Hi, you guys can call me Kaia. 22 y/o. Biracial gurlll. I love to write and I recently reconnected with it again. This blog is just for me to have fun and write to my hearts content. If you enjoy anything I write, I'd love if you let me know♡
Fandoms i'm in:
♡ Stranger Things ♡ Heated Rivalry ♡ Bridgerton ♡ Dispatch ♡ Jujutsu Kiasen ♡ Outerbanks ♡ Love & Deepspace ♡ Teen Wolf ♡ Superman/Smallville ♡ Harry Potter ♡ MCU ♡ Supernatural ♡ Maze Runner ♡ The Vampire Diaries ♡ Ted Lasso ♡
When I have a masterlist created, I will link here :)
Currently Writing For:
Steve Harrington & Teen Wolf
Recent Works:
New Years (Steve Harrington x gn!reader)
I Wanna Meet Where You Are (Coach!Steve x SingleMom!Reader)
Ex-Boyfriend!Steve Headcanons
The Good And The Bad (Derek Hale x Teacher!Reader)
Rules:
⤷This is an 18+ blog
⤷Please be nice, its not hard..
⤷Please do not reupload my work anywhere else
⤷If you don't like my work, move on, its not for you.
Greek myth AU | Hunter!Dex x Demigod!Reader where Artemis sends Dex, a virgin hunter, to protect you, a daughter of Zeus.
TW violence, temporary transformation, daughter of Zeus!reader, blood/injury, temple sex.
Artemis usually does not bless male hunters.
With the exception of Orion and Hippolytus, she just doesn’t. And even those exceptions kinda backfired.
See, Artemis knows men are messy. Men boast. Men ruin things. Men wander into sacred groves, see one divine deer minding its business, and immediately go, hmm, what if I made this about myself? So Artemis, as a rule, keeps her hunters female, and she makes sure these men belong to the forest more than they belong to any man or kingdom or stupid mortal expectation.
And then there’s Dex.
Dex, whose aim is so perfect even Artemis has to stop and go, okay, fine, that is art.
He’s just that naturally talented. He’s capable of putting an arrow through a crow’s eye in total darkness and looking vaguely bored about the whole thing, like accuracy isn’t a miracle when he does it. It’s just muscle memory.
So in exchange for being her personal assassin, Artemis offers him eternity.
Immortal life in exchange for service. Be her assassin, her hunter. Kill where she points. Answer when she calls.
When Artemis wants someone kept alive, she sends Dex. When she wants someone dead, she sends Dex.
And Dex was if anything, grateful for the direction. He belonged to no throne, no lover, no mortal future. He belongs to the hunt.
And, obviously, as a virgin goddess, Artemis makes him swear celibacy.
Of course she looks at this disciplined and deeply repressed man with nothing in his eyes and thinks, perfect. Finally. One male follower who will not embarrass me over desire.
HAHA.
Anyway.
And then Zeus asks Artemis for a favour.
Because of course, Zeus has another child. This time, it’s a demigod daughter, storm-born and politically inconvenient as hell. Hera hates you on principle, which is frankly exhausting because you didn't ask Zeus to be your father. You didn’t ask to become the newest target in Olympus’ worst marital dispute.
Still, Hera wants you dead.
She has been sending minor deities and monsters after you for weeks. She even sent a murderous peacock once. Sometimes, she doesn’t even have to send anyone.
Local queens started hunting you because they think handing Zeus’ daughter over to Hera might earn them divine favour. Ambitious princes, bored warriors, random glory-hungry idiots who hear “spawn of Zeus” and immediately decide killing you would make them legends.
Congratulations! You are a person, a scandal, a political threat, and a trophy kill all at once!
Worse, you don’t even know how your inherited gifts work.
You are powerful, obviously. Storms gather when you are upset. Sometimes you cry and it rains for miles. Sometimes someone grabs your and lightning strikes. Sometimes you wake up from nightmares with thunder shaking the windows and no idea what you almost destroyed in your sleep.
You aren’t trained, safe, or in control.
So Zeus needs safe passage from Athens to his temple in Olympia, where you will be under his protection properly. The journey should be simple, except everyone between Athens and Olympia has apparently decided that murdering you is their personal side quest.
All Artemis has to do is send one of her hunters to escort you there alive, so she sends Dex.
After all, she has sent him to guard women before. Queens, priestesses, nymphs, maidens, any devout follower of Artemis in enough danger.
He has guarded beautiful women. Powerful women. Terrified women. Furious women. Women who wept. Women who tried to seduce him.
Dex has never once gotten distracted.
So when Artemis sends him to you. She doesn’t see why this should be different.
Except you are difficult.
You don’t trust him. You don’t want him walking behind you. You don’t want him walking in front of you either. You flinch when he moves too suddenly, then get angry at yourself. You tell him you don't need a guard while bleeding through your bandage and shaking so badly the clouds above you turn purple.
Dex only looks at your arm and says, “You need stitches.”
You hate him a little.
You hate that heat calm when everything in you is loud. You hate that he doesn’t seem impressed by your father or afraid of Hera or startled by the lightning that crawls over your fingers when you are scared. You hate that he looks at you and sees danger, yes, but not in the way everyone else does.
Everyone else looks at you like you are dangerous to them. Dex looks at you like danger has been done to you.
At first, you think he is only good at killing.
Which, to be fair, he is very good at killing.
The first monster finds you before you even make it out of Attica. Some long-limbed thing with a woman’s hair, lion claws, and Hera’s hatred shining through. You only hear it scream once before Dex’s arrow goes through its throat.
The next creature is pinned to an olive tree, clawing at the shaft in its neck, and Dex is already reaching for another arrow like this is casual.
You stare at him.
He says, “Keep walking.”
A demigod of Ares tries to drown you in a river and Dex drags him out by the hair, holds him under instead, and tells you to look away. A prince recognises you in a market and reaches for his sword, and Dex puts a knife through his arteries. A flock of bronze-beaked birds follows you for two days until Dex disappears before dawn and comes back with blood on his hands and feathers stuck to his cloak.
And okay.
Fine.
Maybe you start trusting him a little.
Maybe not completely. You’re not stupid. Trust is how girls in myths get turned into trees or cows. It’s how you happened. But you start sleeping when he takes watch. You start walking closer to him on narrow roads. You start noticing that he always positions himself between you and any temple marked with Hera’s name.
He notices everything.
He notices that you stop eating after attacks, so he starts handing you food before the shaking can settle into nausea. He notices that the sky turns cloudy when you’re upset. He notices that you don’t like washing blood from your hands in rivers because the water reminds you of the thing that tried to drown you. He notices that when people call you “Zeus’ daughter,” your face goes blank, but when someone simply calls you by your name, you smile a little.
And then he starts leaving dead monsters at the edge of your camp like cats bringing mice to their owners.
Seriously. It’s insane.
You wake up one morning to find a dead serpent-thing laid neatly by the tree line, head severed, body still twitching.
You stare at it. Then at Dex.
“Is that for me?”
Dex, cleaning his knife, says, “It was following us.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“It cannot follow us anymore.”
“Dex.”
He looks at you, radiating the energy of a feral cat hoping you will appreciate the bird it left on your pillow.
You laugh a little, and Dex looks away so fast you almost miss the warmth at the tips of his ears.
Oh.
Oh, no.
Are you starting to find him… endearing?
Dex isn’t sweet in any normal way. He doesn’t bring you flowers or tell you daisies look nice in your hair.
He brings you corpses.
He kills the thing that scared you and lays it down like proof. Like, see? I took care of it. Nothing that wants you dead gets to stay alive near me.
And it works. You do feel safer because of him.
Dex, who starts watching the sky when thunder rolls because he has learned that your moods and the weather are basically in a long-term toxic relationship. Dex, who looks up the second clouds gather too quickly because he is checking on you.
Dex, who’s fine.
Dex, who’s definitely not distracted.
Dex, who’s catastrophically lying to himself.
One day, you wake up from a nightmare, lightning stealing the hearth of the camp, lighting the air blue-white for a second. Dex is next to you before you t fully conscious, one hand hovering near your shoulder, not touching because he has learned that touch can scare you worse when you wake up like this.
“It’s me,” he says. “You’re safe.”
You look at him through tears and say, “Hold me.”
Dex freezes.
Because what?
He knows how to shield you with his body. He knows how to cut a throat. He knows how to track monsters through rain, how to hear arrows before they fly, how to make death certain.
He doesn’t know how to hug you.
But you’re reaching for him, shaking, and Dex has never been good at denying you anything.
So he moves carefully and wraps his arms around you.
At first, he’s terrible at it.
He’s so stiff and awkward. Then you bury your face against his neck and let out a deep breath like you finally believed you were allowed to rest.
And Dex…
Oh.
Dex likes it.
He likes that your fingers clutch at his tunic. He likes that, for once, his body is not being used to kill or obey or endure.
It is keeping you warm.
He holds you tighter, just enough that you can feel it in the body language: I have you. I have you. I have you.
You fall asleep like that, storm quieting down into rain.
Dex doesn’t sleep.
He sits awake with you in his arms until dawn turns the sky gold, staring at the dying fire, having a mental crisis.
Because what is this?
What is this?
What is this ache in his chest? This panic when you cry? This satisfaction when you sleep because of him? This unreasonable hatred for anything that frightens you? This need to stand between you and the entire world, and not because Artemis ordered it?
Oh no.
Oh, fuck.
Is this love?
Is he in love?
Dex looks down at you sleeping against him, lashes damp, one hand still curled in his tunic like you chose him even unconscious.
The sky above the camp is clear for the first time in days.
And Dex, Artemis’ coldest weapon, thinks with absolute horror and wonder:
Yes.
Yes, I am.
Uhhh.
Well.
This is awkward.
Because Dex is celibate. Divinely celibate. Artemis-contract celibate. But it’s fine.
He doesn’t have to do anything about it. He can love you quietly. Professionally, even.
Except then he sees you bathing in the river one morning and immediately becomes very interested in the trees. The sky. His knife. Literally anything else. He looks away, enough to pretend this is still discipline and not the beginning of an identity crisis.
Then he saves you again from one of Hera’s ugly little errands. Dex kills it before it reaches you, and you are so relieved you grab his shoulder and kiss his cheek.
Dex forgets how to breathe.
So. Fine. Maybe this is becoming a problem.
But he has it under control.
Which is why he starts disobeying Artemis in tiny, completely reasonable ways. Artemis says move at dawn, but you are finally sleeping, so he lets you sleep in. Artemis says take the shortcut through the city, but cities make you nervous, so Dex takes the long road through the olive groves instead.
It was just strategy, obviously.
Then you fall asleep against his shoulder and murmur his name like you trust him even in dreams.
Dex stares into the fire.
Yeah.
He is so fucked.
Maybe even literally.
The day it happens is the day drakaina manages to corner you both in one of Hera’s abandoned temples.
Dex moves between you and the monster, but she pins him.
She pings him down against the altar steps, coils around his body, holds him there with his bow out of reach and blood at his mouth, and oh.
Oh, that is the wrong thing to do.
Because you are watching Dex on the floor, trapped, furious because he cannot get to you.
No.
The temple goes blinding white.
Lightning tears out of the sky so violently Hera’s own altar cracks down the middle. The drakaina screams, and you don’t stop. You drive a broken spear through its throat and let the storm pour through the hole in the ceiling until there is nothing left but blood, smoke, and the sound of Dex breathing hard behind you.
And when you turn, Dex is looking at you like he has finally seen you.
See, he knew you’d be powerful. He just never expected you to be able to control that power enough to save him.
You say, out of breath, “She tried to kill you.”
Dex gets up with blood on his mouth and anger still in his eyes.
Because how dare Hera? No, really, how dare she? How dare she look at you and make you pay for Zeus’ sins? How dare she send monsters after a girl who never asked to be born, never asked to be hunted? How dare she make you feel unwanted when Dex is standing right there?
It's too much for Dex’s heart to handle, so he kisses you.
Right there in Hera’s temple. Against. Hera’s altar.
His lips are hot and desperate and viciously devoted, his hands are on you like he has spent weeks holding himself back and now the leash has finally snapped.
“Dex,” you gasp, because you still have enough sense left to be horrified. “Your vow.”
“I know.”
“Artemis—”
“I know.”
But he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even hesitate. His mouth is at your skin, your throat, your shoulder, kissing you like he is trying to erase your fear.
“I want Hera to know she failed,” he says against your skin, peeling away cloth.
Oh.
Oh.
“I want her to look down and see you alive. I want her to hear you. I want every god in Olympus to know she sent death and all she did was give me another reason to worship you.”
Like??? Dex????
Sir????
Your vow????
But no, he still doesn’t fucking care. Not when you are shaking under his hands. Not when thunder is rolling over the broken roof. Not when your fingers are in his hair.
“You are not Zeus’ mistake,” he says, rough and wrecked. “You are not a curse. You are perfect.”
His hands are shaking, and his hands never shake.
Not with arrows. Not with knives. But with you?
Yeah.
“You are mine to protect,” he murmurs, like blasphemy.
Your breath hitched.
“And I am so tired,” he says, “of pretending that is only duty.”
He’s feral and this whole ordeal is mythologically catastrophic.
It’s the kind of decision bards will one day sing about in metaphor because “Artemis’ supposedly celibate hunter railed Zeus’ daughter on Hera’s altar out of spite” is apparently too much for polite society.
But that is exactly what happened.
Dex wants the temple to remember. He wants the rain, the marble, the dead monster, the split peacock carvings, all of it, to bear witness to the fact that Hera tried to make you a tragedy and Dex turned you into worship instead.
By morning, a goddess is waiting outside, but it’s not Hera.
It’s Artemis.
Dex steps out to meet her with your marks still on his skin and no apology in his eyes.
Artemis looks at him, disappointed. “You broke your vow.”
Dex says nothing.
“There is no exception,” she says. “Not for love. Not for pity. Not even if the person you broke it for it is Zeus’ daughter.”
And Dex, because he’s ruined by the act of love and apparently determined to make every god in Greece furious before breakfast, says, with a smile, “She’s worth it.”
When you finally stumble outside, you find a beautiful white stag, antlers pale as bone, hide bright as moonmilk, and hazel eyes you would know anywhere.
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
Artemis turned Dex into a stag.
For the crime of—checks notes—fucking you.
Like. Okay. Sure. Very normal goddess behaviour. He broke a vow after you saved his life, and Artemis went, hmm. Deer.
You shout so loud the sky cracks open.
Somewhere, Hera is probably cackling. Somewhere else, Artemis is probably standing under a tree being self-righteous about discipline and men disappointing her.
Stag-Dex only lowers his crowned head into your shaking hands like he’s saying, I would do it again.
Obviously, you drag him to Apollo’s temple, since he’s probably more normal about getting laid.
Because if Artemis is going to be dramatic, then fine. You can be dramatic too. You can drag your cursed deer-lover through the nearest village while crying, sparking lightning across the road, and absolutely terrifying every farmer, priest, and goat within a five-mile radius.
Apollo appears because of all the commotion. He takes one look at you. Then at the white stag.
“Did my sister do this?”
“Yes.” You wipe your face with the back of your hand. “He broke his celibacy vow on Hera’s altar.”
Apollo goes still and smiles.
Because Apollo is a god, yes. Radiant and prophetic, blah blah blah. But he's also Apollo, which means he is physically incapable of hearing the sentence my twin sister’s assassin broke got some on my stepmother’s altar for my demigod sister and not finding it at least a little bit funny.
Like, that’s peak family drama.
Apollo looks at stag-Dex with the distant, considering eyes of a god reviewing paperwork. “So,” he says. “Artemis has dismissed him.”
The stag huffs.
“And he is an archer, yes?”
You blink through your tears. “What?”
“A very good archer, if the stories are accurate,” Apollo continues, like this is now a professional department transfer.
Stag-Dex lowers his head like he would rather be killed again than have his résumé read aloud by Apollo.
Apollo’s mouth twitches up.
Because yes, he is amused. He hates Hera, likes annoying his twin sister, and loves sex. Like Artemis, he is also god of archery, so really, if she’s going to throw away a perfectly good impossible shot because he got emotionally attached and made one spectacularly horny decision, that sounds like her loss.
“Fine,” Apollo says, lifting one golden hand. “I’ll take him.”
“Take him?” You hiccuped. “Take him where?”
“Relax. I’ll take him under my protection,” Apollo says. “Call it a transfer of patronage. At least until Artemis stops being dramatic, which may take several centuries, but oh well.”
Like.
Your eye twitches and you think, he cannot be serious. He's doing this because he thinks it's funny.
Except he is. Light spills from his palm, and suddenly Dex is human again.
He's shaking and reaching for you like being turned into a stag was less traumatic than being away from your hands.
You crash into him. Dex catches you. His arms lock around you, one hand in your hair, the other at your back, and you kiss him like you are trying to put him back together
Apollo watches for maybe three seconds.
Then he glances toward his altar. Then back at you two.
“If you’re going to do it on mine too,” he says, amused and absolutely shameless, “at least let me watch.”
Dex slowly lifts his head, still half-mad from the curse, and the fact that this unserious god (who he now answers to) is speaking at all.
He glares, and Apollo’s smile widens.
Oh, this was going to be an interesting patronage experience, indeed.
—
Note: I’m doing a Greek myth AU for Bucky tomorrow stay tuned guys 🫶🫶🫶
SUMMARY ➩ Jack Abbot is the perfect neighbor who is always willing to offer you a helping hand. Until you ask him to take your virginity.
WARNINGS ➩ age gap (reader is early 20s and jack is 50), they have sex and all the things that sex brings along, jack might be ooc
AUTHORS NOTE ➩ Well for once I tried to deliver real smut for you guys so buckle up and leave me some feedback on this one if you like it! NOT PROOFREAD AT ALL and it’s probably obvious so be kind about mistakes lol I wanted to get this to you guys asap!
“I need a favor.”
Jack was used to you asking him for help, had been for the two years since you moved into the apartment directly across from his.
He didn’t mind offering you a lending hand when he saw you struggling to carry your boxes from your small run down car, it wasn’t an inconvenience to collect your mail if you ever had to leave town for a few days, and he really couldn’t complain about having to remind you to get your laundry from the unit down below because it held him accountable too.
It was such a common occurrence, you asking him for a favor, that he wasn’t too surprised to find you at his door. He only gave a soft sigh as you pushed past him to enter his apartment, offering you a lot more patience than he did the newbies at the hospital.
You were always sweet, maybe a little bossy at times, but it gave him some amusement in his otherwise strict routine.
Plus it was admittedly nice to feel needed.
You came to him when your apartment had a leak or your air conditioning went out, knocked on his door whenever it was raining and you’d forgotten an umbrella after locking yourself out, and you even sometimes popped over just to get his opinion on what you should wear out on a random night.
Everybody was always telling Jack he needed a hobby that didn’t involve putting his life on the line, so he rarely told you no and tried his best to brush off Robby whenever he asked what was keeping him so busy lately.
It would be hard enough to explain the dynamic he had with his much younger neighbor but even more so considering you were now standing in the middle of his apartment with a frustrated look on your face, hands on your hips as you tapped your bunny slipper covered foot.
“What is it now?” His voice was gruff and disinterested but you knew well enough that he would do whatever you asked and he was well aware of that too. Still, it helped him just a little to pretend to contemplate it for a second or two first.
“I need you to have sex with me.”
You said it like it was as simple as asking him to come over and check your water pressure, falling out of your mouth casually and landing heavily in the quiet room.
There was no need to pretend this time as he fell into a bewildered silence, raising an eyebrow in your direction and letting his eyes track you as you dramatically sighed and went to flop down on his couch. You’d demanded about a year ago that he got some pillows for it, along with a few other interior design suggestions.
He’d picked up four after his shift that night.
“Please say something.” You were turned around on the couch so you could face him over the back of it, arms crossed as you rested your chin ontop of them.
“I have nothing to say to that.” He shook his head immediately, that stern expression he used on an unruly patient or Robby when he got a little too pushy.
This just made you sigh again, loud and exaggerated as you turned back around to fully lay flat on his couch.
“Why are you even asking me that?” He didn’t want to pry because he knew you well enough by now to know you’d just be encouraged by that but his curiosity got the best of him, circling around to sit across from you on one of the living room chairs.
You didn’t sit up but you turned your head to the side to look at him, a slight frown on your face that he didn’t think was particularly genuine. Your personality was always something Jack admired, not getting a lot of time in his own life to be so bold with his emotions and carefree in the way he spoke and behaved.
He was serious and guarded where you were a walking billboard for spontaneity, coming to him crying about random problems after only half a week of living in the building.
It was mostly endearing but there was the more critical part of him that wondered how lonely you must be to be making friends and finding comfort with some random guy across the hallway, a much older one at that.
Jack knew he had a bit of a hero complex but it typically manifested in a more extreme way, quite literally jumping into battle to save lives or operating on them in their lowest moments. This dynamic with you was a new form of care taking and there’d been a handful of times he’d doubted his own motives.
“Because I have a date next week and I am a complete lost cause when it comes to all things intimacy.” You still had a theatrical flare to your voice, not facing him anymore and instead rambling straight up to his ceiling with your hands gesturing wildly.
He tensed up for two reasons now, one being the mention of a date and the other was your implication you didn’t have any experience.
“But you’ve had sex before.” It came out slowly and half like a question, half like an assumption.
There wasn’t any real reason for him to think that other than his own social expectations. You were gorgeous, one of the prettiest women he’d seen in a very long time, and had a naturally magnetic energy to you that even he couldn’t resist most of the time, platonically but also selfishly deep down, a little more than that.
He’d seen you go on a handful of dates in the last year or two, all guys your age that didn’t seem to know how to pick up a check let alone please you properly.
That’s where Jack’s problem stemmed from.
There had been almost no ulterior motive the first year he had known you, genuinely trying to be helpful and to be a good neighbor. He would get upset when his coworkers would call him anti social or make digs at how unfriendly he was because he hadn’t always been like that and he figured helping out the girl next door was a good first step to getting that part of himself back.
You’d told him after a few months that you had no family on this side of the country, completely starting fresh at a new company you’d applied to on a whim.
It was completely innocent.
Yes, you were undoubtedly beautiful in a way that made his head spin for a second when he first saw you. You had been standing near your car and fighting with a box, both by tugging at it and saying less than kind words in its direction like it could understand you.
Jack had hesitated for a handful of seconds before making his way over and offering to help, feeling this weird pull in his chest when you blinked up at him in surprise and eagerly thanked him.
Once you were in his life, you never left. And he made space for you effortlessly because, quite frankly, he had plenty of it to offer up.
About seven months ago was the first time he had ever seen you with a guy.
He’d been coming home from a long and rare day shift (covering for Robby so he could attend Jake’s graduation), dragging his leg behind him and praying nobody stopped him on the way to his apartment so he could crawl into bed for a few short hours before he had to do it all over again for his own shift.
The only distraction he would have allowed was you but you were clearly busy, standing in the hallway as he got off the elevator and touching the rather small bicep of a guy your age.
Jack hesitated, considered getting right back on the elevator before it could close on him, and then slowly walked to his door.
He had hoped you wouldn’t acknowledge him because his throat was already weirdly tight as he eyed you and the way you stared up at the man (boy, if Jack had to really label it) with that soft and curious expression you always had.
“Jack.” Your voice was full of excitement and he faltered, his key left in his doors lock as he turned to give you an attempt at a polite smile. “Covering somebody again?”
If this had been any other day then Jack would have invited you into his apartment to talk instead of lingering in the hallway. He would have ignored his exhaustion to pair his black coffee with the hot chocolate flavor you liked that he kept in his bottom drawer, complained to you about being tired and listened to you scold him for working too much when he didn’t need to.
But you were in a pretty dress that was clearly on its way to dinner and your date was giving Jack that possessive stare that guys fresh out of college thought was intimidating.
So instead he simply nodded his head and continued to unlock his door.
“This is Asher.” You continued abruptly as he turned his door handled, leaving it cracked as he stopped to look at you again.
He gave you a once over to make sure everything was okay, wondering why you were still insisting on talking to him when you were so clearly meant to be going somewhere else. You didn’t look too uncomfortable but you were watching him back just as intensely so he mentally stored the name and face of the guy anyways, just in case something happened.
“Ashton.” Your date finally spoke and his voice was annoyed and laced with immature bitterness, although slightly valid considering you had forgotten his name.
Your eyes widened, still boring into Jacks, and he smiled a little before giving you a small wave and heading inside.
Jack realized quickly after that encounter that his intentions were a lot less innocent than he had initially thought they were. He’d closed his door before immediately pressing his back against it, listening to the sound of your small heels leaving the hallway as you apologized to your date with a clenched jaw and a pain in his stomach.
The next few dates after that just confirmed what he had already realized from the first one.
He was attracted to you.
Maybe even liked you.
You talked to Jack about almost everything going on in your life, even things he definitely would not have cared about if it came from anybody else, but you never once brought up the dates. At first he had worried you had somehow noticed his weird demeanor that day in the hallway but Jack wasn’t very expressive in general so he figured you must keep that part of your life private for other reasons.
The attraction part was easy to accept mostly, he was only a man and you were clearly gorgeous. Although the age gap was something Jack couldn’t get himself to look past.
You were barely in your early twenties, over half his age younger and overly obviously so. You radiated youth, from your appearance and the way you spoke down to your hobbies and interests.
You were clearly a very young girl and he had felt like a pervert from the moment he saw you outside of that car for the way his body warmed. Jack hadn’t felt much attraction to anybody at all since his wife died, at first out of a lingering loyalty to her that barely faded and then just due to his busyness and his own mental blocks.
That was not a problem when it came to you and he had to give a genuine effort when he was around you to act normal.
You’d come over in tiny sleep shorts or a tight tank top that showed your hardened nipples through the thin fabric, join him for morning yoga in downright sinful leggings and he even was attracted to the stupid bunny slippers you wore.
But you were a young girl and he was a disciplined old man so he barely looked twice in your direction when you were bending over to get mail and he never once touched you, setting boundaries for himself and keeping them.
Which was why it was so hard for him when you slowly shook your head to his question about having sex before.
“What about those guys?” His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you and you sighed like you were embarrassed, a rare emotion to see from you.
“We barely kissed.” You shrugged and finally sat up from your dramatic position on the couch. “Please Jack, I don’t have anyone else to ask.”
“I’m not sleeping with you.” He said immediately, slightly offended you were seemingly only asking him because you had no other options.
You looked completely dejected now but Jack knew there was no way he could possibly accept this request, for too many reasons but especially because of his own moral code. He also didn’t want to ruin what you’d had going on, enjoying your company on his hard nights and finding himself finally letting somebody in after so many years alone.
“Okay so no sex.” You say softly and you stand up when he does, following him as he walks into the kitchen and leaning against the counter to watch him set the coffee machine settings. “But can’t you show me little things.”
He sends you a sharp look that you return with a gentle pleading smile, bouncing in place a little like you think your cuteness is the answer to everything.
And it just might be because Jack sighs softly and turns his full attention back to you.
“Like what?” He knows him asking for specifics will give you hope and he can see it immediately on your face, brightening and taking a step closer to him that makes him tense.
“Maybe just telling me what guys like?” You suggest softly and the words coming from your mouth make him almost groan, keeping his face flat and emotionless as you speak. “And some kissing lessons.”
“You know how to kiss.” He shook his head at you and went to turn back to his coffee but your hand wrapped around his wrist to stop him, successfully keeping his attention on you. He realized that it might be the first time you’d ever actually touched him, skin against skin. “I’ve seen it.”
His posture tightens as he reminds himself of that fact, easily recalling the vivid memory of leaving his apartment to head to work and finding you coming home from a date and making out with a guy against your door.
You hadn’t noticed him at first but he had slammed his door harder than normal, shamefully intentional.
There’d been a pang of guilt when you jumped in surprise and separated from the guy who looked the douchiest out of all of them but it was hard to feel it when you have him a slightly grateful look on his way to the elevator.
You were blinking at him now, almost like you were realizing something, and he looked away in favor of glancing at the clock on the wall.
“Not a kiss that feels good.” Your voice was more serious now, sounding genuinely disheartened by the conversation and the slow unveiling of your inexperience.
He sighed again, just trying to get rid of the tightness in his chest, before shaking his head firmly and fully turning away from you to fill up his coffee mug.
“I’m not doing it.”
—
Jack thought about your offer for the next two weeks. Obsessively.
He waited to hear you bringing somebody else over, someone who had jumped on the golden opportunity to touch you for the first time when he hesitated. You didn’t seem to go on any dates but he supposed you wouldn’t have told him anyways.
The thought of you experiencing sex with some asshole you met off a dating app, nervous and unsure on what to do without guidance, was eating away at him.
Jack was a fixer, he liked to help you, and he had already accepted the fact that he was extremely attracted to you. It wasn’t like he didn’t recognize the jealously in his stomach everytime he saw you with somebody else, a type of anger he hadn’t felt since he was preparing to go into a real life war.
Subdued by age and a calmer reality now but it was still fresh hot anger that he couldn’t shake no matter how much he tried.
You came to him with this problem, not just for pointers and tips but you had actually asked him to be the one to take your virginity.
Virginity.
Jack couldn’t get the concept out of his head and while he hadn’t necessarily considered himself somebody who would care about that type of thing, especially not as he entered his fifties, it did bring a wave of heat over him whenever he thought about it.
You’d never been touched before outside of a few unsatisfactory make out sessions. You, the pretty girl with downright sinful choices of pajamas that consumed his day to day life so easily after he spent such a long time alone.
He thought about it endlessly until it led to him knocking on your door, a rare switch of the usual dynamic that left him feeling a little awkward before you answered.
The sensation went away when you looked up at him, eyes a little wide with confusion as you silently stepped back to let him inside. It was rare for you to be so quiet but maybe you could tell what he was thinking by the look on his face, maybe you were thinking about the same exact thing.
“I’ll help you.” His voice was gruff and flat, waiting until your door closed behind him before he spoke. Your face immediately lit up but he silenced anything you were going to say with a raised hand, your parted lips closing as you waited for him to finish. “But I’m not sleeping with you.”
You pouted a little at the condition but stepped forward after a few seconds, far too close to him for his sanity but he figured you’d be getting a lot closer soon so he forced his breathing to stay level.
Jack used to consider himself quite smooth, still a natural flirt when he joked around with older patients or teased Robby.
But he was completely thrown off of any existing game when it came to you. He didn’t even know he could still feel this way about somebody, the yearning and lustful feeling having been dormant for a long time before you moved in.
“I’ll take whatever you give me.” Your voice was soft now and he’d never heard you like that, maybe a bit of a whine when you impatiently asked him to help you with something, but never so pleading.
You’d shifted even closer as you spoke and he couldn’t help himself now that he practically had permission, his large and rough hand sliding over your waist to rest on the small of your back.
You sucked in a sharp breath at the feeling and he was suddenly aware of how much fun this was going to be if you were that sensitive.
“Not tonight okay?” He replied and his low tone made your eyes soften, nodding eagerly and hesitantly letting your hands land on his chest in balled up fist. “We can talk about it more later and work out some conditions.”
“You’re giving me rules?” You’d collected yourself enough to finally give him some of that familiar attitude, smiling slightly as you stared up at him. He rolled his eyes but let his hand tighten against your back, moving you forward and just trying to test your reaction to the touch.
You lost your smile immediately, shuffling closer until you were pressed against him as your eyes darted all around his face with surprise. It was clear you didn’t expect him to accept at all let alone this easily, despite his two weeks of contemplation, he wasn’t at all hesitate now.
“You need them.” He retorted and his free hand brushed some of your hair behind your ear, the first time you were ever really touching each other being this intimate was sending another wave of affection through him.
A few years ago, Jack couldn’t even get himself to look at another woman, let alone hold one so gently. Even with the slightly out of the ordinary circumstances, he cared for you and you trusted him and that was all that really mattered in his eyes.
“You’re mean.” You’re whispering it and his head tilts at the sound it, overly fond and curious how you can affect him so much just by changing the tone of your voice. “Kiss me atleast.”
It comes out a demand and his eyebrows naturally furrow at the sound of it, knowing immediately that will have to be one of the rules he gives you when you talk them over.
Manners.
He doesn’t respond for a second but you seem to understand before he even needs to scold you, lips parting in realization before they form a small pout and you unclench your fist so your palm is flat on his chest now instead.
“Please give me a kiss Jack.” You sound sweeter now and he would think it was an act, making fun of him for his sudden silent sternness, if it wasn’t for the genuinely pleading look on your face.
The knowledge that you listen so easily, even when he doesn’t actually say it, overrides his senses so much that he actually does bend down to kiss you.
It’s soft at first which you don’t seem to understand, immediately trying to eagerly make out with him like that’s all you really know. He moves one of his hands from your side to hold under your jaw, applying a little bit of pressure near your throat to indicate he wants you to slow down.
You melt against him at the touch but do as he silently communicates and relax a little bit, still moving your mouth a bit sloppily against his but learning to adapt to his slow and easy pace.
Eventually you get the rhythm down perfectly, lips moving together without anything extra added. You asked Jack to teach you so he was going to do exactly that, starting from the basics.
Your face was completely dazed when he pulled back, instinctively shifting forward to try and kiss him again and making a small disappointment noise when his hold near your throat tightened in warning.
“You asked for a kiss.” He said in a low voice, still close to your face so he could perfectly see the way your widened eyes shifted around his features.
He was a bit mesmerized by the way you looked now, so unlike yourself on any other day. It both made his guilt over being perverse grow and also solidified that he didn’t care how wrong it was as long as you kept looking at him like that.
“Get some sleep.” He waited a few seconds before taking the necessary steps away from you, taking a sharp breath as he turned and left your apartment.
His own door had barely closed behind him before there was insistent knocks on it, his head immediately hanging since he knew exactly who it was.
Your eyebrows were furrowed when he pulled the handle to reveal you in the hallway, standing stiffly and glaring up at him but not making any move to come inside. You shifted in place and let out a huff of annoyance as you seemed to search for the right words to convey what you wanted.
“Can you kiss me one more time?” You eventually settled on the blunt question, shifting closer so you were both halfway in his doorway.
While he had a foot inside his apartment still, you had one in the hallway. It left you standing too close for his sanity, feeling it slip almost entirely again when your small hand landed on his forearm and rubbed softly.
“What’s wrong?” He asked softly, sensing your frustration but not knowing where it was stemming from.
He cupped your face with one of his hands, letting the other rest back on your side. You stared up at him as he took a few slow steps forward, backing you up with each one until your back hit the doorframe and took a soft near gasp from your lips.
“Nothing I just…” You trail off as you pout, scanning over his face and then down his chest until you can’t bend your head anymore to look. “I want one more. Please.”
You added it as an afterthought but it was enough for him, pressing his mouth back against yours.
This time, apparently a very quick learner, you were able to meet his pace right away and your mouths moved softly together. Your arms went around his neck so you could fully cling to him as you kissed deeply, heads tilting and quiet pleased noises rumbling in your throat.
You only got louder when his tongue pressed lightly into your mouth, mostly just to test your reaction but unable to stop himself when you were eagerly matching the actions.
It was sloppy and a little too wet, sounds of your tongues tangling together filling the silent hallway and sending a sharp heat down to his gut. He liked how clumsy you were, growing addicted to the way you seemed to have no idea what you were doing but too desperate to stop yourself and ask him for his help.
Jack knew he liked feeling needed but this was a whole different beast, one that came paired with some light shame.
You weren’t innocent and you knew exactly what you needed to about sex but your body was inexperienced and it was getting clearer by the second, your little gasp when he kissed you deeper and the way you tightened your hold on him everytime he went to pull back and attempt to slow down.
You’re red in the face by the time he manages to get you to stop eagerly kissing him, still instinctively shifting closer when he moves back. He gives you a lighthearted sigh, occupied by the softest smile he can manage so he doesn’t actually hurt your feelings when he presses you back against the doorway with the hand that’s still on your hip.
“Time for bed.” He tries to keep his tone light but it comes out more authoritative than he had meant for it to, most likely driven by the way you automatically started to frown as soon as he held you away from him. “We can talk tomorrow.”
You clearly weren’t happy about that but you surprisingly gave him a soft nod, shifting your body until you were out of his entrance and closer to your own.
He watched you and your dazed face, slightly wobbly on your feet, as you disappeared behind your apartment door with a small wave.
-
Jack had started off his day rough the following morning, barely able to sleep after what had happened.
It was a completely split mixture of wanting you so bad it was driving him to literal insanity and feeling disgustingly guilty for even looking in your direction.
He almost considered calling Robby about it but he really didn’t need to hear the lecture that would undoubtedly come his way about the situation. Plus he figured that whatever Robby knew, Dana knew, and if Dana knew then it was only a matter of time before the entire emergency department was gossiping about Jack Abbot and his young neighbor.
The dilemma was so strong that he had almost completely forgotten about the fact he had told you that you’d talk today, although almost intentional.
He was halfway avoiding having to actually sit down and make this arrangement a reality, still having a hard time believing what had happened last night was even real.
He had just started to get changed for work when the knocking on his door started and he knew it was you immediately, standing still and hanging his head for a few seconds like he figured he could just wait you out.
It didn’t take long for his senses to kick back in and he was pulling on a plain black shirt before making his way over to the door, raising his eyebrows at you when he saw how irritated you looked.
You brushed past him immediately and he lingered with his hand on the door knob for a moment before closing it and preparing himself to face whatever wrath you were about to send his direction.
“You didn’t come over.” You immediately accused, finger pointing in his direction as you stood in the middle of his living room with an angry expression. “You didn’t even text me.”
He was already walking closer to you as you spoke and your defenses naturally crumbled at the proximity, especially when his hands were sliding over your ribs to both hold you steady and let him feel your breathing as subtly as possible.
“You can’t just kiss me like that and then ignore me.” You continue on but your tone is a lot softer now that he’s touching you, already getting that dazed edge to it he had heard last night.
“I didn’t mean to ignore you.” He shakes his head and frees a hand to tuck some hair behind your ear, your features have completely softened now at the movement.
Jack wonders for the first time if you might have feelings for him beyond trust and attraction.
For some reason, he hadn’t really considered the possibility before. You were practically his polar opposite and he had nothing in common with any of the boys you went on dates with.
But now, with you blinking up at him like you were hanging on to his every word, he let himself think it might just be likely.
“I figured you changed your mind.” Your words are a little slurred from the insistent pout you have on your face and he sighs again, gently leading you over to sit on his couch.
Your knees brush together as you scoot closer to him the second he’s settled on top of the cushion, your hand wrapping around three of his fingers and squeezing lightly as you wait for him to respond to your fear of being rejected.
“I didn’t but I want to make sure you understand what you’re asking.” His voice is low and nearing stern, the same tone he uses on the new med students who seem a little more cocky than they are willing to learn. He knows that’s not the case with you, knows you’re desperate for any expertise he can offer you, but he still wants you to pay attention and properly understand him. “There’s other ways for you to do this.”
“What, like other guys?” Your eyebrows furrow like the thought confuses you.
His stomach tightens immediately, sick at the thought of it, but he stiffly nods his head.
You’re shifting even closer immediately and he lets out a breath when you’re leaning over his knee nearly, closer to his face than before and scanning over it again.
“I don’t want another guy Jack. I just want it to be you.” You’re whispering now and he can’t stop himself from pressing a light kiss to your mouth, brief but necessary when his brain processes the lack of distance between you. That makes you smile finally and he suddenly feels very stupid for ever questioning you when you’re making a request like this.
“Tell me why.” He mumbles, easily sliding his hands around your middle so he can tug you over more and into his lap. You kiss him again once you’re settled in his lap, still quick like you’re both using it as punctuation during your conversation. “Why me?”
He wants to hear you give a legitimate reason, to undo the hesitance you gave him when you said it was only because you didn’t have anybody else to ask. That’d been weighing on him more than anything else, the thought that you had just settled for your older lonely neighbor who was clearly willing to help you with anything in spite of himself.
Your next kiss was much longer, deeper as you fully sink down in his lap and move your mouth against his desperately. He’d accept that alone as an answer, big palms rubbing over your back and sides so he can keep pulling you impossibly closer.
Your nose is rubbing against his when you pull back, the sounds of your breathing being heavier now making his head spin with the necessary impulsivity to keep making terrible decisions with you.
“You’d make me feel good.” The answer you’d landed on was much more devastating than he was prepared for, his eyes darkening at how confident you sounded in that fact. “I know you would.”
His hands tightened around your soft skin for a second, needing to take a deep breath to ground himself.
It takes a second for him to reply, tucking his face into your neck and inhaling sharply. You smell as sweet as you always do but it’s intoxicating to have it this close after so long, skin soft under his lips as he kisses you softly.
Your breathing gets shaky, arms looping around his neck so you’re practically hugging him. You’re warm on top of him and making the sweetest noises when he moves along your jaw, shifting in his lap to try and get his attention back on your conversation.
“You’ll do it right?” You ask softly, running your hand through his hair and tugging just enough to make him finally look back at your face. His eyes are dark and unfocused as he stares at your pretty features. “Jack?”
“Yeah honey.” He says back after another long silence, voice deeper than he’d ever heard it as he leans in to kiss you again.
You kiss for a long time, wiggling around in his lap when your tongues tangle together and you get to taste him properly again. It’s addicting for both of you, both of your hands running all over the other’s body like you’re trying to learn every part of it you can reach.
Eventually you’re fully rocking against him from your neediness and it takes a second for him to process it, snapped back to focus when he hears the way your whines are getting higher pitched. A near growl leaves his throat as he grabs your hips firmly, thumbs pressing into the bone so he can stop you from moving on top of him like that.
“Jackie.” You whine desperately, kissing him again and successfully distracting him long enough that you can start humping again.
“Stop baby I have work soon.” He scolds in between the sloppy kisses, lips and chin slightly wet from how uncoordinated you still are.
You make another soft noise and he’s confused for half a second before he realizes it’s because of the pet name, smiling softly from his fondness for you as you hide down in his neck for a second.
“You’re hard now, I can feel it.” You’re whispering right against his skin and a shiver runs over him at the lewd words falling from such a pretty mouth, high pitched and almost innocent voice making the sentence sound so much dirtier than it needed to be.
At first Jack doesn’t think you’re right, knowing himself and his body enough to expect he’s not stirring down there even if he wants you so bad it makes him feel insane.
He’s had issues with it for years now, a deadly combination of his age, his traumas, and the carousel of medications he has to be on for a variety of things he wouldn’t disclose to you out of his own pride. That was the reason Jack had stopped trying to hook up with people years ago, giving up on porn entirely when he’d have to spend an hour trying to get hard before he could even attempt to actually get himself off.
It was in the back of his mind when you’d asked him to help you with this but he figured this was about your pleasure, he wouldn’t need to be hard to get you off especially if he stuck to his guns about not actually having sex with you.
He was sucking in a deep breath to explain this to you in less detail, make sure you understood that he wasn’t hard but it had nothing to do with you or his attraction to you, when you gave a particularly deep and slow roll of your hips.
And the effect was completely undeniable.
A shudder ran over him, eyes dropping to his lap that you were still rocking on top of. Your tiny little shorts were so clearly pressing against the tent in his scrub pants, catching on it whenever you lost the energy to move properly as you let out another needy whine and hid back in his neck.
You were completely unaware of his current mental situation, baffled at how easily you’d gotten him to this state from just some sloppy kissing.
You must’ve thought he was ignoring you because you picked up your head to glare at him, a pout on your swollen lips.
“Sorry sweetheart.” He sighed and kissed you gently, rubbing your sides up to your ribs and coming back down right when he felt the swell of your breast against his fingertips. “I really have to go.”
“Let me suck you off.” You requested easily and his breath caught, nearly choking at how simple you made it sound. “I wanna learn and you’re so hard right now Jackie. Please let me do it.”
“That’s not the point of this.” He shook his head immediately and moved you by your hips so you were sat next to him and no longer settled in his lap, clearly upsetting you as you scrambled up on your knees and gripped his bicep so he couldn’t get off the couch yet.
“The point is to teach me things about sex and I’ll need to know this.” You counter, eyebrows furrowing in confusion at why he’s rejecting you.
He finds it a little amusing that you’re so used to him accepting your requests for things that you’re genuinely lost when he doesn’t immediately fold for you. It’s a bratty habit he should have corrected months ago but he can’t find himself caring too much, liking how dependent you’d become on him.
Jack has to contemplate this because he knows you’re right, stomach turning a little at the reminder that you’re going to use whatever he shows you on somebody else down the line.
That selfishly makes him want to cancel this whole thing and leave you completely clueless, hopefully to the point you decide to swear off sex with other men entirely. But he knows how stubborn you are and how stuck you get on something once it catches your attention, figuring you’d get on a dating app and find some idiot in finance to take your virginity as soon as he put an end to this arrangement.
So he lets you slip to your knees off the couch, taking his hesitance to decline again as a positive sign.
“Wait.” He interjects and you freeze, sighing in annoyance as you prepare for him to give another reason you can’t do it. Instead he pulls one of the pillows off the couch and slides in near his feet, your eyes softening as you shift so you’re kneeling on the plush cushion instead of the floor.
“How do I start?” You ask softly, eyeing the bunched up fabric in front of you with interest. He has to stare at the ceiling for a second, slightly losing it at the sight of you kneeling on his floor between his legs. “Do I have to get you ready?”
“No.” He says it gruffly and you tense again, his tone way sharper than he’d meant for it to be. “It’s… I’m ready baby trust me. Just give me a second.”
That calms you down immediately, enough that you rest your head on his knee as you try your best to be patient. His eyes go back to you at the touch and he watches the way you squirm against the pillow, clearly still riled up from the kissing and maybe even the thought of taking him in your mouth.
“Has it been awhile Jack?” Your voice is ridiculous now, clearly teasing him and developing this soft purr that almost irritates him.
His hand goes into your hair at the sound of it, tightening enough that you lift your cheek off his knee and stare up at him with wide eyes.
“Watch it.” He says lowly, using his free hand to untie his scrub pants as you eye the movement with fascination. Your lips part as you stare at his hand and the way his fingers twist the strings, he has half the thought to make you choke on the digits before you try and take anything bigger but your attitude has left him feeling just as impatient. “We’ve got to work on your manners if you want me to teach you.”
That makes you snap back into focus, frowning at his words and shaking your head as you straighten up on your knees.
“I have manners Jack.” You’re clearly trying to convince him, small hands smoothing over his thighs.
He starts to deny it but he’s cut off when you lean forward to nuzzle against him, face pressing right where he’s currently aching under two layers of fabric. His breath catches in his throat and he instinctively tightens the hand that’s in your hair, mumbling out an apology when you make a pained noise but barely loosening it after.
He feels like he needs to keep it there to have any sort of control in this situation, especially given the way you’re almost desperately rubbing your face on his lap.
“Should’ve told me you were this needy.” He half scolds as he shifts his waistband down lower, waiting for you to notice and pick yourself up just long enough to get his pants down.
You don’t give him long at all before you’re back to obsessing over the sight in front of you, eyes fully dazed now that it’s just his boxers separating you from putting your mouth on his hard length.
You’re clearly trying to be patient in an attempt to prove you have any sort of manners, a little pride rippling through him similar to the feeling he got when you had corrected yourself the other night to politely ask him for a kiss.
“You wouldn’t have done anything about it.” You say softly, not accusatory but confident in it like you know it’s true. You lean forward and kiss against the covered bulge, a groan leaving him. “You’re too good of a guy.”
“Clearly not.” He rasped just as you start to lose that faux patience you’re trying so hard to pretend you have, tugging at the waistband of his underwear and smiling softly when he lifts his hips off the couch without arguing. “And you know I never tell you no sweetheart.”
“Yeah?” You’re still trying to talk to him but now you’re completely lost in the sight of him half naked and sitting there with his legs spread in front of you, too desperate to even be intimidated by the size of him. “You would’ve let me do this months ago Jackie?”
He sighs and tightens his hold in your hair again, bringing you forward until he can feel your breath where he’s most sensitive.
Your eyes flicker up to him and the sight is devastating for how deprived he’s been, a pretty young girl like you sitting so nicely on your knees for the first time ever. He can barely even feel that guilt and slightly sick sensation, knowing how perverted it is that he could probably get off just looking at your face and thinking about the way he’s about to corrupt you.
“Stop talking.” He instructs gruffly and you nod eagerly, eyes back on his length and only now looking a little nervous as you swallow before your lips part in anticipation. “You sure you want to do this?”
“Want it so bad.” You don’t hesitate to answer and your voice is a little whinier, swaying forward like you don’t even realize you’re doing it.
Jack lets you move until you’re right there, eyes locked on your face as you give him a nervous look and try to take him in your mouth.
It’s awkward and you’re tense, expression full of hesitation like you’re waiting for him to tell you how to do it properly but he lets himself bask in this for a few seconds.
He knows it’s sick but he finds you the most beautiful like this, confused and desperate to please him without knowing how to. You go between sucking and licking at the tip of his length and while it feels good, no doubt about that especially after how long it’s been, it’s nothing compared to how clearly inexperienced you are.
Finally, he snaps out of his sick fantasies of watching you embarrass yourself trying to please him, and he decides to actually do what you’d asked and teach you something.
“Relax your jaw baby. Just take what you can okay?” His voice is low and gentle, hand loose in your hair but clenching into a tight fist whenever you brush against his sensitive skin with your teeth on accident or try to overachieve and take him deeper.
You do seem to calm down a little now that he’s finally speaking, shoulders slumping and your eyes fluttering shut as you get used to the feeling of him on your tongue.
You’ve barely taken him at all but he’s transfixed by the sight, perfectly content to sit here and cock warm your mouth until you were ready to move him down your throat.
He watches you closely as you pull back to take a few deep breaths, pouting a little at his length and hesitating before you’re touching him with your hand. It’s all experimental, tugging and feeling the skin against your palm while he grunts above you and tries to control himself.
It’s barely sexual on your end considering how fascinated you are by the new experience but he’s halfway losing his mind knowing this is the first time you’re touching somebody like this.
“I gotta go soon sweetheart.” He says and your eyes finally snap back up to him, turning a little red considering you’d been caught just staring at his length as you touched him. “You can play with me all you want after my shift.”
Now you’re full on blushing but you nod your head obediently and lean back in to take him in your mouth again, a little more confident now as you lick around the head and repeat movements whenever it draws a sound out from him.
Jack can barely stand it and he has to put both hands in your hair to keep himself from fucking up into your warm mouth, groaning from the effort it’s taking and considering telling you to get back on the couch before he goes too far with you too early.
You’re clearly just as impatient because you try to take more of him finally and immediately gag at the sensation, pulling back and frowning up at him.
“Help Jackie.” Your voice is whiny and has a little rasp to it now and he kisses his teeth at the sound, petting your hair back out of your face.
“I can’t help with that baby, you’ve just got to practice.” He tries his best to soothe you but you’re clearly frustrated.
“Can’t you just force my head down?” You’re rubbing his thighs as you speak in that ridiculously bratty voice, wiggling around on the pillow like the thought alone is exciting you.
He wants to say no, wants to tell you why it’s such a terrible idea for him to forcefully fuck your throat right before he has to go to work. There’s a million reasons he should be rejecting you right now but that sick voice in the back of his head is struggling to get the words out, especially when you go back to softly kitten licking at his length to keep him hard.
“Fuck you’re nasty.” He gruffs out and your eyes light up at the words, nodding your head and taking him back in your mouth as you keep trying your best to fit him deeper. “You want me in your throat that bad?”
You can’t talk now but your desires are obvious.
He eyes the way you’re shifting on the cushion below you, adjusting his foot the best he can so it’s between your thighs as you kneel. That seems to make you even more desperate, rubbing against him almost feverishly now as you try to focus on having him in your mouth.
There’s no option to do so when he brings his hands back to your hair, silently showing you he accepts your request when he moves his hips off the couch and keeps your face firmly in place so he can push deeper down your throat.
He feels you gag slightly around him but your eyes roll to the back of your head at the same time and you hump against his foot even faster so he can’t find it in himself to stop, thrusting slowly to make sure you don’t end up getting sick or feeling too sore by the time he’s finished.
Jack knows this is far beyond teaching, he’s not even speaking anymore and instead just using your throat to get himself off but you’re even more eager for it than him and he’d never deny you anything you asked for.
“This tiny little throat.” His voice is nearing a growl as he helps move your head up and down his length, reveling in the way you gag and drool around him. “You’re doing so good baby.”
The praise seems to do it for you more than anything else, rubbing your core against his foot so eagerly that you can barely focus on sucking him off. You’re getting too messy to control yourself, mouth slipping off every few thrust before you whine at the loss and immediately take him back in your throat.
Jack takes pity on both of you, both for his own sanity and because he can’t stop thinking about the fact he’ll need to leave as soon as this is done.
You’re clearly upset when he pulls you off, making a loud noise of disagreement that barely sounds like an actual word and frowning at him when he sends you a stern look and wraps his hand around himself instead.
You seem to forget your anger pretty quickly as you watch him touch himself, hips slowed down to a slow rock against his foot as you stare at his length and the way he’s making himself feel good above you.
Jack has to look away when he comes because he feels pretty close to forcing your head back down and making you swallow it, although half positive you’d actually enjoy that more than him judging by how eager you are to try things.
You’re laying your head back on his thigh while he grunts and curses, tightening his fist and going back to staring at your face just for a brief moment so he has a clearer picture to think about.
It’s quiet in the living room afterwards and he feels an odd sense of embarrassment, a rare vulnerability considering you’re still fully clothed and kneeling on the floor. He fixes one of those problems by effortlessly pulling you up by your arms, settling you back against the cushions.
He stands and pulls his pants up while he does so, knowing he’ll have to shower off before he can go to work and get a new pair of scrubs anyways.
There’s a second of hesitation before he goes to get you some water, leaning over your dazed frame and kissing you softly.
“Was it good?” You ask quietly against his mouth, hand tangling in his hair like you don’t want him to go anywhere without answering you first. “You stopped me.”
“You were perfect.” He answers simply and he means it, would probably feel the same if you had accidentally bit him though.
“I wanted to taste you.” You’re pouting again and every time he thinks he gets used to you, you prove him beyond wrong. He sighs and leans further against you on the couch so you’re fully sinking into the cushion below you.
“Next time.”
It comes out before he can stop it and he fully plans to backtrack but your eyes light up at the idea of him letting you do that again so he doesn’t, letting it linger for a few seconds.
“Not when I have to leave you right after. You won’t like it and I don’t want to hurt you.” He’s talking in the stern and no nonsense way he does at work, trying to make sure you understand even though you’re slowly starting to smile as he speaks and he realizes you’re probably not paying any attention.
“You won’t hurt me Jack.” You whisper and it’s so sweet he almost considers calling in so he can stay with you a little longer. “Not in a way I won’t like.”
That makes him scoff out a laugh, a rare sound from him and you look even more pleased at the noise.
“You don’t even know what you like sweetheart.” He says softly and brushes your hair out of your face, letting both his fingertips and eyes trail down your neck until he reaches your collarbones. “But I’ll show you.”
“You’ll show me?” You’re teasing him now, biting your bottom lip to try and hide your smile to no avail.
“Yeah I will.” He smiles too and kisses you again, a little too soft considering what you actually are to each other.
He eventually manages to get off of you long enough to get you some water, watching carefully as you take a few sips and rubbing your knee when you wince at first. He wants to feel guilty for making your throat sore but he can’t, sick enough to admit he just feels the urge to make you take him deeper next time to see if you’ll really let him.
You’re still laying on his couch when he gets out of his brief shower, having changed his pants and taken a few deep breaths while staring in the mirror to try and get ahold of himself. He needs to switch back to reality for atleast a few hours, become the weathered doctor who doesn’t lose his mind over a pretty girl asking for favors.
You set your phone down on your chest, giving him your full attention as he moves towards the door to tug his shoes on.
There’s no indication you plan to leave before he does but he can’t find it in himself to mind the intrusion, going back over to the couch to give you a kiss on the forehead.
“Staying here?” He says in a low voice and you nod eagerly, eyes locked on his.
He lets himself think about his entire way to work, the image of you being there when he gets home from a hard shift. It had been a long time since he had someone to come home to and having you across the hall was already a gift within itself.
Now you’d crossed a line and if he let himself forget the terms and conditions, the fact you were loosely using him just to end up with somebody else as the actual end goal, then he could pretend for a moment that you were the person he got to crawl into bed with when work was tough.
Despite how much he thought about you during his shift, every moment he wasn’t being bombarded with questions or saving somebody’s life on autopilot, you weren’t actually there when he came back.
He knew it before he even opened the door, confirmed by how neatly the pillows on the couch were placed again and the fact your glass of water was rinsed and put away in the dishwasher.
You’d made it look like you were never even there and he knew you still enjoyed his company, maybe enjoyed the newly added sexual dynamic even more, but that didn’t mean you wanted to comfort him after he lost a patient or help soothe him when his leg was bothering him from standing all day.
Jack had to remind himself of the part he was playing in your life currently and try his best to not be disappointed.
It’s two days until he sees you again and he thinks it’s one of the longest spans you’ve gone without talking in almost a year.
He’s just about to start really acting out of character by banging at your front door and asking if you’re avoiding him when he runs into you downstairs, freezing as soon as he enters the lowly lit laundry room to find you leaning against one of the washers and looking extremely bored.
You’re as beautiful as always, casually dressed in nothing but an old band shirt that hangs off your shoulder and a pair of shorts so small he’s pretty sure it’s just boxy underwear.
You don’t look up when he comes in until his leg slightly catches on the step, accustomed enough to the sound of the light dragging he sometimes can’t stop from happening when he’s extra tired.
It’s a relief to find that you don’t have any awkwardness on your face, no sign of being uncomfortable or upset with him.
Then he figures that might just be worse.
He would just about die if he had done anything that made you want to avoid him but the alternative seems to be that you just didn’t want to speak to him and that makes his chest sting.
There’s nothing but silence and the rattling of the old washer as it rocks back and forth on the cement floor, both of you seemingly having decided to not speak to each other first.
(sorry for the brief awkward spacing tumblr says this is too long)
It’s another five minutes of the now awkward stretch of quiet before you clear your throat, turning to face him where he’s fidgeting with his laundry baskets broken handle just to have something to focus on.
“So I went on a date last night.” You say softly, eyebrows raised like you’re genuinely interested in his reaction.
His stomach turns but it’s a relief to have you looking at him again so he takes it, swallowing hard and racking his brain for a response that’s appropriate.
“How’d it go?” He’s asking out of politeness but he’s silently praying you suddenly decide you don’t want to tell him about it. It wouldn’t even make him feel better to hear it had ended terribly, not wanting you to feel any type of negative emotions even if it technically was in his benefit.
He definitely can’t take any sort of mention of you being with another guy physically. He knows it’s coming eventually, it’s the sole purpose behind why he even gets to touch you, but he’s not ready just yet.
You’re quiet again and he really looks at you now, takes in the silent contemplation on your face and the way you tap your fingers on the metal of the washer for a second before pushing off of it entirely.
Then you’re in his space again and it’s like an instinctive move to cup your face, hand on your waist so he can lightly push you back against the machine he’d been in front of. You touch his chest, lightly rubbing in soft circles, and he wants to sigh in relief if that wouldn’t be so painfully obvious.
“Wasn’t a great time.” You whisper and your eyes are on his lips as you speak.
His eyebrows raise and his hand on your body tightens slightly at the same time he uses his thumb to press under your chin and make you tilt your jaw back.
“Why not?” He hates the thought of getting details but he needs to know some idiot from a dating app hadn’t done anything to hurt you.
You don’t answer right away, just standing there and letting your eyes scan over his features on rotation. You finally let out a small breath like you’re about to speak but it never comes, small hands moving to grip his biceps.
“Did he touch you?” He can’t stop himself from asking even though the question makes his voice come out low enough that your eyes flash with surprise for a second, snapping away from his mouth to meet his stare again like you’re looking for something in it.
You shake your head immediately, squeezing his arms and shifting against the vibrating machine.
He’s kissing you then and he tells himself it’s out of relief, the knowledge that you’re still untouched by anybody except for him instantly making this conversation easier.
You’re returning it right away and he’s pleasantly surprised by how quickly you caught on to the type of kissing he likes, his personal preference. He figures he should eventually tell you that not ever guy was going to like your constant licking into his mouth but for now he lets it be, wants you to be trying to please him specifically and not whoever you’d use these lessons with.
It’s ridiculously cute how desperate you get, only needing a few seconds of your tongue inside his mouth before you’re arching off the machine and making soft noises against his lips.
His hands are all over you as soon as he notices the state of you, sliding down to cup your ass with both palms and tug you tighter to his frame.
That makes you out rightly whimper, clumsily trying to hitch a leg around his waist and sighing in relief when he holds your thigh to keep it there. The wet sounds of your mouths fill the small room, body slightly shaking both from need and from the way the washer is vibrating against your back.
“Missed you.” You whimper it out when he pulls back to let you breathe, kissing down your jaw and tightening his grip on the soft curve hidden under your underwear. “Didn’t call me.”
“Were you waiting for me to call baby?” He asks softly, despite how much it had been bothering him, he would never want to make you feel guilty for not reaching out to him after what you’d done.
You don’t answer so he pulls his head out of your neck to look at your face, seeing the soft frown and the hesitation in your eyes.
“Hey.” He breaths out and pushes your hair back to get your attention fully on him, your body softening and completely leaning against his to the point you’d definitely fall if he took a step backwards. “I wanted to give you space. Let you decide when you wanted to continue this, if you did.”
“I don’t want space.” You counter and it’s a little past bratty but he’s so beyond fond of you that he can’t help but let the corners of his mouth turn up at the sound of it. “You’re supposed to take care of me.”
He’s not sure when your dynamic became this way but he feels it as much as you apparently do, knows it’s his duty to make sure you’re always fine and not needing anything he can’t fix. Now there’s the added element of making you feel good, touching you in ways you’re not used to and showing you what pleasure can be like, and he’s not taking it lightly.
“Then I’ll call.” He say softly and your eyes lock on his as you nod in agreement, his hand cupping your cheek so he can keep you still enough to kiss you briefly. “You want me to chase you and I’ll chase you.”
“Right now I just want you to kiss me.” You whisper and he doesn’t need to hear anything else.
You’re back to kissing and it’s feverish now, more tongue than anything and your hands groping each other anywhere you can touch.
He’s lifting you up off the ground just so he can press himself between your legs and swallow the soft needy noises you let out at the feeling, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist so he can’t pull away at all. You’re pressed back against the metal with his hands under your shirt and wrapped around your frame to make sure you don’t fall, thick fingers splayed out against your ribs.
It’s getting hotter in the room and it’s mostly due to the way you’re whining and trying to roll your hips into him, unsuccessful considering how hard he’s got you pinned back to the washer.
“Jack please.” You pant and pull away from his mouth, tucking into his neck and rubbing your soft cheek against his stubble like a needy cat. “Please touch me. Do anything.”
He’s grunting at the request and gently setting you back down on your feet so he can free up a hand, using it to push your shirt up to your neck. He’s not too surprised to find that you’re not wearing anything underneath and your surprised gasp swallows the sound of his low groan.
You’re whining lewdly when he leans down to press kisses against your skin, middle of your breast first to avoid putting his mouth where you really want it. You’re panting, chest rising and falling under his mouth, and tangling a hand in his ash colored curls to try and steer him where you need him.
He wants to smack your hand away and warn you to be patient but he wants you too bad to try and discipline you right now, letting his mouth latch onto to one of your hard nipples so he can hear whatever noise that brings out of you.
It’s loud and intoxicating, his head spinning a little as he keeps sucking and licking your skin, letting your shirt rest on the top of his head so he can use his other hand to roughly grope your other breast and make sure you’re getting equal attention.
“Oh fuck Jack.” You’re whimpering and trying to hump against nothing, back arching as you whine and hold him to your body like he has any plans of getting away from you. “T-that feels so good.”
“Come upstairs.” His voice is so rough it surprises himself, picking his head off your chest and letting your shirt drop so he can kiss you swiftly.
You frown at the loss of contact, rubbing your nose against his and still lightly petting his hair.
“Why not here?” You ask softly and he gives you a disapproving look that makes you sigh and rest your forehead down against his shoulder for a few seconds while you catch your breath. “It’s too far.”
He thinks for a moment before he’s adjusting his stance to pick you up off the ground, abandoning your laundry and his that both likely need to be switched out soon. He’d gladly let it sit and wash it again later if it means getting you up to his apartment as fast as possible.
You make a small surprised noise and cling to him, arms behind his neck and legs wrapped around his middle and he makes his way up the few stairs towards the elevators.
“Jack your leg.” The sight of the steps seems to remind you of his disability and he’d be more irritated by your worry if it didn’t sound so genuine.
You clearly don’t ever think too much about his leg restricting him, never shying away from asking him to lift heavy things or walk with you down to the store. You don’t treat him like he’s fragile or any less of a man for having limitations and he’s always liked that about you, same way he somehow likes your gentle concern even though it would have bothered him if it was anybody else.
“Think I can’t throw you around because of my leg?” He mumbles and you tense in his hold as he walks like you think he might be serious before you’re breathing out a laugh and hiding in his neck.
Jack finally gets back to his apartment, going crazy from the way you’d started to kiss his jaw and whine impatiently in the elevator. Your hands run up and down his arms like you’re marveling at the strength it takes to carry you for as long as he was, making soft needy noises and squirming around.
He can’t even care about the possibility somebody could see him with you, one of the neighbor he’d lived next to for years watching as Jack Abbot carries the much younger girl next door through his entry way as she whines for him to touch her more.
“Calm down baby.” His voice is soft once he gets to his room, setting you down on his bed and taking a few seconds to stare at you as you lay there and pout up at him.
You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and his gut twists a little at the observation, a mixture of desperate unfamiliar need and the same guilt from before accompanied by a new layer of it.
He thinks of his wife for the first time in a while. He used to spend every waking second with her on his mind but she had naturally started to fade from his mind once he met you, something he hadn’t even noticed until you’d already been living across the hall for a few months.
You’d came over for the first time and asked him to borrow some ingredients, strolling around his living room and eyeballing the photos on his walls while he poured some sugar into a small tupperware bowl for you to take back to your place. You had turned to him with a curious face and asked him where his wife was, obviously confused considering you’d never heard of her before despite how frequently you and him small talked.
That was the first time Jack noticed how little he’d been thinking of her lately, not just in the painful mourning way he’d been suffering through since she passed but in general too.
Now he was waking up in the morning and anticipating the next time you’d knock on his door, focusing on his health again so he could occupy you on your walks and not picking up too many extra shifts at work just incase you needed something and he wasn’t there.
Jack was thinking about her again now as you laid on his bed but only because he couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted something this bad, trying to compare the feeling of you to how he felt in his marriage and still thinking it fell short.
He had loved his wife, undoubtedly, but he craved you in a way that almost felt inhumane.
“You’re being mean to me.” You say softly to break him out of his trance, having zoned out just staring down at you and the way your chest was rising and falling with every deep breath.
“I’m never mean to you honey.” He whispers back and finally moves to lay down with you, hovering over your frame and running a hand from your waist to your ribs as he kisses you softly. “I take good care of you, don’t I?”
It’s a bit mean to throw your words from earlier back in your face, especially as he lets his mouth trail down your neck. You make a whiny noise and grip his shoulders, nodding your head and shifting under him so your legs are spread further.
“Yes Jack yes, you take care of me.” You’re practically whimpering and he feels almost drunk from how easily you get this needy, pausing his soft kisses to shift up on his knees and tug your shirt over your head.
You’re the prettiest sight he’s ever seen and he can’t help himself from bringing his mouth right back to your chest, drinking in the way you gasp and moan while he’s licking and sucking on your nipples. His other hand is softly groping whichever breast he doesn’t have his mouth on at the moment and your backs arching off his bed, scratching his shoulders through his shirt.
“Please touch me.” You’re begging after only a few minutes of the slow torture and he lets out a sharp breath, shifting so he’s more to the side of you than on top.
You’re quiet when he rubs his hand down your chest and over your stomach, rubbing at the waistband of your underwear for a few seconds just to hear the way you pant before he’s smoothing over your thighs.
Your back is basically against his chest as he hooks your leg over his to make sure yours are nice and spread for him, kissing your neck softly when he rubs your hips above your underwear.
You bare your neck for him easily and he’s selfish in the way he marks you, sucking any part of your warm skin he can reach so you’re left purple and red all over. He wants anybody you see for the next week or two to know you’ve been with somebody else, to see the claim he laid to your body even if he doesn’t let things go as far as you want him to take it.
Jack doesn’t need to be asked twice to touch you, big hand leaving your hip so he can fully palm your core.
Your reaction is just the way he had hoped it would be, sharp gasp leaving your lips as you instantly buck up against his touch. You whine desperately when he goes back to rubbing your thigh instead, giving you a second to work yourself up to the point he wants you to be at.
“Jack.” You don’t even sound like yourself now and it’s intoxicating, so pleading and broken. “Please.”
“Please what?” He’s practically whispering, perfectly calm and the direct opposite of how broken you sound just from him lightly touching you.
He moves you so you’re fully between his legs, back against his chest as he cages himself around you to keep you from moving.
You’re practically shaking, whimpering and moving your hips against nothing with the hopes he’ll cave and end up touching you again. You’re distracting to look at, body bare except for the pathetic excuse of underwear shorts you’d been wearing under your shirt, like you’d just been hoping he would be the one to find you in the laundry mat.
He has half the thought to make fun of you for that, make you tell him exactly what you were thinking when you left your apartment wearing so little, but he doesn’t think you could handle him saying much at all right now especially not something so demeaning.
“I’m going to touch you.” He says gently instead and kisses the side of your head, letting his hand go back to groping your chest just to make sure you stay worked up.
Even though he doubts at this point he even needs to touch you for that to happen.
“Yeah yeah.” You’re nodding in agreement, seemingly pleased at his decision as you relax back against him and let him touch you freely.
His other hands back between your legs now, letting you get used to the feeling of somebody touching you where you’re most sensitive. He’s just rubbing back and forth, listening to the way you pant and pulling back whenever you start to try and shift against his hand on your own.
“You’re wet just from that?” His voice is a little mean now but you don’t seem to mind, trying to clamp your thighs around his hand but being stopped by the sharp swat he sends to your skin. You wince but move your foot back to the other side of his leg so yours stay open, pouting softly at the silent punishment. “Answer me when I ask you something.”
“I’m always wet around you.” You admit with an embarrassed tone lacing your words, squirming like you wish you could hide yourself from the way he’s staring down at your body. “Want you so bad.”
“I want you too.” He kisses the side of your head, still rubbing you with just enough pressure to make you feel the friction but not to actually get off. “Gonna make you feel so good, you’ve just got to be patient.”
“Stop being scared to hurt me.” Your voice is shaky but as firm as possible, trying to show him you’re a big girl and can handle a little bit of the roughness he’s so clearly holding back.
It’s obvious in the way he was grabbing your throat your first kiss, moving your body around easily whenever he needed to, and scolding you just enough for you to be able to catch the mean tone seeping in accidentally.
Jack clearly has a darker side to him that he’s not letting you see and it’s obviously frustrating you, wanting to be taken seriously.
“I’ll hurt you if that’s what you want sweetheart but not for your first time.” His words don’t leave any room for argument so you don’t even try, sinking back against his firm chest and letting out a deep breath when he shifts behind you and presses himself forward.
It’s not long before you’re not able to wait anymore and he lets you scramble to tug down your underwear, keeping his fingers lightly rubbing between your folds and watching as you struggle to get the fabric past his insistent hand.
Eventually he lets you pull them off and then he’s right back to touching you, bare this time. You both suck in a breath at the contact and you’re practically laying down from how far you’d slid down his chest, spreading your legs as wide as they can go and whimpering while he touches you.
“Do you touch yourself like this baby?” He can’t help the curiosity, the image of you in your bed trying to get yourself off stuck in his mind now.
You shake your head and frown, trying to twist your neck to look at him but being stopped when he uses his free hand to roughly grip your chin and make you keep your eyes on the way he’s touching you, thumb on your sensitive clit now while you roll your hips the best you can.
“No I…” You can barely think let alone speak, clearly struggling as you make a pained and desperate noise. “I get nervous.”
Jack sighs and collects some of your wetness on his middle finger before finally pressing it against the tightness of your hole, not pushing in just yet but teasing it with light pressure and letting you get used to the feeling.
“When you’re with somebody, they should always be this gentle with you at first.” He’s saying softly, remembering that he’s supposed to be actually teaching you something and not just getting you off because he desperately wants to.
You frown deeply as he starts to talk and he doesn’t really understand why, thinks maybe you’re still being pouty that he won’t get rougher with you.
He tries to distract you by finally pressing a finger inside of you and it seems to work for a second, another gasp leaving you as you instinctively clench around the intrusion. He groans, his length throbbing against your back at the thought of being fully inside you instead of just a finger.
“Fuck you’re tight.” He rasps and buries his face in your hair for a few seconds to try and collect himself enough to keep teaching you something, anything at all so he doesn’t keep letting himself think this is something it isn’t. “They’ll have to really get you stretched before anything okay? You need to remember that baby.”
It bothers him so much he can barely focus, the thought of somebody not taking their time with you. He doesn’t want to picture you with another man in general but especially not in a way that hurts you, leaves you too sore the next morning with nobody to take care of you.
He’s so distracted by his own thoughts that he doesn’t notice your face stiffening at first, body a little tenser against him even though you’re still softly squirming to try and get him to put his finger deeper inside you.
“Jack stop.”
He does so immediately and goes to pull out of you before you’re making a panicked noise and closing your thighs around his hand. He lets you this time, pauses all movements just to wait for whatever it is that you need.
“N-no don’t stop that, god please don’t stop that.” Your voice is breathier now like the thought of him taking his hand away from you makes your chest tighten. “Just… stop talking about anyone else.”
It takes him a few seconds to register that and then his hands moving again, enough for you to relax and spread your legs back open.
You’re both quiet now as he adds another finger, lingering in the weight of your request and what it could mean if anything. He’s half sure you only asked because it was pulling you out of the moment, maybe making you nervous to think about doing this again with actual stakes, but the way you desperately tried to stop him from pulling away lets him pretend it was for another reason.
He’s selfish in the way he touches you now, thick fingers moving in and out of you while you cry and whine, gripping at his forearm whenever it feels like too much. He likes the way your nails dig into his arm when you think you might be close, thighs clenching and shifting when his thumb gently circles your swollen clit and how your lips part in breathy cries of his name.
He especially likes that.
You come with moans of his name filling the room and nobody else’s after you’d specifically asked him to stop mentioning other guys. Jack knows it’s selfish, even a little sick and perverted, but he could probably finish just from hearing that.
He’s throbbing against your back and he’s sure you’d be able to feel it if you were able to focus on anything after coming, body shaking a little as you pant endlessly and fall limb in his hold.
There’s a lot of softness that comes after, kissing the side of your head and being gentle in the way he cleans you up. It’s torture to be between your legs and getting to fully appreciate the sight of you for the first time without be able to touch you more but he doesn’t want to overstimulate you so early on.
He does let himself think about that vividly though, kissing against your thighs and picturing when he’s going to be able to put his mouth on you.
You’re quiet above him, eyes a little tired but still overly soft as you run your fingers through his hair and watch him wipe you down.
Then he’s back ontop of you and kissing you softly, shifting your back so you’re laying back against the pillows and not sitting up. It’s soft and bordering on romantic which makes his chest tighten, hoping you have no plans to leave his bed anytime soon.
“You okay?” He asks quietly against your mouth and he can feel you smiling, still touching his hair with one hand and letting the other drift down to the back of his neck.
“Felt so good.” You whisper back and your voice is a little hoarse from all the whining you’d been doing, nose bumping against his and then rubbing on his stubble for a few seconds. “Can I take a nap here?”
“You can do anything you want.” He says immediately, no hesitation as he gets up to get you one of his shirts and help you get comfortable, jumping at the opportunity to keep you with him just like he wanted.
Jack typically has a hard time sleeping through the night in general so he definitely never naps, needing to be truly past the brink of exhaustion to ever rest.
Yet he finds it to be the most simple thing in the world to crawl into his bed with you after taking off his leg, kissing you for a few more minutes before he’s wrapping you in his arms and tugging you back against his chest. He’s rubbing your stomach softly, hand under the shirt he’s given you, listening intently until he hears your breathing even out and then drifting to sleep right after you.
—
It’s one of the highlights of his decade to get to wake up with you still there, warm and making soft tired noises when you feel him start to stir.
His room is dark now other than the slight illumination coming from the moon outside of his window, casting just enough light for him to be able to watch your eyes flutter open.
You give him a soft sleepy smile and instinctively lean in to give him a kiss.
It’s easy to pretend that you are more than whatever this is when you act like this, mouths moving together sensually as if you have nowhere else you’d want to be.
Jack groans softly when your tongue pushes into his mouth, meeting it eagerly with his own and moving so hes hovering over you. Your hands are on his back, spreading your legs below him to let him slot between them.
He feels like a teenager again from how quickly he gets hard, your soft body under his putting him under some sort of spell. His hips shift and you let out a needy whine, scratching his shoulders lightly like you’re trying to encourage him.
You’re still making out slowly when he starts to thrust down against you, slow rolls of his hips to give you just enough friction to start to get desperate.
You’re tugging at his shirt fabric and he takes only a second to sit up and pull it over his head, back on you immediately and kissing you even more frantically. He’s moving your own shirt up towards your ribs but neither one of you wants to stop long enough to take it off, only able to when you need a quick second to take a breath.
It’s the first time you’ve both been nearly undressed together and he feels the effects of it instantly, your chest pressing against his when he lays back over you. Your skin is soft and hot to the touch, those now familiar soft whines leaving you when he lets his hand knead at your chest again.
“Jack please.” You’re whimpering and he finally stops kissing you in favor of sucking at your neck, bringing those marks from earlier back to the surface. “Can’t you just fuck me?”
He groans at the words and has to tuck his face in your shoulder, still rocking his hips against you even though they stuttered when you said that in that whiny voice of yours.
“Trust me, I want to fuck you so bad I can’t even think.” It leaves his mouth before he can stop it, not wanting to reject you again without making sure you know how badly he wants you.
“Then do it.” You’re begging now and he picks his head up to look at you, eyes wide and a little frustrated like you know he’s going to say no. You gasp when he thrusts down even harder, biting your lip as you stare at each other desperately. “Please Jack? Want you inside me.”
“I can’t baby.” He growls and kisses you to give himself a second to think without you arguing.
You’re quick to forget you were trying to convince him of something because you’re kissing him back deeply, angling your head so his tongue can get further and further inside your mouth.
He has that sick and perverted thought again that he’s coincidentally training you to be the perfect girl for him, kissing in a way he likes and not knowing how else to do it. Jack is selfish and wants everything you do to be for him, wants your body to instinctively move and react how he taught you regardless of who gets you next.
The thought of somebody else makes him want to forget his morals and fuck you like you’re begging him, be the one to take your virginity and fill you up for the first time.
He starts to reason with himself that it would actually be a good thing because Jack would never let himself hurt you in a way you didn’t like, he’d make sure you felt good around him and came so hard you weren’t able to see straight.
There’s nobody else who could fuck you like he could so he’s almost convinced himself that it’s a good idea when your phone rings on the nightstand.
You both stop, you’re completely tense under him and he sighs as he kisses you one more time and rolls off of you.
He lays there on his back as you sit up to grab your phone, screen a little too bright in the dark room and causing you to wince. He stares at your pretty face under the light as you open it up and answer it, not thinking much about the interruption despite the small disappointment he feels.
His hand is on your bare knee and rubbing your skin is soft circles, soothing both you and himself by keeping the contact.
“Hello?” Your voice is as soft and sweet as always, a little confused sounding which makes his eyebrows raise. “Oh Carter.”
Jack tenses up at the sound of a males name leaving your lips, his hand freezing and falling still on your knee. You’re avoiding looking at him as you listen to whoever it is speak on the other line, a deep voice bleeding through the speakers just enough for him to hear but not enough to make out the words.
“Tonight?” Your eyes go to the small digital clock on Jacks side of the bed, having to glance over his body in the process. You meet his eyes just for a second before they’re darting away again and it makes the pit in his stomach grow in understanding. “Of course I didn’t forget. I’ll be ready by nine.”
You’re hanging up after a quiet goodbye and now it’s suffocatingly silent in the room.
You’re still sitting up with your legs crossed under you, avoiding looking at him like you’re not still wearing his shirt and covered in marks he’d given to you. He waits for a minute before he’s sitting up and running a hand over his face, on the opposite side of the bed from you and facing the wall so you can’t see his expression when he finally gets himself to speak.
“You’ve got a date tonight?” He rasps out, trying his best to sound unaffected even though it comes out low and tight.
“I forgot.” You whisper back and you sound further away now, a glance over his shoulder confirms that you’d stood up off the bed and are searching for the shirt you’d shown up in so you can swap out of his. “He’s taking me to some art show downtown.”
Jack stares at you as you move around the room, eyes scanning over your body when you pull his shirt over your head and neatly fold it before putting it on his dresser. It feels really final to watch you change back into your own clothes, turning to meet his eyes and letting out a soft sigh when you see he’s already watching you closely.
He hopes it doesn’t show on his face, doesn’t want to be too obvious that he’s probably about two seconds away from throwing up.
“Carter.” He says simply and now you really stiffen.
You stand there for a few seconds like you’re waiting for something, eyes a little expectant and then full on disappointed when he scoffs and moves to put his leg back on so he can stand up and get out of the room that’s suddenly suffocating.
You leave his apartment and all the warmth goes with you.
He stands in his dark kitchen with regret sitting heavy on his chest, wishing he had stopped you and asked you to stay with him instead.
He isn’t sure if it’s the fear of rejection or his own guilt that stopped him but he knew he couldn’t ask you to do that. You deserved better than him and his baggage, his late hours at work and his dangerous hobbies that he needed to keep himself busy with to not think about the things that sent him spiraling.
He couldn’t imagine forcing you into a life where you had to explain him to your friends and family, ignore the curious and judging looks from his own when they realized just how young you were.
Jack knew you were lonely, it was obvious considering how much time you willingly spent with him and it was bad enough he’d taken advantage of your desperation for connection and nearly slept with you.
He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he stopped you from enjoying your youth, having a fun late night in the city surrounded by artsy people your age and not stuck on his couch watching old reruns because he’s too tired after work to properly take you out.
Jack hates himself for thinking all this and then still obsessively wanting you.
So much so that he purposely lingers near his truck right around the time you’d told your date you’d be ready. In his defense, he did actually need a few things from the corner store, so he sat in the parking lot and waited until he saw you come down.
Your date met you at the entrance of the lobby but didn’t take your purse from you or the jacket you were holding, smiled at you politely but couldn’t be bothered to open the door of his car or even wait for you to get in before he did.
It made Jack sick to his stomach all over again, jaw clenched as he sat in the dark interior of his truck and watched you drive off with some asshole only an hour after he’d had you sleeping next to him, panting under him and begging him to fuck you.
Jack decides right then that it all needs to stop, not just the sex lessons but helping you in general. He can’t be that person for you without wanting more, he’s selfish and possessive over somebody that was never supposed to be his and he knows it’s not fair to you.
So he doesn’t answer any of your texts that night, stays quiet in his living room whenever you knock on his door and waits until he hears you leave for work before he goes to check the mail.
He feels terrible for avoiding you but keeps trying to convince himself it’s in your best interest.
Jack is half asleep when the silent treatment finally breaks.
He’d fallen asleep on his couch accidentally, a beer can too many on the table in front of him and the same movie he’d been watching beforehand starting to roll credits. He should have been in bed sleeping after pulling a double at work but he couldn’t stand being in there lately, tossing and turning and trying to catch the faint scent of you lingering on his pillows.
There was a second of confusion, not sure why he had waken up in the first place, until the sharp knocks on his door made him flinch.
He was standing up on autopilot to open it, wincing at how stiff and sore his leg felt from falling asleep with it still on.
Any thought of his pain was gone the second he opened his door and saw your face, tears on your cheeks and your eyebrows furrowed in frustration.
“I need to talk to you.” You said immediately and he ushered you into his apartment, not necessarily wanting to be in an enclosed space with you but recognizing your tearful voice was far too loud to have a conversation in the hallway.
“What’s wrong?” He said softly and takes a few steps towards you on instinct, cradling your cheek and staring down at you when you nuzzle against his touch. “Why are you crying?”
“Because you’re an asshole.” You seem to remember that you’re mad at him because you step away from his touch, pushing his arm back down to his side and storming further into his apartment.
He stands there completely frozen as you toss your purse onto the chair near the couch, your eyes scanning over the beer cans and the obvious indent of where he’d been sleeping.
Then you’re back to looking at him and he knows what he probably looks like to you. The exhaustion is obvious on his face, clothes a little baggier than normal from a lack of taking care of himself and a constant awkward shifting on his leg to keep pressure off of it.
“Why aren’t you talking to me?” Your voice cracks a little and he deflates, taking a few steps closer again even though he doesn’t think you want him to touch you. “Did I do something wrong?”
“What?” His face faces in disbelief at the idea you could ever do anything wrong in general, especially to him. “Of course you didn’t sweetheart.”
“Then why?” Your words are louder now and they linger in the tense air, face pained as you wait for him to answer.
He sighs and runs a hand over his stubble that desperately needs some maintenance, wishes he had the time to plan out everything he wanted to say to you so he doesn’t accidentally fuck it up more than he already had.
“I just… I can’t do it anymore.” He lets his hands fall to his sides with a loud defeated clap and shrugs his shoulders. “I can’t watch you go out with these idiots knowing they can’t take care of you.”
He hopes what he’s trying to say is an obvious to you as it is to him, not able to bring himself to actually voice the fact that he has feelings for you beyond helping out a neighbor.
“You didn’t stop me.” You sound devastated, head shaking like you don’t believe anything he’s saying to you.
You’re not crying anymore thankfully but you look so hurt and disappointed that it makes him physically ache, moving to grab your arm softly and guide you to sit down on the couch with him.
“I waited for you to stop me and you didn’t.” You continue once you’re sitting beside him, legs pressed together in a small amount of addicting content. “Isn’t it obvious by now that I only want to be with you?”
The words hit him so hard that he doesn’t even have time to process them, eyebrows furrowing as the need for more information pushes him to speak.
“Why would that be obvious? The entire point of this was for you to be ready for other people.”
You look a little embarrassed at his sound logic, staring down at your lap where your hands are fiddling with your fingers. He sighs and takes one of them in his, squeezing it softly until you let your gaze drift back up to his.
“I don’t want other people.” You whisper, staring at him with a small amount of hope in your eyes like you’re just waiting for him to understand. “And I don’t want you to be with anyone else either. I just figured… you wouldn’t cross that line without a good reason.”
Jack thinks it’s a little juvenile of a plan but he also knows you’re not wrong. He would have never touched you without the feeling of helping you out with something, no matter how much he had wanted you since the second you moved in.
That little lie was all he needed to get himself through the shame and guilt, the ability to pretend it was for a greater cause and not because he was sick and desperate for a girl half his age.
“Jack.” You sigh when he doesn’t respond for a few seconds, turning so you can face him better and press a soft kiss to the side of his jaw. “Stop thinking.”
“That’s a big ask.” He mumbles back but he gladly turns to give you a real kiss, holding your face in his hand and keeping your mouth against his.
You kiss until you run out of breath, pulling back from him but rubbing your nose against his and letting your small hands grip his forearm desperately.
“Then just be with me for tonight.” You try to reason with him in any way you can, rubbing his arm softly and blinking at him with those big pretty eyes that drive him so crazy.
He stares at you for a moment before he’s standing up off the couch and tugging you along with him, ignoring the little surprised noise you make in favor of lifting you up with his hands on the back of your thighs. You gasp and then giggle softly once he’s got you in the air, arms behind his neck and legs around his middle as he starts to walk you to his room.
“You’re crazy if you think you’re going anywhere after tonight.” He tells you once he gets you settled on his bed, kissing the smile off your face as he climbs over you.
It’s a direct mirror of the other night as you get each other undressed fully this time, kissing the entire time and tasting his tongue deep in your mouth when it starts to get more heated.
“You’re going to be mine.” He says firmly once he’s got you in nothing but your panties, making sure your eyes are locked on his when you hear it. His free hand is all over your body, rubbing from your smooth thigh up to your chest and cupping around your neck for a brief moment while he waits for you to respond. “If I fuck you then you’re mine.”
“I’ve been yours.” You whisper easily, like you didn’t have to put any thought into it.
He falters, hand tightening around your throat on instinct and then releasing the pressure when he sees the way your eyes light up with interest.
“Don’t be nasty baby.” He’s teasing, kissing the corner of your mouth and bringing your leg up so it’s around his waist and he can press himself against you. “Gonna be gentle with you for your first time. You deserve it.”
“I want you to fuck me.” You’re pouting and gripping at him impatiently, running your hand between your bodies to touch his stomach and fidget with the waistband of his boxers. “That’s what I want Jackie.”
“Didn’t ask what you wanted.” He grumbles back, not caring that it comes off a little mean because you whine at the sound of how rough his voice had gotten and he knows you like it.
He’s back to kissing you and it’s filthier than normal, more tongue and spit than anything else.
You’re as vocal as always, whining and begging impatiently when he gets your underwear off and starts to touch you again.
Jack can barely think straight when he’s back inside of you, fingers pushing in easier this time now that you’ve felt the intrusion before and know what to expect. You’re gasping and crying out immediately, unintelligible words that he blocks out in favor of focusing on how you feel when he’s stretches you out.
“Want it so bad.” Your near sob gets through to him and he hisses through clenched teeth at how wrecked you sound already, shushing you softly and kissing your cheeks to try and calm you down.
“I know baby I know.” He’s whispering but you don’t seem to be hearing him, spreading your legs further to try and make space for him to slot back between them instead of using his fingers.
Jack is just as impatient as you but he’s terrified of hurting you too early, although throbbing so hard in his boxers that it’s painful to shift around.
It’s not long before it’s too much prep for both of you and you’re watching him with your chest heaving as he gets himself undressed the rest of the way, leg going on the floor right alongside your underwear that he had slowly pulled down your body before climbing back over you.
Your eyes go down between your bodies where his leg is and he tenses for a second despite knowing you mean well with the concern you have on your face.
“Let me ride you.” You say softly and his chest tightens with that old familiar shame he was still actively working on ridding himself of.
“I can fuck you.” He says gruffly and your eyes flash with regret, pouting a little like you’re worried you’ve hurt his feelings with your thoughtful suggestion. He kisses the expression off your face, a long deep one followed by a few quick pecks to try and ease your mind. “Next time baby.”
He says it both because he knows realistically he has limitations, there will be plenty of nights he’s not able to rail you into his mattress like he wants to, but also because he knows he would die a happy man the second he got to see you bouncing on top of him and desperately trying to get yourself off.
You look like you want to argue but you’re stopped when he’s pushing your legs apart and moving between them, sharp gasp leaving you when you feel his hard length pressing against you finally.
“Fuck Jack.” Your voice is sharp and already a little pained just from the dull sensation of him lining up with your hole, a growl leaving him at the sound of your distress.
“Just relax baby.” He says as softly as he can even though his throat feels tight and raw, kissing you gently to try and get you to calm down enough for him to push in. “You’re too tight sweetheart.”
“I… I can’t.” You let out another sharp cry when he shifts forward, nails digging into his shoulders so deep it makes him wince and lower his head down on your shoulder.
Jack has to use every ounce of self control he can muster to not just fully push himself into you and feel that tight heat he’s getting a taste of, that same sick and selfish part of him that wants you in the first place begging him to just take you already.
Instead he takes a few deep breaths before he’s kissing you with more focus, going back and forth between softly rubbing your side and massaging your inner thigh to try and urge your body to relax and accommodate him.
It’s a torturous ten minutes, especially due to your soft whimpers and the way you cry his name whenever he accidentally moves himself deeper.
Then you’re finally calm enough, bare chest rising and falling with the deep breaths he’d instructed you to take.
“Want you inside Jack.” You’re whining in his ear, clinging to him tightly and almost suffocating him when he immediately takes your queue and pushes in. You tense up again at the brief surge of pain and then let out a satisfied cry when you feel how full you are, clenching around him so ridiculously that he almost needs to pull out to give himself a break despite barely starting.
You’re both too overwhelmed to speak much more once he starts to actually fuck you, deep thrust accompanied by filthy kisses to keep you from waking up the neighbors with how desperately you’re whining for him to keep giving you more.
It’s pure need on both ends, your hips eagerly rocking upwards to try and meet his thrust sloppily while he uses his free hand to roughly push down on your stomach and keep you in place.
“Jackie.” It’s nearly a sob from you now and he can tell you’re close from how much tighter you’d gotten, almost an impossible squeeze for him to keep fucking you through.
He’s grateful you’re so inexperienced because he doesn’t think he’d last long either, not with the way you look as you stare up at him with teary and trusting eyes.
“I know baby you’re doing so good for me.” It’s more of a growl than anything else but he can barely think let alone speak enough to keep encouraging you. “Taking me so well sweetheart.”
“I’m so full Jack.” You whimper and cling to him tighter, nearly pulling him fully down on top of you and knocking him off his balance. “Feels so good.”
You’re stuttering through your sentences and slurring each word, eyes a little dazed in a way that makes him need to squeeze his shut to avoid coming inside you just from that fucked out look you have.
It’s more sweet than heated when you actually do finally reach your peak, holding onto him still and kissing the side of his jaw softly with your face buried in his neck as you squirm and shake your way through your orgasm.
He stays inside of you for as long as he can so you’re not shocked from the sudden feeling of emptiness but you’re squeezing him too tight and he has to pull out as soon as you’re starting to relax. You whimper immediately at the lose and pick your head up to pout at him, eyes panicked like you’re genuinely distressed he didn’t finish inside you.
He shushes you gently and kisses your face over and over, rubbing your side as he lets you fully come back to reality before attempting to clean either of you up or get you dressed.
“Jack.” You’ve got the needy and frustrated tone he loves so much and he knows you’re not dropping it, meeting your eyes with a fond sigh as you glance down at where he’d came instead of inside you.
“Next time.” He promises again and he means it, fully intending to have that conversation with you ahead of time now that he’s got you like this.
Jack isn’t too opposed to the idea of getting you pregnant, not even sure he’s able to with the amount of pills he takes, but he has to push down that thought along with the rest of the sick ones he gets when he looks at your needy eyes.
You smile a little at the loose promise and tuck yourself back into his shoulder, soothing any concern he has about what just happened or how you’re supposed to operate going forward.
He’s undoubtedly the luckiest guy in the world to have you wanting him like this, feeling safe in his arms and desperate for him in the way he’d been for you since the second he laid eyes on you.
Jack was never the type of person to take the duty of taking care of somebody lightly and he doesn’t plan to let you down for even a second, kissing the top of your head softly and letting himself forget about any shame or insecurity just to hold you for awhile longer.
summary : you're untouched, inexperienced, and completely wrong for a man like Frank Castle. Which is exactly why he can’t stay away from you.
word count : 7.6 k
warnings : buckle up bc this is a long one - smut, minors DNI, 18 +, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap that shi up), popping of one's cherry, mentions of blood, soft but not really!frank, implied age gap, inexperienced reader, praise kink, size kink, canon-typical mentions of violence, explicit language
a/n: yall come up with the shit i wouldn't even think abt (like this here) but im always so glad to write it !!! my requests are open to any and all characters, so keep em comin' - as usual, not proofread !
Karen introduced you to Frank Castle on a Tuesday, and afterward you blamed her for it constantly. At first, he was just the terrifying guy who showed up at her apartment bleeding half to death and refusing medical help like it was a personality trait. You thought he was rude. He thought you talked too much. Karen thought you were both idiots almost immediately.
But then Frank kept showing up. Always with some excuse. Information for Matt. Coffee for Karen. Food nobody asked for. And somehow he always lingered longer when you were there too. You fell for him slowly.
In stupid little pieces.
The way he remembered your coffee order after hearing it once. The way he automatically walked closest to the street at night. The way his giant terrifying self softened every time you laughed at one of his dry muttered jokes like he couldn’t help it.
And Frank— God.
Frank fell hard.
Karen noticed first.
“You’re staring again,” she told him one night while you sat on the floor stealing fries from the takeout container in your lap.
“I ain’t starin’.”
“You absolutely are." Frank looked at you like you were something dangerous in the best possible way. Like he wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure he was allowed to. That was the thing about him. He never pushed.
Not once.
You dated other guys before Frank. Plenty. But they always got impatient eventually. Always acted like sex was some finish line they deserved to cross if they waited long enough. So you kept saying no. And after enough bad experiences, the fear just… stayed. Frank never made you feel guilty for it. The two of you became disgustingly affectionate anyway. Constantly touching. Your legs over his lap on the couch. His hand at your back guiding you through crowds. Falling asleep tangled together during movies. Stealing his shirts. Sitting between his knees while he cleaned guns and listening to him grumble about your taste in music. But every time things almost turned sexual, panic crept in. And every single time, Frank stopped immediately. One night he walked you home and looked at your mouth long enough to make your knees weak.
“If I kiss you,” he asked quietly, “you tellin’ me to stop?” You panicked. And Frank stepped back instantly like your comfort mattered more than breathing. That was probably when you realized you loved him. Not because he wanted you. Because he didn’t need anything from you to stay.
----------
You stand in the bedroom, pacing back and forth, chewing on your thumb.
God, you feel so stupid.
Your heart is pounding hard enough to make your ribs ache. You’ve faced armed men before. You’ve patched bullet wounds with shaking hands. You’ve stared down monsters and lived through it. And somehow this is worse. Because this is Frank.
Frank, who kisses your shoulder every morning without fail.
Frank, who drapes himself over you on the couch like a weighted blanket because he knows you secretly love it.
Frank, who always reaches for your hand first in crowded places.
Frank, who has spent months loving you with his entire body while carefully avoiding the one line you kept drawing between you.
Not because you hated touch.
God, no.
You’re practically glued to him half the time. You sit in his lap while he cleans guns. Fall asleep with your face in his neck. Steal his shirts and crawl into his arms every night like it’s instinct. And the need that crawls inside your skin when you see him shirtless, or doing anything with his hands- god. It's insatiable.
But sex— Sex always felt different to you.
Too vulnerable.
Too permanent.
Too much.
And every guy before Frank eventually got tired of waiting. Some were patient at first. Most pretended to be. Then came the guilt trips. The sighs. The passive-aggressive comments. The inevitable: What, you don’t trust me?
And eventually, somehow, time just… kept passing. Until suddenly you were here.
A grown virgin.
In Frank’s apartment.
In Frank’s clothes.
Hopelessly in love with a man who has never once made you feel bad for being scared. Which honestly makes this so much harder. You stop pacing long enough to stare at yourself in the mirror.
“You are a grown woman,” you mutter weakly. The reflection looks unconvinced. From the living room, you hear the low murmur of the TV and the faint clink of a beer bottle against the coffee table. Frank’s home from a job. Showered already. Clean black t-shirt. Gray sweats hanging low on his hips. You know because you’ve spent the last twenty minutes trying not to think about it. You squeeze your eyes shut.
Fuck it.
Before you can lose your nerve, you walk out into the living room. Frank’s sprawled on the couch, one arm stretched across the back cushions, beer balanced against his stomach while some old war documentary drones quietly from the television. The second he sees you hovering there, he frowns slightly.
“You alright, baby?” he asks. You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. Frank immediately sits up straighter.
“That bad, huh?” You blurt it before you lose your nerve.
“Frank, I want to have sex with you.” Frank spits beer all over himself. You jump backward as he starts choking violently.
“Jesus Christ—”
“Oh my God.” He’s coughing hard enough his face turns red.
“Sorry-shit-” Frank wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, staring at you like you just confessed to arson. “You—what?” Your face burns.
“Well now I regret bringin’ it up.”
“No, hold on.” He sets the beer down carefully like sudden movements might scare you off. “What?” You groan and cover your face.
“This is humiliating.”
“Sweetheart.” His voice softens immediately. “C’mere.” You shake your head aggressively.
“No, because now you’re gonna look at me weird.”
“I have literally never looked at you weird a day in my life.”
“You absolutely have.”
“Okay, fair. But not for this.” You peek at him through your fingers. Frank still looks stunned. Not upset. Not uncomfortable. Just deeply confused. “You wanna…” He gestures vaguely between the two of you. “With me?”
“Frank, there are no other people in this apartment.”
“That ain’t what I mean.” You know that. Your stomach twists violently. Frank studies you carefully now, all teasing gone.
“I thought you didn’t want that stuff,” he says gently. “And I was okay with that.”
“I do want it.”
“Then why’ve you looked ready to bolt every time things got heated?” Your face gets hotter.
“Because I’ve never done it before.” Silence. Frank blinks once.
“…done what before?” You stare at the floor.
“Any of it.” Another beat. Then:
“…Baby.” You want the earth to swallow you whole.
“I’m a virgin, okay? I've never been kissed, never been touched by anyone except myself. ” you blurt out finally. “And before you make a face about it—”
“I ain’t makin’ a face.”
“You are internally.”
“I’m really not.” You risk a glance up. He genuinely isn’t. He just looks… shocked.
“You never—?”
“No.”
“And nobody ever—?”
“No.” Frank leans back slowly against the couch cushions like he just got hit with something.
“Jesus Christ.”
“I know. God, i'm so fucking embarassing.”
“No, sweetheart, I just—” He rubs a hand over his jaw. “I thought maybe you just weren’t comfortable with physical intimacy.” You snort nervously.
“I’m literally attached to your spine twenty-four hours a day.”
“That’s true.”
“I love physical stuff.” Your voice gets smaller. “I just… wanted my first time to actually mean something.” Frank goes very still at that. “And all the guys before you kept acting like they deserved it eventually because they waited long enough.” You shrug tightly. “So I kept saying no.” Something ugly flashes across Frank’s face. Not at you. Never at you. At them.
“I’m gonna need names,” he mutters darkly. Despite everything, you laugh.
“No, you absolutely do not.”
“They sound annoyin’.”
“They were.” A silence settles between you. Not awkward. Just… full. Frank looks at you for a long second, something almost painful softening his face.
“You know I’d wait forever, right?” he says quietly. Your chest aches instantly.
“I know.”
“And I mean forever.”
“I know.”
“You don’t gotta prove anythin’ to me.” Your throat tightens.
“That’s kinda the problem,” you admit softly. Frank frowns slightly.
“What d’you mean?”
You stare down at your hands.
“I mean…” God. “I’m not doing this because I feel pressured.” Your voice gets quieter. “I’m doing it because I’m in love with you and I trust you and I think about you constantly.” Frank exhales sharply.
“You gotta stop sayin’ stuff like that.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m tryin’ real hard to keep actin’ normal.” Your stomach flips. You walk closer to him, just so he can drag you to stand between his legs, his hands on your waist. You force yourself to keep talking before fear catches up again.
“I think about you kissing me,” you admit quietly. “And touching me.” Your face burns hotter. “And I think about your hands a lot, which honestly feels medically concerning at this point.” Frank makes a strangled sound. You look up just in time to see him drag a hand over his face.
“Sweetheart,” he rasps.
“And I know I’m late to all this and weird about it and probably overthinking everything—”
“Hey.” His voice cuts through immediately. Firm. “None of that.” You stop. Frank leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on yours with that terrifying intensity he gets when he means something completely. “There is nothin’ wrong with you.” Emotion punches straight through your chest. He softens instantly seeing your face change.
“C’mere,” he says quietly. This time, you go immediately. Frank catches you the second you lean into him, pulling you straight into his lap like it’s instinct. His arms wrap around your waist automatically, warm and solid and safe, and you bury your face in his neck with a shaky breath.
“There she is,” he murmurs softly against your hair. You cling harder.
“I’m nervous.”
“I know.”
“You still want me?” Frank actually leans back enough to look offended.
“Baby, I have wanted you since the second you yelled at me in Karen’s kitchen for bleeding on her floor.” A startled laugh escapes you.
“You remember that?”
“You threatened me with a mop.”
“You were bleeding everywhere.”
“And I still thought you were cute.” You groan into his shoulder.
“This is awful.”
“No,” he says softly, one hand sliding up your back. “This is you trustin’ me.” His thumb strokes slowly along your spine.
“You sure about this?” he asks quietly. You nod against him.
“Yeah.”
“And if you change your mind at any point?”
“I’ll tell you.”
“And then we stop."
“Yes.” Frank studies your face carefully for another second. Then his hand slides gently into your hair.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks softly. Your heart practically stops. You nod once.
“Yeah.” Frank closes the distance so gently you almost don’t feel it at first—just the soft, rough drag of his thumb along your jaw, then his lips, warm and chapped, brushing yours. It’s not the kind of kiss you expected from Frank. You were bracing for a car wreck, something bruising and violent, the way he is on a job. But it’s nothing like that. He kisses you so slow, so careful, like you might shatter.
You don’t shatter. Not exactly. But the sensation is so intense you feel yourself splitting open from the inside out. His hand cups the back of your head, steadying you.
He pulls back barely an inch.
“You okay?” Voice low, hoarse.
You nod, but it’s not enough, so you push forward, mouth crashing into his, desperate for the centrifugal force he’s been holding back. He lets you, lets you climb messily into his lap, lets you fist your hands in his shirt. And when your tongue nudges against his, Frank gives a little grunt and opens for you, just a hair, just enough. Every nerve in your body catches fire. You’d thought, maybe, that the first time would feel awkward. Like taking a test you never studied for. But Frank makes it easy. He keeps checking in with you, saying your name between kisses, grounding you with his hands, never letting you get lost in the panic of it. At some point, you realize you’re straddling his thighs and he’s got one palm splayed wide over your lower back, the other bracing your jaw, like he’s afraid you’ll tip out of gravity if he ever lets go.
“You still good?” he rasps.
“Yes,” you say, and it comes out as a gasp. You’re trembling. Not with fear—the opposite. You want to crawl out of your skin. Frank’s hands are on your hips now, then under your shirt,dragging slow up your ribs. He keeps it gentle, keeps it steady, like he’s reading your mind. When his thumb sweeps over one nipple, you arch so hard you nearly headbutt him. He huffs a tiny laugh, then grins, wide and wolfish.
“Sensitive?”
“Shut up.” He does, at least for a second. His mouth finds your neck, then your collarbone, then the top of your breast. He peppers all of it with slow, open-mouthed kisses that threaten to melt your brain. He lifts the hoodie up and off in one slow motion, and you almost laugh at yourself for being nervous; it’s just Frank, looking at you like he’s been starving and you’re the only meal he’s ever wanted.
“Christ,” he says, low and reverent, and runs a thumb just under the swell of your breast, gentle, careful, like he’s afraid you’ll spook. “So fuckin’ pretty,” he mutters, and the words go straight to your cunt. You whine, grinding down against him on instinct, and he groans, hands darting out to steady you. He kisses you again, deeper this time, tongue tracing the seam of your lips until you part for him. You feel his hands everywhere—your back, your hips, your thighs—steadying you, coaxing you closer. His touch is a little rough around the edges, always bordering on too much, but never quite crossing the line. He’s so careful with you it almost breaks your heart. He pulls back long enough to look you up and down, like he’s memorizing you. There’s a heat in his eyes that makes you shiver, but it’s the possessiveness that really undoes you. Like he can’t believe you’re letting him see you like this.
“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he growls, low and rough, and you nearly combust. You can’t stop touching him—his shoulders, his jaw, the back of his neck. He likes it, you can tell, because he keeps pressing you closer, like he wants to crawl inside your skin.
“Can I touch you?” you whisper. You don’t even recognize your own voice, breathy and shaking. Frank’s face goes soft, like you just handed him a live wire and told him to hold it for you.
“Baby, you can do whatever you want to me.” He grins, then kisses you again, slow and deep, while guiding your hands under his shirt. You run your fingers over his chest, all scars and muscle and heat. His skin is hot to the touch, the steady beat of his heart pounding under your palms. You dig your nails in, just a little, and Frank makes a sound that’s half-growl, half-moan, like he’s straining not to just take you apart right there.
“You good?” he asks again, voice ragged. You nod, then remember to say it:
“Yeah. Yes. I’m good—you’re…” You can’t finish the sentence, so you just kiss him again. It feels less scary now, more inevitable, like gravity. He lets you push him back against the couch, your thighs tight around his waist. His hands slip from your ribs to your ass, squeezing gently, like he’s testing how much you can take. You whimper, hips jerking forward, rubbing against the hard line of him through his sweats. Frank curses, low and frantic, and you get drunk on the sound.
“Shit, sweetheart,” he pants. “Gotta slow down or I’m gonna blow it before we even start.”
“Don’t slow down,” you say. “I want—” You don’t know how to finish the sentence. Frank does it for you.
“You want me?” He’s grinning, but his eyes are almost desperate.
“Yes,” you say. “Frank, I want you.” Something in him snaps. He reaches down, clearing his throat as he taps your thighs.
“Sit up, baby.” He hums. You lean forward, sitting up on your knees. His hands are slow and careful as they pull down your shorts, and you bite your bottom lip as he softly coaxes it off your legs. Your wet cunt soaks through your panties, and when you sit back down on his sweatpants, that extra barrier of tissue removed makes the strain in his pants much bigger against you. He’s hard as hell now, and you can feel the heat of him even through his boxers. Your thighs tremble. The air in the apartment seems thinner, more electric. Frank’s hands run reverently up your thighs, slow, no rush, but the tension in his arms says he’s holding himself back. It makes you feel powerful. It makes you feel safe.
“Gonna take these off, sweetheart,” he murmurs, thumb sliding under the band of your panties. He’s watching your face, checking for panic. There isn’t any. Not anymore. You nod, and he peels them down, slow, exposing you inch by inch. When the fabric finally drags off your ankles, you’re left straddling his lap, bare except for your tank top, skin goosepimpled and desperate. Frank’s hands splay wide over the soft meat of your ass, kneading you, warm and solid. He guides you forward, grinding you down against the bulge of his cock, and you gasp. The friction’s almost too much. Not enough. You can feel yourself slick up, can see it glistening on his gray sweats when you grind on him again.
“Fuck, look at you,” Frank rasps, voice tight. “So fuckin’ wet, baby.”
Your face should be burning, but you just want more. You want him everywhere. You want to come apart all over him. It makes you brave.
“Can I see you?” you whisper, hands curling under the hem of his shirt. Frank doesn’t answer. He just lifts his arms, lets you peel the shirt up and off, revealing the wild scar-mapped planes of his chest, the ridges of muscle , the old bullet wound you once stitched shut with trembling hands. You run your fingertips over every inch, tracing him like you’re memorizing a map you’ll never get to visit again. He shivers under your touch.
“God,” you murmur, awe in your voice. He grins, lopsided and a little shy, and pulls you in for another kiss. This one’s dirtier—the way his tongue drags over yours, the way his hands squeeze your waist, the press of his cock as he grinds up into you. He’s leaking through his boxers now, hot and slick, and you rub yourself shamelessly against it, chasing the friction. Frank groans, deep and desperate.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he breathes. “We got time.” You don’t know how you’ll survive it. He nudges your thighs apart, makes a show of looking down at the space between your bodies. All his focus is on you: on your bare knees bracketing his hips, the hungry, worshipful way your chest rises and falls with each shaky breath. It’s more than he deserves, and he wants to say something gentle to you, but all that comes out is a low,
“Fuck, baby. You’re drivin’ me crazy.” You laugh, but it’s nervous, hands trembling a little as you brace them on his shoulders. Frank has to slow down, to make sure his hands are steady as he slides them up and down your sides. You’re soaking wet—so wet the slick’s already darkened the front of his sweats, and his cock is straining, thick and angry, beneath the fabric. The look on your face terrifies and thrills him, like you’re balancing right on the edge of a rooftop, dizzy from the height and the want. He wants to say something to make it easier.
“Hey. We can stop anytime, you hear me?” He cups your face in one big hand, thumb stroking your cheekbone. You nod, but the motion’s a little frantic, like you’re trying to prove you’re not scared. He’s never seen anyone so fucking brave.
“I don’t want to stop,” you whisper, voice shaking, “I just—” You squeeze your eyes shut, like you’re embarrassed. Your hands dig into his shoulders. “Frank, I don’t know what to do.” He nods, softly guiding your hands down to his sweats. He kisses your temple.
“Take these off.” Your hands fumble at the waistband, palms slick, vision swimming with nerves and need. You hook your fingers under the elastic and pull, unsure, but he lifts his hips to help and the gray cotton peels away easy as a wish. His cock springs free, heavy, flushed, the head slicked already, and you stare, breath burning in your throat.
He’s… god, he’s big.
You don’t even have enough data points to compare, but your brain still tries, and it short-circuits. Frank watches you with a patience that’s almost predatory, like he’s holding himself together with staples and baling wire. His hand covers yours, guiding it, and you curl your fingers delicately around the shaft. He hisses, jaw clenched, and the muscles in his thighs jump against your knees. Your thumb drags along the vein, and god, it’s hot, how responsive he is. How it makes him shudder.
“You’re a quick study,” Frank murmurs, voice gone low and rough. “Jesus.” He slides his hand up your thigh, kneading gently, and then reaches between them, thumb brushing over you where you’re soaked and swollen. The touch is electric, makes you jerk forward, grinding against his cock. The head bumps you clit, and you whimper, dizzy with it. He holds you by the hip, steadying, anchoring.
“You want to keep going, baby?” You nod, frantic and eager. He grins, but there’s an edge to it; it looks like he might snap in half from wanting her. You bite your bottom lip, face flushed. Frank’s watching your face hard.
“Hey. You okay?” You nod, eyes never leaving him. He’s so solid. So alive. The kind of body that absorbs bullets and wins bar fights and breaks things for a living. You want it inside you. That realization hits so hard it makes you whimper. Frank bites the inside of his cheek, hand gentle as it cups your jaw, pulling you back to him for a kiss. “Don’t gotta do anything you don’t want,” he rumbles. “Just say the word.” You shake your head.
“I want to. I just…” The words get stuck in your throat, so you scrape them out: “I don’t want to be bad at it.” Frank actually laughs, low, delighted.
“You’re not gonna be bad at anything, baby. Not with me.” He pulls you in and the kiss goes molten, needier, his hands anchoring your hips and rocking you down against his cock, bare now, the heat and velvet of it dizzying between your legs. He groans into your mouth, one hand finding your thigh and urging it higher, opening you more. The stretch is intense but perfect; you want to be wrecked by him, want to feel it for days. He strokes his thumb up and down your thigh and says, almost reverent,
“You’re dripping.” You hide your face in his neck, mortified, but his hand finds your hair and tugs you back, just a little, so you have to look at him. “Nothin’ to be nervous about,” he says softly. “This is supposed to feel good, sweetheart. Let me make it good for you.” You nod, not trusting your voice. Frank sucks in a harsh breath and lines himself up, guiding the head of his cock through your slick folds, rubbing slow circles right at your entrance. You see stars. Every part of you is wound so tight you feel like a strummed string.
“Gonna go slow, okay?” he murmurs. He’s all gentleness, which would piss you off if you weren’t so desperate for it. His cock pushes in, just the tip at first, and you gasp, hands flying to his shoulders for something to hold. There’s an ache, deep and unfamiliar, but it’s not bad. Not really. Frank watches your face, waiting for a flinch, for a stop, but you just nod and grind down, needing more. He exhales sharp, lets you take him another inch. Then another.
“There you go,” he says, voice a rumble in your chest, “you’re doing so good—shit, better than good, you’re doing fuckin’ amazing.” The pain is blinding. Stars explode behind your eyes, your eyes clenched shut. You’re clinging to him, shaking, every muscle locked up with that dizzying, too-much pressure. Your nails dig into his shoulders so hard he thinks he’ll feel them for days. The pain-pleasure blend is exquisite. Frank moves slow, gives you time, lets you adjust, but it’s still a stretch—he’s not small, and your body’s never done this before. He cups the back of your neck, thumb stroking over the spot just under your ear.
“Breathe, baby. That’s it. You’re doin’ perfect. All you gotta do is breathe for me.” You nod, jaw clenched, and force yourself to inhale. The ache eases a little, edges softening, and then you’re not so much impaled as full.
So, so full.
Like Frank is the only thing holding you to the world now, insides stretched almost to breaking, but in a way that makes you feel alive and forged. He’s not moving, just letting you get used to it. You try to shift, testing the fit, and holy shit, it’s… you have no words. It’s everything. His patience is infuriating and tender at once.
“Hurts?” he asks, all concern and hands.
“Yeah. But… not bad.” You burrow against him, seeking his pulse with your lips, needing the distraction. “Just—give me a second.” He does. He’d sit here all night if you needed, hold you open and safe, and never ask for more than you could give. But it doesn’t take long.
You’re greedy beneath the nerves, hips rolling forward for more before you’re halfway ready. Frank groans, the sound vibrating through her whole body, and drops his head back against the couch. His hands find your waist, bracing you, guiding every tentative movement. He’s letting you control this, but he’s not shy about what he wants, either; he helps you set a rhythm, each grind down taking him deeper, your slickness making it easier with every slow, careful stroke. Frank’s hands steady your hips, anchoring you to him, and every measured inch you take feels like the world dividing into before and after. Your thighs tremble, every muscle in yout legs a live wire; your knees dig into the worn cushion, and you’tr sure there will be bruises tomorrow, bruises shaped like Frank’s hands and your own hunger. You can’t imagine anything more perfect.
It’s all so much. Too much, and not enough. Every time you rocks your hips down, he lets you take what you want, but the stretch is so heavy it’s almost dizzying. Your breath comes out in little, shaky bursts, and your hands scrabble for purchase—his shoulders, the rough line of his jaw, the knotted muscle of his biceps. He likes that, you can tell by the way his whole body goes taut when she squeezes. You lose yourself in the mess of it, in the heat pressed chest-to-chest, in the pulse of his cock inside you, in the rasp of his voice when he says your name. You’re barely moving, just grinding yourself down, but it’s everything. Every inch you take feels like a little victory. Frank’s patience is a living thing, the tension in his arms shaking by the second, and the only way he lets it show is the bite of his fingers into you skin and the scruff of his jaw brushing you cheek.
“Attagirl,” he rumbles, voice shredded. “You’re takin’ me so fuckin’ good.” You whimper, overwhelmed. The pain’s still there, but smaller now, a bright spot eclipsed by the full, shuddering pleasure carving up your spine. You shift your hips forward again and the angle changes and—oh—your thighs lock up with the shock of it. You gasp, head falling forward onto his shoulder, hair falling between your faces. Frank groans, arms squeezing you so tight you can barely breathe, and the sound is so raw, so animal, you want to cry. You try to move, to find a rhythm, but it’s awkward at first, your body still learning the mechanics. Frank seems to sense it, thumbs stroking slow circles into your hip bones, talking you through it with broken little instructions.
“Just like that,” he says, his hand guiding the small of your back. “Easy, sweetheart. Let me help you.” He moves with you, not against, and suddenly it clicks, your hips rolling forward and up, down, forward and up, and his cock—God, it’s so deep—rubs along something inside you that makes your whole body lock up. You cry out, surprised. Frank’s teeth find your shoulder, biting down just enough to ground you, and then he’s kissing the spot, like an apology.
“Good?” he grits out, barely holding on. You nod, but it’s not enough, so you rock down harder, desperate for more. The friction is brutal, the stretch never-ending, and you want it to last forever and end now, all at once. You grab his face in both hands and kisses him, messy, desperate, Your tears breaking loose and trailing down your nose onto his face. Frank's breath hitches, and for a second, you think you've broken him. His whole body goes rigid under you, and then he's kissing you again, harder this time, like he's trying to crawl inside you through your mouth. One of his hands slides up your back, fisting in your hair, holding you in place while the other grips your hip, guiding you into a rhythm that's less tentative and more purposeful.
"Fuck, baby," he pants against your lips. You try to laugh, but it comes out as a choked sob. You're overwhelmed—by the sensation, by the emotion, by the sheer Frankness of it all. He's everywhere. His scent, his taste, the feel of his scarred skin under your hands, the sound of his ragged breathing in your ear. It's a sensory overload that threatens to short-circuit your brain.
"Frank," you whimper, burying your face in his neck again. "I can't—"
"Yes, you can," he growls, cutting you off. He shifts his hips, pulling out almost all the way before pushing back in, slow and deliberate. The drag of him against your inner walls is exquisite, a perfect, friction-filled agony that makes your toes curl. "Feel that? That's you takin' me. That's you, sweetheart. All you." You nod, but it's a frantic, desperate motion. You're chasing something, a feeling building deep in your belly, a coil of heat that gets tighter with every thrust. Frank seems to sense it, his movements becoming a little more forceful, a little more confident. He's still letting you set the pace, but he's not just a passive participant anymore. He's an active force, a storm you're willingly riding.
"God, you're tight," he grits out, his voice strained. "So fuckin' tight for me. Squeezin' me so good." His words are filthy, but his tone is reverent, and the combination is heady. It makes you feel powerful, desired, like you're the only thing in the world that matters. You rock your hips faster, matching his rhythm, the awkwardness of before replaced by a desperate, primal need. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, a vulgar, beautiful symphony that's all yours. Frank's hands are everywhere now—one gripping your ass, the other sliding up your back to trace the line of your spine. He's mapping you, claiming you, and you've never felt more seen. Your head falls back and Frank lets out a low guttural groan, his hands squeezing your waist to help you grind against you harder.
The new angle is a revelation. It’s like he’s found a secret switch inside you, one you didn’t even know existed. The head of his cock drags against a spot so sensitive, so electric, that a sharp cry tears from your throat. Your back arches, a deep, involuntary curve that presses your breasts against his chest, and your hands fly from his shoulders to tangle in his hair, holding on for dear life.
“Jesus,” Frank grunts, his voice a raw, ragged thing. He’s watching you, his eyes dark and intense, drinking in every flicker of pleasure that crosses your face. “Right there, huh? Found it.” He doesn’t sound surprised. He sounds like a hunter who’s finally cornered his prey. He does it again, a deliberate, grinding roll of his hips that sends a shockwave of pure, unadulterated bliss through your entire system.
Your answer is a broken moan, your hips moving on their own now, chasing that feeling, chasing him. The rhythm is frantic, messy, desperate. You’re no longer thinking, no longer worrying about being good at it or doing it right. You’re just feeling. Every nerve ending is on fire, every muscle in your body strung tight as a bowstring. The coil in your belly is winding tighter and tighter, a hot, heavy pressure that promises an explosion.
“Frank, Frank, Frank,” you chant his name like a prayer, a mantra, the only word your brain can still form. It’s a plea and a praise all at once.
“I got you, baby,” he growls, his voice strained with the effort of holding back, of letting you lead. His hands are bruising on your hips now, his grip the only thing keeping you grounded as you start to lose yourself to the sensation. Your thighs are trembling, your whole body on fire as your hands slide up to tangle in his hair.
You've only ever come on your own fingers.
This.. This feels different.
The pressure building in your stomach is tighter, more feral.
It’s not a wave you can ride out. It’s a dam breaking. A fault line splitting open. The pressure in your stomach doesn't just crest; it detonates. A sharp, guttural cry is ripped from your throat as your entire body seizes, your back bowing so violently you’re surprised you don’t snap in two. Your inner walls clamp down on him, a rhythmic, pulsing grip that you have no control over, and the world dissolves into a blinding, white-hot static of pure, unadulterated pleasure. Your eyes go wide, at the feeling, thinking something is wrong.
"Oh my god, Frank- I - I might- I don't-"
"No, no, baby, hey, look at me." Frank's voice cuts through your panic, rough with his own impending release but sharp with command. His hands leave your hips, one flying up to cup your jaw, forcing your wide, terrified eyes to meet his. "It's not wrong. You're not wrong. You're just feelin' it. Let it happen. That's it, that's the good part." His thumb strokes over your cheekbone, a frantic, grounding motion.
"Don't fight it. Jesus Christ, don't you fuckin' fight it, just let go." Frank’s name is a shattered gasp on your lips as you shatter, your nails digging into his scalp, your body convulsing with the force of it. It’s endless, a series of crippling, ecstatic spasms that wrack you from the inside out, leaving you a trembling, boneless mess in his arms.
“Fuck,” Frank snarls, the sound torn from his own chest as your orgasm drags him over the edge with you. The tight, milking grip of your cunt is too much, a final, perfect torment. He buries himself to the hilt with a hoarse, desperate groan, his hips jerking as he pours himself into you. You feel the hot, pulsing rush of his release, a deep, primal claiming that seems to go on forever, his body shuddering against yours with the force of it. For a long, stretched-out moment, you’re both frozen, locked together in the eye of the storm. The only sounds are the frantic, ragged pulls of your breaths and the frantic hammering of his heart against your ribs. You’re limp, a dead weight in his lap, every muscle liquefied, your brain a blissful, static-filled void. You’ve never felt so completely wrecked. So completely whole.
Your entire body is spasming in his grip.
Frank’s breathing is still ragged against your throat, his arms locked around you like if he loosens his grip for even a second you’ll disappear. Your whole body trembles uncontrollably, tiny aftershocks rippling through your thighs and stomach, and he notices every single one.
“Easy,” he murmurs, voice wrecked soft now. “Easy, sweetheart. I got you.” His palm slides up and down your spine slowly, grounding you back into your body piece by piece. You’re still shaking so hard your teeth almost chatter. You don’t think you’ve ever felt this exposed before. Not physically.
Emotionally.
Frank presses a kiss to your damp temple, then another to your cheek, slower this time. Careful. Like he’s trying to soothe the very nerves he just set on fire.
“You okay?” he asks again quietly. You nod weakly against his shoulder.
“I think my soul left my body.” That earns a rough little laugh out of him. The sound vibrates warm against your skin.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “Mine too.” Your muscles finally start unlocking enough for you to realize how boneless you’ve gone in his lap. Frank shifts carefully beneath you with a low grunt, one hand rubbing your thigh.
“C’mere,” he says softly. “Lemme clean you up.” You make a tiny noise of protest when he helps lift you off him. The sudden emptiness makes you whine before you can stop yourself, legs trembling violently the second your knees touch the mattress. Frank freezes like the sound nearly killed him.
“Jesus Christ,” he rasps. You bury your burning face in his shoulder immediately.
“Don’t.”
“No, sweetheart, you don’t get it,” he says, sounding half tortured. “You keep makin’ noises like that and I’m gonna need another minute.”
“You are such a pig,” you mumble.
“Correct.” You hear the smile in his voice. Then he reaches for the discarded t-shirt on the floor beside the couch, gentle again as he wipes carefully between your thighs. You hiss softly at the sensitivity, instinctively trying to squirm away.
“I know,” he murmurs immediately. “I know. Sorry, baby.” The nickname settles warm in your chest now instead of frightening you. Frank glances down as he cleans you up. Then pauses. You notice the tiny streak of red a second later. Your stomach drops.
“Oh my God.” Frank looks up instantly.
“What?”
“There’s blood.” Panic climbs your throat so fast it makes your voice pitchy. “Frank, there’s— I—did I start my period? Oh my God, am I bleeding? Did something tear?” Your breathing starts speeding up again immediately. “Jesus Christ, am I dying?” For one single second he just stares at you. Then a startled laugh bursts out of him. Not mocking. Just genuinely caught off guard.
“Baby,” he says gently, trying very hard not to smile now. “You are not dyin’.” You blink at him, horrified.
“There’s blood!”
“Yeah.” He brushes his thumb soothingly against your knee. “That can happen your first time.” You stare.
“…what?” His expression softens instantly at your confusion.
“You were a virgin,” he says carefully. “Little bleeding’s normal sometimes. Especially ‘cause I got carried away.” Guilt flickers briefly across his face at that last part. “You ain’t hurt bad. Promise.” Your entire body floods with relief so intense you nearly flop sideways.
“Oh my God.” Frank finally chuckles properly now, rubbing a hand down his face. You hide your face against his shoulder with a groan of humiliation while Frank keeps quietly laughing above you, warm chest rumbling beneath your cheek.
“Don’t make fun of me,” you mutter.
“I ain’t makin’ fun.” Another tiny laugh immediately betrays him. “Okay, maybe a little.”
“You’re awful.”
“Mm.” His hand slides lazily up and down your thigh. “Still alive though, right?” You smack weakly at his chest. Frank catches your wrist easily, bringing your knuckles to his mouth for one absentminded kiss before helping tug your shirt back down properly over your stomach. The tenderness of it nearly kills you more than the sex did. You let him guide you sideways across his lap once you’re dressed again, your legs draped over the couch cushions while he settles back with a long exhale. His fingers trace idle circles against the soft skin just above your knee, grounding and warm. The apartment feels different now.
Quieter. Softer. Like something huge shifted without either of you knowing how to name it yet. You stare at the wall for a long second before mumbling:
“I really thought I was bleeding internally.” That gets another laugh out of him, fuller this time. He drops his head briefly against yours.
“Baby, you work in medicine.”
“Not vagina medicine. And my parents never really taught me this stuff. They assumed Karen would.” Frank barks out an actual laugh at that, shoulders shaking beneath you. You can’t help smiling a little yourself.
“Fair point,” he admits. Silence settles again after that. Comfortable this time. His fingers never stop moving against your leg. Then quieter:
“You okay?” he asks again. Not physically. Everything. The emotion in his voice catches you off guard. You tilt your head enough to look up at him. Frank’s eyes are already on you, darker now without all the urgency from before. There’s still heat there, sure—but underneath it is something almost nervous. Like he’s waiting for you to regret this.
Regret him.
Your chest aches suddenly.
“I’m okay,” you say softly. His whole body loosens at that. Tiny. Almost invisible. But you feel it. Frank swallows once, gaze dropping briefly to where his hand rests on your thigh.
“I know tonight was a lot,” he says carefully. “And I know I probably shoulda slowed down more—”
“You did slow down.” His eyes flick back to yours.
“You were scared.”
“I was nervous,” you correct quietly. “Not scared of you.” That one lands somewhere deep. You see it happen in real time. Frank goes still. Your fingers slide up over the back of his hand, threading through his.
“I trusted you,” you admit. He stares at you like the words physically hurt him. Then he leans down and presses his forehead against yours, eyes closing.
“Christ,” he whispers roughly. One of his arms tightens around your waist. Not possessive. Protective. Careful with you in a way nobody ever has been before. “You got no idea what that means to me,” he says softly. Your face falls and you reach up, wincing at the pull in your legs. You reach up, wincing slightly as your body reminds you it’s still catching up to everything that just happened. Frank notices immediately—of course he does.
“Hey,” he says softly, catching your wrist before you can push yourself too far. “Easy. Don’t go doin’ that.”
“I’m fine,” you insist automatically. Frank gives you a look that says he does not believe a single word of that.
"Sweetheart, you just impaled yourself on my dick for your first time. I have reason to worry."
You freeze.
Then slowly turn your head to look at him.
“…you’re going to make me die of embarrassment after I survived everything else?”
Frank doesn’t even pretend to feel bad.
A faint, crooked grin tugs at his mouth. “Seems fair.”
You groan and drop your forehead against his chest, fully intending to disappear into him as a person.
He huffs a quiet laugh, the sound rumbling under you, and his hand immediately comes up to your hair—slower now, soothing instead of teasing.
“Hey,” he says again, softer. “I’m not makin’ fun of you.”
“Yes you are.”
“A little,” he admits.
You make a small, muffled sound of protest. Frank presses a kiss into the top of your head like he’s apologizing anyway.
"Y'know what this means, right baby ?" He asks, his hand trailing up and down your side.
"No. Enlighten me." He squeezes you into him as he leans over and reaches for his beer. He sits back down, groaning as he takes a sip and presses the cold bottle to the back of your neck.
"You're never fuckin' gettin' rid of me. I was your first time." He says. You roll your eyes.
"Oh, shut up, Frank." He laughs.
"No, no, i'm serious. I should get like.. a certificate. Frame it and put it up on the wall where everyone can see when they walk in-"
"Oh my god, Frank."
"—'Certificate of Deflowering: Awarded to Frank Castle for Services Rendered Above and Beyond the Call of Duty.'" You can't help it, a snort of laughter escapes you muffled against his chest. The cold bottle against your neck is a shock, but a pleasant one, grounding you in the ridiculous, wonderful reality of the moment.
"Oh my God," you groan, lifting your head just enough to glare at him. "You are the worst human being I have ever met."
"Yep," he says, popping the 'p' with absolute relish. He takes another swig of his beer, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. "And the man who just took your virginity on a couch that's probably seen at least three separate gunfights. So, you know. We all have our complexities."
( +18 ) mdni / suggestive short blurb. fem!reader. oral fixation (finger sucking). praise. mocking&slight degradation. dirty-talk. intense eye contact. heavy sexual tension. petnames (baby, sweetheart). blowjob implied.
reblog is a creator's best-friend, thank you!!
Dex’s hazel eyes are locked onto your face and you feel yourself warming up beneath his focused gaze.
It’s not unusual for him to look at you like that, like a hunter and its prey, but it’s more heated when you’re in this position. He has you on your knees between his spread legs, his breathing heavy as you wrap your lips around his thumb. His eyes squint, half-lidded as he swipes his tongue across his own lips, exhaling through his nose.
“That’s a good girl, yeah, just like that.” You hear him say, voice rough with want as your lips tighten around his digit, tongue against the pad of his finger. Your cheeks hollow, a sigh escapes from Dex’s mouth as his hazel orbs run over your expression and the sparkling of your own eyes. He loves seeing you like that, looking all pretty and ready to please him.
Your tongue rolls around his thumb, wetting it with your saliva, teeth nibbling at the skin ever so gently.
You can hear another sigh leaving Dex’s mouth before he speaks once more. “Y’like having my fingers in your mouth, don’t you? Such a pretty girl.” You can feel the rest of his digits touching your jaw, tilting your head up so he can take a better look at the expression on your face. You hum around his thumb, nodding your head at his question. His eyes sparkle with mockery for a second or so, and then, you feel his digit pushing onto your tongue, Dex rubs the pad of his thumb against the roughness of it.
A sigh leaves your nose as you suck on his finger harder, your cheeks hollowing even more, your eyes half-lidded. “You’re imagining my cock, aren’t you?” The words are said with mockery and teasing, making you whine.
The noise is muffled but loud enough for Dex to hear it, and chuckle right afterwards. “Of course you are, because you’re such a good girl.” He adds, making you look up at him. You move your head, his thumb on the edge of your lips now, wetting them with your own saliva before you take it back inside your mouth. Just like you’d do with his cock inside your mouth.
Dex grunts at the view, letting himself rest inside the couch, hazel eyes locked on you. His legs are spread wide, his position suggestive as it makes you able to see the bulge hiding in his grey sweatpants. Your hands rests on the top of his thighs, making him shift toward you.
“Something else you want in your mouth, sweetheart?” You know he’s only teasing now, but the way he looks at you makes your stomach all warm and your brain fuzzy. Dex has this kind of power over you, which is totally unfair.
Your teeth close slowly onto his thumb and you end up nibbling on it again, tongue rolling around the digit before pushing against the pad of it. You watch as Dex’s free hand gropes at his crotch, adjusting his boxers. You whine around his finger again, he looks at you with a smirk and you can’t help but think about how hot he is with the scar on his face.
Once more, he starts to push his thumb against your tongue, wetting his finger with all the saliva pooling inside your mouth. “You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?” He asks but it’s more for himself than anything else.
He pulls his thumb until it’s on the edge of your lips again before pushing it back inside your mouth. He does that multiple times, as if he was fucking your mouth with his digit and you can only whine around it. “Yeah, I know, baby. You want something bigger, don’t you?” Dex asks, your sparkling eyes look at him before he grunts, pulling his thumb out of your mouth completely.
“Fuck, come here baby, I’ll give you what you want.” He says, hand crawling to the back of your head while his other one pulls on his sweatpants, freeing his hard cock.
measuring his print with ur hands nd nodding, “that should fit.. i mean ud make it, wouldnt u?” giggling when he starts frantically nodding, reassuring he would try his best. then smirking, “not in me! i mean ur boxers, silly.” then he solemnly nods, head dipping.
but after a second u shrug, “we could always try it, though? ure such a big boyy, u dont even know what to do w it. does it get annoying.. heavy? i bet its got some baby chub jus like u,” u poke his nose. hes shaking his head, “i.. i dont know..” nd that makes u frown, confused. “what? u never look at it? come on, whatdya see when ure stroking him? is he as big as ur meaty hand? ill hold my hands out nd u tell me when to stop.” ♡
rubbing at his white button up clad tummy, “bet uve got so many loads in there ready to spurt out!” all innocent smiles while he panics, stuttering on a “what..?” but u jus tell him he has so many white shirts, must be a lott of laundry. nd hes all mopey again.
then u twist ur lips.. “i never see u w it off. s so round nd squishy.. i know it could make the perfect little hump toy. so soft, hm? we could always try that, too. bet my pussy would jus glide across it, making it sticky..” sammy is near unbuttoning his shirt, trying to untuck it from his pants. “yeah? ud like that? want me to ride ur little tummy pudge? ..what a fun idea.” ♡
pouting up at him, “u know, if ure ever feeling fustrated, u can come right on me, i dont mind.” sammys eyes going big w excitement, his balls already stirring, panting like a puppy, “yeah?” then u think abt what u jus said, gasping, “i mean come right to me! sorry. m such a klutz w my words recently.” its so mean nd sammy gets so excited every time!
but u twiddle ur fingers, “unless u want to..? where would u aim it? r u a tits or ass guy? i dont mind either. nd id bet thered be soo much, too! ud empty on me like a good boy, huh? awh, i bet ure so cute when u cum.. hm. but dont mind me, jus thinking out loud. thatd be funny if i really said that!” ♡
summary: jack returns home from work, earlier than you expect him to, and catches you getting off to another's man voice. (2k)
pairing: jack abbot / fem!reader
contents: established relationship, shy!reader, basically just an excuse to write smth about that shawn hatosy quinn audio lol, not proofread, cw for smut 18+ (MDNI), caught in the act, oral (fem receiving), while listening to audio porn
( NAVIGATION ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( AO3 )
In retrospect, Jack knew something was off the second he stepped through the door.
It was the strange quiet that tipped him off — your absence, more so. There was no soft padding of your footsteps down the hall, no half-distracted greeting from the couch where you’re usually curled up and watching some reality TV show (that Jack swears he hates but always gets a little too invested in), no absentminded “hi, honey” tossed over your shoulder as you tend to daily household chores.
Jack, for the first time in a long time, is greeted by nothing but silence. The clinking of his keys hitting the coffee table sounds much louder in the foreign quiet — so does the sound of his creaking footsteps down the hall. He worries that you’re sick, or worse, and then forces himself to shake away that thought as he heads for the bedroom.
“Baby?” he calls into the quiet, as his fingers twist on the cold brass knob. The silence he gets in return is hardly reassuring.
He pushes the squeaking door open, then freezes in the threshold when he finds you there — perfectly well and languishing in the unmade sheets. Your bulky headphones are snug over our ears; your head is tossed back against the pillow; your eyes are fluttered shut. Your phone rests just beside you, the screen glowing faintly in the lamplit room.
And, in the stillness, Jack can hear a subtle and unmistakable humming sound coming from beneath the blankets, where your knees are bent and spread.
Jack almost retreats. His instinct tells him to — to give you your privacy, to close the door, to pretend he hadn’t walked in on such an intimate moment. But something deeper roots him in place; the strange warm feeling swirls in his chest, maybe.
There’s something strangely intimate, he finds, in watching you when you think no one is looking — when you have nothing and no one to perform for. You look peaceful, completely undone, totally in your own world.
Jack freezes in the doorway when you shift on the bed, sinking further into the mattress as you adjust the vibrator between your thighs. It seems to hit the spot, as you exhale a whimpered sigh a second later.
So Jack just decides to watch you — he migrates to the desk chair, in hopes of relieving the strain of his prosthetic, but the old floorboards betray him with a soft creak.
You don’t react immediately, but your expression flickers a bit, as a subtle awareness prickles up your spine. You worry, briefly, that someone may be watching you — you always are, in a way, especially when your headphones are on — but you struggle now to shake the feeling.
Your eyes flutter open, if only to prove to yourself that there’s no one there, and they widen in shock when they land on Jack in the corner of the room.
“What the fuck—?” you exclaim, clicking the vibrator off with one hand and slinging off your headphones with the other.
Jack startles, too. His hands lift in surrender as a laugh sputters from his lips. “Sorry! Sorry, I— I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Your face burns red-hot. You can feel the heat climbing up your neck and to your ears as your eyes flit to his eyes and away again. “H-How long have you been standing there?”
“Not long,” he shrugs and crosses his strong arms over his chest. His freckled biceps strain against the sleeves of his black tee, which he wears tucked into his camo fatigues. A crooked smile tugs slow at his mouth as he tilts his head. “Two minutes. Give or take.”
“I thought you weren’t coming home until later— Why didn’t you say something?”
“I tried to,” he quips, brows raised to his hairline. “But then I realized you were having a pretty good time in here, so… I didn’t want to interrupt.”
You bury your burning face into your hands. “That’s so embarrassing…” you groan, muffled into your palms.
Jack’s laughter doesn’t make you feel any better.
“Why is it embarrassing?” he chuckles as he closes the distance between you.
You can tell that he’s limping from the quiet scuff in his step. The mattress sinks under his weight as he sits on the edge of it, relieving the ache in his amputated limb that he’s been carrying all day.
He looks over his shoulder at you, lips curling into a sly smirk when he can still hear your headphones playing from just beside you. It’s a muffled, indistinct humming that he can’t quite make out, but it’s very obviously someone else’s voice.
He nods towards it, silver curls turning golden in the amber light. “What are you listening to over there, huh?”
“Nothing,” you answer, a little too quickly, as you take the headphones back into your hands.
“Oh, yeah?” he hums. “Let me see.”
You jerk them away when he reaches out for them. “Don’t…” you murmur, all shy, like a scolded child.
“I’m not upset, baby,” he assures with a gritty laugh. “I just wanna know what you’re into. That’s all.”
He eases the headphone from your grip; this time, with little protest from you. He holds your weary gaze with his glimmering one as he slips them over his own ears. He’s met with a bassy, masculine voice: “—God, you’re so sexy… Look at how you’re dripping on my fingers, baby…”
You watch, mortified, as confusion etches across his weathered face — eyes squinting and brows lowering. “Who is this?” he asks.
“No one,” you mutter, gaze averted, as you pick at pills of cotton on the blanket with anxious hands. “He’s just… some guy on the internet. I don’t even know what he looks like, he just makes… You know… Audio stuff.”
“Audio stuff, huh?” Jack echoes with raised brows, before huffing a quiet laugh. “God, I’m old…”
He slides the headphones from his silver curls and passes them back to you with something different etched across his features now, something thoughtful. Curious. Interested, even.
“…You’re not mad?” you wonder in a timid voice.
“Why would I be mad?” he scoffs, then bounces a shoulder in a lazy shrug. “I think it’s hot. I like knowing what you’re into.”
He leans in to kiss you, and your stomach does a back flip. His scruff brushes your delicate skin when his lips meet yours. You melt against him with a heavy sigh through your nose, as some of the embarrassment from before slips from your skin.
“C’mon,” he slurs between his kisses. “Keep listenin’ for me…”
You pull back, features screwed. “Really?”
“Yeah,” he nods once, without taking his unwavering stare off yours.
Your fingers tremble with hesitancy as you go to put the headphones back over your ears. Jack’s hand catches your wrist in a soft, calloused grip — redirecting you with a gentle touch.
“No,” he says in a gravelly voice, eyes low and lidded. “Let it play.”
He reaches over and taps your phone screen with his pointer finger — once to disconnect the wireless headphones and second to unpause the audio. The voice resumes, sounding a little foreign now as it plays throughout the otherwise silent bedroom.
“—You always get so sweet for me when I kiss your neck,” the masculine voice slurs.
Jack doesn’t miss a beat.
He props his fist beside your blanketed thighs and twists his upper body to lean in closer. His warm breath fans over your jaw right before he plants a wet kiss to your neck. Your jaw tightens as you fight back a shiver.
“See? I can feel your heart racing for me…” the stranger mumbles between mimed kisses. “Let me see if I can find that sweet spot, huh? Right… here…”
Jack’s teeth graze over your pulse point — not enough to hurt, but enough to make your breath hitch. You raise your hands to his shoulders, balling the fabric of his shirt into your fists. His mouth curls into a slow smile against you, and you sigh when his scruff brushes your delicate skin.
“You love this, huh?” Jack mumbles into your skin.
“This is…” you trail off in mild anguish. “Both incredibly hot and wildly embarrassing.”
“Why is it embarrassing?” the older man laughs, as his lips slide over the thrumming tendon of your neck.
“I don’t know…” you mumble, trailing your hands up and over his broad shoulders until your fingers find the silver curls at the nape of his neck. “I feel like… Like you just caught me watching porn or something, and now we’re watching it together— It just feels weird.”
Jack hums against you, as if it were a proposition that needed considering.
“Sounds pretty fun to me,” he hums and pulls off of you with a quiet click. His mouth is softly swollen from his kisses, and his eyes are lidded and glittering with mischief when they lock with yours. “Wanna try that later?”
You swallow hard, features crumpling in distant shame as you squeak out, “Yeah…”
Jack’s grin widens right before he presses it to your mouth — in a lengthier and more languid kiss that pushes you slowly back into the mattress again. You sigh hard through your nose when his tongue licks into you, like velvet in your mouth. Your fingers tug harder at his silver curls, and you smile to yourself when he groans quietly against you.
He follows the direction of the foreign male voice spilling from your phone, and it leads him to your spread legs — where a wet patch has already started to form in the thin cotton of your underwear. You melt into the mattress when his strong arms wrap around your thighs to hug you close against him.
“Look at how wet you are for me, baby… Your pussy’s just begging for my mouth, huh? God, you’re such a little slut for me, aren’t you?”
Jack freezes, mid-kiss on your inner thigh. He flashes you an amused look up your clothed body, clad in one of his oversized t-shirts that’s slipping off your shoulder now.
“Do you like being talked to like that?” he asks.
Your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water for an embarrassing moment. “I… I don’t know… Maybe?”
“Hm… Good to know,” Jack nods and gets back to work.
“I’ll warm you up with my tongue first, okay? Nice and slow…”
Jack takes the instruction in stride.
He slips his pointer finger in the hem of your panties, slipping the fabric to the side, until your drooling pussy is on display for him — already needy and craving the orgasm it missed beforehand.
Jack ducks down to lick a fat stripe up the length of your cunt in time with the sound effects of the audio. His tongue slots just perfectly within your silken folds.
Your mouth parts in a silent moan as your head tips back against the pillow. You feel Jack smiling against you when your hips buck instinctively to chase his mouth.
“You like that?” he mumbles, in time with the foreign voice playing just beside you.
You exhale a breathless laugh that turns into a moan when Jack returns to your pussy, kissing you there like he would your mouth. He groans against you when your fingers twist harder in his curls; the vibrations only add to your sensitivity. Your whine swells within the walls of the quiet bedroom, entwining with the wet sounds from the audio and the realer ones coming from between your thighs.
“Now… How about I suck on the pretty little clit, huh? Get it nice and swollen for me…”
Your face flares at the overtly crude language.
Jack doesn’t miss a beat.
He spreads your velvety folds with his thumb and forefinger, bearing the most sensitive part of you for him. His lips wrap around your clit a second later, and your thighs clench instinctively around his head. His scruff prickles at your delicate skin when you jerk against him. A cry spills from your parted mouth before you can stop it.
“Wait, wait, wait—” you hear yourself say.
Jack pulls off of you with a quiet smack. His eyes are lidded; his mouth is swollen; his chin is coated in a layer of your slick. “Too much?” he asks.
You lift your head to stare down your body at the man between your thighs, nodding until the words catch up to you. “I’ll— I’ll cum too fast if you keep doing that.”
His brows lift as something teasing swims in his heavy eyes. “Isn’t that the point?”
Jack returns to your weeping pussy, licking and sucking you there, with noises far more lewd than the ones spilling from the speaker beside your head. There is no further protest from you, as he drags an orgasm from your trembling body — a much more powerful one than you would’ve gotten with just your vibrator, had he not walked in on you. His fingers threaten to dig bruises into the plush of your thighs as your hips twitch wildly against his face.
“Good girl— Good fucking girl,” the stranger’s deep voice croons throughout the quiet bedroom, coaching you through the orgasm Jack gives you with nothing but his tongue.
He caresses you gently on the comedown, with his calloused hands and his wet mouth, molding you back together again as he kisses his way back up your trembling body.
The voice on the phone continues while the two of you work with graceless limbs to undress — your fingers scramble with the buttons of his camo pants while he tugs his shirt up and over his body by the neckline.
A heavy sigh grumbles in the back of Jack’s throat when you free his half-hard cock from the confines of his boxers, pulling the hem down beneath his heavy balls. His muscular chest, flushed with need, heaves as you take him into your hand.
“I’m gonna fuck you now, okay?” the masculine voice continues to slur. “You don’t have to beg for it, baby, I’m gonna give it to you. I’m gonna give you all of it—”
Jack reaches for the phone again while you massage his cock the rest of the way hard; he feels like heavy velvet in your fist. He taps the screen to pause it.
“Alright, enough of that,” he huffs as he shifts on his knees. “I need to focus.”
You blink up at him, a little dazed from your lingering orgasm, as a smile curls slowly at your lips. “Aren’t you supposed to be good at multitasking, Dr. Abbot?”
“Multitasking’s for paperwork, baby,” the older man quips with a smug smirk and a pair of squinted eyes. He takes his stiff cock in his fist and eyes you carefully as you lean back onto your elbows, thighs nice and spread for him. “And this—”
He nudges the drooling tip of his cock against your already sensitive clit and grins wider when your head tips back with a moan.
“This deserves my full attention, don’t ya think?”
Pairings: Bsf!Steve Harrington x Henderson!Fem!reader
Summery: your best friend, Steve, whom you’re hopelessly in love with, plans a surprise birthday party for you…who knew that the happiest day of your life would be the start of a new dynamic, or lack there of.
Warnings & contains: ermm light swearing, diverting from canon a little, Steve’s parents:(, cute nervous yearning Steve, mutual pining ig, fluff, kissing/making out, implied but no actual smut, ambiguous ending?
Wc: 8.7k+
Note: this does take place the summer of 1983 before canon events, when reader and Steve are 16/17, which is why I am not writing smut about them. I’m also just not comfortable with writing smut in general as of right now, so perhaps in the future but right now, no. I had thought to make this a mini series but I’m not sure yet…however reader and Steve, I must hug my babies... Another thing, this is my first ever fic… I don’t claim to be a writer but I do indulge in writing for fun sometimes. So please be nice, any tips are appreciated! if you don’t like it, that’s ok just scroll away, no need for any nasty comments! Anywho, thanks to anyone who reads it!!!
Dividers by @/pxrce-lain
To you, today was like any other day of the year; you woke up to the faint birds chirping, drowning in the sounds of children already playing outside. You slightly turn to look at your alarm clock, 7:15, you groan, tugging your covers over your head.
10 more minutes, you thought.
However, before you could get comfortable, you jolted on your bed as your mom and brother quickly knocked before entering your room, singing happy birthday.
You cover your face with your hands, hiding your grin.
“Ohhhh, I was just about to go back to sleep.” you say in a slight whine, but a chuckle leaves your lips
“No time for sleep, it's our girl’s birthday today!” your mom says, taking your hands off your face, while carrying a plate of pancakes with a singular lit candle in the middle.
“Yea come on, quit being lazy. Your boyfriend’s here.” Dustin says with a little smirk
That caught your attention, and you sat up.
“Steve’s here?” You try to say surprised, but the truth is you’re not; he’s always been there, by your side, even when you didn’t ask him to be. It’s been that way since middle school. “And how many times do I have to tell you he isn’t my boyfriend, Dustin?” you add with a playful, stern voice.
“Yes, he said he was getting something from his car. And whatever helps you sleep at night, now come on, blow out the candle, I’m hungry.” He complains as he pushes the plate your mom’s holding, so that you can blow it out.
“Jesus, you’re a bossy kid—” you softly chuckle, blowing the candle out and shaking your head at your baby brother's attitude. “Are you happy now?” you sarcastically ask him.
“No, we still have to wait for you to get dressed and leave your room.” he lets out an obnoxious, dramatic sigh.
“Happy birthday, muffin. Breakfast is all set up at the dining table— get dressed, and I’ll send Steve in.” your mother says sweetly, she smiles and winks at you.
You look at her, sending her a questioning look. You open your mouth to speak, but before you can deny anything, she shuts your door.
“He’s not my boyfriend…” you muttered to yourself, sighing.
The truth is, he isn’t your boyfriend. He’s your friend, your best friend since middle school. You knew him better than anyone; you know how easy, flirty, and charming he can be, but you also know just how much of a dork he is. You know that the strained relationship he has with his parents affects him more than he shows. You know how much he hates being alone, and you especially know how easy he falls into this new King Steve act at school whenever Tommy and Carol are around to avoid ever being alone again.
The whole King Steve was still relatively new to you, and to be honest, you weren’t exactly sure if you even knew that side of him. In front of you, Steve never acted any different from who he’s always been around you. However, being a year younger than him, when he started his freshman year, you were starting your 8th-grade year, and you weren’t there to see what he was like. It was then that he had started striking up a friendship with Tommy Hagan and, of course, his girlfriend, since the 7th grade, Carol Perkins, who you’ve all known since elementary school. Steve had spoken to Tommy a couple of times in middle school, so he figured to stick with him for his first year of high school while he waited for you and your friends to join him the next year.
You’d be lying if you said nothing in your friendship with Steve changed that year. While he did still hang out with you and your friends, there would be times when Steve would go hang out with Tommy instead. He would always tell you and you didn’t mind; he was allowed to, but you were weary, you knew Tommy was a jerk, so you could only hope Steve did not turn into one himself. Apart from him gaining new friends, he also joined sports and clubs, which kept him from hanging out. The times he did hang out with you and the girls, he rarely spoke about anything he did with his friends— he would simply say “oh, just hung out, messing around, you know us boys.” One thing is for sure— he never spoke to you about girls, and to be fair, you never asked nor did you want to know. You were truly in the dark regarding what Steve did to gain a status in his freshman year at Hawkins High.
It wasn’t until you started high school yourself that you slowly started hearing about Steve's newfound reputation. You’d unfortunately hear a few stories come from a few girls who were in Steve’s grade in the halls, and in a few instances, instead of girls, it would be a few boys you’d recognize as his teammates retelling one of Steve’s apparent encounters. Each story you would hear made your stomach churn while simultaneously breaking your heart. A part of you didn’t want to believe any of the stories— he was still Steve… but then you realized it isn’t like it used to be in middle school. This was high school— people cared about popularity and image, and both those things easily latched onto Steve. He was still very much your best friend, but you rarely had any classes together, he made friends with not-so-very-nice people, and he’s a teenage boy. The only times you got to really talk to each other were mornings, passing periods, and when he had free time to hang out after school— when he wasn’t busy or when he’d take you to parties. Nonetheless, he always tried to make time for you, just as much as you did for him, too.
Breaking away from your thoughts, you get up from your bed and head over to your dresser, grabbing a set of clothes, settling on a red-orange plaid peplum blouse and red shorts paired with your white high top shoes, perfect for the warm summer day ahead.
Once you're changed, you head to your bathroom to freshen up, brush your teeth, and apply a bit of makeup. As you’re doing your usual routine, you hear a few soft knocks at your bedroom door.
“Come in,” you shout from your bathroom.
Okay, he’s coming… Don't be nervous, it's just Steve, your best friend. God, you wished he were more, but you can’t wish that. You shouldn’t wish for it.
You hear your bedroom door open, paired with a few footsteps, but they suddenly disappear.
Huh, what the—
You finished rinsing off your teeth, spitting into the sink, and as you’re walking out of your bathroom, you huff, “Dustin, I swear if you’re taking my thi–” you stop mid-sentence, looking up to see Steve sitting on your bed with flowers, and something else is in his other hand you can’t quite catch. A small smile starts to spread on your face.
“Happy birthday, Sunny.” he says softly, rising from your bed with a boyish little smug smile, walking straight towards you and pulling you into a hug. His arms curling on your shoulders. His cologne is overpowering the atmosphere in your room.
Sunny, it's what he decided he’d call you one time in the spring of 6th grade. You had just gotten dropped off at school, and that day you wore a yellow blouse paired with some khaki shorts and some white Converse. A twelve-year-old Steve stood waiting for you by the school entrance, a habit that grew naturally. You walk over towards him, strides slow and quiet ones that come with the early morning. The sun shone down on you just right, so when he saw you walking over— hair down with a smile on your face, all bright and warm, illuminating from the light hitting your blouse— he greeted you with a “hey sunny” and it stuck. It stuck with him because in that moment when things were slowly changing at home, you were the only thing keeping his days bright. You were the sunny sunlight peeking through the clouds, and he knew you’d be the most important person in his life and that he wanted you in it forever. You are his Sunny.
“Oh Steeeve,” you whine, which quickly turns into a giggle as you’re playfully trying to escape from his grasp, “you’re never gonna stop calling me that, aren’t you?” you finish in a soft fit of laughter. This only makes him tighten his grip on you. So you give up and melt into his arms, your face buried into his chest, your arms wrapping around his waist.
He gently chuckles and murmurs into the side of your face, “oh you love it, but fine, happy birthday, pretty. is that better?”
Hearing him call you pretty makes you halt for a moment, one you hope he didn’t catch, but he gave you a light squeeze signaling that he did. Of course he did.
Pretty? he’s trying to torture you.
You laugh and shake your head against his chest.
“God, you’re impossible…but thank you.” you say with a small smile.
You both pull back from the hug. You look up and catch him already looking at you with a warm smile.
There is a beat of silence.
God he’s so pretty. Stop staring.
“Now, are those flowers for my mother?” You ask him playfully raising an eyebrow, looking at the flowers in his hand
“Ah, right, yes— no— I mean— they’re for you.” he stumbled on his words, handing you the flowers.
You grinned softly, taking the small bouquet of wildflowers he got you, “thanks Steve.” you murmured shyly before looking up at him.
He sends you a small nod with a fond-filled smile, before it turns into a look of remembrance, lifting his hand that carries a little rectangular box towards you.
“Oh, I also got you this—well, made—had made, you know, I’m not as tech savvy, so I had someone do the physicality of it.” he says nervously as he scratches the back of his neck.
“It has your favorite songs...um I made him a list, so now you can have them all — most in one tape.” He says a little quieter, almost as if he were unsure if what he was doing was okay. He did know one thing for sure. It felt right.
You grab it.
It’s a cassette tape. You turn it right side up, and in messy handwriting, one you’ve grown to recognize as Steve’s, it says ‘Sunny’s favorites - mixtape’ followed by a list of 13 of your favorite songs. Your breath catches in your throat. You could feel his eyes on you.
A mixtape. He had a mixtape made for you. Full of your favorite songs. Steve did.
He clears his throat, “I might’ve added 2 or 3 songs that remind me of you.” he adds slowly, eyes not budging.
You look up and meet his gaze. The look on his face looks like he’s holding himself back from pulling you in. From telling you things that go beyond friendship, things he won’t be able to take back.
“This is sweet, I love it.” you murmured with a smile.
This time, it’s you pulling him into a hug. On your tippy toes with your arms snaking around his neck.
He wraps his arms around your waist without hesitation, pulling you flush against him. His face falls into your shoulder, inhaling you slowly.
“You really like it?” He whispers against your shoulder, his breath brushing against your skin as he speaks, sending chills down your body.
You pull back to look at him, his arms loosen, but he doesn’t let you go.
You smile and nod, “I do, thank you, Stevie.” you
“It– it’s not weird right?” He says, looking down away from your eyes in a nervous manner.
“hey no, it’s really sweet and cool.” you say, reassuring him.
He opens his mouth to speak, but closes it the second he hears Dustin’s muffled complaining voice coming closer to your room.
“uuuuhg Jesus Christ, can you guys hurry up? I’m hungry, and mom is not letting me eat until you both are sitting at the table.” he grumbles upon opening your door.
You both turn to look at him, and you can see the smirk on Steve’s face out of the corner of your eye.
“Oh my god, we’re coming.” you tell him in a chuckle.
Dustin makes a sarcastic smile and leaves your room.
“We better go out there before he threatens my life.” Steve says, smiling as he releases you but grabs your hand before pulling you to eat breakfast.
Holding Steve’s hand isn’t something new. It first happened at a party that was a little too crowded. His hand found yours pulling you to walk in front of him, never letting go of your hand, while his other hand guided you by the small of your back. Then it happened when you guys were watching a scary movie, you both sat on your couch close to each other, there was a jump scare, and you quickly grabbed his hand and he didn’t pull away. Then once more, when he took you down by a creek, holding your hand the entire walk there. Needless to say, it’s not weird for you guys to hold hands.
It definitely wasn’t new for him to come over to your house and eat with your family. He has been going over to your house a few times a week for years. Your mom adores and loves him, as does he love your family. To Steve, your mother was sort of a Guardian to him; she was the mom he wished he’d lucked out with. The blueprint. Your home was where he would eat proper homemade food, where he learned to wash his clothes after years of your mom washing his, if his mom hadn’t been there to wash them. It’s where he spent most of his time whenever his parents weren’t home. He saw and felt what a real family was like.
Steve's family wasn’t exactly that, a family. He had a very complex relationship with his parents. His mom has always been a kind lady. She loves her son, she does, but ever since he turned 13, it has turned superficial. Mrs. Harrington found her work and husband to be more of an importance than taking care of her only son.
As for Mr Harrington, he saves face for those he deems worthy. You’ve only had a few interactions with Steve’s dad, most of them being when you would go to Steve’s house after school when you were both in middle school. You saw him as a man of a few words, at least to you, always short and serious. He was the complete opposite towards his son, in the worst possible way. He was hard on Steve, never showing him affection, making sure he maintained a certain image, and constantly pushing him to follow in his footsteps; if not, he was merely a failure. He’s never asked Steve about his interest or his life; you’re surprised he even knows he has a son. You grew to dislike him very quickly. Mr Harrington was a two-faced phoney; he was the type to gloat about having “the perfect family” but behind closed doors, he hardly spoke to his son, and when he did, not a single good thing came out of his mouth. His and Mrs Harrington's relationship was initially based on love, but it eventually became about image and business, and boy did he take advantage of those business trips, which is why Mrs Harrington attended those trips more often than not.
Your home was home to Steve, it’s why now he confidently strides into your kitchen to fill up a vase with water to place the flowers he got you in. His house became a place where he escaped to be alone, which wasn’t a regular thing for him. Sometimes he’d bring you along, especially when you had drunk a few too many drinks at some party he had dragged you to. The majority of the time, the house stays in stillness, except for Steve’s room.
“You okay?” Steve's low voice draws your attention as he looks at you, taking his seat in the chair next to you, pulling it a few inches closer, hoping no one would notice.
You look over at him and nod
“Huh— what— yes, I’m okay, sorry— my mind is still waking up.” you respond.
He nods as he keeps his eyes on you, not convinced, but he decides not to push.
“Finally, we can eat.” Dustin interrupts as he puts food on his plate.
“Impatient little shit.” you grumble with a chuckle.
“Sweetie, language!” your mom spits wide-eyed.
“Sorry mom,” you exhale, smiling, and you all dig into the food.
As everyone is filling up their plate, there is a knock on your door, a complaining groan leaves Dustin, and everyone pauses for a second, then it opens.
Your friends Josie and Robin enter with flowers and balloons, “Happy birthday!” they both say with smiles on their faces, walking towards you.
Your eyes widen, and you smile, getting up, “guys— awww stop, thank you,” you say, meeting them halfway and hugging them both. “I thought I wasn’t going to see you guys until later for our movie marathon.”
“You will, but can’t we just come by early morning to wish our best friend a happy birthday?” Josie playfully questions
You laugh, “yeah, no, of course you can, thank you,” you say. You turn your attention to Robin, who seems fidgety and really hasn’t looked you in the eye. “What’s up with you?” you ask Robin.
“What, me? Nothing's up with me? Why would there be something up with me? Why would you ask if something's up with me? Do I look like there's something up with me?” She rambles on nervously, looking everywhere but you.
“Woah o-Kay…” you say, confused. You were going to ask what was obviously causing her to be this distressed, but your mom speaks first.
“Come on, girls, sit, there’s enough food for everyone.” your mother beams, motioning to the two empty seats at the end of the table.
“Oh, thank god!” Robin huffs as if she were holding in her breath, she practically shoots for her seat. Josie follows behind Robin and sits down. Robin, feeling eyes on her, glances up for a second and catches you still looking at her. “Uh, I mean woo I’m starving, let’s eat everyone.” she adds quickly, trying to get the attention off her. You catch Josie giving her a pointed glare, a silent “shut up robin” look.
You’re still standing, confused about whatever that interaction was. Your eyes catch Steve’s, who doesn’t seem surprised by the interaction and shrugs.
You take your seat, choosing to ignore the questions at the tip of your tongue.
After breakfast at your house, the girls left, promising to meet you at Steve’s for movie night. Meanwhile, you spent most of the morning being dragged around what seemed like all of Hawkins by Steve. You finally arrive at his house with a few snacks in your hands to have your promised Star Wars movie marathon. You take a look around his neighborhood, noticing that Josie’s car is still not here yet.
You both get out of Steve’s car and head to his front door. Once at his door, he places the key into the keyhole and twists. He slightly turns his head to look at you over his shoulder, sending you a small smile.
He opens the door and moves to the side to let you in first, as he always does. You don’t get too far in when you hear a loud group yell out “Happy Birthday!” which makes you jump backwards, bumping into Steve’s chest.
“Oh my god” You gasp, clutching your chest as you let out a short laugh. You finally look up and see the house decorated with yellow and pink balloons, streamers and other birthday decorations, leading to his open sliding door out to his backyard. The room was half filled with people, while the other half was outside by the pool. Everyone you’ve ever known stood in front of you with smiles on their faces: your mom, your brother, the Byers, Mrs Wheeler with Mike & Holly, the Sinclairs, Robin, Josie and her dad Jim, who was working the grill. All were wearing either their swimsuits or something light for the warm weather.
You make your way inside Steve’s house, saying hi and thank yous to everyone as they come up to you to hug you and or say happy birthday.
“Happy birthday, sweetie.” Your mom smiles brightly as she walks up to you.
“Mom, why didn’t you say anything about this?” You smile, gesturing to the party.
“Well, because that was going to ruin the surprise.” she replies in a sweet, matter-of-fact way.
“You didn’t have to, this was probably a lot of work.” you say softly.
“Oh no, sweetie, I was in on this, but Steve was the one to suggest it and came up with the idea. We just helped.” She says casually.
You slightly pause, chest tight and a little dizzy.
“What?” you reply, glancing at her, and she resumes speaking, but the conversation suddenly becomes muffled. Your focus goes to scanning, until your eyes land on him. He was talking to Hopper, but his eyes were already on you. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly.
Your whole body gets hot, and you shift from one leg to the other.
“Sweetie,” your mom says firmly to get your attention. You hum, returning your gaze to your mom, letting her know you’re listening. “Here, get changed. I brought you your swimsuit. We’ll all be outside, okay?” she says, handing you a bag.
You nod and grab it. You hear shuffling as everyone is making their way outside, and you head over to the bathroom.
As you change into your swimming suit, a red bikini top with white polka dots and its matching bikini shorts, you can’t help but think about the fact that Steve was the one who planned this party. He did it for you. Surely, he was just being nice, you thought, you are his best friend after all. You brushed the thoughts away just as your slipping on your bottoms, putting the clothes you took off into the bag, you open the door to the bathroom and jump a little at the sight of Steve, already in his blue swim trunks and chest that’s lightly covered with a small patch of hair right at the center with an open short sleeve button up, standing right in front of you with his hand raised as if he were going to knock.
“Oh, uh— hi” you say with a breathy laugh, both you and Steve startled, he quickly puts his raised hand down.
His face is flushed, and he looks embarrassed that he was caught mid-action, even though you had no idea that he was actually standing outside the door for about 6 minutes, contemplating whether to knock and give you one of his t-shirts so you could use it as a cover-up.
You also noticed something else about him, something you couldn’t quite name. Maybe a sense of nervousness. He was looking down at the floor, at the door by your side, the shirt in his hand, anywhere but your eyes.
“You okay?” you ask him as you slightly tilt your head, curious.
“Mmm—what—yea of course I’m okay, I was just bringing you a shirt that you can wear as a cover up after if you want— Not that you have to, I’m not saying you have to, but if you want to—”
You interrupt his rambling, reaching and placing a hand on the shirt still in his hand.
You give him a small nod and smile, “I’ll use it— my mom actually didn’t bring my cover up, so thanks.” you say, taking the shirt from his hands.
There’s a beat. He finally looks up, catching your eyes for a split second.
You think to bring up the whole party planning thing your mom revealed to you, but opt out, planning on asking him about it later.
“Okay, come on, birthday girl, let’s celebrate!” he says with a full Harrington smile now, replacing the nervous & shy Steve that appears every blue moon. You break into a smile as he’s pulling you by your hand, moving you in front of him as he puts his hands on your shoulders, maneuvering you to his backyard.
Outside, you’re met with muffled chatter, the radio playing a Bruce Springsteen song loud enough for everyone to hear but not loud enough to drown out the conversations. And if you’re really paying attention, you hear the faint buzzing of cicadas. The sun is high and bright in the sky, immediately warming your skin, the smell of the grill being worked on mixed with the scent of chlorine from Steve’s pool and sunscreen everyone’s lathered up in.
Sitting on Steve's outdoor table is your mom, who’s in mid-conversation with Karen, Sue, and Joyce. Jonathan is perched next to her, mindlessly taking photos with his camera. Hopper is flipping burgers on the grill with a beer in his hand while Charles is standing next to him, talking about some game. The boys have already taken over the pool, splashing and cannonballing in, all shrieks and giggles.
You make your way towards Josie and Robin, who are on the far side, sitting in front of the pool on lounge chairs, with Steve’s presence following behind you.
They see you, and their faces brighten.
“Oooh, cute bathing suit!” Josie says, looking at you before it slips to Steve for a second, sending him a quick wink while the corners of her mouth curl.
You still caught it, and you suddenly felt so hot you almost thought of jumping in the pool. “Thanks?” you say, but it comes out more unsure and like a question.
What was that? Why did you look at him? What aren’t you telling me?
You brush it off and look at Robin, who is smiling. “This explains why you were acting the way you were acting earlier.” you gesture to the party while slightly chuckling.
The smile on her face falls as she groans.
“Thank god your mom interrupted that interaction, god it was painful to watch.” Steve says with a grin.
“You have no idea how many times I had to calm her down whenever you’d leave the room or even after hanging out. She’d start hyperventilating, I’ve had to aggressively shake her once to make her stop...” Josie shakes her head— “next time it’ll be a surprise for both of you.” She laughs
“It's true, but hey, listen, in my defense, I told them not to tell me anything! You guys know I can’t keep my mouth shut. I am not good under pressure and your stare…” she looks at you almost as if she were recoiling in her seat “my god, I was about to burst!” Robin rambles, wailing her arms.
“Robin,” you say sternly, with no real edge to it. “Deep breaths, it’s okay, but it’s good to know that my stare intimidates you,” you smirk a little.
“Oh god, now I’m being threatened with my own weaknesses being used against me!” she groans as she takes her face in her hands while you three laugh.
Eventually, you all gravitated towards the table to eat the burgers Jim made and chatted amongst yourselves, while the boys were still in the pool, refusing to get out. Not only until after we finished our food, did the boys start coming out of the pool.
After about 10 minutes of eating, you four decided to claim the edge of the pool, dipping your legs in. Steve, on the other hand, takes his open button-up off and jumps into the pool, splashing water everywhere.
You let out a laugh as you shake your head, just as Steve emerges from the water, moving back the wet hair that stuck to his face.
You lean back, left hand supporting your weight,“You still need to wait 20 more minutes.” you state.
“Says who?” he scoffs, grinning, moving towards you through the water. Slow, almost challenging.
“Says literally everyone.” you huff with a barely there laugh. Your gaze goes to Robin and Josie, who are nodding in agreement, before landing back on him.
“Yea well, they don’t know that nothing can faze Steve Harrington!” he declares confidently, now in front of you.
“Well, you better tell Steve Harrington that when he gets a cramp, I better not hear him cry and whine about it.” you teased.
Steve pouts, trying to hide the smile threatening to take over his face. He looks down at the water for a second, then looks up at you again, then past you and gasps. You turn around following his line of sight, but you're met with nothing but a plain tree. Oh fuck. Before you know it, a hand wraps around your hand that’s resting on your lap.
You snap your head. It’s Steve, obviously it’s him, and he’s closer to you with a smug smile on his face. “No.” you plead with wide eyes. He bites his lip to conceal the smile from widening, “Happy birthday sunny.” he says in a sweet tone, as if it will make things better. As if he knew his sweet tone could get him out of the scolding you’re going to give him after.
“Steve N–” you start, attempting to pull your hand back, but he tightens his grip and pulls you into the water with him. You let out a small shriek before you hit the water.
Thankfully, the water is warm on your skin from the July summer heat. You’re still underwater, holding in your breath, swinging your arms around in the water, for a moment, your mind goes blank, like it’s still catching up to what happened. Then you feel a hand brush against your waist, and it snaps you out, reminding you of the need for oxygen.
You emerge from the water — gasping for air, you wipe away the water that clings to your face and open your eyes. Around you, you hear Josie and Robin laughing, already in the water, splashing each other. They must have jumped in when Steve pulled you in. You smile, still panting, but it’s lessened now, then you realize the warm softness against your side. You’re leaning against Steve. Your arm is wrapped around his shoulders while he has his wrapped around your waist. He gives your side a soft squeeze, and you slowly turn to look at him, only to meet his gaze. You both stare at each other, the look of pure fondness over taking his features, his mouth curving into a gentle smile. You feel your mouth doing the same, then the memory of him pulling you into the pool fills your mind, and you playfully push him away, “jerk!” you grumbled, frowning, splashing him in the face with water before turning around, making your way to the girls.
“Oh come on, you were already gonna come into the water anyway, I just helped you out!” he jested, following behind you. You hear the smile in his voice, and you can’t help but smile as well, but because you’re stubborn, you look over your shoulder and stick out your tongue at him, as if you were a child. All he does is smile.
You all continue messing around in the pool for a while, going from racing each other, to seeing who can make the biggest splash jumping from the diving board, to playing chicken fight. Eventually, as you're still in the pool, your mom brings out a cake in her hands with some lit candles while the boys are around her singing happy birthday, and everyone joins in to sing. Steve and the girls drag you out of the pool — leading you right in front of your mom, who is carrying the cake. You’re flustered and full of giggles. The cake is decorated in white and yellow. In the center, it reads “Happy Birthday, Sunny!” in pretty yellow font. When you read it, your brows furrow for a second before your eyes immediately find Steve, who’s singing along with a wide smile on his face, already looking at you.
As they finish singing, Dustin tells you to make a wish before you move to blow the candles out. You smile at him and close your eyes, all you can think about is how much you wish to have more moments like these — to be happy and carefree as you are right now with your family, your friends, and maybe your wish even carries Steve in there. A small part of you wished that he would feel the same way you did, but you would rather have him as a friend than nothing at all.
Your eyes open, glancing at everyone around you, and you blow out the candles.
“What’d you wish for?” Steve pipes up.
“Yea” “yea, what was your wish?” the boys ask enthusiastically.
“Well, if I tell you my wish, then it won’t come true.” You smirk at them.
They groan.
You laugh.
After indulging in some cake, the boys jumped straight into the pool again to swim a little while longer. Josie and Robin settled onto their lounge chairs, talking amongst themselves.
Steve and you end up side by side, like you always do, sitting on the pool steps. Your back is slightly leaned up against the pool wall, and Steve is sitting next to you, thigh brushing yours. You’re both in comfortable silence, one that comes with years of knowing each other. The sun is casting the sky in its pink, orange, and yellow hues as it’s getting ready to set. You turn your head and smile when you see the boys floating on their backs, then, in your peripheral view, you see it. Steve turns his head to look at you.
“You’re staring.” you state, still looking at the boys.
He stays quiet, but his gaze doesn’t leave you.
“What?” you grumble with a shy smile, eyes meeting his.
Steve’s features are soft as they scan your face, then a soft smile settles. He gently shakes his head, “nothing.” he chuckles before his eyes focus back on yours. You send him a look, one that says you don’t believe that, and he huffs a chuckle, looking away from you.
The silence briefly returns between you both.
“Did you have fun?” He asks softly, eyes flickering up to you.
You smile and nod, “Yea I did.”
“Good, I’m glad.”
“You know, earlier I was telling my mom she really didn’t have to plan anything like this for me today” you started, moving your hands in the water as a way to ground yourself.
He hums, letting you know he’s listening.
“It’s actually kind of funny because she said she didn’t come up with the idea or even plan it” you finish, looking at the side of his face now.
He’s quiet. Then a small sigh leaves him.
“Steve, you didn’t have to plan any of this.” you breathed, motioning to everything and everyone around you.
“Hey,” he says in a hushed, gentle tone, chasing your eyes. “No. I wanted to. I did. It was fun, and you deserved to be celebrated like this.”
The corner of your mouth lifted. “…Why didn’t you say anything?” You question him.
“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” He shrugged. “And I didn’t want to brag.” he adds.
“Steve Harrington not wanting to brag? Oh my god, am I in another universe? Are you feeling okay?” You tease, placing the back of your hand on his forehead.
He rolls his eyes, but has a grin on his lips. “Ha ha, don’t act cute.” he grumbles, gently moving your hand.
You pause.
Cute? Who is he calling cute? This is definitely another universe.
He notices your pause. He always does. Then realizes what he said.
His heart starts racing.
“Uh…no, but really— I didn’t want to brag about this. This isn’t about me, it’s about you. I wanted this to be genuine.” He says in a tender voice, looking away.
You feel like all the air has been sucked out of your lungs.
You swallow hard. You take a second before speaking, not trusting yourself just yet.
Instead, your trembling hand grabs his wrist, and you give it a soft squeeze before leaning to place a quick but gentle kiss on his cheek.
“No one has ever said or done anything like this for me… thank you, Steve.” you say in a timid voice before pulling back.
Just as he looks towards you, you also turn forward to look over at your mom, who calls in that same second, “Sweetie, we’re all about to head out.” You two were in your own bubble to notice the boys had gotten out of the pool some time ago.
His eyes lingered on you. Subtly studying you, trying to get a sense of what you’re feeling or thinking. You nod, “Okay, I’ll be right there” you say almost steadily, sending her a warm smile.
“Alright, I’ll be back” you tell him before getting up and walking over to your mom.
“Yea.” he says quietly, eyes staring at where your hand had been. Already missing the warmth of it.
You walk over to your mom and everyone who was leaving, giving them your thank yous and goodbyes. Before your mom leaves, she says, “Goodnight, be safe, I’ll see you tomorrow” knowing that you’ll either stay at Steve’s and sleepover, as you have already done many times, or you’ll get home later when she’s already asleep— either way, she’ll see you tomorrow.
After everyone else left, it was only down to you, Josie, Robin and Steve. You went back outside to meet them, only to find them sitting at the patio table. The sun was long gone by now, and the pool lights turned on automatically. Before you know it, the music is turned up a little more, and you all jump into the pool again. You’re all in comfortable conversation, lazily swimming.
Suddenly, Josie grabs your hand — you turn to look at her, and she's already looking at you with a beaming smile. She looks up at the sky for a second before turning back to look at you, your eyebrows pulled together in confusion, yet you still look up, you’re still confused, but when you catch the twinkling stars up above you, you catch on. You smile and look at her, and in a second, you both move through the water, dashing towards the pool steps, and once you’re out, you quickly grab the shirt Steve gave you earlier— slipping it on as you turn to jog behind Josie, who runs down the small hill towards the grass area of Steve's backyard. Steve and Robin, still in the pool, call out from behind you at the same time, “hey wait, what are you doing?” Robins shouts, her voice laced with confusion.
“Where are you guys going?” Steve questions.
“No questions. Come on!” Josie laughed, already sitting on the grass, pulling you to sit down next to her. She lies back, staring at the sky, smiling.
“Steve, turn off the lights please!” you add quickly, shooting him a smile.
He is already moving, not questioning anymore and does what you ask, both of them coming out from the pool. Robin comes straight to you guys, taking a spot next to Josie, immediately lying down— she mumbles something to Josie and points to the sky.
The lights turn off, leaving just the moonlight glow shining down on you guys. You catch yourself still sitting up, looking back to where Steve is coming from.
You can’t see his face, yet you smile at him. Once he reaches the spot next to you, he stands there and looks up to the sky.
You can’t help but stare — your stomach fluttered.
You reach up and take his hand, and you give it a soft and gentle tug.
He turns to look at you. “Sit” you whisper with a controlled smile.
And he does. Never letting go of your hand. He bends down and sits next to you, his gaze never leaves you until you both lie down, looking up.
He laced your hands properly— thumb tracing your knuckles faintly.
God, you’re so screwed.
You all lay there watching the twinkling of the stars, keeping an eye out for shooting stars. You and Josie try to identify some of the constellations, but fail miserably.
Eventually, they called it a night and headed home. You’re now standing in his room in front of the mirror, feeling a small fading buzz of warmth traveling through your body from the day before you. Everyone has left now, you stayed back to help Steve clean up a little, but he demanded you not touch a single thing. Sending you to his room so you could have your long-awaited movie marathon he had promised you.
Once you got there, your legs took you straight to his mirror that is leaning against the wall next to his window. You look at yourself in the mirror, scanning your appearance, hair wavy and damp, almost dry, and in the T-shirt Steve had lent you, underneath your red bathing suit.
As you’re staring at yourself, Steve finally appears, stopping right at his open bedroom door. He expected you to be lying down on his bed, snuggled up in a blanket like you normally would, but his breath catches as he sees you standing in front of the mirror. The room was dim, but the two lamps he had on cast yellow shadows on your figure. You looked warm, gentle, and beautiful. You always did to him. He caught the look on your face as you looked at your reflection, eyebrows pulled together, paired with a slight frown. That broke him.
You don’t notice him standing at the door, taking you in. Not until he starts walking towards you, his reflection coming into view in the mirror in front of you.
You slightly jump at the sight of him, looking at him over your shoulder.
He sends you a lopsided smile and joins you, standing so close behind you that you could feel his body heat. Your eyes meet through the mirror facing you.
“Hi” he says in the softest voice you’ve ever heard from him.
“Hi” you say just as softly, with a smile.
“I– uh– I have one more thing for you.” he stammered as he lifted his hand to reveal a necklace. A necklace with a small gold sun pendant on it.
It’s dainty and perfect.
“Steve, it’s…it’s beautiful. You didn’t have to.” you muttered.
He fumbled with the tiny clasp for a moment before moving your hair to the side and guiding the chain into place.
“I wanted to.” he said with a soft and quick, warm grin on his face.
You could feel the chills appear on your body as you feel his hot breath hit the back of your neck.
He moves closer, sliding his arms around your waist, hands resting flat just below your navel, while he rests his chin on your shoulder.
You hoped he couldn’t feel your heart beating rapidly or the fact that you're trying to control your breathing.
A small smile spreads on your face. You move yours, sliding from his forearms to rest on top of his hands, fingers slightly intertwining.
He tilts his head up a bit, his lips brush against your ear lightly, sending a spark of electricity down your spine, while his eyes stay connected to yours.
“You look pretty.” he murmurs with a smile on his face. One of his hands starts to gently rub below your navel, sending chills down your body.
You exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding in, but you try to cover it up with a soft and shy giggle, “Steve…” you whisper, your face leaning against his.
“What…it’s true, you always do.” he mutters, face pulling back just enough to look at you. His hand stills in place.
There’s a pause, the air thicker.
Your breath hitches for a moment before you turn to look at him. Your faces are centimeters apart, breaths mixing. The look on his face was filled with tenderness, honesty, and desire. Eyes searching your face. Searching for reciprocation. For any green light. Hoping you wouldn’t look away and break the spell.
You don’t. Instead, your eyes lock with his.
To him, holding you like this felt right. If he were meant to be anywhere in the world, it would be right in this very moment with you in his arms. He was sure of it.
You open your mouth to speak, but words fall short, voice gone.
His eyes fell to your lips, staying there for what felt like a lifetime until they met your eyes again.
Before you know it, you’re both leaning in, noses brushing — breaths mingling together.
“Tell me to stop.” he mumbles, looking into your eyes before they drop to your mouth, barely audible yet desperate & pained, almost as if he forced those words out against his will.
You don’t; instead, your right hand trembles its way up to his neck.
That’s all he needs.
You blink. And his lips are on yours. He’s so soft and gentle, you barely feel the warm press of his lips on your own. Then another press, firmer now, until you naturally find a rhythm. The kiss is slow and maybe a bit hesitant, almost as if he’s testing whether you’ll pull away but hoping deep down you won’t.
This is new territory, but it feels right. Like a place you’ve been searching for and you finally found it — your destination.
His lips are soft and warm against yours.
One of his hands lightly cups your cheek; his touch is still gentle and light like he’s touching something delicate that he doesn’t want to break, or more specifically, break this moment.
His hand that still rests on your waist starts moving you, turning you around so you’re facing him, lips never disconnecting. His arm goes back around your waist, slowly pulling your body against his, removing any gap between you.
At first, your hands didn’t know what to do, but they quickly found refuge on his chest. while his hand on your face slid down behind your neck, right into your hair, tugging at it gently, tilting your head.
It makes your lips part against his mouth as a small gasp leaves you.
Steve takes advantage of your open mouth and deepens the kiss by slipping his tongue into your mouth. Swirling his tongue with yours, moving slowly and deep as he explores your mouth. More confident than he was a few seconds ago.
He shuffles you both to his bed behind him, moving you to where you’re on his bed first. The kiss becomes more intense by the second.
He sits on the bed next to you, leaning as he lays you down on his bed, lips now moving frantically, breathing deeper and faster. He’s half hovering over you, his right hand supporting his weight while the other cups your face.
Your hands move to the nape of his neck, slightly pulling at his hair.
A faint whimper escapes his mouth, breaking the kiss. You both open your eyes— lips swollen and wet, panting. His pupils are blown, which you’re sure only mirrors yours.
“I–uh–d–do you wanna stop?” He asks in a breathy voice, eyes gliding down to your lips before going back up to your eyes.
You shake your head, a breathless “no” slips from your lips before you can even think.
He smirks at your eagerness. Suddenly, you feel nervous and slightly embarrassed.
“Are you sure? We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” he says in a low voice as his thumb rubs your bottom lip.
You nod, “I uh I do– I am, I–I–I want to” you stammered nervously.
He chuckles lightly, loving how cute you look when you’re nervous, especially since it’s him who has you like this.
“Are you laughing? don’t laugh!” you say in a playful whine, taking your hands and covering your face. “steeeve.” you laugh, a forced one, trying to cover how shy you are in that moment.
You feel & hear him softly laughing against you until it slowly stops. Then you feel his warm hands wrap around your wrists, pulling your hands off your face.
“Awe come on, don’t hide,” he says with a small frown, which quickly turns into a soft smile. He delicately moves some loose strands of hair behind your ear. “You’re beautiful.” he coos, eyes scanning your face, really taking you in.
He leans in again, eye contact remaining until your lips touch. This kiss is still gentle, but this time there was no trace of hesitance behind it, seeing as he slips his tongue into your mouth within seconds.
“Oh, and by the way, I want to too.” he mumbles against your lips, smile evident. You hum in response, fighting the urge to giggle.
The night carried forward with you & Steve discovering each other in a new way, the most intimate way. A way you both thought was never in the cards, a dream, a fantasy. Clothes were slowly shed, warm bodies were pressed together, limbs were tangled, teasing and giggles were exchanged, many kisses were given, hands were held, & names you’ve said normally for years were moaned. The line between friendship and romance was blurred, and to be fair, the line was already fading.
Come early morning, you’d wake up in the stillness of Steve’s home. It is usually an eerie and cold feeling, but this morning, instead of that, it felt familiar and warm, especially with the body next to you. Steve’s body. He’s lying on his stomach, head faced towards you, lips slightly parted, with one arm around you, still fully sound asleep. You can’t help but feel your chest tighten as you look at him.
You look over at his alarm clock on his nightstand, 8 o’clock, and suddenly you remember you were supposed to help your mom with an errand that morning. You gently slip out of Steve’s embrace and put on your normal clothes from the previous day. You didn’t want to wake Steve up, so you grabbed a pen and a piece of paper from one of the journals on his desk and wrote him a note.
Steve,
I didn’t want to wake you, but I had to head out early. I forgot I had to take Dustin to his doctor's appointment since Mom was summoned for a work meeting. Thank you for the party, you really shouldn’t have but I loved it! And thank you for last night too, it was special, I had a really nice night. Call me when you can, yeah? Okay, talk soon!
Love,
Sunny
You fold the note and walk over to place it on the pillow your head had laid on all night, and look over at Steve, who’s still asleep. You smile and lean over to place a quick, soft peck on his cheek. You quietly make your way to the door, and you open it to leave, but before you do, you stop to take a glance at Steve once more. You take him in and think about last night, your stomach flips in the best way. Finally, you close his door and make your way out of his house, beaming and hopeful for the next time you talk to him, for the call.
Who was going to tell you that after that morning, you wouldn’t see or hear from Steve that day or the next day or the next. That he would avoid you under the pretense that he was busy, until one day, he just stopped talking to you at all.
