dex the type of bf to watch you tweeze your eyebrows and ask you to do it on him, then immediately regret it. somehow it hurts more than getting shot in the stomach. but he's trying to put on a brave face for you, holding in tears as you pluck his hairs one by one
c: age gap, mention of age difference, insecurities about age difference
Summary: After a long wait, Jack finally gets your attention while youre doing skincare—but a small comment from you shifts the mood in an unexpected way.
(Yes! Its inspired by the Quinn audio in a sense :3)
Jack had been patient for exactly forty-three minutes.
He knew because he’d checked the clock three separate times, then deliberately stopped checking so he wouldn’t seem like a grumpy old man—even though, tonight, he was starting to feel like one.
From the bedroom, he could hear the faint clinks of bottles and drawers opening and closing in the bathroom. The soft hum of your voice as you muttered to yourself. Water running. More bottles.
“Baby,” he called, not loud enough to sound annoyed—just enough to remind you he existed. “You fall in there or start a pharmacy?”
“Almost done!” you called back.
He exhaled through his nose, dragging a hand over his face. He was stretched out on the bed, one arm behind his head, the other tapping idly against his stomach. Waiting. Thinking.
Too much thinking.
When you finally stepped out, the scent of your cleanser and something floral followed you. Your hair was pushed back with a headband, your face still slightly dewy, glowing in that way he didn’t have words for but definitely appreciated.
“There you are,” he said, sitting up a little. “Was starting to think I’d been replaced by serums.”
You rolled your eyes, walking over. “It’s called maintenance.”
“An hour of maintenance?” he raised a brow.
“It matters,” you said, climbing onto the bed. “I don’t want to be all wrinkly and gross by the time I’m 50.”
The second it left your mouth, you felt it.
The shift.
Jack didn’t say anything at first, but something in his posture tightened—just slightly. His gaze dropped for a second, jaw setting in a way you recognized immediately.
Oh.
Oh, shit.
“Jack—” you started.
“Wrinkly and gross, huh?” he said, not sharp, but not light either. His voice had that edge—quiet, controlled.
“That’s not what I meant—”
He let out a small huff, looking away as he rubbed at his jaw, fingers brushing over the very lines you hadn’t meant to point out. “No, I get it.”
“Jack.”
“You don’t gotta walk it back,” he added, still not looking at you. “I know what I look like.”
That stung more than if he’d snapped.
You shifted closer, frowning. “Hey. That’s not—”
He shook his head slightly, a humorless half-smile tugging at his mouth. “Grey hair, lines, whole package. Comes with the territory.”
There was something quieter under it. Not anger.
Insecurity.
That did it.
“Jack,” you said more firmly, reaching for him. “Look at me.”
He hesitated, then did.
And you softened instantly.
“It’s different,” you said.
That made his brows pull together. “Different how?”
“You—” you shook your head, searching for the right words, a little flustered now. “You look hot with the wrinkles and the salt and pepper hair. It’s not the same thing.”
There was a pause.
Then something in his expression shifted—sharp, interested.
“Say that again.”
You blinked. “What?”
Before you could react, his hand caught your wrist, and with an easy pull, he guided you forward—right into his lap.
“Jack—!” you laughed, startled, your hands landing on his shoulders for balance.
“Go on,” he murmured, one arm wrapping around your waist to keep you there. “It’s different, huh?”
Your cheeks warmed. “I already said it.”
“Nah,” he said, leaning in slightly, voice dropping. “You rushed it.”
You tried to look away, but his hand came up, fingers hooking lightly under your chin to turn your face back toward him.
“Say it again,” he said, softer now—but there was a teasing glint in his eyes.
You huffed, but there was a smile tugging at your lips now. “You’re so annoying.”
“And you take an hour to wash your face,” he shot back. “We all got flaws. Now—say it.”
You rolled your eyes, but you gave in.
“It’s different,” you repeated, quieter this time. “You look hot with the wrinkles… and the whole salt-and-pepper thing.”
His grip on your waist tightened just slightly.
“Yeah?” he said, studying your face like he was trying to decide if you meant it.
“Yeah,” you said, more certain now. “Like… actually hot. Not just saying that.”
He let out a slow breath through his nose, something easing in his expression.
“Careful,” he murmured. “You keep talking like that, I might start believing you.”
You smiled, brushing your fingers lightly through the hair at his temple—the very strands he’d been self-conscious about. “You should.”
His eyes flickered, then he caught your hand, pressing a brief kiss to your knuckles before pulling you a little closer.
“Took you long enough to get in here,” he added, voice back to its usual low warmth.
You laughed softly. “You were the one sulking.”
“I wasn’t sulking.”
“You were absolutely sulking.”
He smirked. “Maybe a little.”
You shifted comfortably against him, arms settling around his shoulders. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”
“Mm,” he hummed. “Still got you sitting in my lap, though.”
You snorted. “That’s not a win, that’s me forgiving you.”
“Sure it is,” he said, leaning in just enough that his forehead brushed yours. “Now get comfortable. I’ve been waiting all night.”
dex feeling a little insecure about the scar on his face. so you suck and bite on his neck, creating much bigger, much more distracting marks on his neck
you’ve been at it for hours, started with jack inviting you over since your boyfriend is on a boy’s trip hours away, ending with him pulling your panties to the side to fuck you on his fingers in the lounge chairs outside. <3
you’ve been in the room now for a bit, currently riding his thick cock in reverse, clothes scattered on the floor near the bed. jack’s teasing your neck with his mouth, leaving open mouthed kisses and bites, telling you how fucking good you’re taking him. “i love you like this, baby. love watching this fucking ass move as you take my cock.” he slaps your hip for emphasis.
you’re a fucked out mess. one hand wrapped around his neck behind you, the other snaked down in front of your body, circling your clit at the pace you love. jack’s got both hands kneading your tits, causing you to arch and moan—crying out.
neither of you hear the front door open, or the little, “dad? i’m home, early!” come from the living room. feeling eyes on you, you open yours, gasping a little as your boyfriend stands in the doorway of his dad’s room, watching you take his dad’s cock so well.
jack’s too lost in you, eyes closed, inhaling your scent as he brings one of his hands up to wrap around your neck. “that feel good, baby? you like when i do this?”
you can’t help but moan, but that’s not what you were gasping about. looking at your boyfriend, who’s eyes are bulging out of his head, you decide to toy with him. “yes, daddy. i love it when you fuck me like this.”
your boyfriend raises his voice at the door, “oh my god.” that gets jack’s attention. his first instinct is to hold you tighter, murmuring, “i know you do, baby. daddy knows.” he looks at his son in the doorway, gritting harshly, “get. out.”
he listens, backing away slowly before running out, “what the fuck.” you’ve never cum harder in your life. <3
thank u guys for 100 followers and counting omg... lots more filth to come i promise <3
older bf!jack abbot x controversially young gf!reader.
content warnings: daddy kink, age difference, humiliation kinda?
you get out of the shower and pad back into your room. jack's sitting up against the headboard, prosthetic off and leaning against the bedside table. his eyes are alight with indignation.
"i saw your phone," he says, crossing his arms over his chest.
you stare back at him, completely nonplussed. no shit he saw your phone, it's laying right next to him. "...okay?"
he doesn't explain just yet, just huffs and points a thick finger at it. "yeah. i texted you an article... and your phone lit up."
you're now more confused than you've been in your whole life. "... that is what you'd expect a phone to do, jack??—"
"—why is my contact name 'megadilf' in your phone?"
your eyes widen and your mouth gapes open just a little. he was never meant to find out. you'd saved it as that after a drunken night out with your friends: you'd been drooling over his big freckled arms and the sun-damaged skin on his neck and how he used full stops at the end of his messages. you kept it that way because you thought it was funny (and also because it was true).
jack's not really mad, in fact, he's far from it. he knows you're into the fact that he's a silver fox, and he loves it: it makes him feel good, decades younger, attractive. but he can see that you're flustered, so he plays into it.
"is that how you see me?" he asks, his sharp eyes roaming over your form as droplets of water make their way down your skin. "i'm just an old man to you? a dusty old bastard?"
you open your mouth to protest, no, it was just a joke, but he cuts you off: "drop your towel and come give your dusty old daddy a kiss."
and his voice is so firm and gravelly, how could you argue with him? you crawl into his arms, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. he turns it hungry, of course. all that dilf talk makes him feel virile.
then he's pounding your brains out, making you confess: "say it for me, baby. say it— say you love old man cock. you love this old man cock, don't you? love my daddy parts even though they're tired? still work good enough to turn your brain off, hmm?" while your eyes roll back into your skull.
"i'm big, thick, and i can still get hard, can't i? that not good enough for you?" and yeah, he fucking can. his dick bullies into your cunt so forcefully that it would probably hurt if you weren't so ridiculously soaked with slick. "that's right, moan for me. let daddy know he's still got it. this dilf can still turn you into a fuckin' fountain, right?"
after he's tired you out, he pulls you close, resting his forehead against yours. "didn't mean it in a bad way," you murmur plaintively into the space between you. "i love being your controversially young girlfriend."
and because jack abbot doesn't use social media, he thinks you invented the phrase yourself, and that you're the funniest person in the world. the whole of the next week he goes around chuckling to himself, "controversially young— fuck, baby, how do you come up with this stuff?"
Do you have any more bf’s dad jack flirty thoughts?
boyfriend’s dad jack is the fucking biggest, touchiest, nastiest flirt there is. and somehow, some way !!! it always happens under his son’s nose.
they’ll all be watching a movie, doing some bonding when you ask jack for some water when he gets up. coming back to your spot on the couch, he takes his hand and circles the back of your neck, leaning down in your ear as he hands you the glass, “here, sweetheart.”
he always comes out to do yard work when you’re laying by the pool in your bikini, tanning with your boyfriend. loves to make you squirm and squish your thighs together as you watch him, following him inside to the guest bathroom for a quickie. <3
whenever you and your boyfriend are leaving for a date, he loves to give you a twirl, whistling lowly, telling you you look oh so pretty. your boyfriend just rolls his eyes, grabs your arm to head towards the garage. thinks this dad is just a natural flirt!
𖥔 loves cooking for you. long day at work? the smell of your favourite pasta greets you when you get home, matt smiling as he greets you from behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, hands extremely distracting as he chops garlic for the sauce.
𖥔 loves pet names. sweetheart, darling, honey, pretty girl. drives you insane with them. especially when he's all condescending with it, looking down at you with that fuckass smirk.
𖥔 big physical touch guy. clinging to you any chance he can get. holds onto your arm in public instead of using his cane or his senses, just so he can relax for a bit and focus only on you. (andthenheendsuptrippingonthetiniestrock)
𖥔 obsessed with anything involving your hands in his hair. will rest his head in your lap, talking about his day, voice tapering off into quieter, softer mumbles as your touch soothes him. especially with his heightened senses, the feeling of your fingers brushing through his hair, your nails lightly scratching lines down his scalp, is absolute heaven.
when he's too wired from his vigilante duties, restless and unable to relax enough to sleep, you pull his head into your lap, or on your chest, scratching lines down his scalp and the nape of his neck, until he's a puddle, knocking out in seconds.
𖥔 old-fashioned gentleman. extravagant bouquets, holding doors for you, giving you the booth seat, holding your bags, and god forbid you try to pay for anything at all. whether it's a fancy dinner or even just a pretzel at the mall, his card's out before you can open your wallet.
𖥔 when you didn't know about his secret identity, he would hang around on your fire escape after a hard day. honing his hearing in on just you, your heartbeat, your breathing, the way you mumble to yourself whilst cooking, or the soft humming as you clean. he knows its creepy, borderline stalker-ish, but it helps calm him far too much to stop. he's selfish like that.
𖥔 wins you prizes at arcades. need to toss a ring onto a bottle for that massive plushie? suddenly, he doesn't care about pretending to be a helpless blind man. he asks the vendor to clap in the general direction, pretends to miss the first couple of times, and then lands it effortlessly, smiling at your delighted giggles and the vendor's confusion. (ikthisisntsuperrealisticbutshhhhh)
𖥔 loves showing you off. matt is a smug bastard who loves showcasing what's his. an arm constantly around your waist at bars, practically daring anyone to look in your general direction. introducing you as his partner with that smug smirk of his. bringing you to events, showing you off in the pretty silk dress he got you.
a/n: inspired by my lovely aurora @glossiercheek asking for goofy funny bf matt hcs, which somehow i forgot about and my brain filled it in as soft bf matt hcs... hope you like this too though!! and i'm obsessed with this fucker enough to write more hcs, as well as the touching reader's face idea, bc GOD i love that.
The characters' dialogue makes no sense, nothing in the scenes has anything to do with the main plot, they're giving way too much screen time to irrelevant characters who were added to please the fans instead of focusing on what really matters, and you think, as you sink deeper into the depths of this entertainment, that the industry is over and not even a miracle could save it.
It's painful to agree with that idea that came from your own head, and to relieve that pain you sigh deeply and don't take your eyes off the television screen, muttering insults under your breath for the character who continues to shamelessly steal the spotlight.
“They were doing crack in that writer's room,” you breathe to yourself, your voice a little muffled as your cheek is pressed against the plushy surface of the couch, lazily swinging your leg up and down, letting the rage consume you without fighting back because even though this season is terrible, watching it is necessary.
“Masochist,” you hear in the distance, and you raise an eyebrow as you feel a tap on your heels. You adjust yourself, turning sideways until your back is against the couch's backrest.
Dex is standing at your feet when your eyes catch on him, then your gaze lands on his hand, which is holding a huge bag of sour gummy worms. He's chewing on one, and you snort, a little bit hurt for the nickname he gave you.
“Look who's talking,” you grumble and he's grinning at your response. You adjust yourself so he can sit down. Now you lie spread, on your back with one leg resting on the backrest and your foot just over his shoulder, while the other is pressed into the floor.
Luckily, the couch is big enough for this.
Dex is also lost in the show, silently eating his gummies except for the occasional crunch of the bag as a few minutes pass with both of you staring at the screen TV, while he tosses you gummy worms that land directly in your mouth for you to eat too. You happily savor the flavors, enjoying until you just don't want anymore, and just as he's about to throw another one, you gesture for him to stop.
Dex complies, shrugging his shoulders in a motion that says "More for me," and momentarily the episode ends and the credits begin to roll.
What a waste of time, you think, the silence filling the room except for the sound of Dex's bag and your gaze flickers to his hands; he's currently rolling the bag, lowering his hands so his fingers are pressing into the bottom corners so that it ends up shaped like a bowl.
Now you realize how many worm-shaped sour gummies are in that package.
The blond man starts humming, plotting something inside his mind while his eyes are fixed on the colorful treats.
“Remember what you did on April 28th at 5 p.m.?” he begins with a purr, and you raise an eyebrow in confusion at the specifics.
You consider his question, trying to figure out what he's getting at. “Not really,” you reply. “Should I remember?” you add, looking at him expectantly, and he turns his face to meet yours for the first time and you can't decipher what you see in his eyes.
“Should you?”
He simply can't answer your question with another question, but you can't complain about the absurdity because he is moving. His hand gently closes around your ankle and places it in his lap. You swallow, unable to understand why he's still looking at you like that.
Damned be your imagination because thanks to it you have a vague idea of where this is going, but you still can't quite grasp the role of the gummy worms in this peculiar scenario. He continues to look at you with that penetrating, almost morbid smile etched on his thin lips that takes your breath away and makes your heart race, and you exhale loudly, gathering your courage to say what's in response to the way he's staring at you.
Balancing the bag of gummy worms in his hand, he begins to crawl on top of you, making you gasp in surprise as his weight settles comfortably in your lap, his thighs resting on either side of you in a prison and the sinister aspect of the situation isn't the position he's putting you in, but the fact that he looks like an overgrown feline in attack mode.
You're so ready to make a brief drama that both of you will not care about tomorrow.
“Look,” you begin, placing your hands on his thighs. “You're hot, you're a cool guy,” you say affectionately, tracing patterns on his left thigh with your index as you continue, very full of yourself to make it easier. “But this is never gonna work, dude. You're cute—in your own way—really, and these—” you add, patting his beefy thighs fondly while you let out a nervously giggle, “are huge,” you huff, putting an end to your words.
He stares at you, smiling the whole time while you... reject him? Of all the people you've imagined being rejected, you never thought Dex could take it so calmly. Maybe he misinterpreted it, and you need to refine the way you express yourself.
“But it still won't work because I deserve better, no offense,” another pat on his clothed thigh. “You’ll find someone worse than me who will be able to handle your love,” you add with authentic kindness, entirely proud of yourself, but Dex shakes his head.
And starts whistling.
If you were confused before and distorted the situation, well, now it’s much worse. His hand goes to the bag of gummies, grabbing a handful and looking back at you.
“Say ahhh,” he says playfully with a tone that is very close to mocking and you frown at the unfamiliar response.
“What?”
“April 28th, five in the afternoon,” he repeats, lowering his hand with the handful of colorful worms, and you open your mouth anyway, letting him put the delicious little things in your mouth as you start chewing, choking slightly on the citric taste.
His hand returns to the bag while you're still chewing, your mouth a little dry from the amount. You chew with difficulty, bringing your hand to your mouth to try and get some out, but Dex squeezes you with his thighs, stealing a puff of breath from you, and you start to panic when you finally manage to swallow.
“Dex—”
“April 28th, at five in the afternoon,” he says once more, in a dangerous whisper, and you don't really like this anymore.
“Water—I'm thirsty, move,” you start and tragically, Dex doesn't answer, instead, he's grabbing another handful of gummies, chuckling to himself softly.
“Five in the afternoon, April 28th,” Dex repeats and now you shift beneath him, your hands moving uselessly without getting anywhere, then finally they clench his fist dusted with sugar mixed with sour powder, trying to get it away from your face as he brings the bruised gummies to your mouth again.
“What the fuck are you talking about? move,” you command, already annoyed as he's roughly bringing his fist to your mouth and you close your eyes, your lips tight so he can’t put the worms in, and he makes a noise that doesn't sound good at all.
Seconds of struggle pass by and Dex makes that low, irritated sound again when you keep your mouth shut, your lips pressed together while he pushes his sugar-coated knuckles insistently against them. “At five in the afternoon, do you remember?,” he mutters.
You try turning your head away. “I literally don’t know what you’re—you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes. You. Do.” Every word is punctuated by another shove of gummy worms against your mouth until sour powder is smearing across your cheeks and your patience finally snaps.
“Dex!”
“Hmm?”
“Stop assaulting me with fucking candy!”
“Then acknowledge what you did.”
“What did I do?!”
Dex stares at you for a long moment like he genuinely cannot comprehend the question, and his pupils look huge, so offended. Then he abruptly moves to sit on your waist stealing your breath and he points toward the kitchen with terrifying seriousness and then suddenly his hand is on your face again, fingers digging into your cheeks hard enough to force your mouth open a little before he shoves another gummy worm between your lips.
You choke immediately. “Dex—”
“Chew.” His thumb presses against your tongue for half a second to make sure you can’t spit it out and your eyes widen instantly, a muffled noise escaping you while he watches with horrifying focus until your jaw finally moves. “There,” he mutters. “Maybe repetition will help your memory.” he mumbles, taking his finger out of your mouth, and you grumble for losing the opportunity to bite him.
“Fucking sicko—” another gummy worm gets forced into your mouth before you can finish, “mmfh—”
“April twenty-eighth. Five in the afternoon.”
You shove at his sides hard this time with your hands. “Stop saying that date like someone died!” you spit between muffled breaths, feeling nauseous at the flavors inside your mouth.
“To me, something did.”
“Oh my god.”
Dex ignores you completely, grabbing another fistful from the open bag. “You came home early,” he says, voice low and sharp with recollection. “You were wearing those ugly pants.”
“What—”
“You opened the cabinet.”
“I don’t remember this!”
“You stood there for four minutes deciding what to take.”
Your face twists. “How the hell would you know that?”
he would dress you up like you're his doll, buying you cute clothes and holding it over your head later. "am i really that bad if i got you all this? c'mon baby, you're living better than most." he'd say with a fake pout as he cards his fingers through your hair.
slowly he would wrap you around his finger, telling you that you're his sweet special girl and "i wouldn't have took ya if it wasn't for good reason... im a good guy baby, promise" he'd look at you with his beautiful doe eyes. how could you resist? he was basically a lost puppy and you just needed to understand him!!
"my sweet special girl... all for me, right?" to which you'd reply with a nod as your mouth was taped over to prevent screaming :(
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