Genre /cw : ooc-simon maybe, mdni, 18+ smut, these headcanons are so random (might not make sense), emotionally repressed simon, push-pull, fwb, sexual tension, slow-burn? If you really squint lmao
Summary : he is mean to you, because he hates you, right?
note : guys its badly written, i just wrote this in a hurry when I had this idea so ya hope you still enjoy xD
mean!simon who doesn't just lack manners but lacks a filter too.
mean!simon who has been on your arse since you joined the task-141, and you were sure it was just because he hated you, thats all it was right?
mean!simon who can't explain why the hell he can't stop thinking about you, or why he can't properly breathe whenever you're near him, or why his chest aches like someone's plunging daggers into his ribs. so, naturally, he tells himself it has to be because he just can't stand you, because honestly, there is no other explanation for it. so, smart-smart simon figures out a way not to feel what he's feeling, and he knows, nothing a little more time spent being an asshole and burying himself in missions won't fix. (but thats the thing that it absolutely fucking won't, he just doesnt know it yet.)
mean!simon who calls everyone by their name, but you? he calls you 'brat', or 'short-ass', whichever annoys you the most (depending on your mood that day).
mean!simon who corrects your form in the training a little more harshly than he does to others.
mean!simon who swears you annoy the living hell out of him, yet the moment you're missing from morning briefing, he's the first one asking, "w'ere is she?"
mean!Simon who loves picking fights with you just to hear you finally snap, "fuck you." and as soon as you say it, the corner of his mouth twitches into the faintest smirk and he tilts his head and drawls, "Oh, I kno' ye want to, brat, but sadly, i'm no' intereste'." then walks away looking far too pleased with himself (knowing damn well somewhere in his heart, if given a chance, he had bend you over any surface, and fuck you till you accept you want him too.)
mean!simon who once caught you outside your quarter when everyone was asleep, and you were wearing just a thin t-shirt, nothing underneath, and instantly those traitorous nipples peaked up at the sight of him, utterly obvious against the fabric. and his gaze dropped instantly, dark and unapologetic, and he laughed, "desperate brat," he grinned, eyes stuck on your chest like he was starving. "cold, or just happy to see me?" you crossed your arms in front of your chest, and your cheeks starts to burn with embarassment or heat you didnt know, so finally you bite back. "Get the fuck out of my sight!." then he laughed again, finally dragging his eyes up to yours with maddening slowness, and turned away, hands shoved in his pockets as he sauntered out.
but what he didn't expect — no, what he couldn't fucking accept was the ache in his zipper, and the rigid press of his cock against denim, the sudden violent need to turn back around, pin you against the wall, and push that t-shirt up until his mouth found what he'd been staring at.
mean!simon who can't stand you but he can't stand anyone who isnt him near you either.
mean!Simon who, whenever he crosses the line, feels the guilt settle in his chest but he'd rather die than admit it. so, instead, he leaves your favorite snack on your mess table with a little passive-aggressive note, pretending that's his version of an apology. and every damn time, your heart melts, and you know you are so fucking stupid for feeling like this, but heart wants what it wants, right?
mean!simon who once was quite interested in, what everyone had to say about you, he listened to them quietly but when the new transfer crosses the line by casually saying he'd ask you out. he doesn't even get to finish the sentence before simon grabs him by the front of his collar, yanks him close, and mutters, "I wan' ye to try." the room falls dead silent. needless to say, he never does ask you out.
mean!simon who acts like helping you is the biggest inconvenience of his life. "move." "you're doing it wrong." "giv' me tha'." and when five minutes later, the job is finished and before you can even thank him, he is walking away from you. damn him, he cant even let you hate him properly.
mean!simon who only realizes he's in love with you the day you tell him you're going on a date, god it shocked him too, and now he was figuring out how the heck would he tell you? Or would he tell you at all?
and as you were leaving the building he couldn't help himself and mutters with a bitter tone, "they've go' shit t'ste," under his breath. naturally, you throw a few more insults his way, assuming he's just being his usual asshole self.
but later that night when you come back to the mess hall, a little tipsy, then you deliberately grin at simon who is sitting at the corner table in the room, then you boast loudly about how amazing your date was (which absolutely wasnt) because truthfully you just wanted to make him jealous or get a reaction out of him.
safe to say as you stared at his stiff shoulders and the way he turned his head from you, you had say, it worked and he instantly stood up and walked away leaving you there.
later he has a drink or two, convincing himself it's only to feel a little more confident for what he's about to do -- because he wants to apologize for his behaviour because he knows he's been an asshole to you, and he knows he doesn't deserve you. because he is a mess, but god help him, he can't stop wanting you.
so when its sometime past midnight he finds you alone by the barracks and gently backs you against the wall. with the smell of whiskey on his breath and his words slightly slurred, and he finally admits the truth or atleast tries to. "I need ye." and your breath hitches at the proximity of his. "si--" he hums softly, "shhh." and you instantly purse your lips into a thin line, god you should slap him , push him away, but you cant , instead all you could do is notice him, see him, and to your surprise as he removes his mask and discard it onto the floor, all you could think was, fuck he is beautiful, and then he smirks a teasing glint in his eyes and even drunk, even after everything happened between you both, he searches your face before quietly asking, "don't talk, just answer me. can I kiss ye?" and you let out a disbelieving laugh.
"you've been an ass to me for months, I would be damned to kiss you."
he sighs, and swallows thickly as if what if he was about to say was burning him alive, and he leans in a little more into your space and breathes against your mouth. "I'm sorry."
whaaa..? did you heard it right? simon the asshole, apologising and you instantly scoff, "sorry doesn't cut it!" you snap back. "then maybe a kiss will? and as you said you would be damned so let us be damned together, brat?" and sure enough, he gets his answer when you hungrily kiss him, and he kisses you right back as if he'd been waiting months to do exactly that.
mean!simon who woke with a skull-splitting headache and the sudden, horrifying clarity of last night, he'd kissed you, he knows he loves you, and he had probably said as much with whiskey on his breath and his hands in your hair. but god, he couldn't do this, because whatever courage had flooded his veins twelve hours ago had evaporated, leaving him gutless and grasping for distance.
so later, he found you alone in the mess hall, picking at something unidentifiable on your tray. he sat down across from you like he was approaching a live wire, rehearsing the speech in his head— last night was a mistake, we should forget it happened, I don't do this —but then you looked up at him, all innocence and ease, and spoke first. "actually, simon?" you set your fork down. "about last night, I don't know where it leaves us, but we were just a little tipsy, right? plus you can't the sight of me, i bet it was just desperation on both sides, so, lets not bring it up."
he blinked, at you and his jaw clenched so tightly he thought his molar would break from the pressure and the suddenly frown came on his face, the fuck? because it was him who was supposed to be the one drawing the line, protecting his territory, rejecting you first., so how dare you beat him to it.
naturally whatever kindness he had wanted to show evaporated with things he had prepared in his mind, and agitation prickled hot under his skin. "mhm h'w about," he heard himself say, the words tumbling out of him, "we try friends with benefits?"
god what the fuck he was on about he'd never done casual in his life, didn't know how to, but the words hung there anyway, after all he can't let you go just yet, and after he said it you studied him for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in your eyes, then you smiled the very one he wishes is only for him "okay, simon." you extended your hand. "deal." and he shook it, and somehow, between that afternoon and the weeks that followed, he made it his mission to make you fall for him too by trapping you with proximity, with his mouth, with every calculated kindness he didn't realize was genuine, what he never suspected was you were already falling.
mean!Simon who is still just as mean, and arrogant, teases you, picks fights with you, but there is an edge that softened in him, and now he pins you against the armory shelf, his hand wrapped around your throat as he takes your cunt with a ruthless passion, his cock hitting deep and vicious thrusts into you, while he grunts, "take it, you fucking distraction," against your ear, only to groan, "s' good for me," when you clench around him, in response, then he fucks you even harder only to leave your cunt dripping of him, so you know who you belong to.
mean!simon who fucks you like you are his personal little toy and afterwards kisses you like you are something precious.
mean!simon who knows he should confess instead of doing this, but a fucking psycho he is, he simply can't, and he convinces himself this is better than whatever a relationship with you might bring.
mean!simon who, after protecting you by getting hurt on a mission, doesn't get why the thought of losing you makes him so damn angry, so he decides to punish you for it, for being damn careless and later, after the mission is successful he drags you into the transport bay after extraction, shoving you face-down over the hood of the truck, and drives into you again and again until his cum is dripping down your thighs before the engine even cools, then his long fingers reaches and he wipes his seed and push it back inside your hole as he mutters, "should've left you behind, brat," yet he fucks you again like he'll die without you.
mean!simon who loves to take you anywhere, anytime (not that you complain about it).
mean!simon who keeps his hand over your mouth in the barracks, fucking you silent and brutal while the others sleep only feet away from you, and his teeth sinks deep into your shoulder to muffle his own relentless groans, and he whispers "hate how much I need this" as he spills his thick cum inside you.
mean!simon who bends you over his tactical table every damn night, maps and intel scattered beneath your cheek, and his cock driving into your wrecked hole again and again until you're sobbing into the wood while his other hand fists your hair and pulls you back enough to growl against your ear "mine, say it" and you sob your back arching off and you moan, "yours si, yours", again and again, "hell, ya', ye are mine."
mean!simon who would burn the whole world down to ashes if it meant keeping you safe from any harm that might come your way.
mean!simon who, whenever anyone points out that he's warmed up to you or has changed, he just shakes his head and scoffs. "fu'k not." yet the moment you walk into the room, he's following you around like a lost puppy that finally found its owner. (talk about being a hypocrite.) then soap and the others can only laugh. "Told ye. Ye owe me sixty bucks now, Gaz. I bet they fucked... and have feelin's for each other." thankfully for soap, Ghost doesn't hear a damn thing Soap says, because well, his entire focus is on you -- like always.
mean!simon who was still as complicated — still guarded and a bit emotionally constipated, but he was yours now, or at least a part of him was.
and finally a few months later, he was all the way out with you, meaning talking to you without fighting for twenty straight minutes (well for him it was improvement), and soon, the edges that had once cut so clean, started to blur between you both.
then one day, when the entire building was asleep — after a successful mission and you were in his quarters, naked beneath him.
He'd fucked you hard until you were too dumb to even know your own name, and he finally came inside you with a low, guttural moan before collapsing over you, his cock still completely swollen and stretching your walls, still hard and twitching every few seconds. His breathing was heavy against your throat, and for a moment, he just stayed there. Then you finally said it. "I can't do this." and as soon as you processed your own words, your heart squeezed with an ache you could not name, because you knew what came next.
The door closing. The end.
and you knew you should not feel the dread for ending it after all you had agreed to his deal, but now you were in love, so you couldn't continue--
but as soon as simon heard the word can't, he pulled back from you and pulled his cock out of your hole, with a wet pop, and you shivered at the loss and instantly like a greedy thing your walls started to clench around nothing, and his eyes drifted to your hole and then he dragged them up before locking them on yours. "yeah?" he smirked. and before you could say anything he was already moving. and the minute you thought he was leaving you, he proved you wrong, because instead of moving towards the door he was scooping you up iin full bridal style, effortlessly, like you weighed nothing. you yelped suddenly. "si—!" but he didn't answer. instead, he just carried you to the shower, set you down on your feet, and turned the water on full blast. Instantly, it hammered against his back. and soon, he had you pinned against the bathroom tile. Your legs instinctively locked around his waist as he lined himself up at your entrance, and with a desperate moan, he thrust into you, making your eyes roll back.
like he was trying to fuck his way past your defenses, past his own—and he don't stop. and soon time blurred around you as the hot water poured over both of you, the steam curling through the air. soon his cum slowly leaked out from you while you were still joined, mingling with the rising steam as it traced a slow path down your thighs, making the feeling of him still inside you all the more intoxicating. and even after he'd climaxed more than once inside you, he still kept thrusting into you refusing to let the distance between you grow.
then finally when you thought he was done, his lips found your throat, his breath scorching against your skin. then, against the rapid beat of your pulse, he growled in a rough, desperate voice: "don't you dare... fucking leave."
"but--" you start, "no buts," he breathes shakily, then he finally admits, "I don't want to be your fuck buddy either, I can't, " he said, his voice wrecked. "I love you, be my girlfriend." another brutal snap of his hips, as water falls freely across your skin, "If you can't do this—don't. but be mine." then he thrusts again feeling himself throb with the need for another release, and your walls starts spasming around him too, "answer me", and you breathe, trying to form an answer or words, but your pleasure was already at the edge, and instead of giving him an answer, you moaned his name. "simon"
"ah, fuck—" he groaned. but just then, as if cutting him off, both of your orgasms crashed over at the same time, and you breathed loudly. "yes, si... yes... I am yours."
and this time you meant it, and as he kissed you reverently, you knew he meant what he said too.
mean!simon bf!simom who eventually stopped being mean to you, because now he'd been promoted to being your boyfriend, becoming gentler than ever. though whenever he fucked you, he made damn sure to remind you just how mean he still could be.
The armory is eerily silent at 0300, and the only sound around you now is just the hum of blue fluorescent lights above, your and his heavy breathing, and the distant snoring of men three doors down.
and as you kneel on the ground, the concrete bites cold against your knees, but you barely feel it — because of the balaclava below your knees protecting them but also because you were too focused on the man towering above you, and suddenly the overwhelming emotions of being in this confined space with your only God, your pulse starts to hammer between your thighs.
now if anyone opened that door, they might mistake this for prayer: your naked body bowed, head tilted back, looking up at him, your hands resting palms-up on your spread thighs like a supplicant awaiting benediction.
but your god wears dog tags and scars, not robes. and truth be told, you would never wanted a man draped in holy clothes or burdened by a spotless past. you crave the scarred one — the man who has survived the worst of the world, only to show you a different one.
simon stands quietly before you in the small room — six feet two inches of lethal muscle and marred skin, his balaclava discarded beneath your knees to cushion the hard floor. you'd kept it there yourself, your fingers trembling with each movement as you placed it beneath your knees while watching him too, as he stripped away the ghost of his skin, until only the man he actually was remained.
now as you look up at him through your lashes, mouth already open, breath coming soft and eager, your doe eyes widens with devotion. "you are s' big, si." your mouth waters at the sight of your man, all lean muscle and scarred skin.
and god — his cock?
it was perfect and looked liked it was actually sculpted by a greek gods themselves and it wasn't small at all either.
it was at least eleven and a half thick inches resting heavy against his stomach, and the flushed deep purple color on his swollen head gleamed in the dim light, as if all the blood in his body rushed there and it throbbed relentlessly as if it got the heartbeat of its own, and fuck,not to mention, it was decorated by the veins, all over, like a river flowing, while his tip was already leaking with the pre-cum of his arousal, and his balls hung low, the cum sac asking to be drained.
and simon looks insanely smug when you said that, his head tilting, and a slow predatory smile curls on his mouth. "we wi' m'ke tha' work, wont we, luvie?" he rumbles, his british accent thickening with his arousal, rough as gravel and twice as dangerous.
you could not answer him so you just make a small whimpering sound at his question, because after all you were too busy staring at him, too busy gawking at the bead which already started to trickle down his length and your fingers twitches at your sides with the need to touch it, to trace those raised veins with your tongue, to taste the salt-sweetness beading at his tip.
and your thighs instinctively closes and presses together as your own arousal starts to soak your slits at the sheer obscenity of him.
"like wha' ye see, birdie?" he purrs, the words coming out of his mouth way too easily, like it was dripped in honey.
"yes--si, yes you are perfect, please, let me worship you, let my mouth be holy, in your cum." you beg him shamelessly on your knees, then you lick your lips, already greedy to taste him.
simon makes a low guttural moan at that and stares down at you, his pupils blown wide and completely black, with a cruel smirk tugging at his face, then finally as if he was done making you wait, he fists his cock in his palm, thick and heavy in his hand, and a eager glint appears in your eyes to have him in your mouth, and your own arousal starts to prickle your senses, "nghh--please, si, give it to me."
"greedy little bird," he breathes, his voice rough. "Fuckin' waiting for it, mouth open like a good little—" he cuts himself off with a guttural groan as he finally gives you your reward then slowly he drags the thick head of his cock along your lower lip, smearing his pre-cum there like a lipstick. Once. He does it painfully slow.
The second time he presses his tip harder against your soft mouth, smearing salt and heat like gloss across your lower lip, then he pulls back just enough to let the weight of him settle against your lips, then he, slaps it against your mouth, making you breathe his name like a orison, the sound is so obscene in the silence, vibrating through your jaw, and you moan against his heated flesh, and the vibration makes him exhale sharp through his teeth. "Stick yer tongue out, filthy girl."
and you look up at him through your lashes, smiling with eyes that promise everything, finally your tongue slides past your lips, pink and waiting, and he rewards you again immediately by a loud slap, of his cock against your tongue, your cheek, as he coats your skin in him, and the musk of him floods your senses, immediately dizzying you and making you grunt. "Please" your voice is wrecked, and breathless, and you try to chase his heat with your desperate parted lips. "Let me have all of you."
"I 'm all yers, Birdie. Every inch of my soul is yers Ye're my god, ye fuckin' pretty thing," he growls. "Wantin' me to ruin you. Wantin' me to fuck that smart mouth until ye can't talk back anymore."
you moan at that, looking up at him and he groans at the sight, your lips parted, glistening in his arousal, his cock resting heavy against them, pulsing with his heartbeat. "Take it," he finally orders, putting a rest to your misery. and you do sinking forward, letting him fill your mouth, at first your mouth stretches at his wideness and you groan heavily then you take him deep in your throat and your food-pipe, hugs him as your lips closes around him, swallowing him in tight, rhythmic pulses, and you choke, instantly making gagging sounds around him, though you dont let his length slip out of your mouth, even as tears starts, forming in your eyes and his head falls back in ecstasy his eyes closing shut and a shattered "fuck" tears from his chest. "Take me like a good fucking girl."
and you do taking his cock into your mouth like a good desperate girl you were and suddenly his hand finds the back of your head, not pushing you but just holding you there letting you set your own pace, god sometimes he could be so gentle, and he keeps it there grounding himself in the heat of your mouth as you work him with your tongue, your throat, your desperate fucking need.
soon your hands reach up, cupping his balls,and you squeeze them gently, rolling them in your palms as you lick and trace his every vein mapping his cock, and your head bobs back and forth on his length, and you groan around him, the vibration making him twitch, choking now, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, smearing down your face. "s-si—" you gasp when he lets you breathe, wrecked, "I can't—"
"Ye can," he interrupts, his voice edged with control that he was barely holding onto. "Ye will. Keep going, my goo' girl" he praises.
so you do tracing your tongue along his length in long, worshipful strokes, then you pull your hand back and take his balls into your mouth, rolling them gently against your tongue.
"mmh—" Simon grunts, hips snapping forward involuntarily, as he chases the heat of your mouth his own pleasure, "s-so good, keep—ugh—"
his words dissolve as you suck his balls softly, your cheeks hollowing around them, before letting them fall from your lips with a loud, filthy pop, and you drool unabashedly -- your chin dripping with spit and him, debauched and desperat, and he finally straightens, head tipping down to look at you, chest heaving. "Fuckin' good girl," he breathes.
then you take his length back into your mouth immediately, hollowing your cheeks around him, working his saliva slicked balls with your palms again, and you feel him throb so hard he's twitching inside your mouth, veins pulsing against your tongue, against the inside of your cheek, and you know he's close, you can taste it, feel it in the way his thighs tremble.
"That's it," he pants, his hips stuttering forward, losing the last thread of his control, and his thighs convulses as he keeps grunting out filthy little sounds, "Just like tha' birdie, going to fill your mouth—going to make you swallow every fucking—"
He cuts off mid-sentence with a warning and a tug of your hair, but you hum around him anyway the vibrations traveling up his spine, and you breathe the words around his length, voice muffled and desperate: "Fill my mouth with your cum, god—si—"
He chuckles breathily. "If God is watching, Birdie... ye had better pray he isn't, because he's about to hear you choose your unholy salvation over him."
then without waiting for your response he finally breaks, and he throws his head back, his throat exposed, and finally with a loud grunt of your name he's spilling his hot and thick cum across your tongue, groaning your name like it's torn from somewhere sacred, like a part curse, and a part prayer, a low, guttural sound of the animal finally uncaged in the dark, then pulse after pulse, he empties himself into your mouth, his grip in your hair like that's the only thing keeping him upright.
and with a pleasant hum you swallow him down your throat, letting him paint your throat then you drag your tongue up the underside of his shaft to lick him clean. when you are finally done, he pulls his hand back from your hair, letting it fall to his sides and you pull back with a satisfied grin from him, licking your lips, then you look up at him in his brown eyes, your lips swollen from the assault.
then he exhales, and stares down at you like you are holding the world in your mouth, and thats the thing, you are, no -- actually you just swallowed your whole world down your throat.
and he twitches one last time with a low shiver, and his thighs finally settles, the last aftershocks rippling through him.
later, he pulls you up to your feet and slowly he kisses you tasting himself on your tongue, sharing the mess between you until you're both breathless. "My good birdie," he whispers against your swollen mouth.
You groan, "Mmh. I am."
He smiles softly, his thumb pad tracing your jaw like you are the precious thing he has seen, "just ye."
"Just me, only me," you echo with a sigh, whilst finally leaning into his reverent touch.
"We played with this idea of, is she fully seeing through her own eyes what's happening and doesn't feel in control, or if it's kind of like teleportation where every time that she pops back in, it's from the moment that she popped back in before, which is why whenever she's in the house, she comes out and she's like, 'Wait, where am I?’ So we played with both of them, and now that I've watched the film back, I think that she does both. I think that in the very beginning, whenever she doesn't understand what's going on, she's teleporting, and once she realizes what's going on, Nikki’s a fighter, and so her urge to fight the wish just gets bigger and bigger and bigger, and that’s why she has the grief at the end, because she's watched it happen. She's felt it. She has to deal with it. It wasn't her fault. Her life has completely changed. And she just lets it all go." — Inde Navarrette (x)
Simon remembered the words that had left your mouth the night before. An inconvenient thing to remember during a briefing.
Price was speaking about mission details, Gaz was taking notes, and Soap looked like he was only half paying attention.
Meanwhile, Simon couldn't stop looking at you. Your mouth. Your eyes.
The way you were pretending to focus on the presentation. He remembered the way your body moved and squirmed under his touch.
"Yeah? You like it right there?"
"Want me to keep going?"
You remembered his words from last night too. The briefing room felt too small. Too warm.
You kept your eyes fixed on the table, refusing to look at him. Because you knew exactly what would happen if you did. You'd remember. The way he sounded. The way he touched you. The way he knew exactly how to make you fall apart. You knew exactly what would happen. You'd smile. And if you smiled, he'd know.
As if sensing your thoughts, Simon's gaze remained on you. You could practically feel it.
“Y/N?”
Your head snapped up. Price was looking directly at you.
“Sir?”
“Care to tell us what I just said?”
For a second, your mind went completely blank. Across the table, Soap looked amused. Simon looked away, hiding a smirk. You cleared your throat.
It all began in the briefing room when the task force returned from a long deployment. Everyone was exhausted after being stuck in those cargo planes for hours. You couldn't get comfortable in your chair; your backside was aching from those shitty, cold, netted seats.
Price was rambling about information you all already knew, gesturing at diagrams and maps, but your head was somewhere else. You were trying hard not to whine about the pain, scanning the room for anywhere more comfortable to sit. Suddenly, your eyes landed on Ghost’s well-defined, muscular thighs, and dear God, did they look cushioned.
"Ghost," you whispered, trying not to draw attention to yourselves. "Hey."
"Wot?" he grunted, his eyes fixed on Price.
"My ass really hurts from those shitty aircraft seats. I’m literally dying here. I was wondering if I could sit on your lap?" you begged.
"What? No. We’re in a bloody meeting."
"Please! It really hurts!"
Ghost remained silent for a long moment, analyzing the situation. You were just about to give up when you saw him spread his legs and pat his thigh softly. "You bloody nightmare."
You blinked several times, then immediately crawled onto his lap. Thank God—they were just as comfortable as you’d imagined. It was like sitting on a damn cloud. Seeking even more comfort, you grabbed both of Ghost’s arms and wrapped them around your waist. He was so massive that he simply rested his chin on the top of your head.
"The next mission will take place on—" Price cut off abruptly in the middle of his sentence, his eyes locked on the two of you.
"What? My ass hurts; you really should change the bloody seats on the aircraft," you defended yourself against Price’s judgmental stare.
That didn't stop you, though. From that day on, you were always found in your usual place: perched on Ghost's thighs. Without fail.
Oh I was CRAVING for something like this i just adore how fucking massive this man is RAWR
Summary: You’re doctor Robby’s younger daughter, and you are waiting outside for him in front of the ER. As usual he doesn’t make it out of work on time. So, instead you’re greeted by his best friend, Jack Abbot.
Contains: Daddy issues, absent father, dads best friend, age gap, forbidden, almost getting caught, couch makeout session, dry humping, hand kink, words like “kiddo”, Abbot drives a truck, desperation, praise kink, fingering
One thing you hated was the fact your dad worked in the ER. Especially the ER in Pittsburgh that never seems to get a break.
You wait on a bench outside of the noisy hospital. Ambulances rolling in and out every now and then. Your hands are tucked away in your dad’s green coat. You sniffle as your nose runs from the cold. It grows numb at the cold breeze.
You didn’t mind waiting in the cold though.
Every time the sliding doors open you can’t help but glance up in hope it’s your dad. Each time it’s someone different; some familiar faces but it was never your dad.
The sliding doors open once more, your eyes flick up, and to your surprise it’s a more than familiar face.
"Dr. Abbot?" You say, almost like it was a question.
"You waiting up for your dad?"
You scoot over on the bench as he inches closer. He just has on black scrubs, a grey shirt under, and a stethoscope wrapped around his neck.
"Yeah." You kept your response short.
With a soft grunt he sits down next to you. He leans back a bit and his legs spread open slowly in a manspread you can’t help but notice.
Your eyes flick away quickly.
"Robby is going to be held up a bit tonight." His tone makes you worry. Your eyes flick to his.
"Should I be worried?" Something in your stomach twists.
"There was a car pile up on the freeway tonight. Some of the local hospitals computer systems went down, so they had to transfer them over." He explains.
"He’s been in there for almost twenty-four hours." You mumble.
"You know how your dad is, kiddo."
Kiddo.
"The sun is rising practically, and I see the night shift doctors going home." You point at the night shift doctor who has a Dunkin' drink with him everyday, leaving.
"I know you’re upset-"
"Upset? Yeah, I hardly get to see my dad because his second home is a hospital for crying out loud." You shout angrily.
Abbot seems taken aback at your frustration, but he understands. He places a hand on your knee and gives it a squeeze.
"I get your frustration — I do. Your dad just works hard," Abbot tries to defend your dad.
You shake your head, "But when do I get a say when I want to see my dad."
You squeeze your hands into a fist, they’re tucked away in the long sleeves of your dad’s coat. You feel the tears of frustration starting to rise in your eyes. You bite your lower lip to try to stop anything from escaping but it’s hard with the cold air smacking you in the face. A tear escapes and so does a hushed sniffle.
"Hey, hey, woah," Abbot turns to you and you refuse to look up at him. "These tears aren’t worth it."
He grabs your face and his calloused hand glides against your cheek. Your eyes flinch at the touch. His hands are surprisingly warm. His thumb brushes away a tear under your eye.
"How did you get here?" Abbot asks you.
"I took the bus." You sniffle.
"I’ll text Robby that I’m taking you home today, okay?" You feel your heart rate increase at the idea of being in Abbot’s truck, just you and him, going to your house.
You nod and wipe away the tears from your face, "Okay." You softly say.
The car ride felt like it was the longest car ride. The soft hum of the engine, and the smell of the cars heater blowing in your face. You can tell his truck is a little older. It is a nice rustic red, and it suits him. Everything Abbot has or does suits him.
He pulls into the driveway of you and your dad’s house. Your own car, a 2016 Volkswagen Beetle, which broke down on you about a month ago, sits peacefully next to his truck.
"You took the bus but you have your beetle?" He points to your red beetle.
"She broke down on me last month. I think something’s wrong with the transmission. Dad was supposed to take it to the shop last week, but he got busy."
As usual.
"I can always take it into the shop. I know a mechanic who could probably get her back up and running." You can’t help but smile.
"You’d do that?" Your eyes flick between his.
With a soft nod and a smile that you can’t help but stare at, "Of course. I’d do anything for you, kiddo."
Your heart skips a beat and you can feel your palms grow sweaty. Your stomach twists and turns like you have to throw up.
"You should come in," You blurt out.
Abbot looks surprised, "You want me to come in?"
"I mean, dad wouldn’t like you to not come in. You drove me here you must be hungry or thirsty or — something." You ramble a bit.
Abbot chuckles at you and shakes his head. He reaches for his key fob and turns off his truck.
"Okay, I’ll go inside." He rests his hands on his legs.
His black scrubs fit nicely on his body. It squeezes around his legs and his black shirt accentuates his biceps.
You guys get out of the truck and you take out your key. It’s on a keychain with a picture of you and your dad, a small stuffed bunny, and a red heart. The keys jingle and you fumble a bit trying to unlock your door. You can feel Abbot staring at the side of your face and at the lock.
Once you get the door open you are instantly greeted by your cat Cinnamon. She’s a smaller tabby cat, and she rubs against your legs. She doesn’t hesitate to go to Abbot next. Rubbing on his black scrubs; her fur clings to it.
He leans down to pick her up. He lays her on her back and she purrs loudly. He takes his middle and ring finger and begins to pet her gently in the stomach.
"Such a pretty girl," He hums and rubs her fur slowly.
You lick your lips and swallow the lump forming in your throat. Your eyes can’t help but focus on his veiny hands and the thickness of his two fingers rubbing your cat.
He sets her down and when he gets back up he softly groans.
You blink out of whatever fantasy you were playing in your head.
"Are you thirsty?" You ask and walk over to the kitchen.
"Coffee would be great," He nods.
"Coffee after doing the night shift?" You tease and he huffs as he sits down on your sofa.
"Coffee is like water to me now, kid."
"You realize I’m nineteen. I’m not a kid," You glare at him.
"I know, I know. I just like saying it," He smiles.
You put the pod of coffee into your Keurig. It begins to rumble as the water starts to heat up. You awkwardly stand in the kitchen not knowing if you should go over to the couch or not.
"Don’t be so uptight in your own home," You flinch at the husky voice and look over at Abbot.
He pats the cushion next to him and hesitantly you begin to walk over. You stand in front of him and his head tilts up to look at you. You sit down slowly next to him. You can feel his eyes on you; watching your every move.
You guys sit in silence, you can hear your heart beating loudly. You’ve been around Abbot many times but this one time you’re with him alone.
You notice him bringg his hand up, and it finds your leg. He places his hand on your leg and brings your chin over his lap.
You watch him.
He knows you’re watching.
He slides his hand up to your chin slowly — rubbing your skin. Shivers run up your spine at his warm hands caressing your legs.
He turns his head and his eyes lock with yours.
You swallow.
"Abbot," you say almost breathlessly.
"Yes?" His voice is deeper than before.
You lean in more, your butt pressing against his thigh. Your legs are now both over his lap, but you’re not sitting in his lap — yet.
"Keep going," you say. "Please."
His eyes flick between yours. Something new lights in them and you can tell he’s enjoying this as much as you are.
You lean in to his neck as he continues to stroke your legs. You get a smell of his musk that makes him smell more like a man. You place a soft kiss on his neck and his hand halts on your chin.
You pull away and look up at him.
"Kid," Abbot begins.
His hand reaches out for your cheek. His thumb traces your bottom lip as he holds your face. A breathy gasp escapes between your lips. You stare up at him; he licks his lips slowly. Before you left him finish his sentence you place your mouth on his. His breath gets caught in his throat, but he doesn’t fight the kiss. His mouth wanders yours; his tongue protruding the entrance to your mouth. Your tongues fight against each other.
You find yourself now straddling him. Your hands are on his broad shoulders, squeezing and pulling on his shirt. The more you two kiss, the more you want.
He breaks away from you. You’re both breathless and he stares into your eyes. You can feel your lips are swollen but you don’t mind.
"Kid, we shouldn’t have done that." He says.
"But I wanted it to happen," You whisper.
He tilts his head back a bit and you bite your lip. You inch towards his face again and he doesn’t mind. You place another soft kiss on his lips. You can feel the heat from his breath on your lips. His breath smells like peppermint, and you can’t help but crave it.
Your tongue glides along the bottom of his lip, and slowly you rock your hips forward. With the movement of your hips you can hear him grunt in your mouth.
Everything around you disappears. All you can focus on is the feeling of your pussy slowly grinding against his growing hard on, and the way his breathing grows erratic against your mouth.
"Fuck," He groans.
He stared at you intensely through hooded eyes. You rock your hips and a shot of pleasure shoots through you.
You lean forward a bit and your head meets his muscular shoulder. His hand slides into your hair and the fingers that were once petting your cat were now racking through your hair.
You let out a muffled moan into his shoulder at the feeling of your cunt grinding and his hand roughly playing in your hair.
"Keep going," He encourages through a groan.
You press down harder and roll your hips. Your breath hitches softly.
"Yeah," He breathes. "Just like that."
You moan again at his words.
"What would your dad think?" He whispers. "Him coming home and seeing his daughter grinding against his friend, huh?"
You whimper in response.
You lean back and look at him. Your chest heaves up and down.
"I want more," You gasp. "Jack, please."
"Jack, hm?" He moves his hands down onto your thighs and up to your hips.
He squeezes and massages them slowly.
"What more do you want?" He asks.
"Touch me, anything, please." You beg.
"Touch you?" His hand slides closer to the button of your jeans.
He rubs his finger around the button. You watch the way his index finger slowly does circles on the piece of metal. You feel yourself pulsing at the idea of his fingers doing that to you.
He unbuttons the button and glides down the zipper. He can see your pink lace underwear you’re wearing. His thumb glides against the silky underwear and he looks up at you — looking for an answer.
"Please," you beg. "Touch me."
Without anymore hesitation he slides his hand inside of your underwear. You let out a mixture of a gasp and a moan as his index finger slides up your wet folds and runs over your clit, slowly. You rub is back and forth in a slowly flicking motion. You moan and tilt your head back a bit and rock your hips forward.
"You think you can take my fingers?" He wraps his free hand around your neck and tilts your head back to look at him.
You bob your head and he gives a smirk.
Slowly he pushes between your folds and slides his index finger inside of you. You squeeze your eyes shut at the feeling of his finger going in. A mixture of pain and pleasure rush over you. His index finger slides in and out slowly but his thumb finds its way down back to your clit. In a motion you fingers you and rubs circles on your clit.
"Look at that," he hums. "Such a good girl."
You moan loudly at the way he’s treating you and the words he speaks. You can feel the nerves bundling up and the pleasure becoming intense on you.
"Oh God," You whimper. "I’m going to cum." You moan out.
"It’s okay," He reassures. "I got you; cum for me."
With those words, it felt like an explosion hit you. Your body trembles as you reach your climax and you let out a loud moan. You bite your lip and collapse onto his shoulder once again. He pumps his finger slower inside of you until all that’s left is your body twitching.
You sit up and catch your breath. You two are both breathless and you can’t help but smile. Jack cracks a smile back at you.
He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing gets out as you both hear the sound of keys entering the front doors lock.
You jump off Jack’s lap and zip up your jeans. You quickly tuck your hair behind your ears and glance at Jack once more. You notice him adjust his dick in his scrubs before the door opens.
"Hi dad," You blurt out.
"Hey sweetie," Robby sets down the keys in the bowl by your door and he walks over and kisses your forehead. "Sorry I’m home so late."
"It’s fine," you say. "Dr. Abbot kept me company."
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