A/N: due to a few requests for a part 2, I hope you guys enjoy it!!!
WARNINGS: pt. 2 of "your eyes!", NSFW, mdni, f!reader, some internal angst, rough sex, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), fingering, creampie, web restraint, arachnid!peter taking control :O
WC: 2.2k
SUMMARY: After Peter’s eyes go black mid-orgasm and you're left stunned, Peter has to figure out how to explain things to you without scaring you away, or risking his anonymity. But unbeknownst to him, you take the news well. Very well.
"P-Pete... Your eyes!"
"What?" He moans.
"Your eyes are black!"
Well, fuck-! It's not supposed to happen like this, he knew his arachnid abilities had a tendency to take control when he was overwhelmed, but he thought it was just from stress or emotions, not overstimulation during sex. He squishes his eyes shut, stops his thrusts, grunts as he pulls out of you, and rubs his face against his palms. "Shit." He mutters under his breath.
"Peter, I think I'm really drunk." You say shakily through a small laugh, you're caught off guard; he understands. You're a bit frightened seeing that up close and personal, he was a great fuck but seeing his eyes glisten black completely right in front of you was intimidating. Maybe you were just so drunk on alcohol and sex that you imagined it.
Peter's reaction made you think otherwise.
"N-No," he stammers, when his hands move, his eyelashes bat open, slightly watery from the aggressive rubbing; but they're normal again. "I'm sorry." He exhales.
You sit in silence, more confused than scared. Your thighs are still shaking from the incredible highs he's taken you to, your pussy still aching from his size, his load, his passion. Peter runs his hands through his curls, which are a bit sticky from his sweat. "I can explain it to you when you're sober, i-it's going to be a lot to take in. Is that okay? You can stay the night... Please don't leave.. I'll sleep on the couch." You stare at his pitiful puppy face, hesitantly, you nod. Your heart's racing a thousand miles an hour, carefully, Peter tugs the comforter over your naked form, so gentle compared to the beast he'd been moments ago. God, was he a monster? He felt like a monster.
He moves away quickly, wiping the sweat from his forehead before yanking up his boxers. His brain messed up from the sex, the arachnid hormones fogging his senses, his dick was still twitching– alive with need but he was too embarrassed to even look at you right now. He can't believe you had to see him like that.
Internal doubt crept into his heart that he would never be able to experience these things again, maybe it wasn't a huge deal because he never went out of his way to hook up with anyone. This felt special with you, even though he was pretty sure you'd sneak out after he fell asleep, and it was nothing more than a drunk fling to you. He owed you an explanation but he didn't want to overwhelm your brain until he knew you'd be able to process it. He didn't want you to go home alone and was stunned from the fact he went arachnid on you mid-orgasm. He hated this. Why can't his body just stay normal? A way he can still be Spider-Man, but also Peter Parker. Maybe there's a way, he's too tired now to think about it. He's more worried about you than himself.
Peter doesn't sleep a wink all night, he's too anxious about the following day, what you'll think, what you might say, would you think he's a monster?
ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐
The dawn peered through the windows of Peter's apartment sooner than he would've preferred, though sleep came easy to your intoxicated self, when you awoke, your head had a diabolical pain. Hangovers, one of the worst things to curse mankind. A little before noon is when you finally muster yourself out of the unfamiliar bed which is not your own, putting the pieces together, it's obvious you had a drunk hookup, and your memories are a little fuzzy. You find a t-shirt laid over a chair and tug it over your bare body, it fits nicely, but it isn't yours. If you had an "I survived my trip to NYC" shirt, you'd wear it more often. Your feet pad against the cold floor as you exit the unfamiliar bedroom, into the small living room area. You find someone laying on the creaky couch, and an odd amount of tech to your left.
"Hello?" You say softly, in case he's asleep.
Peter perks up quickly, turns to look at you. Somehow, more beautiful than last night. He smiles awkwardly.
"H-Hey... You sleep okay?"
"Yeah, good. Thanks."
There's tension, you're not sure why, but Peter looks like he's five seconds away from bolting right off the edge of the fire escape. "Are you okay...?"
"Um, yeah? Yeah. Fine." Now he's confused, do you not remember anything? He notices a small limp in your step as you move to sit on the couch beside him. Oh man, he wish that wasn't attractive, knowing that he fucked you enough to leave a lasting impression. He covers his recovering boner with a throw pillow. "Did... sorry I did that." He gestures to your limp.
"Mm, it's okay. Means you did something right."
"D-Do you remember anything?" He asks shakily.
"Like what? The sex? The party?"
"B-both."
"Sort of. Why didn't you sleep next to me?"
"Look, I'm just going to be honest with you, I promised I would last night..." Peter's eyes dart to his hands in his lap as you sit next to him more comfortably.
"Okay..."
"When we- finished," he clears his throat. "my body got really overwhelmed. I have- different DNA."
"What do you mean?"
"You have to promise me you will not tell anyone!"
"I don't have much of a circle, it's more like a triangle. Maybe a really short line."
"Promise!!"
"Okay! I promise!!"
Peter exhales, shoulders slumping. "I'm Spider-Man. And last night whenever I– like- finished my eyes turned black and you got really scared, and I felt horrible because you didn't deserve to see that. And I wanted to be honest because it doesn't feel right taking advantage of you like that and not explaining myself, and, I'm sorry."
Okay that was a lot to take in. You sit there for a minute, stunned by both his words and the pounding in your temples. "You're really Spider-Man?"
"Yeah. I guess I'm like going through stages or something, my body's been changing, I sense things more than I could before, and my webs are literally coming out of my wrists! It's disgusting!!"
You can't help but chuckle a little. "You can do that?" He nods, blush blooming over his freckled cheeks. "That's cool..."
"You're not weirded out?"
"No, why would I be?"
"I feel like most people would've gotten freaked out and like... ran out the door."
"To be fair, if I hadn't been drunk, I probably would have. I banged Spider-Man, so...That's a win in my book. I won't tell anyone, I promise."
Peter's face washes with relief as your words sink in.
"So... Did your new senses peak out last night?"
"Yeah, it was kinda embarrassing. I was like... Out of my mind."
"Clearly, I'm limping." You joke. "I think it's attractive."
"Y-you do?" His voice cracks.
"Yeah, you used your new abilities to fuck me. Tell me, what did you do to me, Spider-Man?" His breath hitches, he gulps. Then something makes him smirk,
"I'll just show you."
"Really?"
"Maybe now that you're sober you'll appreciate it more."
Just like that, he swept you off of the couch, and back to his bed. You felt a bit more in control now, alcohol couldn't fog your brain. Peter bent down sliding your panties down your legs. Then his face disappears between your thighs, "Pete-!" His tongue drags along your slit, making you shudder, your body tensing from that sweet, first contact. "Oh my god." You moan.
He isn't sure if the chill that runs down his spine is his own or his arachnid senses. He feels that thrum again, the same one that made him snap last night and pound into you to cause the limp you have today. Damn, you tasted like perfection served on a silver platter, his hands pushing your thighs back a bit to expose your pussy to him, his tongue going to work while his nose brushed against your clit, making you tremble. He's honestly so addicted to eating you now, all of a sudden, when your legs jerk back, he grunts and sits up. "You gotta quit movin' baby," he mutters, pressing your legs back as far as you're comfortable with, he makes you hold them in place, and he shoots a web over both of your hands.
"Pete!!" You exclaimed at the sticky feeling trapping your hands against the underside of your knees.
"Gotta stay still." He mumbles, and dives back in. Slowly slurping, like a man starved for weeks on end and this pussy is the only hope of keeping him alive. He edges you closer, and closer, until you're right on the brink of a precious orgasm, he can feel it in the way the hairs on his arm stand up. He bites his lip and pulls away, leaving you wet and ready for more. Suddenly, he stuffs his finger inside your pussy, gently pumping it in and out making you dizzy. It's so pleasurable. You let out soft whimpers as his fingers hit that gushy spot that takes you out of this world, and you can't help it when you squirt on his hands. He almost stops but it's such a beautiful sight that he genuinely can't stop thrusting his fingers into you until you've probably squirted every juice left in your body. He just stares, amazed that your body could do that. His eyes twinkle with want.
Peter lifts his fingers to his mouth and gently sucks them clean.
He discards his boxers onto the floor, pushing his body between your thighs and rubbing his cock along your wet slit. His precum mixes with your juices tenderly before he pokes his tip in once, then twice, and a third time. His body hunches until your chests press together, his hands carefully rip his webs from your thighs. He wraps them around his waist and starts rocking his hips desperately into you. "I'm s-so glad you're not scared of me." He whines, his thrusts are a bit sloppy at first, he's still getting used to these heightened feelings. It's so not fair that he can feel every muscle inside of you clenching and clinging to his cock, it's wonderfully miserable for him. "I hear it- feel it- all." He whimpers in your ear and he grips your thighs, pounding your pussy like he personally owned it. (He didn't).
Your moans bonded together to create an intimate atmosphere, between the heavy breathing, the squelches of your hips meeting and Peter practically fucking your cervix right now- it was the best sex either of you have had your entire lives.
"You're so, so, so good. Thank you." He whines, he really can't control it, maybe it's a mix of human and arachnid hormones, he wasn't sure if it was even genetically possible it could enhance his sexual performance, but clearly, it seemed to be because his pace was unmatched. His brows furrowed, hyper-focused of fucking you until you couldn't leave his bed. In the back of his mind, maybe he'd web you up and keep you like his own mate. But rational, sweet Peter could never do that to a sweet girl like you.
"I'm close," you moaned. He nods, keeping this pace, but his brain is getting cloudy, by choices that aren't his own. Then- he just starts pounding harder, making you squeal. "Mmh! Peter!" Mate. A real one? Perhaps. When you squirm under his pistoning hips, you tried to slow him down, not that you didn't like it. He grabs your wrists and webs them to his headboard.
"Stay." He growls.
Good grief! Your eyebrows knit together, mouth gaping as he impossibly fucks you in a way no person should be able to. His hands slide beneath your ass, gripping it and angling it up slightly, eliciting a sweet whine from your throat as he hits your g-spot, and more. Your walls squeeze his cock so wonderfully, his eyes are clenched shut again, fighting an internal battle between his arachnid self, and regular Peter Parker. When his eyes flutter open, you're gazing back into voidless, black eyes that are taunting and controlling. When you cum, he groans loudly, still thrusting through your unbearable tightness.
And when he cums?
He moans, and moans; and normal Peter Parker would pull out, but arachnid Peter held you still as his cock released his thick load right against your womb. He pants, head hanging as sweat trickles down his cheek and his eyes daze back to normal, his cock is swollen inside of you, and he lets out a pathetic whine as your walls continue to clench and pulse against his dick. "Oh, I didn't mean to- fuck!" His voice cracks as your pussy walls trap him inside you when he tries to pull out of you.
"Holy shit." His eyes widened a little as his cock finally popped out, watching as his semen dripped out of you. They dart from your pussy, to your face. "You're so beautiful."
"Thank you..." You smile, blushing.
He moves up and kisses you.
It's gentle, the perfect post-sex kiss.
"Can you get these webs off me now, please?" You smirk.
"Oh, no. I think I'm gonna keep you like this for a while."
Do you think enhanced arachnid stuff, means enhanced physiology, means enhanced dih?
AHAHAHHA WAIT SERIOUS QUESTION
LMAOO
well yes of course anon!
i imagine peter’s like oddly surprised to find his dick is like way bigger than normal (not ABSURDLY…) but noticeably esp when he’s hard 😓 gosh and he’s just too big to fit but he still tries anyway oh my god
and don’t get me started on his orgasm abilities bc i saw someone on here say his cum gets like really thick with his enhancement and i haven’t been the same since
A/N: im not even joking i saw bnd and immediately opened tumblr bc it is that serious. expect more from me...
WARNINGS: NSFW, mdni, drunk f!reader, drunk hookup (all is consensual), no BND spoilers included! (js talks a little about his heightened abilities), p in v, unprotected rough sex, arachnid sensory overload... him using his senses to fuck you 🤤
WC: 2.4k
SUMMARY: Meeting a stranger at your friend's party, you decided to go out on a limb and do something you never do: casually hookup. Peter's amidst discovering his new abilities, and dealing with these bodily changes– he's searching for his own relief outside of Advil.
You never go home with strangers. People who go to clubs or parties purely for spontaneous hookups with no real meaning are stupid. You vowed to never be one of those people. After an unexpected invite to MJ and Ned's housewarming party, you find yourself pacing past huddled bodies, head overwhelmed by the mix of chatter and soft music. There should be a limit to how many people can be in an apartment, this is ridiculous. The drinks are fun, there should be less people, more drinks.
You raise a blue plastic cup to your lips when you see a random guy stumble past a group of people ranting and raving about something you can't make out. They're talking too fast anyway. He rubs his head as though a headache is seriously taking over his brain, and he huddles into a corner for protection from the chaos.
You're bored and drunk, what's the harm?
Everyone says you need to get back out there anyway, and he's cute... In an abandoned-puppy-at-a-shelter kind of way. He smiled weakly at passerbys, clutched his cup too tightly, like he's expecting someone to snatch it from him at any given moment. You straighten your posture, fix a dress you stole from your roommate, and muster up the courage to go over and speak to him. He looks distracted, and he is.
Peter's life is so scrambled, he doesn't know who or what he is anymore. He only came here to try and recollect what he'd lost four years ago. His best friends. Now he's not so sure, it's too crowded, and he feels everything too deeply now.
Then you came up.
His breath hitched, his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, backed up as if there was no more space behind him. "Hi." You simply stated.
"H-Hi?"
You give him your hand to shake, telling him your name. He just stands there. Stares at you blankly before his lips stutter out: "Peter." Wow, he hadn't told anyone his name in so long, it felt wrong. No one was supposed to know him, Peter's just another face in the crowd, a nobody to everybody.
"Nice to meet you, Peter." You smile.
"Y-You too." He hides his flush behind the cup as he practically chugs the rest.
"You okay?"
"Fine! I'm fine, I just came to give N-Ned and MJ a housewarming gift, I- I was gonna leave... I have a headache so..."
"Ohh, I see. Migraine?"
"Something like that." He murmurs. He shifts on his feet quietly, Peter's restless where he stands, his hands trembling at his sides. His head was pounding so hard, he could feel his brain shaking around and ricocheting against his skull. He can hear your heart beating, and he's not sure if he likes that or not.
You tilt your head, the alcohol's fogging your brain, and you just let loose. "Look, I think you're really cute." You say slowly, slightly slurred. "You want to get out of here?"
Peter stands as still as a statue. Get out of here. Go where? He didn't know you, couldn't take you home with him, his place isn't... 'Guest material.' That and the fact all of his tech is there, including clues that would reveal his identity as Spider-Man to you. Would a drunk girl go blabbering to J. Jonah Jameson like Mysterio had those years ago? He certainly hoped not! He couldn't afford to do that again. Not that he could, Strange wouldn't remember Peter anyways. "Sure." He shrugs.
The two of you make your way out of the apartment, to the elevator, then down. You loop your arm around Peter's which you notice is pretty muscular. He guides you quietly and calmly through the streets, he wasn't too sure on what you guys were doing, where you were going, but you were going. You don't think much of it, too giddy and tipsy for your own good. Most of the time you knew better than this, but hey! It's cool to get out of your comfort zone.
Hopefully this guy wasn't a killer.
Worse! He's a masked vigilante who saves the neighborhood.
Thankfully Peter's a good guy, he makes sure you cross the street safely, he keeps you close by to ensure your safety. Despite his inner battles that it was a bad idea, he brought you to his apartment complex. You hang patiently by his side as the elevator descends up.
He creaks the door open; his apartment is kind of sad. You pay no mind to the monitors or any of his technological stuff across the room. Instead? You skip over to the couch and flop down, letting out a content sigh. Peter watches you curiously. "Can I get you anything?" Not that he had much to offer, you shake your head.
"I'm okay. Thanks, Pete!" You smile. A smile. Something sweet and genuine that he hasn't seen in a while. A smile that isn't fake or laced with the sinking weight of guilt and pain and trauma of the past nine or ten years beating your ass every day. Peter gently sinks onto the couch next to your feet, he glances over as the skirt of your dress rides up your thighs, and he bites his inner lip. Genuinely, the second he sat down, you popped up and leaned near him. The alcohol is catching up slowly but surely as you inspect Peter. closely. He is cute.
"How old're you anyway?" You question.
"Um, 22. You?"
Not too young, not too old, is he just perfect? "Same: 22. What do you do for work?"
Ah shit. "Uh, I'm.. a student?"
"Where?"
"ESU..." He clears his throat, praying you'll believe his fib.
"Oh cool!" You exclaim, not interested enough to continue prying on his supposed education. "You single?"
He stops, just stares at his shoes. Is he? Technically, yes, mentally? He's not so sure. "Sort of."
"What does 'sort of' mean?" You chuckle.
"I had someone."
"Oh, nasty break up or something?"
"Or something."
"You know," you sigh, pressing against his side, "you're too cute to be alone like this. Do you even have friends?"
"No, I don't need them."
"Everyone needs friends! Hmm, okay, I'll be your new best friend!"
"You're drunk, you don't know what you're saying."
"Um, I know exactly what I'm saying. Or I wouldn't be saying it."
Can't argue with that logic.
"Do you ever get drunk?"
"I try not to." Bummer.
So he's cute, non-alcoholic and single. Win win, you move over, gently straddling his lap with your legs. Peter freezes, he hasn't had this kind of contact in who knows how long. Maybe never. He doesn't stop you when you lean in halfway, and he closes the distance by allowing your lips to meet and melt into a kiss, slowly deepening as the seconds pass. One of his hands rests at your waist, the other comes up to your cheek steadying himself as the two of you make out. It's passionate, heated, needy, and a bit sloppy as tongues intercept and teeth accidentally click against each other. Peter lets out a shaky exhale through his nose as you move against his lap, maybe it's just his newfound senses but he swore he could hear your heart thumping in your chest, he can practically feel your need in his own body.
His hand slides back into your hair, gently fisting it. Dammit, he was so screwed.
One thing seemed to lead to another, he found himself carrying you to his small bedroom, gently laying you on his bed as he tossed his coat on the floor with his shirt. You would've never guessed this shy guy was beautifully ripped. Your heart skips a beat. Peter senses the shift in your body, how your breath hitches, the flutter of your eyes, he's been able to feel things on a deeper level recently. Apparently he's developed heightened arachnid hormones. For him, it's been a struggle, but right now? It's an advantage over you. He assists you in taking off your dress, he kicks off his pants and tugs you to the edge of the bed, his boner pressing against your heat as he leans down to capture your lips once again. He'd hoped to get his mind stress-free, it seemed to be working because all of his duties as Spider-Man, the spell, the guilt, it all disappeared for the time being. His head fogged with desperation to get inside of you.
His mouth moves against yours as he snakes his hands under your back to get to your bra, unclasping and yanking it off. His eyes glisten, he licks his lips and bends down to press a kiss on both of your breasts. You left out a soft hum, toying with his curls around your finger as he sucks your tit, massaging the other with his large hand. He loses himself in your soft moans, enjoying the way your fingers thread through his hair. Only then does his head move across to the other, then trails down your tummy, stopping right above the waistband of your panties.
You huff, “C’mon… Please don’t stop.”
“What’s next is better. You trust me?” He bats his lashes.
"Only because I'm drunk." Peter cannot help but laugh. He sits up and pulls your panties down. He lets out a shaky breath when he sees your wetness. His index and middle finger lightly trace your pussy lips, making you shiver. Peter straightens himself, gently pushing his boxers down and lifting your legs on his hips. His eyes search yours, you look so beautiful like this, he almost forgets MJ completely.
He gently slides his tip along your wetness, making you whimper. He hated these new arachnid senses, everything was twice as intense. Jerking off was a fucking chore, he can’t believe he’s having sex when he’s like this, he's a monster. A monster who can absolutely ruin you sexually.
With one long, deep breath, he pushes himself inside you carefully, just the tip, for now. Peter's jaw clenches, the feeling is overwhelmingly euphoric. Your tightness is like heaven on Earth, he swallows. Gently he pulls out, then pushes back in- but only the tip, he wants to tease you.
Your moans escape, shaky and breathless and Peter extends this torture of teasing. He watches the way your pussy grips onto him as he pulls out; as if trying to keep him in and pull him deeper. It's oddly satisfying. At some point something snapped in Peter and he buried himself in you without warning, he wasn't sure what came over him but oh God did it practically kill him to have you like this, around him, squeezing him, making him see stars. He almost stopped entirely, it was so overwhelming to his entire nervous-system that he thought he might cry, not because it hurt– no, it felt fucking amazing. Because it felt too good. It's the best thing he's felt in four long years.
"You're okay?" He asks softly, leaning beside your ear as he finds his confidence in actual thrusts. You nod.
"I'm great." A smile spreads over your lips, as well as a small blush. Peter can't help but smile back, it's cute seeing your nose scrunch as you force a smile while he's ruining you. His hips continue to meet yours every other second, intently watching your expressions, trying to understand what makes you arch, what makes you moan louder, what truly pleases you. He's trying to ignore his senses, the way every movement feels like a tank running over every individual nerve in his body, how your sounds echo in his mind like someone is whacking his head with a metal bat. He isn't complaining, it's sexy knowing he has total control to make you have the best orgasm of your life because he senses what's good to you and what isn't.
When you don't whine or tighten on his cock, he angles differently, his body is on autopilot with the arachnid hormones, he's on a new level of weirdness. "Fuck," he whispers breathlessly near your ear before softly nipping it, making you gasp. "Sorry." He quickly murmurs, pressing completely against you as though he's trying to melt your bodies together. He starts fucking faster, it's diabolical.
"Fuck, fuck." He repeats it like a mantra trying to ground himself in the words as he physically cannot control himself anymore. It's like someone has him on puppet strings and is controlling his hips. Your hands come to his shoulders, brows knitted together with a sad puppyish expression that makes his cock twitch inside you. Finally, he hikes your legs a bit higher and breathing in, he starts fucking faster. Your brain fogs with pleasure, "Tell me if it's too much," he says softly, reminding you: he will stop if you want. He doesn't want to hurt you.
"Oh, my god, Pete, that's it." You moaned.
Something in Peter's brain lagged, like a broken computer. He smelt it, he could feel it under his fingertips, and around his dick, it's precious and it's dirty. You're close. Right now, his hips pistoned quicker, no one else could achieve this, only him. Because of what he is. You don't need to know that, he hopes you think he has really good stamina. Peter's fingers dig into your thighs as he grips them for balance, a sharp thrill runs up his spine because fuck he's close too. And with all of that: he blanks for a moment.
Your eyes had squished close when he started thrusting at this new pace, you almost tapped out. It's too much, but it's too good to give up. This is a train you can't get off of. Amidst the very moment you find yourself gasping for more, pleading Peter that he doesn't stop, your eyes open. His head is hung, sweat dotted on his forehead as his curls stick to his skin. His muscles flexed and abs tensed.
"Peter..." You whispered in a whiny tone.
"M-mhm??" His eyes flicker up to you.
"I'm gonna..." You trail off, with a moan because it's already happening before you can forewarn him. And holy shit, he wasn't expecting it- he groans as your cunt tightens impossibly around him. Every breath catches in his throat, and his stomach knots. "Oh my God." He pants.
You're overstimulated by the feelings, him pounding you through your orgasm, then... His face scrunches, he moans out, eyes snapping shut, his hip thrusts go sloppy and he whines when his own orgasm hits him. When his eyes open as he's thrusting his cum into you, you find yourself staring into pure black eyes, like his body had been possessed by something other-worldly, he doesn't even realize it. "P-Pete... Your eyes!"
All Joshaya shippers should go read this Joshaya fanfic that I found. It’s rated M (cuz ya know) but it’s really well-written and I would def recommend it if you’re in a bit of a Joshaya drought like I am/was.
WARNINGS: implemented age gap (both adults), f!reader, NSFW, no use of y/n, dry humping, fingering, squirting, aaaand dabbling in the art of revenge sex...
A/N: guys please i YEARN for bsf's dad abbot fics. WHERE ARE THEY!!!
WC: 4.8k
SUMMARY: Your best friend Izzy's father, Jack Abbot, is one of the most attractive men ever, and you know that too well. But out of respect for your friend you never say anything or admit that you think he's fine as hell. However, when Izzy has done something you wouldn't have anticipated from her, you're already plotting revenge.
To say that your best friend Izzy's father wasn't the most attractive older man you've ever seen would be a flat out lie. Because Dr. Jack Abbot was the man. He had this simplistic aura that drew you in close, and the layers of his individual humanity made him so real. Perhaps it was fate or the idea, maybe your father was never good to you and that's why you felt the urge and the need. It was never something you thought about much when you first became friends with Izzy in high school, but now that you're halfway through college, you find yourself staying over at their house often. You randomly hang out with Izzy because you know Abbot works night shifts solely unless there's an emergency, and if you get there at the right time he's wide awake and on a good day– pretty chatty.
Obviously you didn't just hang out with Izzy because of her dad, that would be stringing along your best friend. For her father nonetheless... From what you knew about Jack, he was a pretty down to Earth guy, he had his troubles and his traumatic events from his past but somehow he made due with what life offered him. He had his daughter and that seemed to be the biggest thing he had going besides his work at PTMC. Well, that wasn't totally accurate, he did a lot of side quests too, he liked to keep himself occupied when he was on his days off or when he didn't feel like sleeping the whole day before his next shift. That would be too isolating. Izzy had a job that took up the majority of her afternoon post-classes, and she wouldn't get home until Jack was about to leave. But they had a good relationship.
He was always nice to you, if he went out when you came over, he would bring you and Izzy back food or coffees. He knew how you took yours, even though ordering it was a bit of a hassle for him to remember. Izzy seemed to have trained him well though with her ridiculously excessive and specific coffee order. Whenever the two of you went together, you made her order it in the drive-thru because there was no way you were remembering all of it. She had the most random details like 'just a PINCH of cinnamon on top,' 'can you mix the caramel syrup with the vanilla syrup instead of just pouring it on top of each other?' She was a menace to the barista community. You could swear the workers in the local coffee shops saw Izzy coming and they would visibly tense because here comes the crazy girl with the long coffee order. Izzy was a good person though, she always placed others before herself and made sure to tip the workers as much as she could as a college student on a budget.
A main reason why she's your best friend.
You had met Izzy on your first day on campus, majoring in the same field, hoping to work in the medical field. She wanted to work at PTMC just like her father, and you weren't quite sure where or what department suited your taste. The decision to even think of medical study came so last minute when you were applying to colleges, you hadn't realized there were so many different types of doctors. Sure, nurses, surgeons, physicians, but after you met Izzy she was disgustingly educated on these things thanks to Jack. The first time you popped over to PTMC with her to bring her dad some coffee and food for his overtime, late-night-into-day shift, the amount of people and chaos going on was overwhelming. Somehow it was magical too, seeing how hard these people worked to ensure the safety of patients. They did a savior's work here.
Today was no different, you were on your way to Izzy's house because it was the weekend, and naturally you weren't one to stay in the dorm with your strange roommate who paced the floors, whispering equations to themselves and knocking themself on the head trying to understand some scientific computer stuff you never fathomed.
As you got out of the car, you hoisted your tote bag over your shoulder, figuring you and Izzy could study together for this horrendous exam coming up in statistics. You pause and ring the doorbell, awaiting to see your auburn-haired best friend open the door. You figure Jack is probably out because you don't see his car out front. Waiting, waiting... At least two full minutes go by before the sound of footsteps approach the other side and the locks click, then the door cracks open with a small squeak.
Instead of Izzy standing there, it's Jack Abbot. His gray curls were tousled and he looked like he just rolled out of bed with how droopy his eyes were. And oh no. Where is his shirt? Why is his shirt off?! "Oh, hey kid." He speaks gravely.
"Hi, I'm sorry, did I wake you?"
"No, I was doing my uh...morning yoga upstairs. Are you here for Izzy?" Jack questions.
"Yes." You reply, he guides you inside, and the surroundings come naturally to you. Yoga, huh? You never took Jack as the type to do yoga. Work out? Definitely, but yoga? Maybe he does it to ensure his leg remains capable of top performance with the prosthetic. You'd ask Izzy about it later.
"Not sure if she's even here to be honest, I passed out the second I got home from my shift." He states calmly, seating himself on the couch and rubbing his upper thigh, just above where his prosthetic connected. You nod, "I'll check her room." You say.
Jack tries to nod but yawns instead.
You head down the hall towards Izzy's bedroom, but from the way her door is closed when it's usually opened, you can already assume she's not here. You poke your head inside anyway just to make sure. She's not. Maybe she went to get breakfast or something. You would text her after you left.
Returning to the living room, Jack is seemingly fighting the urge to pass out on the couch. However, he has now put a shirt on. You can't help but crack a smile because the poor guy looks like he hasn't slept in a week. You quietly speak up, low enough so you don't startle him, "I think Izzy might've gone somewhere else. So I'll go ahead and get out of your hair so you can finish up whatever you need to do."
Jack smiles softly, "That's thoughtful," he stretches a little, his shirt lifting ever so slightly- don't look at that. "You can stay, if you want. I don't mind. I'll probably fall back asleep." You nod respectfully, your fingers fidget at your side for a minute. Jack notices, "Why don't you have a seat? I'm sure Izzy will be back sooner or later. Plus I'm in the mood to chat. If you want."
Ah, fuck.
"Sure, sounds nice." You say, then slowly sit down next to him. A good few inches between the two of you. There's no way you're sitting right up against Jack Abbot. That'd be weird. He shifts to angle himself to face you better, his stubble's growing out gray and unfortunately it's the sexiest thing in the world today. Jack gives you a small smile and glances over you for a second.
"How's school going?"
"Oh, you know. Same old. Studying for a new test every week." You replied and picked at a string at the edge of your shirt.
Jack chuckles, nodding. "I remember those days, can't say I really miss them." You smile at his response, you almost forget he's probably twice your age and knows more about the medical world than you ever might.
"It's quite the patience-tester." You state softly. Then silence falls for a few minutes, it's so awkward but you're way too nervous to just get up or bring up another subject. Not with him.
"Izzy said you're seeing someone. That right?"
"Um," fuck, Izzy. "Yes, his name's Isaiah."
Jack's eyebrows raise, he seems interested now. His hand came up to your shoulder, they were so large. His palm was almost three times the size of your own. God, and that wasn't even the hottest part of him. You've seen his biceps. That man might as well be carved out of stone and placed in a museum. "Well, if this Isaiah ever hurts you, let me know. I can make it look like an accident." He whispers, then winks, and you can't fight the blush blooming on your cheeks. "I'm happy for you, kiddo."
"Thank you, Jack."
Jack feels his chest tighten as you speak his name, you've done it hundreds of times but now it just feels...right. Like his name belongs on your tongue, and yours only. He knows you don't mean it that way, he's too old for you. You'd never ever do that.
Or would you?
Maybe he could hope.
You offer a gentle smile, and not much conversation happens after that. You messaged Izzy during the stretching silence but she never responded. "I think I should go, I don't believe she's going to respond to me any time soon." You tell Jack, standing up.
"Wait." He took hold of your hand without thinking.
You pause and he stares back at you.
"Where are you going to go?"
"Back to my dorm, probably go see what Isaiah's up to." You state calmly, despite your heart thudding in your chest at this consistent contact between you and Jack Abbot. He looks at you like a sad old dog being left alone at home for the day. You feel bad because you know the most socialization he gets during the day is crazy patients at work. His hand forfeits and he nods.
"Be safe."
"I will. Have a nice rest of your day." You say, then slip out the door as fast as you can. What the hell just happened? You get into your car. As you drive, your mind replays the feeling of Jack's careful calloused hands from years of worn work wrapping around your wrist. It felt good. Too good. You cannot believe you were letting yourself actually believe he wanted you almost as bad as... That's wrong to think, you have Isaiah, he's a great boyfriend, never done anything wrong, has always been so generous to you and to others.
ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐
Back on campus, fewer students were filtering in and out of the dorms buildings than usual on a weekend, everyone was either working, studying, sleeping, or the fact the heat was unbearable didn't help. The air conditioning in this school sucked. Instead of going to your own dorm, you head for Isaiah's building, coincidentally right across from your own, and close to where you've parked. You take the elevator to the third floor, room 309 is Isaiah's and his roommate Mark's spot. Normally you don't have to knock, so you push open the knob because neither of them know anything about safety and locking the door. That's when it all falls into place.
Because in the room, obliviously getting too comfortable was Izzy and Isaiah. Having full blown sex, as if you didn't exist in either of their lives. Your mouth hung open for a second, the doorknob made a thud as it hit the wall behind it. The two jumped at the loud sound, Isaiah shot up, grabbing his boxers from his feet and yanking them up. Izzy brushed her messy hair back and covered herself with the deep blue-colored sheets. "What the fuck?" You finally spoke.
"Shit, babe, this is not–"
"Not what it looks like? Isaiah, I just saw. There's no excuse for this!" You say, suddenly filled with anger, but you can't find it in yourself who to beat the shit out of first. "Girl, I am so, so sorry!" Izzy tries to say, but you quickly cut her off.
"No, no, no. Neither of you get to talk right now. I am so mad I'm pretty positive I could murder the two of you and not blink an eye." They exchange uncomfortable looks and you don't care. Isaiah wasn't exactly known for being the most loyal man after you found out some information from Izzy, but now you know how she knew all that. She was the one he was cheating on his exes with! "How long has this been going on behind my back?"
Isaiah's lips are sealed, but Izzy breaks under the pressure of her own guilt and betraying her best friend. "We've been hooking up since we met." She says quickly and Isaiah shoots a glare at her, as if saying 'what the hell are you doing?'
"So, the whole time we've been together you've been sleeping with my best friend?"
"It's not like that, we were doing it even before I met you!" Isaiah says, as if that makes it any better.
"That doesn't matter! If I knew you had a thing for each other I would've never got into a relationship with you!" You say, your fist clenching at your side. It is taking so much patience and resolve not to burst out right now. If you stay calm, it'll be fine. Even though this whole situation is far from fine, and you feel like grabbing both of them by their hair and whacking their heads together. Maybe then they'll be close enough together. "Both of you are pathetic." You spat out before storming from the room, slamming the door behind you.
Izzy and Isaiah remained frozen inside of his dorm, even long after you're gone. One thing is clear now, they both fucked up, and you weren't one to let things go easily. Forgive and forget doesn't exist in your world, there's one thing in mind right now: to get back at both of them.
ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐
It'd been a little over a week since catching Isaiah and Izzy together, you were still furious but refused to let them know how much it bothered you. You've avoided all contact with them, especially Izzy. She'd texted and called a bunch of times but you couldn't bring yourself to respond. You didn't have to, she knew you were with him and still chose to fuck around with him. You had no idea they'd been hooking up either, you knew Izzy said she was seeing someone, but you never suspected it'd be your own boyfriend. Still unsure of what your revenge would be, you almost contemplated letting it go. Almost.
Until the thought grazed your mind today when you received a call from a number you didn't recognize. Normally you would've ignored it and went on with your day, but you answered. "Hello?"
"Hey," that voice. "It's Jack," he clears his throat, "Jack Abbot, Izzy's dad." Why is he calling you?
"Oh, hi. How are you doing?" You want to be polite to him because he didn't do anything wrong. His stupid daughter did.
"I'm doing fine. I heard what happened with you, your boyfriend, and Izzy. I wanted to tell you I'm sorry, I thought I taught my kid better than that." His tone was sincere about it, like it was his fault his daughter couldn't keep her legs closed from another woman's man.
"You have no reason to apologize, Jack." You state softly, "You had nothing to do with this, Izzy has a mind of her own, and she made her bed, she can sleep in it. But thank you for being considerate."
"You're a good kid," He starts, "Better than me." You chuckled in response. "I think she feels horrible, but I just told her she shouldn't have done that to her best friend that she's known longer than some college punk."
"Agreed."
"Why don't I take you to lunch sometime?" He paused, sort of realizing what his offer sounded like, "Just to make up for it. I'm sure you've been pretty upset, and it's the least I can do for Izzy's actions."
"That would be really nice, thank you." Holy shit, did you just agree to that? A date- lunch with Izzy's dad. This was unfolding very oddly, but you were kind of liking the idea so far. No...you couldn't go that far.
Or could you?
"When are you free?" Jack asked.
"Tomorrow afternoon. Teachers are out for some meetings so I get the afternoon to myself."
"Perfect," you could've sworn you could hear his smile through the phone. "I'll pick you up at 11:45."
"Sounds good. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Take care of yourself for me."
"Have a good evening, Jack."
"You too, kid."
ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐
You couldn't tell if you were nervous about lunch with Jack, or if you were actually excited. Part of you, (the nervous part), was anticipating this to go horribly wrong. Like it's some set up to let you and Izzy talk it out. The other 'excited' part was plotting and daydreaming. You've always found Jack very attractive, especially now in his older age as his hair grays out and he's a little more sassy than he was when you first met him.
After getting ready, you head to the elevator. It was almost 11:45, so, by the time you get to the parking lot– he should be there.
Jack was nervous himself, so he pulled into the parking lot near the dorms on campus and adjusted his shirt. He didn't want to look sloppy. Not that he cared, why would he? It's not like this was a date. Just two people having a nice lunch, no romantic feelings involved. Purely trying to move forward from a very rough situation.
You spotted his car easily, he got out as soon as he saw you. He was dressed rather nicely. Dark blue slacks and a black button-up. You picked out this simple sundress that's been sitting in your closet for a while. "Hey, you look nice." He says, trying to remain casual.
"Thanks, so do you." You reply. He thinks you look nice, stay calm, it's not a big deal.
Like the gentleman he is, he opens the passenger door for you, closes it once you're inside. "Uh, seatbelt." He says, rubbing his arm after putting his own on. Shit, you forgot. He was very particular about that stuff. So, you click the seatbelt around yourself, and off the two of you go. Wherever Jack decided to take you for lunch.
It's a nice little place, a cafe mixed with a sandwich shop. "I hope this is okay with you." He says, you nod.
"Yeah, it's great."
You both sit down together, order drinks, then food. As you're waiting, Jack shifts in his seat across from you. "Are you doing alright despite everything?"
You shrug. "I guess I'm okay, obviously I'm upset but it is what it is."
"Well, I'm just glad you're not beating yourself up for it." His lips quirk a little. "You deserve so much better..."
"Yeah?" You ask, maybe a little more flirtatious than you meant.
Jack folds his arms in that way he does, where his forearms flex on top of each other, and his brows raise amusedly. "Yeah, sweetheart. You do."
Sweetheart. Now, you may not be the most educated on flirting but damn, that was smooth. He said sweetheart so flawlessly, that if you didn't have any control of your composure, you would've folded right there in front of him. You just offer a small smile.
He starts asking you other things outside of the elephant in the room, he doesn't want to linger on the subject for too long and bug you. The food was fantastic as well, it just added to the stress-free atmosphere Jack had given you today. He was so understanding, fun to joke around with, his humor was unexpected but great.
As the two of you wait for the check, (which of course, he said,) "I'll pay for it." you finally ask, "Does Izzy know you're with me?"
He ponders for a moment, nodding. "No." Simple.
"I think she's staying at that boy's dorm." Jack says quietly, 'that boy' is probably Isaiah. Of course.
"Good for them, I suppose." You say.
As you both get back into his car, he idles for a few minutes. "Would you like to come to the house?" Man, he's just going for it today.
You know what, "I'd like that."
Jack actually, really smiles now. The drive is quick and efficient. Izzy remains gone from the house. Jack lets you inside and the two of you continue chatting over some iced sweet tea. His stories of life, he had years on you but at least he was interesting unlike most older people. He's done a lot in his time on Earth. A combat medic, spent time in the Middle East, seen more than he wished he had to have. Some of the stuff was tragic, but considering he was in therapy now, he seemed to be handling everything a bit better.
You opened up to him about some of your struggles as well, like being unsure about your degree, some of the family problems that ran loose in your head every day. He listened. Unlike Isaiah, he heard you. Whereas Isaiah just nodded with the distant, "mhm."
Amidst your conversation, your phone buzzed. "Sorry." You tell him, and check it, a DM from Izzy on Instagram. You thought you blocked her, but you probably forgot. You open the message, and it's a photo with her and Isaiah captioned:
hope ur not too sad!
Where the hell was that coming from? You hadn't said anything to her or Isaiah, posted nothing. She was psycho.
"You okay?" Jack asks.
You show him your phone. He visibly cringes. "Jesus, that's my kid." He mumbles, embarrassed. You shrug it off, putting your phone on the table.
"Oh well, she'll get what's coming eventually... No offense."
"None taken, I didn't raise my daughter to be a man stealer."
You can't help but giggle. That giggle, man, it did things to Jack he couldn't even describe. It was so pure and sweet. He wanted to hear it again. He didn't realize how intensely he was watching you until you asked "What's wrong?"
"Nothing, I just really like your laugh."
"Mine?!" You can't help but let another out. "Why??"
"It's cute."
"Mmm, I don't think so."
"I do." He says, like it's a final answer.
There's a small silence, tension ties up tight. Without thinking much, Jack places his hand on your thigh. It's warm and big, you can feel the flush appear on your cheeks, and he sees it. Jack takes his chance. "You're so beautiful, Isaiah's such an idiot."
And he leans over, he doesn't kiss you, not yet. His eyes only scan your features up close, the dots of color in your eyes, your lashes, the dip between your nose and lips. His lips hover so close, you can feel the heat of his breath. Then his hand comes up, cups your jaw. "Please, let me kiss you." He says, breathlessly like he just ran a marathon. Let me kiss you. He's not asking may/can I? No, he wants you to give him that green light, he wanted this. So do you.
You nod.
His lips meet yours in a deep, desperate kiss. You weren't sure what you were expecting but damn, Jack Abbot could kiss. He wasn't shy, he knew what he wanted from this, he wanted to make you feel good. You can't help the moan that escapes you as his experienced lips move against yours and his tongue gently slips into your mouth, flooding a pool of warmth in your gut. Jack kisses like a dying man trying to get air back into his lungs. "You're so beautiful." He mumbles against your lips.
"Thank you."
"Seriously," He wants to talk but he cannot peel his lips away for the life of him. "I love my daughter but you're so perfect. You're always so kind." He says, his lips hover again. "Sweetheart."
"Yes, Jack?"
"C'mere."
You move closer to his side of the couch, he tugs you even closer. He rests his hands on your waist and looks you up and down on his lap. He licks his lip. Fuck you're so gorgeous to him, he never noticed just how pretty you are, yes, you were a cute teenager but you've really matured. You're a woman now.
His hand slid up your sides, bunching your dress slightly. His thick fingers gently dig into the fabric and lightly into your skin. He shifts his thigh between your legs, testing the waters. You perk up, a little caught off guard but not entirely opposed. "Jack..."
"Move against me, pretty girl."
You blink, but then it registers: he wants you to hump him.
"Please, sweetheart."
Never took him as the begging type, to each their own.
You gently move your hips against his upper thigh, and with the way he hiked the skirt of your dress up, it's full contact of your panties and his slacks, and your heat. Jack bites his lip slightly, watching your face contort as you hump his thigh. The sight was just perfect, so perfect. He'd lift his thigh a little, making you whine. "That's it, baby."
God, why'd he have to say it like that?! You felt so pathetic in front of him like this, eyes gone glossy, cheeks tinted, and he kissed you again until your lips swell. "Here."
Jack gently stops you, moving you back enough to push his slacks to his mid-thighs. You watch intently, his boxers are tented with anticipation and need. "Sit." You move and press your panty-covered pussy against his hard-on. "Oh, fuck, babygirl." He mutters, his eyes roll back, so does his head once you start humping again. The two of you share moans, and at one point you could've sworn you heard Jack whimper– and it was so sexy for an old man.
Despite the fabrics between, you both got creative with it. Jack tried to push his tip at your entrance, through his boxers. Failing slightly, but he tried. Then his head got oozy, his stomach knotted, his lower regions tensed up and he dug his fingers into your rear. "Fuck, I'm..."
You knew, he didn't have to say it because you knew. So, you rubbed yourself hard against him and he moaned, a deep and needy moan. Very breathy. Then you felt it, he came in his boxers. Didn't mean to, could've held it in any other time, but with you he couldn't. He could cum in his pants if you looked at him a certain way.
"Baby." He whispers and slides his fingers under your wet panties, they explore curiously, his index circles your clit, while his opposite hand's thumb traces your entrance. "All wet for me." He murmurs. then pops his finger in your wetness, gently curling it and pumping it inside of you. He caused endless moans from you, he was in heaven. His finger slowed, then pushed in the second, making you squeal. Repeated pumping.
"Jack- holy fuck."
He watches your expressions, starts rubbing your nub again, quicker. "Make a mess on me, sweet girl`." You were unsure, but not him. He was practically begging for it. He curls his fingers, hitting that spot with every thrust of his fingers.
Then you almost screamed his name, but you froze and shuddered in pleasure with whines; you squirt all over his lap. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry." You try not to laugh but it comes out anyway, the mess you've made is a bit embarrassing. Jack smiles though, he kisses your cheek.
"Don't apologize, that was so beautiful to watch." He whispers, his lips pepper your neck, his stubble gently scratching your skin.
For a moment, the outside world ceased to exist. All that thrived was your body against Jack's, his chest rising and falling. You lay your head on his shoulder, he wraps his arms around you, one of his hands cups the side of your head, rubbing your scalp.
ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐
Later, you found yourself staying with Jack. He insisted you stayed over, he honestly didn't want to be without you ever again. He knew Izzy would be furious but who cares? He can have his own love life too.
So, the revenge exactly?
You didn't have to do much. Jack took it into his own hands, "Take a picture with me, baby."
"Why?"
"You'll see."
He pulls you against him, tucking his arm around you, he messes around with his phone, finally getting to the camera and taking a photo. You lay against him, watching as he sends the photo to someone.
Specifically his daughter.
Behave yourself kid, remember your actions have consequences ;)
Dad wth?!?!?
You can't help but giggle, "That was harsh."
"You said she'd get what's coming. I hope she doesn't mind you being around more than usual."
"Oh... Jack."
"Don't say my name like that. Now come here, I want to see you ride me next."
DIVIDERS BY: @anitalenia & @bbyg4rlhelps
ty for reading, this is my first jack abbot fic so i hope i did him some justice :) have a good one!!!!
“I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.”
― Marilyn Monroe
“Science is not only compatible with spirituality; it is a profound source of spirituality.”
― Carl Sagan, The Demon-Haunted World: Science as a Candle in the Dark
“This life is what you make it. No matter what, you're going to mess up sometimes, it's a universal truth. But the good part is you get to decide how you're going to mess it up. Girls will be your friends - they'll act like it anyway. But just remember, some come, some go. The ones that stay with you through everything - they're your true best friends. Don't let go of them. Also remember, sisters make the best friends in the world. As for lovers, well, they'll come and go too. And baby, I hate to say it, most of them - actually pretty much all of them are going to break your heart, but you can't give up because if you give up, you'll never find your soulmate. You'll never find that half who makes you whole and that goes for everything. Just because you fail once, doesn't mean you're gonna fail at everything. Keep trying, hold on, and always, always, always believe in yourself, because if you don't, then who will, sweetie? So keep your head high, keep your chin up, and most importantly, keep smiling, because life's a beautiful thing and there's so much to smile about.”
― Marilyn Monroe
“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.”
― Anais Nin
~this is just a random OC thing I made almost a two years ago.~
Thalia Rose was born on a cold and stormy winter night, December 22, 1996, in the small coastal town of Minaty Bay, nestled along the shores of Howe Sound in British Columbia.
The town was a place where the mountains met the ocean, where the dense evergreen forests seemed to reach out to touch the waves crashing against the rocky coastline. Minaty Bay, with its rugged cliffs, hidden coves, and misty morning fog, was a place of beauty and mystery, known for its tight-knit community and the legends whispered among the locals.
Thalia's birth was marked by both joy and profound sadness. Her mother, Emery Rae, had been a vibrant and enigmatic young woman, full of life and dreams. She had grown up in Minaty Bay, where everyone knew each other by name. Emery Rae was known for her fiery red hair and emerald-green eyes that seemed to hold secrets of the ocean itself. She had been a free spirit, an artist who painted the landscapes of Minaty Bay with bold colors, capturing the essence of the place in every brushstroke. But on the night of Thalia's birth, something went terribly wrong.
Emery Rae had gone into labor earlier that evening, her contractions starting just as a fierce storm began to brew over Howe Sound. The midwife had been called, but the roads were treacherous, and the storm made it nearly impossible to reach the small cottage where Emery lived. Emery's parents, Jack and Rose Emery, were by her side, their faces lined with worry and fear. They had seen many storms in their lifetime, but this one felt different—there was a heaviness in the air, an almost palpable tension.
Hours passed, and the storm grew fiercer. Lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the churning waters of the bay, and thunder rumbled in the distance like a beast awakening from a long slumber. Inside the small cottage, Emery Rae struggled through the labor, her face pale and covered in sweat. The midwife finally arrived, but it was too late. Emery Rae, with one final, gasping breath, brought her daughter into the world before succumbing to complications from the childbirth. She died with a peaceful smile on her lips, as if she knew her daughter was destined for something extraordinary.
Thalia Rose entered the world under a veil of tragedy, her first cries echoing against the storm outside. Jack and Rose Emery, devastated by the loss of their only daughter, were left to cradle the newborn in their arms, a bundle of warmth and life amidst the cold and dark of that stormy night. They named her Thalia, after the Greek Muse of comedy and idyllic poetry, hoping that her life would be filled with light and joy, even in the shadow of her mother's passing.
Jack and Rose, in their grief, decided to raise Thalia as their own. The couple was well-respected in Minaty Bay—Jack, a retired fisherman, was known for his wisdom and quiet strength, while Rose, a former schoolteacher, was beloved for her kindness and sharp wit. They were older than most parents in town, but they had a deep love for their granddaughter and were determined to provide her with the best life they could.
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