forearm, he ushers you back out to the dining area.
You sputter all the while in an attempt to try and provide explanation. "I was just—my friend. She works here. My roommate. Andrea wanted me to—"
He turns you back around to him. "Andrea? My commis chef?"
You nod fervently and blink back the tears that're brimming in your eyes from fear. "She asked me to meet her so we could walk home together. I'm so sorry." You stumble back a step. "I'll—I'll go wait outside. Please don't be mad."
Just as you swivel on your heel to flee, Grant takes you firmly by the hand. "No, I am."
You still, then hesitate before finally turning around again.
"Sorry," he continues. "I should've given you a second to explain. It's just..." he shakes his head with a sigh. "Been a long day," he finishes while running long fingers through salt and pepper curls.
"I'm Grant. Reilly. Head Chef," he states with an extended hand, now that he's finally released your own.
You wait a moment then shake it—ignoring how yours still trembles.
It sends a wave of regret through him that he made you fearful in the first place.
"Y/N," you supply quietly. "I can just," you point a thumb over your shoulder, "Go wait on the bench outside."
He shakes his head, then wraps a steady arm around your shoulders and leads you over to a corner booth. "I'd rather you did so here. Safer for you than on the street."
Once you've plopped down in a plush seat, you tuck your bag away and consider a menu off to the side to give yourself something to do. Your phone is an option, but he's standing right there. Perusing their selection of wines will at least make you come off as interested in his flourishing business.
"Are you thirsty?" Grant asks with a far more gentle tone than the one he had a moment ago. "I could bring you a glass of water."
You shake your head, then pull a bottle from your bag and hold it up for inspection. "I've got it covered, but thank you."
Considering for a moment, Grant surveys your glittering eyes and soft lips. "Make yourself comfortable. We're prepping for tomorrow, so it may still be awhile yet."
You wave a hand dismissively, then toss a paperback novel from your shoulder bag onto the table. "I'll keep myself occupied," you remark with a reassuring nod.
He turns and leaves you to your reading material.
Once he's securely hidden away behind a solid stainless steel door, Grant rests calloused hands upon a gleaming metal countertop in an attempt to steady his heart. With his head hung heavily between his shoulders, he squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head.
You're here. For the first time, you're here.
And he nearly blew it.
You've never met—don't know one another from Adam, truthfully—but he's seen photos of you before on Andrea's lockscreen during the times she's pulled her cell out to check for notifications during her fleeting breaks. That, and in photos she's uploaded to her Instagram.
It was the only reason he followed her back to begin with: to be able to appreciate the sight of you, even from a distance.
He's not some infatuated stalker, though. No, just an admirer. The first time he ever saw you—ever heard your soft-spoken voice—had been in a short video she uploaded to her... What is the feature called again? Story? Reel?
They're always changing things.
Andrea had hidden behind the camera while she snuck into your room and filmed you hunched over a tiny desk. You'd been wholly oblivious not only to her presence, but the rest of the world it seemed as you typed furiously away on a laptop.
He'd assumed you were a college student, until she announced your name with gusto, followed up by "the next New York Times bestselling author!" You had tried desperately to hide your face from the camera in adorable mortification, but failed miserably when she tugged one of your hands away, revealing your warm smile beneath.
He's watched that video at least a dozen times. Has observed your towering bookshelf that was clearly organized with thoughtful care, and the trinkets you have arranged on small floating shelves above your workspace.
How did he fail to recognize you in person?
So much for first impressions...
Grant felt how your delicate hand trembled in his. As such, he needs to make this right.
"What's your friend's favorite food?" Grant demands with crossed arms while peering at Andrea from over the bridge of his nose.
Removing her attentions from a stack of carrots she's working her way through with a slicer, she blinks up at him. "What? Wait. She's here? Shit," she curses while making to tug her apron off.
He clicks his tongue. "I still need you to finish prepping. I want to make something for her, so give me a dish. Any dish. Now."
Her brows wrinkle together. "From the menu, or—"
"What does she eat a lot of at home?" he inquires.
She snorts quietly. "You're not gonna like the answer."
"Well, unless it's moldy bread—"
"Easy Mac," she retorts. "Rice-a-Roni, Ramen, frozen pizzas..."
He raises an incredulous brow. "She lives with you and that's the kind of..." He shouldn't judge. He's had them all himself. And he'd be lying if he claimed to hate every bite. Depending on the brand and flavor, they're not half bad. "That's what you let her eat?'
She rolls her eyes and returns to slicing carrots into thin strips. "I don't let her do anything. She's a grown woman. And I eat 'em, too. Makes for an easy meal sometimes, y'know?"
He rolls his eyes. "So, she likes macaroni."
"She should take stock in Kraft," she mumbles. "I've told her a hundred times to just get the damn boxes because she'd be buying more for less, but she likes having the little cups so that she doesn't have to wash a pot or bowl afterward."
Like a little kid, he muses with a smirk.
Fine. Dad will just have make you something filling to eat, then.
Turning a burner onto medium-high heat, Grant gets to work on preparing you the best damn macaroni you've ever had in your young life.
He boils a large pot of water first, then gets to work on whipping a bowl of cream cheese into smooth perfection. He follows it up with hand-grating three separate cheese blocks while the water heats. Once bubbles start popping on the surface, he pours a container of elbow pasta in and stirs until the noodles are al dente.
Once Grant has strained them, he pours the cream cheese into a pan, followed by noodles and more cream cheese and a couple cups of shredded cheese, along with a few odd spices for taste. He tops it off with a final thick layer of shredded cheese on top, then slips the dish into the oven with a tin foil cover to bake.
A very basic dish, yes, but one that will still hopefully serve to impress and endear you to him.
As the macaroni sits in the oven, he peers through the glass window at the top of the kitchen door and watches you flip through your novel.
Perhaps he should be embarrassed by his behavior. And not just that which he has and is currently exhibiting tonight, but the fact that he's already mildly infatuated with you.
He doesn't know why, really. He's never been able to place his finger on it.
Love at first sight?
But does that really count when it comes to curated social media?
Maybe he's just lonely in his latter years and has projected onto you. It's not that he has some great expectation in mind of who you are or what you're really like. He's just...enchanted by what little he's already seen.
But it's easy to fall for a mysterious stranger just by their looks.
A timer rings, and he returns to the oven to pull out a dish of golden-brown perfection.
You wrench your book back when a ceramic deep dish full of what appears to be baked macaroni is slid in front of you.
With your book clutched to your chest, you gaze up at Grant. "Oh. Hello again."
The corner of his lip twitches; wanting to verge into a smile on your account. "My way of apologizing," he explains with a nod toward the steaming dinner he's presenting you with. "For being an ass," he mutters as he takes the booth across from where you sit.
"No," you chirp, setting your book back in your bag. "It's okay. Really. I should've never barged in like that. It was inappropriate."
He purses his lips and shakes his head. "You did nothing wrong. My reaction was way out of line. So dinner's on me."
You study the melted golden-brown cheese on top. It's so incredibly kind that he took time out of his already late night to do this. "Well... It's your kitchen. Would be like someone barging into your home. Would you give them time to explain their motives before you jumped into action?"
He glances toward the ceiling in faux contemplation while bobbing his head back and forth, like he's silently debating with himself. "No," he replies while looking at you once more. "I'd probably grab my gun."
Your brows shoot up. "You have a gun?"
He chuckles while handing you a small plate. "I was in the Army some twenty-odd-years ago. So I have a few."
You take it from him and your cheeks warm when your fingertips brush against Grant's. "What did you do when you served?"
He glances to the steaming macaroni, then to you again in answer.
"You were a cook then, too?"
Grant nods. "Was where I got my start, in terms of making it into a career."
"Did you always know it's what you wanted to do?"
Pulling a silver fork out of a cloth napkin, he taps the end of it against the table. "Yes and no. I've always enjoyed cooking and baking. But it took me finally doing it for others—a lot of others—for me to realize that it was my true calling."
He stabs the fork into the mac and cheese, then lifts it toward you. "Blow," he instructs.
You do until steam disappears.
When you open, he eases the tines into your mouth, the sets the fork on your plate. "D'you like it?"
You take your time chewing and tasting before swallowing.
When you lick your lips, he feels a stirring below his belt.
"It's really good," you say with a grand smile that he can't help but return.
He's made you happy. And that fact makes him so very glad.
"Yeah?" he asks with a laugh.
"It's delicious," you say while scooping a heaping portion onto your plate. "What did you put in it?"
"Besides sugar, spice, and everything nice?" he asks sarcastically, which earns him a bubbly giggle. "Cream cheese, three different cheeses which I shredded by hand, and a few dashes of various spices."
He took care when making this for you.
"You did all this to say sorry?" you ask quietly.
He rests his shoe next to yours beneath the table. "I did."
Grant pulls out another fork. "So, am I forgiven?"
How odd for a stranger to care in the least what you think or feel. It's a welcome change, though, even if it's only temporary. Taking his fork from him, you return the gesture from earlier and feed him a bite as well.
Grant barely manages to keep his mouth closed long enough to chew because he's smiling so much.
"You are."
"Hey," Grant says, catching you and Andrea at the door before you head out for home.
He rests an easy palm against your back and you turn to meet his searching eyes.
"Come back and see me again some time," he encourages. Dropping his hand, he instead squeezes your fingers. "Next meal is on the house, just like tonight."
You smile, and nearly kiss him on the cheek for his kindness. "Thank you," you reply with a nod. "Have a good night, Grant."
His breath catches in his throat at you having finally said his name, and he watches you go—only turning back to the interior once you've disappeared.
What started as a hectic, nightmarish day has ended in perfection.
It's been almost two weeks and he's not seen hide or hair of you. Was the meal he prepared for you not as good as you let on? Was it him? Did he do too much, or not enough?
The two of you had only just met, so there's always a chance that he came on too strong; made you uncomfortable.
Living with the not knowing, however—his stomach squeezing painfully each time the restaurant door opens, only for him to fill with disappointment a moment later because it isn't the face he wants to see—is pure fucking torture.
He wants his girl back... Just one more time.
"Any reason she never took me up on my offer?" Grant questions with a low, gravely tone.
Andrea finishes tugging on her jacket before grabbing her purse and turning to look at her superior. "Huh? What?"
"Your roommate," he explains. He feels, for whatever reason, that using your name would make this seem too personal—would give him away too easily. As if pouting over your lack of presence doesn't already. "I offered her a free meal and—"
"Ah," she replies with a nod. "She's been busy. Picking up extra shifts at the library on the weekend."
And downing Easy Mac on the go, he presumes.
You deserve better than a microwavable snack.
He takes a step back while tossing a dishtowel over his strong shoulder. You're being an adult; working more for a bit of extra cash. And here he is, pining after you like a lovesick teen.
He's learned something new about you, at least: your occupation. Makes perfect sense with your passion for reading and apparent storytelling.
Suits you, Grant thinks.
Swiping up a ripe tomato to return to its rightful place across the kitchen, he nods. "Got it."
"Hey, so, you need to go back to the restaurant at some point," Andrea remarks from your apartment's dimly lit entryway.
Leaning back against the couch behind you, you pause your typing on a Bluetooth keyboard. Crappy makeshift computer set up—it, coupled with the small glass screen of your phone, that is—but you don't have much of another option right now with your laptop being away for diagnosis. And given it can be saved, subsequent treatment.
"What?" you ask while turning to face her with crossed legs.
"Grant," she explains while hanging up her jacket, then purse. "He asked about you tonight and why you haven't been by to take him up on his offer for free food or whatever."
Oh.
You'd nearly forgotten about that, you've been so preoccupied with other things.
So he was serious? You'd thought he was, of course, but the question being just how much? Had it just been meant as a passing comment in kind, or was it a genuine invitation he intended on you fulfilling your end of?
"Does he..." you begin hesitantly. "Feed a lot of girls for free?"
She plops down on the couch behind you. "Not that I'm aware of. I spend a lot of time staying late to help clean up and prep and this is the first I've ever seen of such behavior."
You glance back to the cheap LED keyboard.
"Was surprised he made you mac and cheese that night, tell you the truth. He's a great chef and a good boss—even if he can be a hard-ass—but he's never gone out of his way like that before."
She playfully taps your shoulder with her toes. "Must really like you. Probably wants you back there and bent over every surface he can find while you cry yes, Chef! yes, Chef! all the while," she thinks aloud with a snigger.
You quickly turn around to hide your embarrassment. "He's a little old for me."
She snorts while rising and padding toward her bedroom for a change of clothes before she showers. "That's what makes it all the hot-ter," she finishes with a sing-song voice. "Oh, turn up the heat, daddy!" Andrea cries from an open doorway.
You bury your face in your hands.
Once you're within the safe confines of an empty North & Vine again, you stand awkwardly near the door. You don't want to ambush Grant again by waltzing into the kitchen unexpectedly, so you finally opt to seat yourself at the same booth as last time instead.
You're sure he'll emerge eventually and catch sight of you.
Just when Grant pushes past the kitchen's heavy swinging door, he halts in his tracks.
You came back again.
Andrea must've said something.
He hopes you didn't feel pressured to return; to humor his boyish fancy. Letting things go might've been better for everyone, but he can't seem to get you off his mind no matter how hard he tries.
Coming nearer with slow, steady strides, he frowns at the sight of you so unhappy while you stare down at your cellphone. He never did ask if you were single. But if that's the cause for your displeasure tonight—some young asshole who doesn't know how to treat you—then he'll do all he can to set things right until you're content again.
"Everything okay?" Grant asks quietly. "Seem distracted tonight."
Quickly locking your phone, you glance up to him with a forced smile and a nod. "Oh. Yeah. It's not a big deal."
Grant considers for a moment while chewing the inside of his cheek. "Boyfriend problems?"
You snort. "Stopped bothering with those a long time ago."
Which is either very lucky, or very unlucky for him.
Taking the seat across from you like last time, he folds his hands together. "Anything I can help with?"
You shake your head. "No. It's just my laptop. Got a quote back from a repair shop for how much it'd cost to get it working again." Your eyes flit to his. "Might as well just buy a new computer," you grumble.
He wants to ask about your writing project, but then you'll wonder as to how he even knows about it in the first place. "Do you use it for work?"
"Not really," you reply while toying with a sea salt shaker. "Writing, mostly."
"You didn't lose anything—"
"No, thank God. I keep everything backed up on a cloud drive." You sigh and return the condiment to its rightful home at the back of the table. "I've been using a Bluetooth keyboard so I can write using my cell, but I hate having to use a smaller screen. And because the keyboard is, too, I keep making tons of typos."
You grow quiet for a moment.
He wants to offer to run out and get you a new one right now—whichever you'd like—but fears that such a gesture would make him come off way too strong.
He'll figure out another method to help his girl.
"Anyway," you say, now wanting to change the subject from your technical woes. "Andrea said you asked about me?"
He actually fucking flushes. Only because he's made his damn crush that apparent. "Just wanted to see you again," he replies with a casual shrug and a smile. Pulling a menu from a wooden holder, he drops it in front of you. "Choose whatever you like and I'll make it."
You blink a couple times in surprise. You knew it's what you were coming here for, but you still have yet to understand it. His wanting to cater to you must stem from an attraction, but it doesn't make this any less unconventional.
Should you consider this a date? Does he? What precisely are the two of you doing here?
Flipping the laminated menu open, you begin to peruse various hard-to-pronounce dishes. "Why, um... Why did you want me to—"
"Maybe I just like watching you eat," he interrupts with a smirk.
Shyly, you peer at him from over the top of the menu you hold before hiding behind it again.
He chuckles quietly at your adorable antics.
A cheeseburger.
You're a simple girl, he'll give you that much, but he was hoping for something that would require a bit more effort on his part than a seared patty and brioche bun. But as long as you leave here with a full belly and a thankful smile, he's content.
He did invite you back into the kitchen so that you could observe him in his element, though. All rolled-up sleeves, an apron which clings to his muscled chest, and sharp knives which slice through tomatoes as easy as a guillotine are the attractions he provides for your viewing pleasure.
"So," he begins while adjusting the gas burner on the stove with pinched fingertips. "Andrea tells me you work at a library around here."
"I do," you reply simply. "At the Boston Public Library. It's really nice there."
He hums in interest while patting ground beef into a plump, round patty. "But you want to be a writer," he states.
You shift on your feet from where you stand behind him. "If I ever manage to finish the book I'm working on." You shrug while toying with a loose string hanging from the hem of your top. "It gives me something to do in my spare time, at least."
He hates how defeated you sound—like you've resigned yourself to never accomplishing your dream. Is it because you're losing interest in the project, or because you don't think you're good enough and have what it takes?
"I'd love to read it," Grant says while placing the patty in a lightly oiled non-stick pan before stepping over to the sink to wash his hands. "Whenever it's finished."
You shrug. "You don't even know what it's about."
He turns back to you while drying his hands. "Do I need to? It's something you're passionate about. That's enough for me."
Your eyes flit between his until he turns back to the stove.
You watch as his shoulder blades shift beneath his thin white t-shirt as he flips the burger over.
"This is just something for you to keep in mind, but being in the culinary business, I know journalists—people in publishing. So if you're ever looking to get your foot in the door, I can help with that."
You're surprised by how selfless he seems. Thoughtful.
You understand then why Andrea has stuck around so long, despite the stressors of being in hospitality.
He's a good man.
"Thank you," you whisper.
Placing the medium-rare patty on a crispy bun, he lays a slice of cheddar cheese on top to begin melting, a tomato, pickles, and a bit of garnish, followed by the top bun. "Anytime."
He watches with utter satisfaction as you chow down. Had Grant had a bit more time to prepare, he would've made you up a plate of hand-cut seasoned fries as well, but given the size of the burger, he hopes it'll be enough to satiate your appetite.
"Good?" he asks while dragging a finger along the edge of your plate to gather a drop of mustard before popping it in his mouth.
You nod fervently while chewing.
"Have to give me an actual challenge next time. Comfort food is your favorite type of cuisine, though, isn't it?"
Another nod.
Could whip up some fried chicken next time. Not necessarily difficult to make, but rather to perfect. Just the right amount of crisp on the outside with a balance of seasoned sumptuousness on the in can be a difficult combo to achieve.
Honestly? Grants wants to make you everything on the whole damn menu.
Would certainly keep you coming back to him time and again if he did.
It's a tempting thought: feeding you every night when you come home from work. Especially from his own hand. He's replayed you taking a bite of macaroni from the fork he held the first time you met repeatedly.
He briefly considers how he could get you to suck melted chocolate off his fingers.
"What's yours?" you ask while dabbing at your lips with a freshly laundered napkin.
Grant leans back. Resting his tanned forearms atop the table, he thinks. "If you can believe it, I don't have one. When it comes to food, I make an effort to keep my options open. There's always something new to try. To make or taste. Guess I worry that if I develop a 'favorite' I'll start to limit myself by getting too comfortable with one particular food or handful of meals."
Makes sense to you. Hence your appreciation for cheap microwavable or oven-ready boxed food.
"Favorite thing to make, then?"
He grins. "Sort of the same answer. Convoluted dishes give me a challenge, but I still have an appreciation for the simple things in life," he states with a nod toward your slowly emptying plate.
"Seems like you enjoy keeping an open mind."
He leans in close while studying your lips with a smile. "I definitely do."
You're reticent to ask what tonight was. Why Grant seems to so enjoy watching you eat.
It's flattering, at least. A welcome change from past dates from long ago where you always wanted to order a salad, or turn away altogether so you couldn't be watched with a scrutinizing gaze as you ate.
Rocking onto the balls of your feet, you look up at Grant with a smile. "Thank you again."
He runs a rough palm down your arm. "Here to serve," he replies with a lopsided smile.
"Well... Goodnight," you chirp with a quick nod.
Leaning down, he brushes his lips over your soft cheek. "Goodnight, sweetheart."
"Sooo," Andrea drawls from the doorway of your bedroom. "Have you checked your email today?"
You pause Netflix and turn to her with furrowed brows. "This morning like I always do. Why?"
"Might wanna check it again," she states. "Grant asked me for your email today. Didn't say why, though," your roommate relays.
"Maybe it's just a recipe," you ponder. Grabbing your phone from the middle of the bed, you navigate to your email, find one from not quite two hours ago from the man in question, and when you open it, your jaw drops.
"Oooh, what is it? Dirty pictures involving whip cream and stacked donuts?"
You slam a palm against your forehead. "Oh God. He can't just—"
She pads around the side of your bed and takes the device from you before barking a ridiculous laugh. "A fucking grand?!" she cries.
You take the phone back from her. "It's for a local tech store." Your eyes scan the attached gift message. "For your time & your new computer. Remember that I get to read it first. — Grant"
Andrea folds her arms and frowns. "Does he mean your novel? Promised that privilege to me..." she pouts.
You stare at her. "You—Yes, you still can. But I—I have to send this back." Tossing off a throw blanket, you stand and begin to pace.
"Man, he wants that cookie bad."
You level her with a glare.
"Alright," she relents with raised palms of surrender. "No more food puns."
"Do you think it works like a check? Like, unless I use it the money stays in his account?" you ask while looking at her.
She shrugs. "Maybe. Sure wish he'd give me a damn thousand dollar bonus. What'd you do the last time you went a week ago?"
"I told you!" you shout hysterically. "He made me a cheeseburger. I ate it, then came back here. That's it."
"I eat in front of the old man every day. He's never wanted to reward me for it." She pinches her stomach, then shrugs. "Probably a good thing or you'd be rolling me out of here before long."
"I have to make him take it back or undo it," you say while heading in the direction of your closet so you can get changed. "This is too much."
"So he wants to be your sugar daddy—"
You narrow your eyes and jerk your head back in her direction.
"Not intended to be another pun. That's just the name for it," she mumbles. "As I was saying: I fail to see how it's a bad thing."
"I've been saving up. I don't—" You toss a loose ankle-length dress onto the bed. Something simple. You don't need to dress up. No, you need to get going before he locks up for the night. "That isn't me."
"Grant?" you shout into the empty restaurant. "Are you here?"
A smile curls lips lined by silver stubble and laugh lines bracket his mouth. Hanging his apron on a hook, Grant emerges from behind the kitchen door. Greeted by the sight of you in a simple, soft black dress that almost looks more like a comfortable nightgown, he grins. "Got your attention, huh?"
"You... You have to take it back. Cancel it or something," you plead.
Crossing the room to reach you, he reaches forward and brushes the pad of his thumb along your cheek. "No can do," he replies with a shake of his head.
"But—"
"You don't need to feel guilty," Grant tells you. "Guess just feeding you dinner wasn't enough for me." He shrugs. "Wanted to help take care of you another way."
Before this moment, you've only been around each other twice before. Two times. You absolutely refuse to believe that you made enough of an impression to justify him gifting you one thousand dollars!
You open your mouth to continue insisting, until he rests his palms heavily atop your shoulders. "You wanna repay me?"
You waver. "Yes..."
"Then let me teach you."
He begins tugging you along behind him toward the kitchen, and you gulp nervously.
Time for you to set the damn place on fire, apparently.
"Slow, sweetheart, slow," Grant mutters quietly against your ear. "Don't want to get it all over yourself or you'll be soaked."
After leading you back into the kitchen, Grant gathered all the ingredients required to teach you how to make an excellent traditional southern fried chicken recipe, which he said the pair of you could eat together.
At current, you're whisking together milk and lemon juice to prep your own homemade buttermilk.
With Grant pressed against your back, and his hands leading your own while he croons encouragement and instructions in your ear, you fear that this cooking lesson may soon end in disaster if you don't get yourself under control. And soon.
"Good," he coos. "Nice and smooth. Good girl."
You nearly whimper when you feel a fluttering start up between your legs.
"Alright, set that to the side, then grab the chicken next and we'll dip each section until it's dripping and coat them in flour."
You swallow thickly, nod, then slide the bowl across the counter to keep it far from you, lest you knock it over and make a mess. Grabbing a sheet of raw chicken, you pick up piece after piece and dip them in the liquid mixture, followed by dropping them into a thick paper bag and shaking until Grant tells you to stop. You then place each prepped piece of poultry onto a new sheet until you've completed the current step.
"Alright, wash your hands and I'll guide you on what to do next."
Without the heat of his body stationed behind you, you're made very aware of how a thin sheet of sweat has coated the back of your neck. As such, you take your time washing your hands. Enjoying the cold water, you don't stop scrubbing until your palms and fingers are sudsy and clean.
Grant motions for you to rejoin him once you've shut the faucet off.
Assuming your previous position, he stands impossibly closer. "Here," he whispers before pulling an apron on over your head. "Should've done this before we started. Sorry."
You stay silent as his hands trail just beneath your breasts to grab the ties at the front of the acorn-brown apron to circle them around your waist.
"There," Grant says while pressing a soft kiss to the back of your head. "I've got you covered."
"Now," he says while adjusting the burner. "Fill your skillet with vegetable oil. About a third of the way. I'll tell you when to stop."
Grabbing a glass bottle, you start to pour, but slowly. The oil spreads across the cast iron skillet, and after a beat, Grant speak again. "Alright, that's good. Plenty slick enough to cook with."
You draw in a deep breath, then eye the chicken. "How long do we—"
"Awhile," he interrupts while sliding his hands from your shoulders to your upper arms. "It needs to get hot." He turns his head. "Very hot," he rumbles against your ear. "Once the pieces are browned, we'll turn down the heat and let them simmer for awhile. About half an hour," he explains.
"What'll we do while we wait?" you ask breathlessly.
He chuckles. "Anything you like."
"Oh."
"I like this," Grant says while pulling the chicken closer for when the skillet is finally ready to be filled. "Teaching you. You're a good student."
Testing the waters, you lean back against his sturdy chest, and he doesn't move an inch. "I've got you, sweetheart. I'm right here."
Your eyes flutter closed for a moment. The silence is deafening—interrupted only the sound of his steady breathing, yours which has turned ragged, and quietly popping oil on the stovetop.
"Something I can do to help you while you work, besides leading you?" he asks.
Touch me, you think while rubbing your thighs together from beneath your dress.
"Hm?" he hums with a kiss at your temple.
"I dunno," you whimper.
"Grab your tongs and start arranging the chicken around the edges until the whole skillet is full," he directs.
The sheet of raw chicken is half empty when Grant finally brushes his thumb along the side of your clothed breast.
He notes how you forewent wearing a bra tonight.
"Your apron too tight?" he asks while tugging curiously against the front.
"M-Maybe," you stutter.
Moment of truth.
Cautiously, he slips his hands between your dress and apron and cups both your breasts in his large palms. You gasp sharply and nearly drop the utensil you're holding.
"Keep going," he orders. "You're almost there."
Yes, Chef, you muse.
Circling your nipples with his fingertips, he doesn't stop until they're pebbled. Grant begins to gently tug against their hardened peaks. "Good girl," he purrs. "You did perfect. Now, go ahead and flip the pieces over."
With vigilant determination, you turn the poultry from one side to the other.
After only three pieces, Grant maneuvers a hand past the neckline of your dress and grabs your naked breast with his bare hand.
"Oh God," you whine and your hips buck back against him.
"Just a few more and then we'll cover it and let it cook. Go on, sweetheart. Do what chef tells you to."
Unable to help yourself, you do as Grant says. But you sigh and whimper all the while as his callouses scratch pleasantly against and between your breasts.
Settling a lid atop the pan, you reach for a timer. "H-how long?" you pant.
"Half an hour. Should be enough time for us to finish."
Winding the dial, you point the arrow at 30, then set it down.
"Do you like this?" he rasps while shoving a second hand beneath the neck of your dress. "Does it feel good?"
You nod slowly. "Yes."
"Do you want more?"
"Please," you moan.
You almost sob when his hands retract. Until he gently spins you around to face him.
"How much more?" he asks while cupping your cheek comfortingly.
Your lips slightly part, but the thought of saying it... You don't always know how to be forward about your own desires.
"Because I want to taste you," Grant utters. "I have from the first."
Guiding you by the hips back to a sprawling, empty surface, he grabs you by the waist and hoists you up. "Is this okay?" he questions while trailing a palm from your calf to your knee.
"Yes," you whisper.
He goes higher, only stopping once his fingertips are prodding against the thin, slick material of your panties that're now sticking to your pussy. "Fuck," he curses. "You're so wet for me."
Rolling your dress up past your thighs, Grant hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties. Kneeling on the floor, he stares up at you with reverence. "Do you want me to stop?"
You shake your head, then wiggle your hips. "More."
Leaning forward, he presses a firm kiss to your damp panties, drags his speared tongue along the soaked material, then tugs them down in one swift motion. Tucking them into his pocket, he encourages your thighs over his shoulders and swipes his tongue through your slick folds.
God, he's in Heaven. Here, with you now, he's exactly where he's supposed to be.
You suck in a sharp breath, then tangle your fingers in his silver hair to keep him close.
When you begin to rock your hips, he swirls his tongue over your swollen clit while easing two fingers between your warm, fluttering walls.
You taste better than he could've ever imagined. Are softer, wetter, and more needy than he anticipated you would be.
"You're so perfect," he mutters while kissing your inner thighs before returning to your fluttering cunt. "Better than I thought," he grates.
And he has one hell of a palate.
Planting a sweaty palm atop the cool countertop, you lean back and prop a foot atop it. You're sure the two of you are committing at least a dozen health-code violations right now, but you couldn't care less.
"O-oh my God," you stammer.
"Come for me," he demands while craning his head back. "Come on my tongue. Now."
Shoving his head back between your thighs, you squeal quietly when he returns to teasing your clit. When your walls begin to clench around his thick digits, he refuses to come up for air. You're so close and he needs to be the man to give you this.
Sucking your labia and fingering you with rapid abandon, your pussy squelches and leaves his palm and your ass both covered in arousal. Not even the finest fucking wine could compare to you. If he could bottle and drink you, he would.
Swear to God he would...
You bite your lip, tug against his sweaty curls, then shudder violently as your orgasm wracks through your body. "Oh my God, Grant," you cry while your mind circles and your arousal crashes through you.
He whimpers against your slick, swollen opening while palming himself over his black slacks.
Grant moans while kissing your pussy in thanks for what it's just given him in return.
Once you finally calm, you slide your leg back over the edge of the counter and go loose—your limbs now feeling weakened; like jelly.
Grabbing your face, Grant crushes his lips to yours. He makes wet smacking sounds while he fucks your mouth with his tongue—his saliva and your own slick pooling beneath your tongue. "You should know how good you taste," he pants.
Trailing kisses down your neck, you clutch helplessly at his chest as his coarse stubble scratches your sensitive skin.
"I wanna be inside of you," he rumbles while nudging your thighs further apart. Tilting your chin back, he stares into your eyes with feverish hunger. "Please let me have you."
Your jaw falls open and you grasp for words to explain. "I... I don't just—"
It's as if he can read your mind before you've even completed a thought. "After this, you're mine. I'm too old for playing games with the woman I want and have been waiting so long for."
"We'd be—"
"Together. Unless you ordered me away," Grant explains. "Fuck, Y/N, please. I'm begging you."
Reaching up, you tug the top of your dress down and let it pool around your waist, exposing your breasts to him.
And Grant drinks you in greedily.
Dipping his head, he sucks a taut nipple into his mouth, then laps at the opposite with his warm, wet tongue.
Grasping at his belt, you suddenly still.
Grant lifts his head and cups your cheek cautiously. "Do you wanna stop?"
"I'm not...on anything anymore. And I'm—" you gulp. "I'm ovulating right now."
He chuckles. "I might've guessed."
You raise a brow, questioning whether you should be offended by whatever he's implying.
"How wet you got for me," he continues. "I loved it. It was perfect."
You smile.
"I don't exactly keep condoms here in the kitchen," he says with a knowing look.
"I could... Wind up—"
"I know," he whispers while cupping the back of your head in one hand and wrapping the other securely around your naked waist. "And if that did happen, I'd take care of you. I—I want to anyway. I've been... I've been too married to my work. I don't regret it, but there are things I've missed out on." He kisses you tenderly. "Now here you are. Finally."
He pops a tine on his belt loose. "Do you want us to keep going?"
You nod slowly.
Grant unbuckles his belt, pops the button at the top of his pants, then unzips them. "Do you want me inside of you?" he questions while running a certain hand down your side.
"Yes," you sigh.
"If I do this, I can't pull out. It... It's you. I just can't, Y/N. I need you to understand what I'm telling you."
Wrapping an arm around his neck and another around his side, you cling to him. "I understand."
Shoving his pants and briefs down to his ankles, Grant takes himself in hand and pumps his cock a few times, runs the pad of his thumb over the leaking tip, then eases its girthy length between your slick, accommodating walls.
Once Grants has bottomed out against your perfect cunt, his hips stutter and he whimpers close to your ear while holding you suffocatingly close. "Fuck, sweetheart, I don't know how long I'm gonna last like this," he mutters while slowly rocking his hips.
Burying your face against his neck, your shake your head. "Do what you need to. I want you to finish."
Besides, you already have.
Pumping his thick, veiny cock between your stretchy walls, a whine crawls up Grant's throat, and halts there, until he gasps for air, and the breath his releases sounds more like a quiet cry.
Cradling the backs of each other's heads, his arm circles your waist while your hand claws at his covered back. Grant's naked skin slaps against yours while your legs gyrate on either side of his hips where they dangle over the edge of the counter. "O-Oh fuck," he moans. "I'm already close."
You kiss his neck. "Please, Grant," you whisper.
His cock twitches. "Feel's good?" he asks while thrusting his hips.
"So good," you mewl.
His testicles begin to tighten.
"Almost there," he rasps. "You're doing so well for me. But, baby, I'm—fuck, it's gonna be deep."
You nod. "It's okay. It's okay, you can cum inside me."
He sniffles quietly. "Thank you for finding me," he mutters.
Planting a palm against his naked ass, you encourage him to keep rocking his hips.
Rolling them to get impossibly deeper inside you, his thrusts become hard and fast. So fast that a metallic pounding begins from where his thighs are knocking against the steel countertop. A bowl clatters to the floor, but Grant holds firm when you jolt. "Don't," he barks. "Stay still." He shudders. "Good girl. That's my good little girl. Almost—almost—"
A container of utensils falls over next, but it doesn't even phase him.
Meanwhile, you keep him close. His arms have tightened like coils now. You're surrounded by his muscled limbs.
"Fuck!" he shouts suddenly. "I'm gonna—I'm gonna cum. Fuck, I'm gonna cum so deep inside you, baby girl."
"Please, Grant," you plead. Your clit is so overstiumlated that with only a few more thrusts—
"Oh God," he groans. "Oh God, sweetheart."
Pressing his lips to the curve of your shoulder, his cock spasms between your walls and his balls twitch as he empties a load of built-up semen inside of you. Scooting closer, he angles his hips upwards toward your cervix while thick, hot ropes of cum spurt and coat your fleshy walls.
You twitch repeatedly in his arms while your cunt contracts tightly around his member. Your orgasm is silent, and less eventful, but feels just as good as it washes over you.
Once it's all over, you continue holding one another. "Did you cum again?" Grant asks quietly, while massaging the base of your scalp with trembling fingers.
"I did," you murmur before yawning.
"Good," he says with quiet relief. "Such a good girl."
He stays inside of you, but leans back just enough to capture you in a slow, passionate kiss. "Tell me you belong to me," Grant demands between brushes of his lips over yours.
"I'm yours," you assure him. "I'm yours, Grant."
He swipes a thumb over your sensitive clit—just above where he still has you stretched open. "Yes, you are."
Dinner is mostly silent. Grant sits close to your side as the two of you steadily snack on a mountainous plate of delicious fried chicken. Between your thighs, you can still feel his cum leaking out of you.
Lying your sleepy head atop his shoulder, Grant kisses the crown of it. "I've wanted you since the first time I saw you," he states after taking a sip of ice water. "And heard your voice."
You snuggle against his side. "Really?"
He grins while remembering that fateful video that brought you into his life. Holding up a thin strip of chicken for you to eat, he smiles. "Really."
bf!dex who puts himself to sleep by eating the soul out of you. he swears he doesn't need medication or any other clinical method to silence the overwhelming thoughts that insist on keeping him up at night, that's why he has you—and that sweet pussy of yours, of course.
he'll go down on you almost nightly if you let him, thick fingers stuffed knuckle deep inside you and curling repeatedly against that sweet spot of yours that he recently found out makes stars explode behing your eyelids, eager mouth blabbering nonsense into your pussy the whole time.
he can make you come more than three times with his tongue and fingers only—the most he has ever achieved without you threatening to pass out beneath him—and probably won't even register your tiny whimpers of "dex, that's enough" until you start kicking and pushing at his shoulders, forcing him to break away from the mess he made between your legs.
he'll climb back on top of you with the most relaxed expression you've ever seen on his face, eyelids heavy already and chin dripping with your arousal. dex drops his head to your chest then, humming a sound similar to a content little cat, then proceeds to sleep like a baby for the rest of the night—snoring and everything.
blah blah i know sammy bryant is just a total and utter sweetheart baby but i want to see him manhandle reader.
i was scrolling through twitter or x (whateva you wanna call it) saw this tweet about wives asking their cop husbands to try to take them down in 30 seconds and now just imagining asking husband!sammy to do it.
he doesn't want to hurt his sweet girl but they way you're looking at him doe eyed, pleading and tugging at his arm has him chubbing up in his jeans. he had come home, still in uniform when you blocked his way to the shower, shoving your phone to show him the video. "sammy, c'mon please? just once, i wanna what all these bad guys get when my husband is takin em down" your chin on his chest as your looking up at him.
"let me just go shower first and then–" "no, baby you gotta do it uniform! how am i gonna take you serious when you're trying to pin me down in some sweats huh?"
now standing in the living room giggling like a school girl as he tries to size you up, trying to play serious cop now. "you know how fast you were going?" "mmm nope!" "i don't like your attitude, little lady. c'mon gonna take you down to the station for some more questions." sammy's reaching to grab your wrist but you're pulling away giggling, it's cute but now he's too into it. he's got you by the waist hoisting you up and taking you down onto the carpet. the sudden force has you gasping, squealing when he's managed to get both your wrist behind your back, his foot already hooked around your knee as he's pinned you down.
your giggling and squealing like a mad woman but he's rock hard now as he presses himself into. your giggling is cut short when you finally feel his hard length pressed against you through his uniform. his work belt was laid out on the couch beside you so there was no mistaking this for his gun. he's panting and pressing his lips into his ear, one hand is holding both wrists and his other hand has snaked between your legs toying with your slick panties.
"and here i thought my pretty little wife was a good girl... no, good girls don't get this soaked from having an officer man handle em like this. so what are we gonna do about that huh?" he's taunting you as you hear his pants begin to unzip, already pulling out his cock to rub his leaking tip over the wet mess between your legs.
I think Dex would eat you out well past over stimulation, and not even just because he’s being controlling etc etc. No, I think it’d be because he’s so lost in it. I think he’d be straight up whimpering into your pussy, hips flexing while he grinds into the bed, all pathetic and needy and just about ready to cum in his pants because he’s so drunk on the taste of you.
I think you could be crying out above him, over stimulated and near tears, hands in his hair, calling out his name and trying to squirm away and he’d had his arms hooked under your legs, meaty palms pressing down on your hips, brows furrowed while he’s groaning with each lick of your clit. Fuck he loves this, and he loves you, and he needs more.
And when he eventually comes up for air, pupils dilated, lids half closed, and you realize he has cum in pants, chin painted in your release, you’ll only soften.
“Oh baby,” You’d coo, and he’d just let his face fall against your thigh, looking dazed and utterly fucked out. You’d urge him up your torso, kiss him all sweet and messy, the taste of your cum still bitter on his tongue while you urge his sensitive cock into your soaking pussy and oh-
Dex is whining into your neck, grip tight on you while he ruts into you.
Dex being his own warning, reader knows he is stalking her but acting none the wiser matter of fact she might be a little into it, suggestive?
Sometimes, when you concentrate hard enough, you can ignore his eyes on you.
You cannot exactly pinpoint the moment you became aware of him. He is not bad at it, stalking you, that is. It's just that you are very good at pattern recognition. It is part of why you will always have job security. It is also because that you are very rigid about your routine and the people that occupy your space on a regular basis. Still, it was a little jarring when he suddenly just... appeared in your periphery. You are sure he did not just spawn out of nowhere. The level of comfort that he operates at indicates a will oiled routine that was followed. But to you it was like he was not here one day and here the next.
You are not sure how to proceed with this whole thing. It's not like you can go to the police, he has not done anything to you nor approached you at all. No threatening messages, no weird gestures and no headless rats. He is just there. Sitting on the opposite side, out of your view at you favorite cafe. Down the street from your work place. And across the street from your window at your home. And side of a few things moving from their original place, He doesn't do anything so you leave him be.
It goes on like that for a while, you following your established routine of going out of your apartment, getting coffee, heading to work, clocking out of work, grocery shopping and heading home. All with the anonymous man following you around. If he was not actively stalking you, you would have been impressed that he is not bored at the fact that you do nothing at all. You even start to get a little comfortable at his presence. Finding comfort at the fact the he is always there and eventually he is part of your routine. You even say a little good morning to him in your head when you get out of your building and see him across the street. All is well in your little life.
That is until you see him in the elevator leading up to your apartment.
Up until now, you have not seen his face at all. he is always out of view, that is by design of course, so you don't know what he looks like. But you have familiarized yourself with him enough to recognize the way he stands, his height and built anywhere. The man that is stalking you is in the same elevator as you and he pressed the same button that you pressed. He is blond.
You give him a little nod and he smiles at you, all charming and sweet, he introduces himself as Benjamin, your new across the hall neighbor.
You ask him about what happened to the previous tenant. He tells you that he doesn't know. You nod and exit the elevator.
The thing is about the place you live is that it is in a remote area out of the city. You picked it that way because you get overstimulated by the sound of the city. The second thing is, it only has two apartments. You and your previous neighbors who kept to himself. Your landlord doesn't live on the property. You are in a building alone with your stalker. So that leaves you with quite the dilemma.
Oh well.
Benjamin is a very quiet person. Aside from the fact that he is stalking you, he is actually the perfect guy. Charming, intelligent, delightful. It is just that...you know.... he is a stalker. You haven't brought it up yet because, really, how to you bring that up?'thank you so much for helping me bring up by groceries, oh by the way, I know that you follow me everywhere.' You think that would put a damper on things so you just drop it. You also asked the landlord about your previous neighbor, he just tell you that the guy suddenly skipped town.
You also change in front of the open window now, when you know for a fact that he is there. So there is that. In your defense, you are a little bored and it not that you are fully nude. You bought curtains that are shear for this exact reason. You think that with all of the monotony in your life the guy kinda deserves some excitement.
You start noticing that his eyes linger on your frame more whenever the both of you cross paths in the elevator. Which is a lot. On your arms and your chest. A lot on your waist as well.
You don't think anything will come out of it. So you just settle on some light stripping and nothing else. And soon. It is also a routine.
you're too young for me!dex's life and morals all fall apart the second his eyes land on you. your laughter catching his attention and his mind doesn't register when his body does full 180° degree turn towards you. you're probably too young for him but you look so goddamn breathtaking in that short dress. and your smile? he can't look away.
you're too young for me!dex who feels his brain short circuit when you sit next to him. 'one more shot of tequila please!' you say to the bartender and look over at him, tilting your head to get a better look. he looks you up and down closer now, remembering your features - plush lips, pretty doe eyes, flushed cheeks, messy hair. he could give a detailed explanation of how you look like just in matter of seconds.
you're too young for me!dex who goes absolutely batshit crazy when you wrap your soft arms around his neck and plant a little kiss on his lips, inviting him inside your place after he walked you home. dex hesitates, oh he hesitates so bad. he knows how wrong it is but how can he say no to a pretty little thing like you. he curses and enters your apartment, picking you up while you guide him to your bedroom.
you're too young for me!dex who gives you the best time of your life, only focusing on your pleasure all night. he touches you like you're fragile, he kisses you so softly you feel like you're in heaven. 'look at you' he mumbles, looking at your fucked out face. oh he's so obsessed over you already, the way you sound, the way you smell and how soft your skin is. dex is consumed by you. he wants to be ruined by you.
you're too young for me!dex gets so shy when you initiate something first. yes, he may tire you out too much but you like kissing him a little too much, so you push him against you one more before you fall asleep. 'you're so sweet to me' you whisper as you pass out, too overstimulated, hangover and tired, but satisfied. dex melts at the sight of you and desperately hugs you to his chest. he stares at you softly snoring all night, watches every time your eyelashes flutter, every time your body twitches.
you're too young for me!dex who gathers all information about you and your personal life in a span of a few days. you already tell him lots about you but he wants to know everything there is. he knows every time you're upset with the way your jaw clenches and eyebrows furrow together. he kisses your forehead and offers to take you out on a date, or order takeout and watch your favorite show.
you're too young for me!dex who just can never get enough of you. he claims he's not too touchy but who is he lying to? his hands are constantly on you no matter where you are. dex loves to wrap his arms around your waist, pressing you to his back when you're cooking and plant his face in the crook of your neck which is his favorite part of your body. he enjoys hiding his face in there, especially when sleeping or waking up to you.
you're too young for me!dex who gets so jealous and possessive every time someone approaches you with the intention of hitting you up. to him that's every guy that looks at you. 'I'm not jealous' he claims and gets so grumpy when you tease him about it. when you try to kiss him he pulls away on purpose, it makes you laugh more, knowing he won't be able to resist against you longer than ten minutes, max fifteen if he tries real hard.
older boyfriend!dex who just loves to spoil you endlessly. be it with gifts, dates or kisses and affection. only thing you complain about is him not leaving you alone (you don't want him to leave you alone). you feel his eyes on you when you're home, laying on your couch and reading; when you're out with friends, or when you leave work late at night - you know he's always watching and the thing is - you let him. you let him have that 'control' over you because the end of the day you have him wrapped around your finger.
𓏵 ┊ jack “ i’ve got tattoos older than you, sweetheart.” abbot .
it’s well after midnight, and you were already way past your curfew for making it back home. the sky was washed over with a cosmic touch that glinted tiny, shimmering dots as you stepped out of your friends car. her tank was running on empty, and it’s a blessing that the car could even carry itself all the way to the nearest gas station on the map.
your friend situates herself out of the car moments after you, before heading inside of the convenience store as you follow along.
the cool air condition hits your skin — a complete contrast to the warm, humid air outside that makes your skin feel heavy and sticky. you trail behind your friend, practically glued to her side. just two young woman hip to hip finding whatever necessities you two are craving plus the indispensable gas refill.
you’re looking at the candy, bending eye level to examine the different options: gummy bears, twin snacks and life-savers before bumping into some man as you rose back up.
“woah— gotta watch where you’re going, little miss.” a gruff voice says behind you, as their hand ghosts over your lower back ensuring that you don’t lose your balance making your head tilt to catch his face.
“oh, i’m so sorry!” you apologize instinctively.
he was a handsome man. you honestly couldn’t keep your eyes off of him the moment you caught up to your friend, before telling her about the small interaction between you two. an older, exhausted looking man with the perfect mix of sprinkled grey hairs throughout his brunet curls, and the wrinkles near the corners of his eyes that creased with a smile.
stealing a few glances while trying to be discreet only to fail miserably once you two lock eyes twice, making your veins run warmer as you quickly avert your eyes. though it’s not as if he’s any sneakier, not when his eyes are sizing you up in that stupidly skimpy dress of yours as he slowly approaches your way brushing right next to you.
“can you ring these up as well, sir.” he slides a canned beer and a freshly made cup of coffee on the counter next to you and your friends goodies as he tugs his wallet from out of his front pocket and pays for your items.
you part your lips, your brain scrambling for the right words to say. “thank you s—”
“no worries, kid.” the corners of his lip curl into a charmingly, lopsided smile as he cuts off your words. “you should be more cognizant about how you look at peop— men.” he informs you, while correcting his words in that tantalizing gruff voice of his. “don’t wanna get yourself in trouble.” his head tilts, intaking over your features.
“uh, yes sir…” you nod, a bit confused yet somewhat appreciative since he paid for you and your friends snacks. but brief shift of silence as his gaze lingered a little longer — soft, but still able to thicken the tension between the two of you. “sir?” he chuckles to himself, “do i really look that ancient?” he grins, poking at your slight state of panic.
“no— no, you don’t! i was just trying to be respectful!” you utter, hands throwing up in innocent as your lips curl into a downward smile. “i’m just kidding, sweetheart.” the corner of his mouth quirks, and his eyes crease just a bit.
Description: Jack is flabbergasted to learn his girlfriend has never received flowers from a romantic partner before.
Warnings: Fluff with a little bit of angst sprinkled throughout. Details of a panic attack. Use of y/n and she/her
Notes: I just started thinking about how Jack would be the kind of person to buy his partner flowers without thinking about it. He'd be absolutely pissed to learn he's the first one to do so. We love mature and respectful men around here :)
______
The knock on her door instantly brought a smile to her face, despite how early it was. She knew who it was. Getting up from the couch, she paused the movie she was watching and went over to the door. Opening it, she found her boyfriend standing on the other side.
He gave her a soft smile, although she noticed how tired he looked. The kind that settled deep in your bones. He'd just finished a night shift, yet the first thing he did after was come and see her.
"Hey."
"Hi."
Moving aside, she let him in and he tugged her into his side for a hug and he kissed her head while shutting the door behind him.
"How was your shift?".
He shook his head. "Tell you later. Jus' let me hold you."
"Okay." It was then she heard a crinkling of plastic and looked down to see he had flowers in his other hand.
She tilted her head. "What's that?".
"Oh." He paused. "These?". Holding them up, he showed her the pretty bouquet of pink, yellow and white flowers.
She was confused. "What for?".
"No reason. Just saw them and thought of you."
"Wait... they're for me?".
He raised an eyebrow. "Of course, they are. Who else, sweetheart?".
"Oh." She breathed out. "Thank you."
He smiled, amused. "Why do you look confused?".
"I don't know. Sorry, I guess I just wasn't expecting it. Thank you."
Taking the flowers from him, she brought them to the kitchen and got a vase. Jack followed behind her, a slight limp in his walk. Y/n lifted her head, taking notice of it.
"Why don't you sit down, Jack?".
He shrugged, taking a seat at the kitchen counter opposite her. "I'm fine."
She pursed her lips. He hid it well, the aches in his stump from walking around on his prosthesis all day and night. Most of the time he seemed to handle it, but when she noticed it taking a toll on him, it always made her feel awful for not seeing it sooner.
She put the flowers into the vase with some water and put it on the counter. "They're beautiful, Jack. Thank you."
His head tilted to the side. "Why do you keep doing that?".
"What?".
"Thanking me. You're my girlfriend, I'm gonna get you flowers."
She shrugged. "Well, I don't know. No one's given me flowers before."
His eyebrows shot up. "Sorry?".
"I mean, apart from friends and family for like birthdays and stuff. But... I've never gotten flowers from a partner before."
He looked utterly baffled. "You've got to be kidding me."
She shook her head. "In their defence, I never really liked flowers."
"That's not a defence! It shouldn't matter. You do like flowers because when I gave you those your eyes lit up. It's a shitty excuse."
Her expression softened, rounding the counter to stand in front of him. "Jack-".
"No, honey. I won't accept that."
"What'd you expect? You treat me better than anyone I've ever dated before."
He frowned, pulling her into him and having her stand in between his thighs.
"Hey." Her voice gentled, finger tracing his stubbly jawline. "It's okay."
Despite himself, he turned his head to kiss the inside of her wrist. "You deserve better."
Leaning closer to him, her hands rested on his thighs loosely. "It's only flowers, Jack. It's not a big deal."
His expression softened like her words devastated him. "You don't get it, do you?".
"What?".
"It's not about the flowers. It's more than that."
Her head tilted slightly, fingers carding through the material of his scrubs that he was still wearing.
"I'm not sure I understand."
He frowned. "Sweetheart, this is kinda basic stuff. You're telling me no one has done the bare minimum?".
She shrugged. "Can I be honest?".
"Yeah."
"Sometimes it's overwhelming when you take care of me. Like when you do things for me, it takes a minute to get used to."
He straightened, eyes softening as he looked at her. "Flowers are overwhelming?".
"Well... no. It's more the act of getting them for me. I guess I just don't really understand why."
"Okay." He sighed. "Let me explain something; I don't get you things with the expectation of something in return. Most of the time, when I'm buying you something I don't think about it. Not because it doesn't matter, but because you matter more to me. And it's the little things, like getting you flowers after a shift, that's one of the ways I like to show you that."
"Show me what?".
"That I care about you. I was thinking about you and that I love you."
"But I already know you do."
He chuckled. "What's the point in me saying it if I can't back it up, hm?".
She shrugged. "That makes sense."
Tugging on her wrists, he brought her closer to him and her hands came up to rest on his biceps. He just pressed his lips against her forehead.
"You're touchy this morning."
"Just missed you." He then kissed her cheek and then her jawline, under her eye, corner of her lips and everywhere on her face until she was giggling and trying to pull away.
"Jack, stop." Her attempt to stop him was futile as she only swatted at his chest lightly. But he chuckled, stopping anyway because she told him to. His hand caught hers before she could pull it away, though.
"Come on."
"Where are we going?".
"The couch. I want to cuddle."
He smiled, letting her pull him up. "Yes ma'am."
She helped him take off his prosthetic leg, then set it to the side as he made himself comfortable on the couch. He tugged her hand, making her let out a yelp as she fell on top of him, laughing.
"Jack!".
"What?". He hums innocently. She rolled her eyes playfully before settling into his side with a sigh. His arm wrapped around her as she rested her head on his chest.
"So, what do I do for you?".
"What?".
"Well, you said you do things for me to show me that you love me. But I don't think I do the same for you."
"Oh, honey. You do plenty for me."
"Yeah? Like what?".
He hums in thought. "Hm... you notice when my leg is bothering me, and learned everything you could about taking care of it so you could help me. You always try to wait up for me after shifts even when I tell you to go to sleep. You wear my t-shirts and steal my only hoodie all the time, I know it's because they smell like me. You're there with me through the nightmares and PTSD shit, which you don't have to deal with. But you do anyway. I know you love me because you show it in big ways."
"And that's not a bad thing?".
"No, it's just... different. Good different. It's nice to be loved by you, sweetheart. Those assholes who didn't get you flowers are missing out tremendously."
His words flustered her and she quietened. "Oh." She didn't even realise she did most of those things. She just did them, and suddenly it started to make sense to her.
He seemed to notice the moment it clicked for her and he smiled. "Understand now?".
"I think so." She muttered.
_
The conversation didn't stop there. It wasn't that easy. But Jack didn't mind. He'd have the same conversation with her a hundred times if that's what it took for her to understand. It was her first time in a mature relationship with someone who treated her right. He couldn't blame her too much.
Every time he offered to do something for her, and she had to question it, he just reminded her of the flowers. And it seemed to settle her, at least until the analogy stopped working for some things.
Buying her lunch, calling her on shift when he had the chance, letting her have the last of any food they shared, bookmarking the page of the book she was reading after falling asleep, going along with whatever random hobby she picked up at 3am when she couldn't sleep. Those were all things she thought were equivalent to the flowers.
But him giving her his old dog tags was not the same thing, she was sure.
He had something in his closed hand, joining her on the couch where he had told her to wait.
"What's that?".
"Hold out your hand."
She pursed her lips, but did as told and he put something metal and cool in her palm, closing her fingers around the object. It felt like a chain that you'd wear around your neck.
When she opened her hand, the cold metal chain had two silver tags attached to it. Both engraved with his first and last name, service number and blood type.
Confused, she looked back at him. "These are your dog tags."
"Mhm." He hums. "I want you to have them."
The words left his lips and they made her heart freeze. "W-What?".
He smiled slightly. "You can have them. Wear it around your neck or keep it in your pocket, whatever you want. But... they're yours now."
"Jack, I can't take these."
"Sure you can."
"No. I... I can't. I'll lose them, or something."
He shrugged. "I don't care if you do. But I wanted to give you something a little more permanent than flowers."
He nodded at the flowers that were on the counter, already wilting after he'd just bought them a few days ago.
She sighed. "I probably should've warned you that I don't know how to look after flowers."
He chuckled, bringing her closer to him so he could kiss her head. "I noticed. Why do you think new ones keep appearing every couple of days?".
She shrugged. "Just thought I was that good at it."
He smiled in amusement, shaking his head as she giggled at herself.
"So, if flowers mean you love me, what do these mean?".
"Honey, what do you think they mean?".
She hums, letting the chain run through her fingers.
"I don't know. You think I'm pretty cool?".
"Sure." He mumbled. "Yeah, that's exactly it."
She smiled, knowing he was teasing. "Just tell me, Jack."
"It means I'm yours." He leaned back into the couch, bringing her with him and letting her lean against him. "I know that you worry about me with the whole SWAT thing. And you miss me when I'm working nights at the e.d. So... it's a reminder that I'll come back to you."
She blinked. "This is not the same as flowers."
"No." He shook his head. "It's not."
"But I don't have anything to give to you."
His expression softened immediately. "I don't need anything from you, sweetheart."
She frowned. "What if you need to know I love you?".
"I know you love me. Trust me, I know. I don't need something to remind me of that."
"You don't?".
He nodded, nuzzling into the side of her neck. "I promise. I don't give you things expecting anything in return. Remember?".
"I know. It just feels like this time I should."
With a sigh, he looked up at her. "The only thing I'm after is this."
His finger gently prodded at her chest, making her look down with a raised eyebrow. "My boob?".
"Jesus christ." He breathed out. "Your heart, y/n."
"I know." She giggled. "I was just kidding."
He rolled his eyes. "Give me those tags back."
"No, they're mine now."
His hazel eyes shone with utter adoration as he looked up at her, sure now more than ever that he loved her with everything he had.
"Yeah, they are." He sighed.
_
This was exactly why she knew he shouldn't have given them to her. She'd had the chain around her neck for a little over three months. And now her heart was in her throat because she had basically torn her whole apartment apart. She'd looked everywhere. The couch cushions were on the floor, drawers were left fully open, her kitchen and bedroom were an absolute wreck. It looked like a tornado had passed through.
She'd misplaced Jack's tags and now she couldn't find them. Her brain was working overtime, trying to retrace her steps and think where she had them last. Her palms were sweaty, hands trembling with nerves. Her breathing had even started to pick up, not that she noticed.
By the time Jack came over, she was sitting on the floor in the middle of it all, attempting to hold back sobs. She heard the door click open and her body froze.
"Y/n? Hey, honey. I-".
He came into her apartment, slowing to a stop, voice trailing off as he took in the sight before him.
"What the hell happened in here?".
Her eyes caught sight of the flower bouquet in his left hand, wrapped in light pink tissue paper. And she started sobbing.
Jack, startled by her outburst, put the flowers down and quickly made his way over to her through the obstacle course that was her living room and knelt in front of her.
"Hey, hey. What's the matter, sweet girl? What happened?".
"I'm sorry! I... I looked e-everywhere and I don't know where they are. I'm sorry, Jack. I'm so sorry."
She spoke through gasps that were making her breathing worse.
"Okay, okay." His voice softened. "Shh, let's take some breaths. Yeah?".
"I... I can't."
"You can. Look at me, just watch me."
He took an exaggerated breath, encouraging her to do the same. "In."
He held it for a few seconds, then breathed out. "Out."
"Come on, sweetheart. I need you to try for me."
Her hands trembled, finding his forearms as she tried to catch her breath. It was hard with the lump in her throat and the hot tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Here we go. Try again." His voice gentled, soothing enough for her to hold on to.
He repeated the steps, getting her to do it with him. Hers came out shaky and uneven, but he accepted it.
"That's it, good job. Just like that. You're okay."
They did it over and over again, him coaching her through it until she could breathe easier. When she finally settled enough, he gave her a soft smile and wiped her tears with his thumbs.
"Hi."
"Hi." Her voice cracked.
"What happened, baby? Talk to me."
She sniffled. "I lost them."
"Lost what?".
"I don't know where they are. I'm so sorry."
"Shh, you're okay. What have you lost, honey?".
"Your tags. I can't find them anywhere." She hiccuped.
His expression softened. "Oh... y/n, come here, sweetheart."
Pulling her into his arms, he held her against his chest as she cried a little more. "Please don't be mad."
"Hey, hey. It's okay. I'm not... it's alright."
"Why not?".
"Shit, I'm so sorry, honey."
She frowned. "What?".
He looked fully guilty as he reached into his pocket and brought out something silver and metal to show her.
"It's my fault. I should've told you I was taking them to get cleaned. I didn't think it would take long."
The chain he held in his hand had two tags attached to it, now more shiny and cleaner than the last time she saw it.
Her jaw dropped. "You had it?".
"Yes." He winced. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to panic you."
She sighed in relief, taking the chain after he gave it back to her. "Thank god. I thought I was gonna have to start selling body parts to get you new tags."
He chuckled softly, pulling her closer to him and kissing her head. "No, no. It's okay, I promise."
His hands came up to her cheeks, gently making her look at him. "Hey, please don't ever worry about losing them. I never want you to be that afraid to tell me anything, okay? I can always get new tags, even if you did lose them."
She sighed, looking around at her bomb site of an apartment. "I guess I did go a little overboard."
He smiled softly. "Want me to help you clean up?".
"Yes please." She mumbled quietly, making him give her one last squeeze before attempting to get up.
"Oh, honey?".
"Yeah?".
"Next time you have a panic attack, try not to make me get on my knees." He groaned, making her giggle as she watched him use his good leg to hoist himself up. He glared at her playfully before offering a hand to help her up.
Before they started to put her apartment back together, he grabbed the flowers he had brought for her and gave them to her.
"These are for you."
She smiled slightly, almost sheepishly. "I keep killing them, Jack. When are you going to stop getting me flowers?".
He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. "I'll give you one guess."
im thinking of jack waking reader up with sex?? or like taking care of reader when they start getting subby during rough sex?? 🗣️
also your writing is actually insane thank you for your service 🫡🫡
omg yes to both. idk how this got so filthy im sorry
perv!bf!jack abbot x fem!reader.
18+ MDNI! | content warnings: daddy kink, use of little one and eventually dada, DUBCON, somno (? he wakes reader up by groping them), a little name calling and a little praise, jack gets mean and rough for a second, a singular spank
but jack would wake you up with sex that pervy old man :( gets home from his night shift at like 8am and you're still tucked in his sheets all warm and cozy. the perfect prize at the end of a hard shift.
before he can stop himself, one of his hands is sliding under the hem of your shirt to grip at bare skin.
"little one," he murmurs gruffly into your ear. "wake up for me."
"mmmn— jack?" you stir with a whine.
"yeah, 's just me, baby. daddy's home." he kisses and gropes you for a while, stealing your heat while you whine and gasp under him: "wanna take care a'you. 'm all cold, warm me up, pretty one."
you're immediately fussy and grumpy at being woken up just to be pawed at. "nooo," you grumble.
he hums with amusement at that whining, the way you sound all groggy and bitchy and adorable. he knows you can get cranky when he wakes you up so early, but he can't resist the urge to rile you up right now. he squeezes the bare skin of your side, the one that he knows is a little ticklish. "come on, princess, wake up for daddy."
"whyyy?" you whine, burying your face in his neck as your legs kick in frustration.
"'cause daddy said so," he rumbles against your ear before nipping gently at the shell of it with his teeth. "he wants your sweet pussy right now."
"why now?" you whine again, petulant and overtired as you writhe in his arms.
"because i've been waiting for this all night," he seethes, his patience with your protests growing thin. his hand drags up to pinch at the soft curve of your ass through the fabric of your panties before adding gruffly: "... and 'cause i know my little one likes it when her daddy tells her what to do."
and it's true. you can't really deny that at all, that you're loving this as much as he is. "... okay," you acquiesce limply.
"good girl," jack practically growls, triumphant and impatient, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties and yanking them down your thighs. "that wasn't so hard now, was it? bein' all bitchy for no reason, lemme show you what i want." his palm smacks against your bare ass once, making you yelp, before sliding between your thighs with a deep groan.
"goddamn," he mutters as his thumb drags between your dripping folds, the wet squelch louder somehow in the dim room. "why the fuck were you bein' such a brat n puttin' up a fight? you're beggin' for me."
"daddy," you whine, overstimulated already.
"yeah?" jack rasps, watching your face closely as he finds your clit with his thumb, rubbing slow circles over that sweet little spot. "you like it when daddy touches you like this? when i tease my angel 'til she's all messy and needy?"
you huff, kicking against the mattress in indignation. "i'm tired!"
your little kicks just make his grip on you tighten. "yeah, you're tired," he agrees as the edge in his voice darkens into a hypnotic command. "but you're gonna be a good girl and make daddy feel good right now. okay, baby?"
you huff again irritably, feeling a protest form in your throat. jack knows that sound, the way your shoulders tense as you get frustrated, the way your pretty little mouth starts to pout out into a sulk. his hand tightens on your hip.
"hey," he snaps, his tone suddenly rougher, more authoritative. "i asked you a question, little one. you gonna be a good girl for daddy and let him have that sweet pussy?"
"...yeah," you mumble back reluctantly, and that's enough for him. his thumb immediately drags down your slit and nudges at your fluttering cunt, just teasing, before sliding back up to your throbbing clit.
"there's my girl," he mutters as he feels just how wet and sensitive you are for him. his other hand grips your chin to tilt your face up toward his. his gaze is dark, prideful. "now keep them pretty eyes on daddy while i make 'em leak."
jack loves the way you look at him with those wide eyes, all needy and submissive and obedient. he's obsessed with you. your hips begin to rock into his touch, and when you let out those soft, sleepy, shy moans of not daddy, but dada, he grins.
"you gonna make a mess for dada?" he coos, his thumb still circling your achy clit as his eyes burn into yours. he is so madly in love. he leans in close, his lips so close to yours that his breath brushes against your mouth as he speaks. "you gonna make dada proud, little one?"
your whole body shivers. he's making you feel so good that all you're capable of replying is a whimpered "mmmn..."
he lets out a huff of a breath that's almost a laugh as his thumb speeds up, mercifully bringing you closer to your orgasm.
"use your words, baby," he murmurs, the roughness gone from his voice, replaced by something more tender as your body start to shake. "tell dada if you're gonna make him proud."
"... m make you proud," you manage out through a soft gasp as he pushes you over that sweet edge and pleasure makes your vision white out.
warnings - smut (some plot), smoking, p in v, cowgirl, slight submissive rafe, swearing, kissing, hickeys, mentions fighting/blood
You were walking along the shore with Sarah and Kie. Rafe had dropped you off a few hours ago and is about to pick you up soon. You checked the time 9:30pm, Rafe should be here in 20 minutes. John B, Pope, and JJ were smoking in the van, off the beach, which is where you guys were headed.
“How’s Rafe been treating you?” Sarah asked while she picked up random seashells. “Yeah, is he as bad as we told you he was.” Kie added. You laughed at little at Kie’s comment. “No he’s not a raging psychopath who hates everything, he actually listens to everything I say or ask,” You answered, “he even watched The Notebook with me.”
“What the fuck, me and Wheezie have been begging Rafe to watch movies with us for years, and he actually watched The Notebook.” Sarah said in disbelief. You just shrugged, unsure what to say about your boyfriend’s behavior. Kie was stood there surprised.
“So Rafe can be normal.” Kie says bluntly. “Yeah for his girlfriendd.” Sarah starts teasing. “Don’t get me started on you and John B.” You said. You all started laughing together and teasing eachother. As you guys got closer to the van, Kie heard something in the distance.
“Guys stop.” Kie abruptly says while you and Sarah are playing fighting. You both look at her confused and pull alway from each other. As you guys keep walking, you hear yelling. Sarah starts running in which you and Kie follow behind her. You all see Rafe and JJ arguing, a little too loudly.
It was not out of the ordinary to see Rafe and JJ argue, they hate eachother and will continue to do so for however long they keep it up. You run towards Rafe while Kie goes to hold back JJ.
“What is this even about?” Sarah frantically asked John B. “JJ’s drunk okay, he started yelling at Rafe calling him a daddy’s boy and shit,” John B says, “then he started bringing up [your name] and their relationship which got Rafe pissed.”
Sarah groans out loud, annoyed between her brothers yelling and JJ’s drunk voice. “Rafe stop, just take me home.” You whisper to him. You see in his face that he’s fighting everything in him to not hit JJ. You grab his hands and turn him away from JJ and towards you.
Not even your pretty face can take away JJ’s loud yelling from Rafe’s head. “I’m gonna beat the shit out of him.” Rafe says while gripping your waist. You can feel his frustration from the way he’s holding onto you, like only you can keep him stable. “You know you can’t fight him when he’s drunk.” You say
Rafe had promised you a while ago that he wouldn’t fight your friends if they were under the influence. You accepted what you could get, knowing the past history. In the back Kie is yelling at JJ to calm down. “JJ just drink some water please.” She begs.
“You’re right, let’s go home.” Rafe says frustrated as he grabs your hand. As you two are walking away JJ yells, “That’s right, take your girl home to your daddy’s house powerfuff girl.” Rafe stops walking, you can feel his grip tighten. “Rafe, seriously be mature about this.” You say getting annoyed, but he stays still.
“Rafe don’t do it please, for me.” You say. As you feel him relaxing all you two can hear is, “C’mon bubbles fight me like the man your dad brags about.” JJ shouts. That took Rafe straight away from you and striding towards JJ. You turn around and walk away, fighting JJ was more important than your promise.
You can hear everyone’s yelling in the back, along with the punches they were throwing at eachother. You hated Rafes fighting and he knew that, especially with your friends. You hate how everything you know about him changes back to his old ways.
You reach the car and realize he has the keys. “Fuck.” you whispered. You leaned back onto his car and took out a joint from your bag. You smoked whenever you were stressed, which in this moment you were. Seeing Rafe’s face after a fight is so annoying, what he does is wrong but he always looks so good no matter how fucked up his face gets.
But you had to remind yourself this time was different, this time he broke a promise he made to you. As you finish off the joint, you can hear fast footsteps coming your way. Rafe, he has a few marks and blood around his face and neck. He looks more peaceful now, but now even more upset in himself than he was with JJ. He realizes the car is locked and unlocks it.
Rafe goes to open the door for you as usual but you beat him to it and shut the door before he can try to mumble some sort of sweet apology. He stands out the car for a while after that, balling his fist and putting them over his eyes. He finally lets out a deep breath and heads towards the drivers seat.
He gets in and starts the car, looking over at you but you’re too busy looking at the window. He sighs and starts driving. The car ride is very silent, no music, no conversation, just Rafe’s loud breathing. His frustration keeps growing as the silent treatment continues on and you not even batting an eye towards him.
Soon enough you reach Rafe’s house and he drives into the quiet garage. Rafe parks the car and you get out before he does. This time you had the keys that Rafe had given you months ago and opened the door. His steps follow quickly behind you. “Princess, please talk to me.” He asks softly.
You ignore his words and continue to walk towards his room. “Can you even blame me?” He blabbed on about how JJ went too far. You continue to take off your jewelry acting like you were deaf. As you get up to go to the restroom, Rafe gets infront of you blocking your way.
You try to move out the way but he blocks you. He slowly grabs your waist with his bruised knuckles and puts his head into your neck, “Please say something.” He whispers. “I’ll do anything, just look at me.” He begs into your neck. You sigh, “You broke your promise.” You whispered.
You feel him nod his head, “I know, i’ll do anything to make it up to you.” He says moving his head out your neck and pulling your face gently to look at him. You can see his bruises forming, but the hurt his eyes is winning against your anger.
“You’re never gonna break a promise again.” You ask. “I will never disappoint you like that ever again.” He says looking into your eyes. You slowly start giving in but still hesitant. He brings his face closer to your neck, “Please don’t hate me.” He whispered. “I don’t hate you, but you make it really easy to be mad at you sometimes.” You admit.
“How can I be forgiven.” He asks. You think for a moment, deciding to toy with Rafe since he upset you. You gently move him away from you, taking his hand and sitting on the bed. “Give me a reason to forgive you.” You say, looking up at him. He let out a soft, “Fuck.” Still holding onto your hand, he sinks onto his knees, spreading your thighs apart.
He starts using both his hands to unbutton your pants and slide them off, along with your underwear. “You get mad when I fight but this is how wet you are.” He says smugly. “And yet you’re still not giving me a reason to forgive you.” You say annoyed, pulling his head towards your pussy.
All of a sudden his mouth is your clit, tounge licking up and down. His movements are sloppy and desperate like he’s begging you with his mouth. You let out soft moans, trying to wrap your legs around his head but his arms are still holding them apart. “Please Rafe.” You softly beg. He looks up at you, “What do you need princess, tell me.” He says while leaving soft kisses in between your legs.
You wanted to try something different, something that Rafe usually wouldn’t let happen. But since he’s on his knees begging for your forgiveness, might as well take advantage of the situation. “I want to be on top.” You tell him. He stops with the kisses and takes a deep breath. He sighs and lays his head against your stomach.
You slowly caress his head, till he brings his hands and takes off your shirt. “You’re so beautiful.” He tells you. You smile shyly and tug at his shirt. He stands up and pulls his shirt off his head. Next his shoes and he pulls his pants off, now he’s just left in his boxers. He holds eye contact with you and he pulls them down, you can’t help but let your eyes drift down Rafes body.
His dick is painfully hard and swollen from just you. He walks over and settles himself on his bed. He grabs your hands and guides you to sit on top of him. You let out a shaky breath and you angle yourself right above Rafe.
His bruised hands are now tight on your hips, trying to pull you down. “No Rafe it’s not gonna be that easy,” You say smiling, “ask me nicely.” He lets out a frustrated huff. You know it must be killing his ego to beg for you, so you start slowly moving your wetness on his tip.
You lay your hands on his chest and start teasing his tip by putting it in, then taking it out. He tries to move his hips up but you hold don’t let him. He lets out a defeated noise, “Please, please fuck me beautiful.” He starts begging. But you just keep teasing his tip, making it very sensitive. He starts breathing heavier, “Fuck, i’m sorry I won’t ever do that shit again, please baby you know I love you more than anything else, let me help you feel good.” He starts pleading to you.
“Your so sweet Rafe.” You tell him as you sink down, taking it all. Both of you gasp, filled with pleasure. You slowly start moving your hips back and forth on his dick, grabbing his shoulders to help ground you more. “Just like that, fuck.” Rafe says, looking at your face twisting in pleasure. “You feel so good Rafe.” You moan out, picking up the pace.
“You’re so good to me Rafey.” You tell him. He moans out at the nickname that you have for him. Your movements are slowing down as your legs get weaker. “Let me help you finish.” Rafe says while grabbing your hips. You give in, too filled with pleasure to deny Rafe.
You let your chest meet his and put your face into his neck, leaving small kisses and hickies. He moves up, sitting with you on top of him and bouncing you up and down. You let out moans in his ear, holding onto his shoulders. “Faster Rafe.” You whisper into his ear. He wraps his arms around your waist and starts fucking you faster. He lets out deep groans and he feels himself hit your sweet spot.
You feel yourself getting closer, moaning out Rafe’s name. Your head moves backwards in pleasure, causing Rafe to start sucking on your neck and leaving sloppy kisses. You start clenching tighter onto Rafe, “Fuck, cum with me baby.” He moans into your ear. You dig your nails into his shoulders as his moves get sloppier.
You let out a cry, letting yourself go as Rafe whimpers and releases himself into you. You both catch your breath as Rafe holds you in his arms. “Am I forgiven now princess?” Rafe ask’s softly. “Yes Rafe, I think you learned your lesson.” You say with a soft smile.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.” He says. “You too, i’m still gonna clean your face and knuckles.” You say leaving a small kiss on his lips. “Anything for you.” He says grabbing the back of your head and moving your lips towards his, finally kissing you after being forgiven. He picks you and starts a bath for the both of you.
the thickness of andrew’s cock stretched you out so much that you felt as if you were about to be torn in half. its length reached so deep that you were convinced he was inside your chest, and the fact that you were able to see its outline on your lower belly convinced your mind, drunk with pleasure, even more that it was true.
his broad, muscular arms were wrapped around your body, and his massive frame was so close that there wasn’t even a millimeter of space between you, making you believe that you could feel pope’s heartbeat through your sweaty skin.
your smaller hands trailed across his freckled back, leaving behind angry red marks that only aroused him even more, thrusting deeper and harder into you, turning your moans into loud gasps, while the shameless sound of your pussy filled both your ears, which made wet and squelching noises caused by the amount of your juices flowing down your buttocks mixed with andrew’s pearly white cum, staining both your body and the sheets beneath you.
when his lips found their way to the crook of your neck, licking and kissing your damp skin, you purred like a cat, trying to arch your body against the electrifying pleasure coursing down your spine, but you couldn’t—pope’s heavy body held you in place, not allowing you any movement, and you were simply too small and weak to offer any meaningful resistance that the man on top of you would even partially feel, leaving you to moan like a porn star as you felt like your flesh was being eaten alive and reshaped from the inside at the same time.
your older boyfriend jack teaches you how to suck him off...
you could feel your jaw getting wet from the saliva that was lazily trickling down your chin, and slowly coating your fingers that were wrapped around the thick shaft of jack’s cock. your tongue massaged his tip, while your tear-filled, doe eyes watched his reactions, unknowingly forcing jack to physically restrain himself from thrusting his hips upward, repeating to himself like a mantra that this was your first time, and that he had to do everything he could not to scare you away.
but how could he have resisted when you tested him so much?
your face was the very image of sin—sin wrapped in sweet innocence, which you radiated from head to toe, giving him the impression that what he was letting you do was wrong, immoral. yet how could he say no to you when you were so eager to learn, so eager to please him?
his hand found its place on your flushed cheek. his thumb caressed your soft skin, giving you a sense of praise, when in reality it was a sick urge to feel his cock filling your sweet mouth.
“take your time, okay?” he hoarsely whispered, his voice vibrating through your body, leaving your nerves on edge and trembling “you’re doing so good for me, sweetheart. daddy’s proud of you.”
that singular compliment had an embarrassingly quick effect on you; your thighs clenched, a quiet, muffled moan escaped your throat, and your gaze filled with a need that was impossible to miss.
although you were still unsure of what you were doing, you took him deeper into your mouth, choking almost immediately, but you stubbornly kept going, even as your jaw grew sore and your eyes began to water. yet you didn’t stop, wanting—no, needing—to hear once more how good you were for jack.
and he knew just how hard you were pushing yourself, how desperately you were trying to please him, and that’s why the only thing that came out of his mouth were groans of pleasure, which only served to fuel a fire that was already burning inside you.
after all, he was your teacher—how could he not appreciate your effort?
