Jack Abbot x Reader
Enjoy my first ever (and maybe only) fic. I haven’t written anything apart from a proposal or a slides deck in years.
pls forgive me for grammar/punctuation/spelling mistakes, english isn’t my first language & i’m near a burnout x
SMUT | MDNI | Second person POV
The front door shuts with a heavy click, Jack’s boots hit the hardwood louder than usual. His shift had been endless. Trauma after trauma, no breaks, no mercy - and all he wanted was to find you exactly where you always were. You worked a normal 9-5, well, as normal as someone who worked corporate.
Jack usually ends his shifts in the morning, but he was filling in on his day off today, hence arriving home at 10pm sharp.
You’re usually curled up on the couch in those soft little shorts that hugged your thighs, or sprawled across the bed in nothing but one of his t-shirts, waiting for him like the good girl you usually were.
But the living room is empty. The bedroom light is off. The whole flat lacked your soft humming or the typical patter of your feet as you walk around the flat. He drops his bag, scrubs a hand down his stubbled jaw, and that’s when it hits him.
Faint, bitter curl of cigarette smoke drifting in from the balcony. Jack recognizes it all too well, he’s had his fair share of cigarettes, cigars in his early days, but hell, being a doctor changes your perspective on a thing or two.
He stalks toward the sliding glass door, already cracked open, and yanks it wide. There you are, leaning against the railing with your back to him,
Your frame is poured into a tight tank top and those tiny sleep shorts, the fabric stretched over the swell of your ass and the soft dip of your waist. The way your hips flare out, usually makes his cock twitch the second he sees you. This time, he’s just fucking pissed.
Because there’s a lit cigarette between your fingers.
You don’t even hear him at first, taking another slow drag. Jack’s voice cuts through the night like a scalpel. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
You jump, spinning around so fast the ash scatters. Your eyes widen when they land on him, still in his dark blue scrubs, jaw locked tight enough to crack teeth. The smoke curls between you like evidence. You tried hiding the cigarette behind your back like a teenager, only realizing within seconds how stupid that was.
“Jack—” you stammer.
He steps out onto the balcony and snatches the cigarette from your hand before you can finish. He crushes it against the railing until it dies, then flicks the ruined thing over the edge. His other hand is already gripping your wrist, hard enough that you feel the heat of his palm.
“Oh.” He clicked his tongue. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he growled, voice low and dangerous. He’s exhausted, wired, and the sight of you doing something this stupid after he’s spent the whole day watching people choke on their own lungs makes something ugly and possessive snap inside his chest. “This is how you welcome me home? Smoking like some reckless little idiot?”
Your lips part, but he doesn’t give you room to speak. He hauls you back inside by the wrist, sliding the door shut with a bang. The flat feels smaller suddenly, the air thicker. He spins you around and crowds you up against the kitchen island, your stomach pressing into the edge of the counter, your tits squishing against the cool granite when he leans over you from behind.
“Jack, I was just—” you try defending, but he doesn’t want to hear it.
“Shut up.” His mouth is right at your ear, one hand slides down your side, gripping a handful of your hip hard enough to bruise.
“You know how I feel about this shit. I see what that poison does to people every single day. And you—” His fingers dig in, kneading the plush give of your curves like he owns every inch, which, let’s admit it, he does. “You don’t get to do stupid shit that could take you away from me.”
You squirm, heat flooding your face, your thighs pressing together. He feels it. Of course he does.
A dark chuckle rumbles out of his chest. “Are you getting fucking wet from this? My little smoker gets turned on when I’m pissed off? He tuts.
Before you can answer he spins you to face him, lifts you like you weigh nothing, and plants your ass on the island. Your thighs spread automatically around his hips. He steps between them, one hand fisting the front of your tank top and yanking it down hard enough that your breasts spill free, nipples already tight.
“Look at you,” he mutters, voice rough with exhaustion and lust. “So fucking pretty. So fucking disobedient.” He palms one breast roughly, thumb flicking over the nipple until you gasp. “And you thought you could hide this from me?”
He leans in and bites the side of your neck—hard. Not enough to break skin, but enough that you’ll wear his mark tomorrow. You moan, hands flying to his shoulders. He grabs both your wrists in one of his big hands and pins them behind your back
“Nuh-uh. You don’t get to touch tonight. Brats who smoke don’t get to play nice.” His free hand shoves your shorts and panties down your thighs in one rough tug, leaving them tangled around one ankle. Cool air hits your bare pussy and you shiver.
Jack’s eyes drop between your legs, dark and hungry. “Already dripping down your thighs. Pathetic.” He slaps your pussy once, sharp and wet. You jolt, a broken sound escaping you. He does it again, harder.
“This is what you need, isn’t it? A mean doctor to remind you who you belong to, to tell you what to do.”
He sinks two thick fingers into you without warning, curling them hard against that spot that makes your eyes roll back. His thumb grinds against your clit in tight, punishing circles.
“Jack—fuck—” you whimper, already feeling heat blooming in your lower belly.
“Yeah, that’s it. Say my name while I fuck the stupid out of you.” He pumps faster, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet flat.
Your thighs start to shake. He feels your walls fluttering around his fingers and suddenly pulls them out. You whine at the loss.
He slaps your clit this time, the sensation making your pussy flutter around nothing, you whine at how empty it is, needy. “I said not yet, baby. You don’t get to come until I say.”
He yanks his scrubs down just enough to free his cock. Thick, flushed dark, already leaking at the tip. He strokes himself once, eyes locked on your spread thighs and the way your soft belly trembles.
“Turn around. Ass up. Now.” He commands.
You scramble off the island on shaky legs. He spins you, bends you over the counter, and kicks your feet wider. One hand fists your hair, yanking your head back so your back arches beautifully, tits pressed to the cold surface.
He lines up and slams into you in one brutal thrust.
You cry out, the stretch burning so good it makes your toes curl. He’s so deep, hips flush against the fat of your ass, grinding against every soft inch of you.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans, voice wrecked. “So tight. So fucking wet for your man.” He pulls back and drives in again, harder. The slap of skin on skin fills the kitchen.
“You belong to me sweetheart-” He grips them bruisingly, pulling you back onto his cock. “Which means-“ He slaps the outside of your ass, watching it jiggle. “You do as I say, and you will obey. And if I ever catch you with a cigarette again, I’ll fuck you so raw you won’t be able to walk, let alone light up.”
He fucks you with a punishing rhythm, hips snapping, balls slapping against your clit with every thrust. Your moans turn into sobs of pleasure, the edge of pain making everything sharper. He reaches around and rubs your clit in fast, filthy circles.
“Come,” he orders, voice gravel-rough. “Come on my cock like the filthy little brat you are.”
“Oh..oh…fuck! Jack-“ The orgasm rips through you so hard your vision whites out. You clamp down around him, pulsing, soaking his cock and your own thighs. Jack doesn’t slow down. He fucks you through it, growling low in his throat, until his own hips stutter.
“Gonna fill you up,” he snarls against your ear. “Gonna pump you so full you’ll still feel me leaking out of you tomorrow when you’re sitting in your stupid meetings.”
One more deep thrust and he buries himself to the hilt, groaning as he comes hard, hot pulses flooding deep inside you. He stays there, cock twitching, chest pressed to your back while you both catch your breath.
After a long moment he pulls out slowly, watching his cum drip down your thighs with dark satisfaction. He tugs your shorts back up, trapping it against your soaked pussy, and turns you around.
His hand cups your cheek, squishing them together.
“Next time you’re stressed,” he says, voice still edged with that mean-dom rasp, “you come find me. You don’t touch a cigarette. Understood?”
You nod, dazed and thoroughly fucked out, thighs trembling.
Jack’s mouth curves into a tired, possessive smirk.
“Good girl.” He kisses your forehead, then scoops you up like you weigh nothing. “Now let’s get you cleaned up before I have to fill you up you again.”
