The only place where you can find my old fanfics now is:
This page
My new fanfics are listed below:
Enough SPN, When a hunt goes incredibly wrong and none of the victims is saved, Dean’s breakdown puts Y/N and Sam in danger. After coming back to the bunker Dean has to cope with the overwhelming feelings. (Explicit)
Attention SPN, Stuck in a car, Y/N is bored out of her mind and only wants a bit of attention. (Explicit)
Joel Miller fanfiction:
Pretty face, cherry chapstick Joel is using a younger Reader to cope with his feelings.
Forgiven (Part 2 of Pretty Face, cherry chapstick)
Plaything You’re Joel’s pretty doll
Bad Plaything! You’re a bad doll, but you’re Joel’s bad doll. (sequel to Plaything)
Perfect Plaything Joel won't let you ruin his fantasy. (part 3)
Marina You seek comfort in the arms of an older sailor.
break me down and i’ll call you mine - @flowersforbucky
the light is coming - @flowersforbucky
bad juju - @thatcorporategirlie
answering machine - @love-quinn
handyman!pope - @leossmoonn
just friends - @thatcorporategirlie
before we knew better - @longlostx11
this one shot - @drjohncarters
good boy - @ididcrytoday
take what you’re given - @rr-after-dark
disappearing act - @ofstarsandvibranium
don’t quit - @fru1t4fr0gs
forever - @kisscoabbot
your shadow - @ofstarsandvibranium
flick the tip - @grimgasm
in this corner - @mcybank
good for you - @mparksy
stripper!reader - @goldieloxxxx
stop and smell the roses - @abbotsmyhabit
fresh out the slammer - @holdmelikeagrudgee
I started my dream job today (yay!), so the fic rec lists, and the texts/social media AU’s will be coming out a lot slower than usual, I’m sorry☹️. I will always find time to read, so even though I don’t have time to compile my recs into lists, I will reblog them with the tag #fic recs, whenever I see something I love
Summary: Your car breaks down on the side of the road, and after a few failed calls to everyone else, you end up dialing Jack.
Words: 4530
Warning: Unspecified Age Gap
Author's Note: And we are backkkkk. Enjoy - Ryn
HELPING HAND | MASTERLIST
You and Jack had been texting ever since he asked for your number. What started as a few messages quickly turned into daily conversations.
The two of you texted back and forth throughout the day, talking about anything and everything. Sometimes it was just jokes and random thoughts. Other times it was stories about your day. Before long, seeing his name pop up on your phone had become a regular part of your routine.
The texting eventually turned into phone calls too. Some lasted only a few minutes, while others stretched on for hours. Whether you were texting or talking on the phone, it seemed like the two of you always had something to say.
The midday sun hung bright overhead, but it did nothing to ease the feeling that you were stranded. You pressed the phone tighter to your ear, trying your uncle, your aunt, your cousin—one after another. When none of them picked up, Jack became your next option.
Nora was crying, probably from the heat, her fussing growing louder as you wiped sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand.
“Please pick up,” you mutter.
“Hello?” Jack’s voice comes through, groggy with sleep.
Relief washes over you as you hear someone finally pick up on the other end of the line.
“Jack—Hi,” you stammer, suddenly painfully aware of how breathless you sound.
“Hey.” His voice is slow, husky from sleep.
“Are you… uh… busy by chance?” you ask as you step out of your car, you glance at your car sitting silently on the side of the road, its engine refusing to wake.
“No,” he says, but there’s a slight shuffle “I was just…” he exhales faintly, “sleeping.”
Your eyes squeeze shut. “Oh my gosh—I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have—” knowing he works late.
“No, it’s okay.” He cuts in, quicker this time. More alert. “Are you okay? Nora?”
“Yes, I… I’m fine. Nora’s fine…” You force a laugh, but it’s small, shaky. “I just…uh—”
You walk to the front and stand by the open hood, peering underneath it.
“Do you happen to be good with cars?” you blurt.
His eyebrows furrow. You called him about cars? Out of all things? Not that he minds, but it’s completely random.
“I mean… I’m no mechanic, but I know a thing or two.”
Nora is still crying, so you move to her, lifting her out of the car and trying to soothe her with a gentle bounce.
“Well…” you start, “I’m kind of stuck on the side of the road—”
“What?” The shift in his voice is instant. He’s fully awake now. He can hear Nora crying faintly in the background as you try to soothe her.
“I don’t know what happened,” you rush, the words spilling out. “It just… stopped. Like everything shut off and it won’t turn back on. I tried turning the engine, I looked under the hood—nothing. I called everyone… nobody’s answering… again, so I called you, and I hate that I’m bothering you. I know you work late and need to sleep—”
You’re talking fast now, the words blurring together as you ramble. He can tell you’re overwhelmed just by the sound of your voice. The stress, the heat, everything piling up at once.
You press your lips together, forcing yourself to listen. He can hear the pause on your end, the shaky inhale as you try to steady yourself, then a slow exhale.
“Alright… where are you?”
You glance around again, as if the answer might suddenly become clearer. “Um… I’m pulled over on Jefferson.”
There’s another pause shorter this time, more focused. You can almost hear him already shifting.
“I’ll be there shortly.” The words come immediately, no hesitation.
“You don’t mind?” you ask quickly, still overwhelmed.
“Of course not. I’m coming.” His voice softens just slightly. “Just hang tight, okay?”
There’s something steady in the way he says it like he’s already on his way, already taking control of the situation so you don’t have to.
—-
You glance at the rearview mirror and your chest loosens a fraction when you see Jack stepping out, already heading your way.
Your car's doors were open to get any sort of breeze.
“Hey, Are you guys alright?” he calls, reaching the driver’s side.
“Hi, Jack. Thank you for coming—We’re fine,” you answer.
“How’s Nora?”
His eyes flick past you to the back seat. “Hey there, sweetheart,” he murmurs, catching a glimpse of her. She answers with a string of grumpy, upset noises.
You hesitate, glancing back at her. “She’s fussy—it’s the heat.”
He lets out a short breath. “Yeah, I don’t blame her. I am too into this.”
Then he nods once, already moving. “Let’s get her into my car. I'll blast the AC. I’ll take a look at your car while you get her settled.”
You reach for Nora, unbuckling her as carefully yet quickly as you can. She squirms, letting out a small frustrated cry, her cheeks flushed from the heat. You lift her out, cradling her against you as you step back.
Jack moves in right after, leaning into the car to unclip the seat. He lifts it out with ease, carrying it over to his car without breaking stride.
“Got it?” he calls over his shoulder.
“Yeah,” you answer, shifting Nora gently in your arms.
He sets the car seat into the back, the base clicking firmly into place before he gives it a quick, practiced tug to confirm it’s secure. Without hesitation, he straps the harness in, tightening and adjusting until it sits just right. His movements are efficient, almost automatic like he’s done this a hundred times.
The engine of his car is running, a steady hum in the background and cool air spills out each time he leans in through the open door.
“Alright,” he says after one last check of the straps, stepping back. “Let’s get her in—she’ll cool off fast.”
He steps aside so you can lift her in without crowding you, giving you space while still watching closely, ready to help if you need it.
Once she’s settled, he moves toward your car. The hood is already open. He walks up to the front, leaning in to take a look inside. His expression shifts into focus as he scans the engine area, hands resting briefly on the edge as he studies it.
You finish closing your door and follow him over.
“Can you turn the engine for me?” he asks, not looking away from the engine yet.
“Yeah.”
You slide back into the driver’s seat and turn the ignition. The engine coughs, struggles for a moment, then dies back into silence.
You exhale and step out again.
“Okay,” he says after a beat, straightening a little. “It’s probably the battery. We’ll jump it.”.
Without wasting any time, he walks over to his car, grabs the jumper cables from the trunk. He moves to the drive seat of his car.
Before anything else, he glances into the backseat to Nora.
“Hey,” he says gently, voice softening. “We’ve gotta turn the car off for a minute, okay? I’ll make it quick.”
He gives her a small, reassuring look, like she understands more than she can say. Then he shuts the engine off and moves to the front of the car, popping the hood and propping it open.
He clips one end of the jumper cables to his battery, then crosses back over to your car to secure the other end.
He steps back just enough to check the connection, then heads back to his own car and starts the engine. After a moment, he walks over to where you’re standing by your car.
“Alright,” he says, voice even. “Try it now.” He stands near the hood, watching.
You slide back into the driver’s seat and turn the key.
At first, nothing.
Then a stutter. It struggles for a second longer like it’s deciding whether to give up again, and then finally catches. The engine settles into a steady idle, rough at first, then smoothing out.
From outside, he gives a short nod of approval, already walking back over. “There you go.”
Jack watches the engine like he doesn’t fully trust it yet. “Let it run for a bit. We’ll make sure it holds.”
He unclips the jumper cables one by one, carefully disconnecting them before walking back to his car to coil them up and put them away.
When he returns, he makes a decision.
“Alright,” he says, firm but calm. “We’re switching.”
You look at him as he comes around the front of your car.
“I’ll drive yours,” he adds, already matter-of-fact. “You take mine.”
“What? I can’t just take your car—”
“You can,” he replies easily. “And you are.”
“There’s no way your insurance—”
“My insurance will survive the experience.” he chuckles.
“I don’t want to inconvenience you any more. I’ll just have my uncle look at it—”
“My neighbor’s a retired mechanic” he continues. “I’ll have him look at it. Best case, it’s nothing, but I don’t want you driving home unsure if your car’s going to make it. Especially not with Nora in the car.”
“Jack–”
“Please” for my stake of mind, he wanted to add.
You pause. Taken aback. Something in him shifts—subtle, but unmistakable. The easy humor is gone, replaced by something quieter, heavier, like the weight of a thought he doesn’t say out loud.
He doesn’t explain it, but there’s a seriousness in his eyes now that wasn’t there a moment ago.
So instead of pressing harder, you soften your tone. “At least let me follow you to your house,” you say. “So you can keep your car. You can drop me and Nora off after.”
“Okay,” he agrees quietly.
—
You follow Jack back to his house in his car. He lives in the suburbs, a quiet street lined with single-story homes. You pull into the driveway beside him and step out, grabbing Nora from the backseat along with her baby bag.
Jack is already out of your car and walking toward the front yard of the house next door. An older woman is working in the garden out front, tending to her plants. You follow a few steps behind him.
“Hey,” he greets her as she straightens up, wiping her hands.
“Jack, honey, what can I do for you?” she asks warmly.
“Is Tucker in by chance?”
She slowly rises, brushing dirt from her fingers. “Car trouble again?”
“For my friend,” he says. Her gaze shifts to you and Nora, a curious but kind smile forming.
“Well, hello there,” she says as you step in beside Jack.
“Hi,” you respond a little shyly. You introduce yourself to her.
“I’m Jenna,” she introduces herself. “And who might this be?”
You glance down at Nora who’s fast asleep, then back up. “Nora,” you say softly.
Jenna’s expression softens immediately, like the name alone changes the tone of everything.
“Oh, she’s precious,” she says, leaning slightly forward but keeping her distance, respectful. “How old is she?”
“Six months,” you answer, adjusting Nora in your arms as she lets out a small, tired sound.
Jenna nods like she understands exactly what that means. “That’s a hard stage. Sweet, but hard.”
Jenna gives a knowing hum, then tilts her head toward the house next door. “Tucker’s inside. I’ll go get him for you.”
“You know what,” she says, wiping her hands on her jeans, “don’t stand out here in this heat. Bring her inside for a minute.”
You hesitate, shifting Nora slightly in your arms.
“It’s fine,” Jenna adds quickly, already opening the front door. “Really. Tucker can come out to you when he’s ready. You don’t need to bake out here while you wait.”
Jack glances at you, a quiet check-in without saying anything.
“It’s up to you,” he says simply.
Jenna holds the door open a little wider, offering a small, welcoming nod. “C’mon. It’ll take him two seconds to look at the car, and you’ll all be more comfortable inside anyway.”
You make your way up the steps onto the porch and into the house, with Jack following right behind you.
The cool air inside hits you immediately, a relief against the heat still clinging to your skin. The house is quiet in that lived-in way soft lighting, faint creak of floorboards, the distant hum of something running in another room.
Jenna steps in behind you and gestures down the hallway. “Just make yourselves comfortable”
You adjust Nora in your arms as she shifts slightly, calmer now that she’s out of the heat. Jack moves past you a little, still close enough to make sure you’re following, but letting you set the pace.
Jenna disappears deeper into the house, calling lightly for her husband, while you’re left in the entryway with Jack. Nora shifts slightly in your arms, calmer now in the cool air.
A few moments later, Tucker comes out with Jenna behind him, wiping his hands on a rag as if he’d already been in the middle of something.
“Hey, Jack. I heard you need me to look at a car?”
“For my friend,” Jack replies simply.
“Friend, huh?” Tucker glances between you and Jack, a faint, knowing smile tugging at his mouth. “You must be your friend. I’m Tucker.”
You introduce yourself, adjusting Nora slightly as she lets out a small sound.
“And her baby Nora,” Jenna adds warmly, stepping a little closer. “Isn’t she a doll, Tuck?”
Tucker softens immediately at that, leaning in just a bit to get a better look. “Hey there, little one,” he says gently. “You got yourself in a bit of trouble today with your car?”
“I broke down on the side of the road,” you explain.
“It could be the battery, but I wanted to double check,” Jack adds.
Tucker nods once. “Alright. Let me take a look and see what we’re working with.”
He heads out the door, Jack following right behind him.
“I’ll be right outside, okay?” Jack says as he steps out.
You nod slightly, adjusting Nora in your arms as the glass screen closes behind them.
Jenna lingers nearby for a moment, watching you with an easy reassuring expression.
You stare out the glass door, where you can faintly see Jack and Tucker standing beside your car with the hood propped open. Jack has his arms crossed, listening intently as Tucker points to something inside the engine bay, the two of them deep in conversation.
“You want some water?” she asks, already half-turning toward the kitchen. “Or I can grab you a blanket for her—keep her a little cooler now that she’s inside.”
“Water would be great, thank you.”
“Come follow me,” she says warmly, leading the way.
As you follow her down the hall, she glances at you over her shoulder with an easy curiosity. “So… you and Jack…”
“Oh—” you shake your head quickly. “We’re just friends.”
Jenna gives a small hum, like she’s filing your answer away without making much of it.
“Mm-hmm,” she says lightly, not pushing. “Jack’s a good man.”
“Yeah,” you agree, a small smile tugging at your lips. “He is.”
“How did you two meet?” she asks as she fixes you a drink in the kitchen.
“Um, on a plane, actually.”
Jenna's eyebrows lift with interest.
You set your baby bag on the ground by your feet before settling onto the couch in the living room while she joins you a moment later. “Nora here wouldn’t stop crying the entire flight,” you explain, glancing down at your daughter. “Jack offered to try and soothe her.”
Jenna chuckles. “Well, it takes a village.”
She sets your drink on the coffee table before reaching for a couple of throw pillows. With a few practiced movements, she arranges them beside you into a small makeshift nest.
“There,” she says. “So you can give your arms a rest.”
“Thank you,” you say, smiling gratefully.
Carefully, you lay Nora down on the pillows beside you. Almost immediately, she stretches out and settles, content in the cool house and the quiet around her. Jenna watches for a moment, her expression softening.
“She’s a sweetheart,” she says warmly. “And from the sounds of it, she picked the right person to sit next to on that flight.”
A small laugh escapes you. “Yeah. We got lucky.”
Jenna smiles knowingly as she settles into the armchair across from you.
“He's been like that as long as I've known him,” she says. “Always trying to take care of everyone else.”
You glance back at her.
“He seems like it.”
“He is.” She smiles. “Sometimes to a fault.”
A comfortable silence settles between you for a moment.
“You know,” she says quietly, “it’s nice to see Jack spending time with people again.”
You look up. “What do you mean?”
“After his wife passed, he kept to himself for a long time. He was always a good neighbor,” Jenna continues. “Always willing to help. He threw himself into work after she died.”
“A workaholic?” you ask.
Jenna laughs softly. “Oh, definitely. If he’s not working, he’s fixing something, helping someone, or finding another project to keep busy.”
“But he loved her very much.”
The room falls quiet for a moment.
Jenna hesitates, choosing her words.
“It was sudden. One moment she was on her way back home… and then she wasn’t. That’s why he insisted on getting your car looked at right away. He doesn’t mess around with that kind of thing. He just… doesn’t take chances with people he cares about.”
A beat passes.
Then she gives you a small, reassuring smile.
Before you can respond, your phone rings on the coffee table. You glance down—your cousin’s name flashing across the screen.
“Sorry, I have to take this,” you say, already standing.
“No worries,” Jenna replies easily.
You step away from the couch, moving through the living room and toward the front door for a bit of privacy.
“Hello?” you answer once you pick up.
“Hey, sorry I missed your call,” your cousin says on the other end.
“It’s alright,” you reply, glancing briefly back toward the living room. “I was just calling because the car stalled—”
“Are you alright? Do you need help?” they cut in immediately, concerned with sharpening their tone.
“I tried calling your mom and dad… but I called… Jack,” you say, already knowing the reaction you’re going to get from your cousin.
There’s a pause on the other end.
“Jack?” your cousin repeats.
“Yeah,” you say, lowering your voice a little as you glance down the hallway. “He came to help me. Got my car jumped, and now his neighbor is checking it out for me.”
“Your knight in shining armor is back at it again!”
“Oh, stop!” you laugh.
“The two of you have been getting friendly,” your cousin teases.
“Yeah… friendly,” you say, hesitating. “As in Friends.”
“Friends,” your cousin repeats, dragging it out like they don’t fully believe you.
“Yeah,” you insist, softer now. “Just a friend.”
“Mhm,” they hum, unconvinced. “A friend who shows up pretty fast when you’re stranded on the side of the road.”
You glance down the hallway again, lowering your voice. “He just helped. That’s it.”
“Okay, okay,” your cousin says, though the teasing doesn’t fade. “I’m just saying… that’s a very helpful friend.”
You roll your eyes, but there’s a small smile tugging at your mouth.
“Are you done?” you ask.
“For now,” they say. “Just keep me updated about the car.”
“I will.”
“I’ll call Mom and Dad and let them know. Alright—talk to you later.”
“Bye.”
You end the call and let your hand drop for a second. A moment later, Tucker and Jack make their way back toward the house, stepping inside from the front door.
The door opens with a soft creak, bringing in a faint rush of warm air from outside before it closes again behind them.
Tucker wipes his hands on a rag as he steps in first, letting out a small breath. “Alright,” he says, glancing at you “Good news is it’s not anything catastrophic.”
Jack’s shoulders ease slightly, but he stays quiet, waiting.
“It’s the battery like you thought,” Tucker continues. “Just… completely drained. Could be old, could be the heat, could be a combination of both.”
“So it’ll run again?” you ask.
“Yeah,” Tucker nods. “Jumped fine, so you’re good for now. But I’d replace it soon. Don’t push your luck with it.”
“I can do it tomorrow if you want,” Tucker adds casually, looking at Jack.
“Oh, I can just have my uncle take it into the shop—” you start.
Tucker cuts you off with a small wave of his hand. “Nah, I can do it,” he says easily. “It’s no trouble and honestly it’ll be faster than waiting in a shop anyway.”
He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Don’t worry about it.”
He glances toward you then, calmer now. “You’re not driving around hoping it holds.”
It’s not a question.
You hesitate. “I can pay you—”
Tucker shakes his head before you even finish. “Nope. Don’t worry about it.”
Jack finally speaks up, calm but firm. “He means it.”
You look between them, still unsure. “I really don’t want to put anyone out.”
“You’re not,” Tucker says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s a battery. Not a rebuild.”
He turns the rag in his hands, then nods toward Jack’s car outside. “Plus, I owe this guy a favor anyway.”
Jack huffs a quiet laugh at that, but doesn’t argue.
A few minutes later, everything is settled. Tucker confirms he’ll keep your car and replace the battery in the morning, Jack quietly gathers your things without making a production of it.
Before you leave, you pause at the door.
“Thank you,” you say sincerely to Tucker and Jenna. “For everything.”
The ride is quiet in a way that feels steady rather than tense—just the low hum of the road, Nora dozing in her car seat behind you, and Jack focused on the drive.
When he finally pulls up outside your aunt and uncle’s place, he parks and gets out immediately, rounding the car to help you with Nora without needing to be asked.
You follow, carefully unbuckling Nora and lifting her into your arms while grabbing her baby bag from the backseat.
Jack is already unhooking the car seat and lifting it out with ease. He carries it one-handed, like it weighs nothing, and falls into step beside you as you head up the driveway.
The front door opens before you even knock.
“Honey, are you alright?” your aunt asks right away, relief flooding her face. “Your cousin told us what happened. I’m so sorry your uncle and I didn’t answer your call—we had some issues at the restaurant earlier we were dealing with—”
She steps forward quickly, then pauses mid-sentence as her eyes land on Jack standing beside you, still holding the car seat.
“Oh… hello.”
“Hi,” Jack replies politely.
“This is my friend, Jack,” you say, introducing them as you carefully transfer Nora into your aunt’s arms.
“It’s nice to meet you, Jack,” your aunt says warmly. “You can bring the car seat inside.”
She steps aside to let him pass through the doorway.
As he walks by, your aunt leans closer and lowers her voice.
“Your cousin wasn't exaggerating when they said he was a babe.”
“Aunty,” you hiss under your breath, mortified as you enter the house.
She only smiles innocently and continues carrying Nora inside as if she hadn't said a thing. Meanwhile, Jack remains blissfully unaware, setting the car seat down in the living room.
“Relax. I don't think he heard me.”
From the living room, Jack glances over. You immediately stop talking. Your aunt bites back a smile.
Your aunt bites back a smile.
“There she is,” your uncle says, relief washing over his face as he sees you standing there.
He walks over and presses a quick kiss to your forehead before taking Nora from your aunt’s arms as he settles her against his shoulder.
“Sorry, sweetheart. We got caught up at the restaurant,” he says, his attention shifts to Jack.
His eyes narrow slightly, studying him for a moment before recognition flickers across his face.
“I remember you.” A grin spreads across his face. “You’re the guy from the restaurant. The one my niece spilled food all over.”
“Oh my God,” you groan, covering your face with your hands in embarrassment.
Your uncle laughs. “What? That's how I know him! Nice to see you again” he holds out his hand from Jack to shake.
“Please stop talking.” you say.
Jack lets out a quiet chuckle, clearly remembering the incident. “To be fair,” he says, “it wasn't entirely her fault.”
“That somehow doesn't make it better,” you mutter through your hands.
Your aunt is trying and failing not to laugh.
“Thank you for helping our niece,” your uncle says, his tone turning more sincere as he looks at Jack. “We really appreciate it.”
Jack nods once, modest. “Of course.”
“Would you like to stay for dinner?” your aunt asks.
“I would love to, but I have to get ready for work,” Jack replies.
“Raincheck then?” your aunt asks, smiling.
“I’d like that,” he says simply.
There’s a brief pause as your uncle shifts Nora a little higher on his shoulder, gently bouncing her as she lets out a small sound.
“Let me walk you out,” you say.
Jack hesitates, then nods. “Sure.”
Your aunt and uncle both say their goodbyes, thanking him again for helping you.
You follow Jack out onto the porch, the evening air warmer now that the sun is starting to dip lower.
Jack pauses at the bottom of the steps and turns slightly toward you.
For a moment, neither of you speaks.
You shift your weight, one hand brushing the porch railing. “I really appreciate everything you did for Nora and I today. You didn’t have to do all of that.”
“I know,” he says simply. “But I wanted to.”
That lingers between you for a beat longer than expected.
Jack reaches into his pocket, keys already in hand.
“I’ll check in with Tucker tomorrow about your car. I’ll bring it over when it’s done,” he adds.
“Okay.”
“I’ll see you later,” he says, already making his way down the walkway.
“Jack, wait!”
You hurry after him, stopping just as he turns back. Before you can overthink it, you lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek.
You step back slightly, suddenly aware of the heat in your face. “Sorry— I just—thank you.”
He shakes his head once, small. “Don’t apologize.”
His hand finds yours, giving it a brief, steady squeeze. “I’ll call you, okay?”
“Night,” you say softly.
“Goodnight,” he replies.
He nods once, then turns and continues down the walkway, his footsteps fading into the evening as you remain on the porch a moment longer than you mean to.
Summary: #27 from this list - “I didn’t mean to call you that, I’m sorry” - “no! don’t apologize, I liked it…”
Warnings: age gap (not specified but Reader is meant to be around Deran's age), a whole lot of nipple play & breast worship, erectile dysfunction, blowjobs, unprotected PIV, unrequited crush (implied), aaand cum eating. whew. have fun!
Requested by @reddeadgirl666 .
Andrew feels like a bit of an idiot since he stalked out of the strip club.
He may not have touched a woman in over three years, but it's humiliating to think that Baz honestly believes that the only way he'd get laid is if he paid for it.
The thing is, Andrew half believes him.
He's ruminating on this as he walks; he should probably get a cab home, but he doesn't feel like going back to the house and dealing with Smurf.
Just as he's thinking this, he hears a car slowing.
"Andrew?"
It's strange to hear his given name, but he vaguely recognises your voice. Turning, he stops, just as you bring your truck to a halt.
Now he's got his eyes on you, he recognises you. He thinks he's seen you at the house before, but you're never in the thick of the party.
You're Deran's friend, he thinks, pretty, and you've always been kind to him.
"You got out early." You say, and he's surprised that you seem happy to see him.
"Yeah. Parole." He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly aware of how short his auburn hair is, the curls that he's always liked about himself shorn away.
"Do you need a ride home?" You ask, because he does look a little like a lost puppy right now.
You remember the last time you saw Andrew Cody, wearing a backwards cap over his pretty auburn curls, handsome as ever.
He looks sadder now, but he's still just as beautiful, even if he's lost a fair bit of his muscle mass.
"Don't want to go home," Andrew admits; he doesn't expect you to understand, but you nod like it makes perfect sense to you.
"You wanna come have coffee?" You ask instead, don't pry about his lack of want to go home, even though you know he's only just gotten out of prison.
Speaking of prison...
Yes, he's missed coffee. And he knows you won't hurt him. So he circles around the truck and gets into the passenger side.
You still live where he remembers, vaguely; he's picked Deran up more than once completely wasted from your little two bedroom. He used to think there was something between you and his youngest brother, but he's since learned that that's the furthest thing from the truth.
He takes his shoes off in the entryway, puts them on the rack next to yours. You don't have many shoes; a pair of scuffed up vans, the high top sneakers you had been wearing, and a pair of heels.
Andrew thinks those in particular would suit you, but he can't imagine you dressed up, not really, when he's so used to seeing you in jeans or ripped cutoff shorts.
He thinks those suit you, too. Likes your casual, effortless look, the braided bracelets and the shell necklaces that you wear.
You're looking at him as you press buttons on the coffee machine, your eyes searching for something that he doesn't quite understand.
"Are you okay, Andrew? Why aren't you with your brothers?"
You don't want to pry, but it's a fair question - he's always with at least one of them. Andrew knows this, doesn't take offense to being asked. He knows it's a harmless question.
"I was, but I... Left, I guess." He frowns as you slide a mug of coffee across the kitchen island to him; it's a cute little stoneware mug, an off white with waves painted around it.
Andrew vaguely remembers hearing you say you weren't born in California. Had moved here chasing a dream. He's never bothered asking what exactly that dream was.
"Is everything okay?" You make your own coffee and look at him over the rim of your mug, eyes slightly wide.
It's only just really occurring to you that Andrew Cody is in your house. In your kitchen, drinking coffee, still looking like a lost puppy.
You've always had a soft spot for strays.
"I don't know. Maybe? No? I don't know." Andrew fidgets, puts the empty coffee mug down, because he doesn't want to drop it.
Doesn't want to throw it, or break it, and scare you, because he knows he can get volatile when he's upset. And he is. He is upset. Upset and embarrassed.
"Baz tried to pay a stripper to... Have sex with me." He flushes red as he says it, accentuating the freckles that dot his face.
You blink, surprised. Not because you're surprised that his adopted brother is an asshole – you know this already – but because of the circumstances themselves, and the way he actually tells you what's wrong.
"Oh." You carefully set your own mug down, tilt your head and watch him. You don't know how to answer him, not really.
"I would have, maybe. But I don't like that my brothers think that the only time a girl likes me is if she's getting paid."
There's a vulnerability to him as he says it, and it breaks your heart.
You've always liked him. Always thought he was handsome, and interesting, always cared about what he's had to say, and hated whenever Baz mocked him.
"I'm sorry," you say, because you don't know what else to say.
"I haven't touched anyone in over three years. Don't even know if my cock still works, don't remember the last time I got hard. But I also doubt anyone's gonna want to have sex with me unless they're paid for it. Baz says I'm too much of a weirdo."
Irritation flares through you. Baz is an asshole. You hear all about it all the time from Deran, and Craig too. Know that Andrew always gets the worst of it, and you hate that.
Anger at his brother and a desire to see him not feel that way about himself has you speaking before you think.
"I will. I mean. If you want to." You shrug, try not to look nervous as he looks at you in surprise.
"You will?"
"Sure. We know each other a little, right?" You step a little closer to him; it's heartbreaking, the way he automatically flinches.
You're careful as you take his hand, loose grip, so he knows he can pull away at any moment if he's not comfortable.
"We can stop any time, okay?"
Andrew blinks rapidly, then nods.
"Okay..."
He feels a bit like a nervous virgin again as you keep your hands linked together, walk him down the short hallway to what must be your bedroom.
It's nice. The bed is neatly made, your closet organised. The dresser has a makeup organiser and a small shelf full of little trinkets on it, giving it a nice, personalised look.
Your hands are soft, careful, as you unbutton his shirt slowly. Like you haven't thought about this before. Haven't touched yourself thinking about him in this very room.
Andrew rests his hands on your hips, just for a moment, leans down to kiss you. He isn’t sure whether he’s allowed to, but you don’t stop him, don’t back away, which gives him that little bit more confidence.
That confidence is the little push he needs to unbuckle his belt, then move his hands to your shorts, pop the button, tug them down. You kiss him back, slide your hands up his bare chest and carefully tug the fabric of his shirt off his broad shoulders.
For a moment, he’s worried he’s done something wrong when you take a step back, finds himself holding his breath until he realises that you’re just moving back so you can step out of your shorts, pull your shirt over your head.
“Sit on the edge of the bed for me?” you ask; it’s not a demand, so he doesn’t feel resistant to the idea. His eyes stay locked onto you as he steps out of his pants, his underwear, sits where you asked him to.
You’re left just in your bra and panties in front of him, slowly take them off and leave yourself bare to his gaze. Andrew doesn’t know where to look first, lets his gaze travel up and down, before he wonders whether he should be staring at all.
Thankfully, you seem to understand that he’s nervous, step closer to him, stand between his legs, reach for his hands that rest on his thighs.
“You can look at me, Andrew,” you tell him, guide his hands up to your breasts, gasping softly when he takes initiative, cups them gently.
“Is this okay?” He breathes, lets out a held sound of relief when you nod; as he brushes his thumbs gently back and forth across your nipples, he realises, miraculously, he’s half hard.
That doesn't necessarily surprise him; he's always been the kind of man who appreciates breasts, loves whenever any of his infrequent partners lets him touch and kiss and suck on them.
He doesn't get the chance, not now anyway.
You move, go to sink to your knees, settle yourself on your soft carpeted bedroom floor between his thighs. He flinches slightly again, goes to rest his hands flat on his thighs again. You’ve noticed, over the years, that he does that a lot, think it must be a self-regulation thing. A tell that he’s anxious.
“I’m not gonna hurt you,” you tell him softly, “but we don’t have to keep going. Do you want me to stop?”
Andrew doesn’t really remember the last time he was given a choice in what he wants. Appreciates you asking. But no, he thinks, as he looks down at you on your knees, your smaller, softer hands resting on top of his. He doesn’t want you to stop.
Selfishly, he wants, wants whatever you’re willing to give, which, based on your current position, is more than he originally expected.
"No," he breathes, "keep going?"
You kiss his inner thighs, slow, open mouthed, watch his expression carefully. Even with his verbal consent, you want to make sure he's absolutely okay with whatever you do.
His cock is half hard; even like this, he's big, thick, has you drooling. You know that you'll need to be wet to take him, but you like your chances.
He watches you with wide hazel eyes as you kiss inwards. A lot of people, you think, ignore a man's balls when giving head. Not you.
You mouth gently at them, pull thick groans from his throat; he tries to muffle them and you pull away briefly.
"It's okay to be loud," you tell him, "I want to hear if I'm making you feel good."
Then you go right back to mouthing at his balls, pressing little kisses to the underside of his shaft. Whatever you're doing must be working, because Andrew can feel himself slowly growing harder.
He genuinely doesn't remember the last time he was hard, let alone this hard. He can feel his cock throbbing as the tip of your tongue traces along the thick vein in the underside of his shaft.
When your drag your tongue slowly across the slit in his thick cock head, he groans, the sound becoming more of a whimper as you lightly suck on him.
When he dares to look down at you again, you're too focused on what you're doing to notice. You're moaning around him softly as you take him deeper into your mouth, relaxing your throat so you can get him as deep as possible.
His hands curl into the soft sheets of your bed as he groans, tries not to buck his hips but fails. To your utmost credit, you don't choke, just moan again, wrap one hand around his cock and stroke what you can't fit into your mouth.
Your free hand slips down between your thighs; aside from the obscene sound of you sucking his cock, Andrew can hear another wet sound, realises you're playing with your clit as you blow him.
"Nngh, fuck - fuck, I'm gonna cum if you - nngh - if you keep going. Need y-your pussy instead... Please..."
He all but begs you, gives your hair a gentle tug to pull you off of him. You obey immediately, press one last little kiss to the tip of his cock, drenched in your saliva and sticky pre-cum.
Getting to your feet, you let him pull you into his lap, kiss him greedily as he notches his tip at your drenched entrance.
"Oh," he breathes, surprised, "oh, fuck, you're so wet..."
He groans softly as you sink down onto him, envelope the thick, pulsing length of him into your warm, wet cunt.
"Mm, you feel good," you moan, wriggling your hips to get comfortable in his lap.
Andrew wraps one arm around your waist to keep you still and steady; his free hand wanders up, cups one of your soft, heavy breasts, thumb brushing across your nipple.
"These are so pretty..." He groans, watches the way your nipple hardens under his touch.
The dusky bud is practically begging for his mouth; seeing as he's balls deep inside you right now, he goes right ahead and leans in, sucks it into his mouth, gaining just a little confidence.
You gasp as he drags his teeth over your nipple, gentle but deliberate, then repeats the motion on the other side.
He doesn't rush it, either. Licks them, sucks on them until they're stiff and sensitive, switches between them every so often, leaving each one coated in saliva.
"Do you want me to ride you? Or do you want-?"
Your voice only slightly shakes as you ask him, your walls tightening the tiniest bit around him, because you don't remember a time where you didn't want him, and now he's here, holding you, sucking on your nipples, his fat cock buried to the hilt inside of you.
He doesn't answer you verbally, just holds onto you and turns you, laying you down in the middle of your bed without pulling out of you.
"'s been a long time," he reminds you, grunts when you wrap your legs around his waist, "just need to feel it..."
He gives you a slow, deep thrust, groans obscenely at the filthy, wet sound of his cock stuffing your soaked cunt, closing his eyes and allowing himself to just feel you.
You mewl and his eyes fly open, look down at you.
"'s it too much?" He asks, shy again until you shake your head.
"N-no, 's not too much, use me, Andrew, take what you need from me-" you beg, run your hands across his broad shoulders, up into his soft, short hair.
He knows that he's intimidating, violent. A product of his upbringing and environment. But he's always gentle with the women that he's intimate with, only gets the slightest bit rough when he's pent up and has consent to do so.
Like right now.
It's like your explicit consent has awoken something dormant in him. That might come back to bite him in the ass later; Andrew has a tendency to get in his head about things, become possessive without meaning to.
He doesn't think about that right now, in the heat of the moment. Not when every single fibre of his being is so consumed by how you feel wrapped around his cock.
It's not like he's never noticed you; he has eyes, after all, but he's so used to scaring or intimidating everyone that it never really crossed his mind that you might see him this way. That you might be physically attracted to him enough to want this.
Whilst he's lost a fair bit of his muscle mass during his three years in prison, he's still broad and strong, braces himself on one forearm as he starts to move.
Slowly at first, letting you adjust to him, waiting until your eyes roll back into your head slightly to pick up the pace.
He builds up to it, intends on staying slow and shallow for a while, but you feel so good, and it's been so long.
"Nnhh, fuck, nnhhh~"
Each heavy thrust he gives you is punctuated by little grunts, muffled into your neck where he nuzzles against you.
You doubt he even realises you can hear him, can hear each groan and curse as his hips collide against yours with obscene, wet slapping sounds.
You're drenched, your cunt dripping slick along his shaft and down his balls as he drives his cock deeper into you; each time he hits your g-spot, you give him a particularly filthy moan, which only serves to encourage him.
"God, you're s-so wet," he groans into your ear, reaches down between you to feel for himself, as if the sound of your bodies joining isn't proof enough.
Gathering some of your slick onto his fingers, he brings his hand back up, watches as you lean up and suck the digits into your mouth.
He groans at the sight of you, the way you suck his fingers the way you did his cock. Gently pulling them out of your mouth, he lets his fingers trail down to your breasts, finding a nipple and rolling it between them.
You whimper and he nods to himself, as if understanding something.
"Mm, these are sensitive?" He's speaking softly, almost to himself; you've already gathered that he loves breast play, practically worshipped your tits with his mouth before.
He doesn't stop moving, still steadily rocking his hips against yours as he slowly, agonisingly, drags his teeth over one of your nipples again.
They're still hard and sensitive from his previous ministrations, but combined with his cock inside you, the coarse curls at the root of his shaft stimulating your clit, it works you up to the edge surprisingly fast.
He moans against the soft skin of your breast as he feels you beginning to tighten around him, releases your nipple with a lewd pop and switches to the other side again, sucking greedily as he fucks you.
His cock is so thick and just the right length that you feel him everywhere, but it's the stimulation to your breasts that has your back arching.
The ache in your core starts to build, your clit throbbing from the stimulation as he pounds your g-spot, relentless, as though his body has finally caught on to the fact that he can release three years of built up sexual frustration.
"Ohhh, god, nnn, Andy, I'm gonna-" you realise what you've called him, your entire body freezing, cutting off your impending climax almost at once.
You've never heard anyone call him any nickname other than Pope. Have never even asked whether he likes that nickname. But you don't think you've ever heard anyone call him Andy, and immediately you feel yourself getting warm in the face, and it has nothing to do with how close you are to cumming on his cock.
"I didn't mean to call you that, I'm sorry..."
You blink up at him, a little afraid as to what you might see in his expression.
Andrew feels a little confused. He's used to just being called Pope. It's so rare that anyone even uses his given name, let alone some pet name form of it.
Actually, he doesn't think anyone has ever done the latter in his entire life.
He's not sure that suits him, or at least, doesn't suit the person he thinks he is. He's a convicted felon. The violent enforcer of his family. He suits a cold, sharp nickname.
But there's some small dark, selfish little part of him that likes the way you give him a cute nickname, the way you moaned it as you were so close to cumming for him.
He likes it, he realises. Likes being given a pet name by you, especially in this context. He might be who he is, but you're looking at him right now like you'd happily stay drunk on his cock forever.
So he answers you honestly, voice a little raspy and low.
"No, don't apologise. I liked it..."
He sees - and feels - the way you relax, immediately wants to distract you, wants to feel you cum for him, drench his cock, before he even thinks about getting himself off.
Even after a three year drought, he wants this to be good for you, has the stamina to last simply because he hasn't really had a libido for a long time.
Almost immediately, he resumes where he left off; deep, slightly erratic thrusts, alternating between nuzzling his face into your neck and kissing your breasts.
He can't get enough of them, nips at the soft curves, sucks greedily on your nipples; they're getting a little reddened and sensitive from the amount of attention he's given them, which only drives him to continue.
As his hips snap sharply against yours, he gently bites down, the sudden jolt of pain combining with the pleasure of his cock massaging your g-spot, and then you're falling apart.
You look so beautiful when you cum, Andrew thinks, writhing beneath him, nails clawing at his shoulders, trying to ground yourself as he roughly fucks you through it.
The entire time, you moan for him, your slick and cum gushing around his shaft, spasming cunt trying to pull him in deeper.
He can feel the familiar, if long since felt, ache in his balls that preempts his own release, fucks into you harder, deeper, chasing it.
You're still writhing beneath him, chest heaving, as he gets up on one knee so he can get deeper, his erratic thrusts punctuated with a filthy, ragged moan on each impact.
"Fuck, oh fuck, ohh god, nnhh-"
He moans, senseless, remembers at the very last moment to pull out of you, wraps his hand around his cock and strokes himself half a dozen times in rapid succession before warm, thick cum splatters across your chest, painting your pretty breasts with his spend.
You whimper at the obscenity of the act, press your tits together as he finishes, so that the last few ropes of cum splash across your nipples.
Groaning, panting, he sits back on his heels, takes in the sight of you. The sight of your dripping, fucked out pussy, your puffy clit. Your heaving chest and the droplets of his cum dripping off your breasts.
Once he's caught his breath, he sits more comfortably, pulls you into his lap once more. You're a little shaky still, blink at him through hazy eyes.
"Hm? What're you-?"
Your question is cut off as he slowly drags his tongue over your bare skin, making eye contact with you as he laps up the mess he's made on you.
Your breath catches as you watch him, watch the way he doesn't even flinch as he licks you clean, licks his spend from your tits before kissing up your throat.
You pull him into a kiss, moan into it when you taste his cum on his tongue, breathless when you pull away.
After a few moments, he gently sets you down, disappears into your bathroom to bring back washcloths so you can both clean up.
When he goes to dump the washcloths into your laundry basket, you tell him where he can find a pack of spare toothbrushes. You know he's got a thing about germs, honestly surprised he cleaned you up with his tongue.
Still, when he returns, he smells faintly of your mint toothpaste as he crawls into bed beside you.
You don't expect this to be anything more than what it was; a one time thing. Perhaps that's why you both were so frantic, so needy, in the way you'd touched each other.
Regardless, it's nice to curl up against him, just this once, and pretend that it means something more.
written by andrew-codys. do not repost, copy, or feed into AI
Please i have request 😩where Reader drops by Jacks office/ the hospital to surprise him, only to find a female coworker sitting at his desk, acting overly familiar and joking about being his "work wife" to the Reader's face. The Reader leaves feeling replaced and insecure. When Jack finds out what happened, he’s furious that his professional kindness was mistaken for something else. with happy ending with Jack setting boundaries with the coworker saying he only has 1 wife 😩🙏🏽
The Work Wife
Jack Abbot x wife!reader
Description- Inspired by this request (with a few creative liberties). You pay your husband Jack a visit at the PTMC to drop off some snacks for him and the other nightcrawlers. Before you can find him, though, you run into one of his coworkers, who refers to herself as his work wife and gushes about how special he is to her. No physical descriptors are given for the reader other than having hair, and there's no use of "Y/N" If you're my roommate, stop reading here. I see you girl
CW- relationship insecurity, momentarily feeling in conflict with another woman, lots of mentions of banana bread, light teasing about an implied age gap, one mention of slapping dat ass
AN- I didn't realize how much the banana bread is talked about until right now, but you know what, I have no regrets. It's a damn good food
You were feeling proud of yourself when you strolled into the PTMC. It had been a while since you’d surprised your husband at work, and when you had rooted around in the overstuffed freezer at home, desperate to find a way to fit the ice cream you’d picked up to celebrate Jack’s first full weekend off in months, it felt like divine inspiration had struck. You dared anyone to find a better plan that freeing up freezer space for one treat by making another, and so you’d pulled out a bag of overripe bananas that Jack had wanted to throw out last month but you had insisted on peeling and freezing.
“They’re just bananas,” he had said, giving you a look that said I love you but you look insane right now. “Easily one of the most affordable fruits. I can just buy more.” Maybe he had a point with his look, you acknowledged. It certainly felt strange to take mushy bananas and save them like they were a treasure to be used later, but it was something you stood your ground on.
“I have no doubt that you could,” you countered, not looking at him as you focused on the task at hand, trying and failing to remove the little stringy bits you always found annoying. “Believe it or not, I have banana-buying money too, even without a doctor’s salary.”
That earned an eye roll from Jack, but you didn’t have to look up from your task to know that he was wearing a smile matching your own. He paced around the kitchen island, hands landing on your hips and sliding around your waist in a loose hug as he dipped his head to kiss your shoulder.
“I’d buy you as many bananas as you could ever want,” he murmured against the soft fabric of your sleep shirt. You chuckled, leaning back against his chest for a moment and craning your neck to press an awkward kiss to his temple.
“You’re going to be late,” you chided, glancing at the microwave clock behind him.
Jack exhaled dramatically. You’d think he was going off to war for a second time, not meeting Robby to watch a Steelers game.
“Robby can wait.” His hands landed on your hips again, spinning you around before you had time to process or put up a halfhearted fight. His lips found yours, any protests you had planned to raise dying on your tongue as his found yours, the entire world disappearing until it was just the two of you. His grip on you tightened, a low sound coming from the back of your throat and your hands moved instinctively, one curling into the fabric of his t-shirt while the other fisted at his hair. Only when you realized the weird sticky feeling on your fingers did you pull back, pressing back against his chest with your wrists to prevent further damage.
“Jack,” you all but whined, “I banana-ed you.”
He laughed, full bellied and loud, his head falling forward to rest against your shoulder and his arms circling your waist loosely again.
“It’s not funny,” you protested, unable to hide the laugh from your own voice. “You can’t go over there with banana goop all over your shirt. And your poor hair!” You patted at the beautiful mixture of dark and silver curls with the back of your hand, as if apologizing to them for sullying them with your sticky banana-laced fingers.
Jack only pulled back for a moment, still grinning but looking down at you with that familiar smug look you’d fallen for so long ago.
“Believe it or not, they have this great new invention for that,” he drawled, ducking his head to peck you on the cheek. “It’s called shampoo,” he murmured. “Supposed to really be something.”
You rolled your eyes, half heartedly pushing him off so you could wash your hands. “It’s only new to you, old timer.”
You felt almost silly walking through the ED with a paper plate of banana bread muffins, all wrapped up in saran wrap. The clean antiseptic smell in the air stung your nostrils, and you could hear crying from down the hall. It always amazed you how Jack could come back to this, day after day and night after night. It wore him down, sure, no one could leave completely unaffected by the things they saw, but he remained steadfast and stubborn, the same headstrong man who insisted on your fourth date that you’d be married someday with the confidence of a man who knew he was right.
You paused as you neared the central desk, looking around and trying to decide where the best place was to drop off the muffins. You hoped you’d see Jack, just to say a quick hello and tell him about the treat you’d made for him, but you didn’t want to distract him when there was work to be done and lives to be saved. The staff lounge was always a safe bet, but you hadn’t thought to bring a note to leave with them. You didn’t want them sitting there untouched, knowing only a few of the staff who’d been there for years would recognize your form of offering to the kind and dedicated staff of the Pitt. Even the med students deserved a muffin though, especially after the stories Jack had told you about the new recruits struggling with proper nutrition, shoving a few protein bars into their bags at the beginning of their shift and hoping it would be enough to sustain them for 12 hours.
Not on your watch. You would find some spare paper and a pen, and make sure everyone knew they were welcome to a snack. You might even draw an embarrassing heart or write a love letter and slip it into Jack’s locker for him to find at the end of shift.
You were hugging the wall, looking around for Lena or another familiar face not wearing anything bloodstained when someone approached you.
“Excuse me?” the woman asked. “Ma’am, you can’t be here. Only active patients are allowed back here, you have to wait your turn in chairs until someone brings you back.”
You laughed. This wasn’t the first time you’d been mistaken for someone drifting through the wrong door just to end up in the middle of the ED.
“Oh no,” you started, “I’m not a patient. I’m actually here to see a doctor.”
The woman, a pretty woman you’d guess to be somewhere in her forties, glanced over you, as if she was weighing the odds between believing you or not. The plate of securely wrapped muffins in your hands seemed to sway her in your favor.
“Which doctor?” she asked, suspicion leaking into her voice.
“Dr. Jack Abbot,” you answer. “He’s my-”
“Oh, Jack!” she all but squealed, instantly brightening at your husband’s name. “I love Jack, he’s practically my work husband.”
The warm smile on your face flickered at that, a bitter taste forming in your mouth that you weren’t familiar with.
“Is that so?”
The woman, Cheryl, it said on the ID badge clipped to her pocket, seemed to need very little prompting to launch into a tirade of reasons to love Jack. All of which were right, you knew, but somehow that did little to stop the growing knot in your stomach.
“Jack’s the best,” she said, guiding you towards the desk she must have been occupying when she noticed you standing by the wall. “He’s always helping me with my patients, checking it to make sure I’m doing alright, making little jokes just for us,” she looked down almost bashfully, a faint pink rising to her cheeks, though she found no issue continuing to talk.“He walks me to my car at night sometimes. He’s just always there, helping me, looking out for me.”
“Y-yeah,” you fumbled for words. All of that sounds like Jack, in a way. “He’s a great attending. The PTMC is lucky to have him.” You realized with a clench in your stomach that his coffee mug was on her desk, the same goofy travel mug that read Best Doctor on One Leg that you’d gotten him as a joke Christmas present one year. You’d just washed it the night before, still shocked he still used the damn thing outside of the house.
Cheryl snorted a quiet laugh. “Yeah,” she said, leaning across the desk and speaking with an almost conspiratorial hush. “But he’s really here for me in particular, if you know what I mean.” If she can tell from your expression that your stomach drops, the plate of muffins now set aside on the central desk because they feel too heavy for your tired wrists, she doesn’t give any indication. “It’s crazy, it’s like every time I look behind me he’s just staring at me.”
She seemed to remember she was at work and not with her friends at a bar gushing over the cute boys they liked, suddenly looking a bit sheepish.
“So, why are you here to see Jack? Did he treat you?”
You plastered on a fake smile, suddenly wishing you’d taken those acting classes in high school. “Oh, uh, no. No, I just know him. I wanted to bring these by for everyone working today,” you tap the plate of muffins, your hands feeling too unsteady to risk holding them. “I figured I would say hi if I saw him, but he’s got to be busy, y’know, saving lives!”
Cheryl gave you an odd smile then, noticing for the first time that something was wrong. There was something concerned in her eyes, almost pitying, that made you want to crawl out of your skin.
“Okay, well, I’ll tell him someone stopped by,” she offered, using a comforting tone usually reserved for children and people more upset than the situation called for.
Someone. You were “someone.”
You nodded, too sharply, already turning on your heels. “Thanks, you do that.” You grimaced as you began to walk away, cursing yourself for everything that had happened in the last ten minutes.
You were curled up on the couch when Jack came home the next morning. It wasn’t unusual for you to be up so early, preparing a quick breakfast for your husband so you’d be sure he actually ate something and took some time to rest before heading to the gym to work off some stress or collapsing in bed after a quick shower. This morning you’d done none of that though. You had slept like shit, laying awake on Jack’s side of the bed, head pressed to his pillow to breathe in the smell of his shampoo and something distinctly him, watching the ceiling fan spin in endless circles above you. You’d tossed and turned, only slipping under for a few hours at a time before you realized with an uncomfortable ache that you were awake again.
By four in the morning you’d given up, hauling yourself unceremoniously out of bed and trudging to the couch. With a blanket wrapped around your shoulders and a book in hand, you collapsed with a huff, wincing as you turned on the lamp on the end table, even the low light feeling like a sudden intrusion. You stared at the lamp once your eyes adjusted, taking in the smooth porcelain and the small imperfections in the glaze. It was a gift, you remembered, something off your and Jack’s wedding registry. You had loved the set of lamps you’d found at a local farmer’s market, the other part of the pair sitting on a table at the far end of the couch, where you usually sat tucked under your husband’s arm, pressed against his chest to listen to his heart beating, but you had a hard time justifying the cost. Weddings were already so expensive, and even with the modest way you’d chosen to have your ceremony, you didn’t want to go overboard. Jack had laughed at you, teasingly daring you to find handmade lamps at a better price anywhere else, let alone ones that had you so immediately enamored. It wasn’t until two years into your marriage that Jack had admitted during a quiet moment, curled up around each other in bed, that he had been the one to buy the lamps. He had given you that easy smile, all crinkled edges and sleep-tussled hair, when he explained it like it was simple. You had wanted them, but didn’t think you’d deserved them. He disagreed, and, being Jack Abbot, went about fixing it in the most him way possible, treating you with the kindness you’d always yearned for even though you hadn’t even realized it at the time.
You still loved the lamps. Imperfections and all.
Jack kicked off one of his shoes at the door, leaving the other on his prosthesis until he could sit down. He shrugged off his heavy army backpack, laden with all the tools you knew he carried and hoped he never needed, and rested it in the seat of one of the dining room chairs. He moved towards the couch, stepping unevenly at the height difference from still having one shoe on.
“Goodmorning, beautiful.” His hands swept through your hair, gently brushing it out of your face. He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, lingering for a moment before straightening back up.
“Have you slept at all?”
You shrugged lazily, giving him a weak smile.
“Some. Definitely not enough though.” You patted the space on the couch next to you, uncurling your legs to make room for him.
Jack joined you on the couch, lowering himself down carefully with a faint grimace. His hands moved to his pant leg, tugging up the fabric to undo the fastenings of his prosthesis. Once it was off, and he’d let out a deep sigh of relief he’d never let anyone else hear, his artificial limb propped up to stand on the floor beside him, he held an arm out to you. You eagerly moved towards him, letting him wrap an arm around your shoulder to draw you closer and press a whiskery kiss to your temple.
“Welcome home,” you said, giving him an easier smile as you settled into your spot against him. He leaned back into the couch, letting the soft cushions welcome him like an embrace.
“I missed you,” you continued, no longer trying to hide just how tired you were, physically and emotionally. “I always sleep better when you’re here.”
“I know, sweetheart.” His hand moved soothingly up and down your arm. “I sleep better with you too.”
“Shen said he saw you during our shift.”
There was no accusation to his statement, just a light lilting tone of confusion. You’d never go in and not ask to see him, even if you only had time to press a kiss to his cheek and tell him how proud you were of him before sending him off again with a cheeky wink and the occasional slap to his ass if no one was around.
“Yeah, I made some banana bread muffins and thought you and the troops could use a pick me up.”
Jack didn’t acknowledge how you side stepped the question he hadn’t asked.
“So I saw. They were delicious, by the way,” he added. “We almost had to intervene so Joy wouldn’t get too territorial over them. Thank you, for bringing them in.” Another kiss was pressed to your temple, lingering a little longer than the last. “I’ve gotta admit, I had my doubts when you started freezing bananas, but I stand corrected.”
You chuckled softly. “Damn right you do,” you murmured into his scrub top. The antiseptic smell still clung to him, but you could pick up enough of him that it didn’t matter. “Never question my freezer organization skills against mister.”
Jack chuckled, his nose pressing into your hair and drawing in a deep breath. His hand drew lazily up and down your arm for a few moments as you sat in silence, just taking each other in again after a long day.
“Want to tell me why you didn’t wait to see me today?” Jack’s voice was quiet, his low tone rumbling in a way you always loved. There was no pressure in his question, just genuine interest and a tinge of concern. You could tell him no, and he’d accept it, just draw you into a firm hug and hold you until he went to shower before joining you back in bed.
“It’s stupid,” you confessed. You toyed idly with the drawstring of his scrub pants, knowing your frown looked more like a pout than you wanted it to.
“Nothing about you is stupid,” he said seriously, tipping his head a bit lower to press his forehead against the crown of your downturned head. “Sometimes questionable in the moment,” he continued, that gruff humorous lilt coming back, “but if we’ve learned anything from the bananas, you have your reasons.”
You rolled your eyes, lifting your head to look at him. He had a self-satisfied look on his face, giving you a sweet smile and a quick peck on the lips when you shook your head at him.
“You haven’t had, like, a super terrible day, right?” You would kick yourself later if you didn’t ask. Some days he came home barely able to do anything but shrug and mumble responses, the ED bleeding him dry of any semblance of emotional energy.
Jack smiled softly. “No, sweetheart. Just regular terrible.” His hand found yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Not so terrible I can’t hear about yours.”
You gave him a small but appreciative smile, returning the squeeze of his hand.
“I ran into one of your coworkers before I could find Lena,” you began, voice coming out slightly quieter than usual. Even with his reassurance, you felt silly acting like it was a real problem. “She was nice. New, I think. I’d never met her before, anyway, and I don’t think you’ve mentioned her.” Jack hummed, his broad hand slowly rubbing your back, urging you gently when you paused. “I was going to ask if you were around, but she didn’t really give me a chance. She was talking about you, how great you are and how much she loves being around you.”
Jack kept his expression neutral, his brow still furrowed as he nodded along, not letting the praise get to him or stroke his ego.
“Obviously she’s right to think all that and say all that,” you add, giving your husband a shy smile to say that it was okay to smile or joke about it. “Honestly, you deserve way more than anything she or I could ever say, but…I don’t know. Something about it felt off.”
Jack frowned. “Off how?” he prompted.
You shook your head, trying to guide the pieces together in your sleepless mind.
“It felt personal to her,” you settle on. “Almost intimate.” You scowled before you could help yourself. “She called herself your work wife. Said you spent more time with her than the others, that you were always looking at her and hovering around her.” You shook your head again, trying in vain to dislodge the ill feelings that were blooming in your chest again.
“And I know you’re a diligent teacher,” you added, looking up at Jack’s concentrated frown. “I know you stare when you don’t mean to, and you have more of a presence than you know-”
“This is starting to feel like an attack,” Jack interrupted, soft grin spreading across his tired face.
You scoffed, hand moving up to cup his cheek, already prickly with the ghost of morning stubble.
“I love your staring and your presence,” you said, firm enough for him to know you meant it, but soft enough to still be teasing. You kissed him once for good measure, enjoying the humorous glint in his eye when you pulled back.
“But they’re for you,” he supplied, putting together the threads between your ramblings. “Not her.”
You gave a small nod, gaze dropping again as a wave of guilt washed over you. You didn’t want to be the person movies and books had trained you to hate for so long, the jealous woman who lashed out when someone looked at her man too long. You didn’t want to be possessive, or read into things that weren’t there, or even worse, punish Jack, your dear Jack, just because you couldn’t get a grip on your own insecurities.
“I don’t want to be crazy,” you all but whispered, hand finding the draw string on his scrubs again and spinning the knot idly between your fingers. “But I didn’t like it. She looked at me like decided she had me all figured out. And it felt like she thought she really had a chance with you, and…I don’t know. Maybe I still don’t feel like I deserve you. Maybe I’ve just been missing you more with all the doubles you’ve had to pull. And I know that’s not fair-”
Jack cut you off with one finger held to your lips, shushing you like a child in a way that had your eyes narrowing and looking up to find his. When you did, you found an endearingly soft smile on his lips, looking just as in love with you as he did the day he’d proposed.
“First off,” he said, speaking like he was instructing a new medical student, using only objective facts, “your feelings are always fair. They’re never crazy, or overblown. They always have their reasons, even if you can’t see them right away. Reactions are what matter, and you’re reacting perfectly normally by telling me this so I can help. Alright?” He looked at you, corner of his lip quirking up when you gave a reluctant nod, but raised his eyebrows, giving you a cocky look that you knew meant he wanted a verbal answer. You huffed dramatically, but gave him what he was looking for.
“Yeah.”
He gave you a real smile, hand squeezing your upper arm as a reward.
“Second, you’re not crazy. No one should be talking about me like that at work, even if I was single. And certainly not when I have a foxy wife at home.” His broad hands gripped you as you scoffed out a laugh, dragging you onto his lap so he could wrap his arms around you, smiling smugly at the genuine laugh he’d earned.
“Don’t you dare laugh at that,” he’d added, poking you gently in the ribs. “No one laughs at my woman, not even my woman.”
You grin stupidly wide, arms circling around his neck in a show of surrender.
“Your woman?” you question, clicking your tongue scoldingly. “Guess I’m not the only possessive one then.”
Jack shook his head, his even gaze never leaving yours. “Far from it.” His fingers brushed a strand of hair away from your face where it had fallen from his manhandling. They lingered on the apple of your cheek, gently holding you as you leaned into the touch.
“I’ll say no to any more doubles for a while,” he said, barely above a whisper. Your brow furrows, but you don’t interrupt as he continues. “I didn’t realize how long it had been since we’ve gotten time for us. I’m sorry about that.” You could see that he meant it, his face serious as a ghost. You leaned forward, kissing the tip of his nose.
“Okay,” you agreed. “I think you need the break, if I’m honest. You’ve been stiffer recently, and I’ve been worried about you.”
Jack let out an exaggerated groan, stretching his legs underneath you.
“God, you’re right,” he sighed, settling a little lower on the couch, and pulling you down with him.
You grinned. “I’m always right.”
He nodded. “That’s why I married you.”
“And my baking skills,” you added, holding up a finger defiantly.
Jack shrugged, pretending to think about it.
“You’ve developed skills,” he settled on.
You gasped drastically, mustering up as much betrayal as you could in your fatigue, clutching your chest as if he’d wounded you.
“Developed?”
“Yeah. You’ve gotten better.”
You scoffed. “You don’t deserve my muffins.”
His voice was low. “Hey now-”
“Next time I’ll make a sign, For anyone but Jack,” you pretended to write across the air, voice trembling with laughter at the way his jaw dropped open.
“That has to be a violation of your wedding vows.”
You smirked. “No sirree, Jack-ass.” He groaned at the nickname usually reserved for when he was being extra pestering. He slumped his head forward, burying his face in your neck as you continued. “Sickness and health, richer or poorer, but nothing about when your husband doesn’t appreciate homemade muffins made with very resourceful banana preservation tactics.”
The side of your neck warmed from the sudden laugh he let out, muscled arms tugging you tighter to his chest.
“Robby will even get to take home the leftovers.”
Jack feigned a cry at that, raising his head and giving you the most betrayed look he could.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
You paused, trying to find it in you to continue the bit when he looked at you so sweetly, eyebrows knit together like his best friend stealing the muffins his wife made would wound his heart beyond repair.
You deflated with a small sigh.
“No,” you admitted, a smile pulling at your lips at how quickly he brightened. “But I might leave a note saying Cheryl doesn’t get any if you don’t get a work divorce.”
Jack’s eyes widened. “Oh, it was Cheryl?”
You nodded, giving him a confused smile. “That change things?”
He hummed in thought. “Doesn’t change them, but it does explain them. She’s new to the Pitt. Doesn’t have a lot of friends, it seems. Don’t remember where she transferred from, but they had different practices, so we’ve been watching her pretty closely to make sure she follows proper procedure.”
You nodded slowly, putting together the pieces in your mind. The feeling like he was watching her, the hovering and checking in, it all made sense. Not that you had doubted his intentions for even a moment. Even if she was the most beautiful woman on the planet, Jack was a man with a strict moral code, and adultery lay far outside the scope of his rules.
“Is it going to be weird working with her? Now that you know everything she said about you?”
Jack frowned. “Nah. I’ll go to HR at the start of next shift, file an anonymous report. They’ll sort things out with her, not make a scene or embarrass her. WIth any luck the whole thing will blow over.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I’ll make sure the work marriage is annulled, sweetheart. Can’t be a workplace bigamist, can I?”
You sighed wearily. “You can try, but if you open that door, every woman, man, and person in between is going to try to jump your bones, doc.” You gave him an overly concerned look. “You think your old joints can handle all of that at once?”
He had the good grace to look offended at that, giving you only a moment to look pleased with yourself before his hands were on your hips, giving you a great heave to flip you both so you were pinned beneath him on your back. You yelped at the sudden motion, but one of his hands made its way behind you, bracing you to cushion your fall on the already soft couch. His full weight trapped you, pressing you firmly into the cushions.
“What was that you were saying?” he teased, the tip of his nose grazing yours.
You could feel your cheeks warm.
“If you think I’m able to think at all like this, you don’t know me very well, Jack.”
His lips twitched again, too busy taking in your expression to give a proper reaction of his own.
“Or I know you too well.” He leaned closer, leaving a trail of kisses from your temple down your neck and to your chest. His breath came hot against your skin when he spoke again. “Why would I ever want a work wife when I have you?”
Summary: Reader wants to try something new with Jack in the shower.
Warnings: smut, rimming and blow job, swearing, cum swallowing, I think that’s it?
……………………………………………………………………
Rainy days have always been your favorite. Something about the cool air, and the calmness it brings. Currently you are in Jack’s recliner, the windows in the house are open bringing in a cool draft, for once in the past few weeks, you are able to have your AC off. Your dog is curled up in between your legs snoring, and you both are covered in your softest blanket.
You are in your own world, peacefully reading your book with no care in the world. You have a load going in the washer of Jack and your clothes and you have Jack’s favorite dinner roasting in the oven. A perfect way to spend your Sunday and combat the dreaded Sunday scaries.
“Well you two look comfy” Jack’s voice makes you jump. You look up at him and blink confused why he was standing in your living room and playing pickleball with Shen.
“What are you doing here?” You asked and Jack smiles
“Last time I checked, I lived here too” he joked and you roll your eyes as he sat on the couch closer to you. Your dog finally waking from their nap notices Jack home and jumps off the chair and stretches before greeting Jack.
“Oh that was a big stretch buddy” Jack said while scratching the dogs head- “keeping momma company while she reads?” He asked and the dog barks
“John and I played a few rounds and then got lunch. I’ve been gone most of the day baby” Jack smiles at you as he leaned back on the couch
“I guess you have been. I didn’t realize the time” you said as you held up your book to prove a point to Jack.
“Whatcha reading?” He asked you
“A retelling of Phantom of the Opera. A sexy version” you said and he quietly laughs
“Should of guessed it was smut”
“Don’t judge” you said smiling and he held his hands up in mock surrender.
You two sat in silence for a bit longer as you went back to reading and Jack played with Buddy. These are the days that you lived for, just peace and quiet with Jack. Days where he’s not rushing off to the hospital or you two are just missing each other in passing as you are coming home from work and he’s just going in.
“I’m going to go shower. Want to join?” He asked you
“Dr. Abbot the day I answer no to that, is the day you might want to have me committed because I’ve clearly lost my mind” you laughed as you placed your bookmark in and shut your book. You reach your hand out to Jack who rolled his eyes and helped you up out of the chair.
……………………………………………………………………
You are washing Jack’s hair with his hands on your hips absentmindedly rubbing circles on your skin. He was telling you about his game of pickleball and his day as a whole. You are trying your best to listen to him, but it’s kind of hard when you can feel Jack’s very obvious erection rubbing against your thighs. You tip Jack’s head back into the water stream and as he is rinsing out the conditioner, you can’t help but look at him. Sitting there in his full glory, looking like a character out of one of your books.
“Like what you see baby?” His voice once again cuts you out of your own little world. You smile, but don’t answer him as you kneel onto the floor and softly grasp his very hard cock in your hand. Jack gasp as you very gently give him a little squeeze.
“You don’t have to baby-“ he starts to say. But is cut off as you bring the tip of his penis towards you and licked the bead of precum off and hum
“Oh but I want to” -you say as you continue slowly stroking Jack- “is that okay?” You flashed him your best puppy dog eyes and he groans
“Of course it is” he says as he leans back in his chair a little and spreads his legs a bit more. You smile up at him and readjust yourself so that you are closer to him and begin to press little kisses along his thighs while keeping a slowly steady rhythm of stroking him.
“Don’t tease me y/n” he groans as he throws his head back as you bite lightly on his thigh. Deciding you don’t want to tease him because you want to taste him, you give him no warning as you engulf his penis. Jack’s hands fly to your wet hair- he doesn’t pull or push, just keeps them there to ground himself.
You take Jack all the way down your throat with success and bring your head all the way back up to his tip where you expertly twirl your tongue around his mushroom top. You repeat this a couple times before you set a steady pace that you know Jack loves. Everytime you move down, you take him just a little bit further down your throat causing Jack’s thighs to tighten with pleasure.
Your nose is tickled by the greying hair that surrounds his base and you can’t help but inhale his scent. You bring one of your hands up to cup Jack’s balls and softly massage them in your hand as you continue to bob your head.
“Jesus fuck baby” Jack moans above you and as you look up, you see that Jack’s head is thrown back and his eyebrows are scrunched together as if he’s willing himself not to come right then and there. A wild idea pops into your head as you pull yourself off Jack and gasp for some air.
“I want to try something” -you say as you stroke him in the absence of your mouth- “do you trust me?”
“Of course I do. What do you want to try?” He gasps as he tries to steady his breathing. You rub your other hand along his inner thigh and slowly push his one leg further out. Jack seemed to understand what you were asking and spread his legs even more, so now he is barely on the seat and legs are as spread as they can be sitting in a shower chair. This angle gives you an opportunity to see all of Jack Abbot.
“What did you want to try?” He asks again, sounding a bit inpatient.
“Can I rim you?” You asked and he stutters
“What?” He asks and looks at you with slightly wide eyes, but the way his penis twitches in your grasp, tells you he is not completely turned off by the idea.
“I don’t want to sound so nasty, but can I eat your ass Jack?” You say
“I know what rimming means”- he sassed-“I just didn’t expect my sweet girl to ask me that” he said
“So…” you trail off as your eyes trail across Jack’s body
“Go for it baby” he smiles at you and you grin up at him.
Jack sighs as he leans over and turns off the water that has now run cold and when he settles back down, he spreads his legs again for you.
You smile once more up at Jack and tell him to replace your hand that is jerking him off. He happily does so as you both rub up his thighs and lightly spread his globes. It’s unfair how Jack was blessed with such a dump truck, but you're not complaining at the moment. If there’s anything you love, it’s touching and rubbing Jack’s ass. So it can’t really be a surprise that you asked him if you can do this.
Once you have Jack spread open for you, you take your thumb and lightly trace his tight hole and cause him to moan softly. Then without waiting, you lean forward and lick it. You trace your tongue along the ridge ring and ever so slightly dip your tongue into his tight hole. Jack groans above you and picks up the pace of his hand. That is all the encouragement you needed to push Jack back just a bit more and fully dig in.
You’ve always wanted to do this to Jack, but were unsure how to bring it up. Jack hasn’t had many partners in his life and honestly from what he told you and what you experienced with Jack, he was pretty vanilla. You opened him up to a lot of new things and now that you two are living together, the more adventurous he is willing to be.
Jack didn’t think he be so into this, but seeing you on your knees, face buried in his ass he is seconds away from coming. The feeling of your wet tongue probing him is starting to make him spiral and he picks up the pace of his hands.
“Fuck y/n I’m gonna come!” He announces and he swears he can feel you smile against him. You pick up your head and replace his hand with your mouth so that you are engulfing him again. And just as he is about to cross the finishing line, your thumb finds its place on his hole and you slowly add pressure. Jack is coming on the spot and you are swallowing everything he gives you.
You jerk him off a couple more times as he comes down from his high and once he was completely empty, did you lift your head away from him and wipe your chin.
“How was that?” You asked him and he lazily smiled at you
“Fucking perfect. I wouldn’t mind doing that again” he says and you grin
“Good! We can train you for me to peg you!” You say happily as you stand up with a groan and open the shower door.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves darling” Jack says as he catches the towel you throw at him and places his crutches next to the shower door.
“Oh please Jackie, you’d try anything I would ask you to” you smile sweetly at you and he sighs with a smirk because you are right. You say “jump” and Jack always asks “how high?”
summary: in which jack abbot grows tired of his entire department constantly trying to set him up so he hires a plus one to bring to dennis whitaker's wedding.
pairing: sugar daddy! jack abbott x law student! fmc
status: WIP (will be completed by 6/14)
additional info: rom-com | slow burn | mature | the pitt | loosely inspired by The Wedding Date (2005)
