It was around 9 p.m. Jack was on night shift when his phone rang.
Robby.
He rolled his eyes, excused himself into the hallway, and took the call.
"Michael?”
“Jack.”
Robby’s voice sounded distant.
"What’s up, brother?”
“It’s getting dark.”
Jack exhaled sharply.
“Michael. I’m only going to say this one more time - you have to stop calling me at every sunset. THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT, YOU LITTLE SHIT, AND YOU KNOW IT.”
I love the idea of abbot and a night shift!reader who has an extensive skin care regimen.
you’re walking around the ED doing patient care with your face all shiny from the PDRN face masks you put on a couple hours before. You walk into night shift with topicals eye patches on and a large water bottle filled to the brim.
you’re always applying a peptide lip balm or aquaphor. you love spraying your face with hypochlorous acid when you feel grimy.
abbot just watches from the sidelines as you gush to a nurse about this new cleanser you just bought.
he knew what skincare was before you obviously, but he didn’t know how far the rabbit hole went until now.
being a bit nosy, when he’s at your apartment he can’t help but pick up a few bottles here and there, scanning the labels for what they might be used for. also checking if you’re running low on anything.
obviously it must be working, you’re skin is great, refreshed and smooth at all times.
the light practically reflects from your forehead and blinds him when you’re in the middle of a trauma. He can’t lie that sometimes he’ll put on a little product, just to see what the fuss is about.
sometimes you’ll catch him in the act too.
you’ll ask why he’s been taking so long in your bathroom, only to find him slathering his face in your expensive moisturizer.
“Jack, what the hell?” you’re yanking the bottle away, measuring how much he’s just put on.
“what? I need to feel moisturized too, y’know.” jack shrugs, looking at his shiny skin.
“I’ll buy you all the skincare you want, okay bunny?”
• Titus does not understand casual. Considering that he grew up filthy rich in a Satanic elite society, he doesn’t understand casual dating. The moment he decides he likes you, you are simply absorbed into his schedule, you automatically are his.
• Titus is obsessed with how you react to his voice. Low and gravelly, he loves to whisper in your ear, telling you how you belong to him while kissing softly down your neck.
• Titus is stuck to your side like glue. At a gala, he always keeps his hand on your back, guiding you around and sending glares at anyone who he deems as looking at you disrespectfully.
• Titus is incredibly territorial. If someone from another elite family tries to flirt with you or make a slick comment, Titus doesn't make a scene in the moment. He just stares them down through his sunglasses. Later that week, that person will usuallind themselves in an unfortunate accident.
• Titus' love language is acts of service. He will buy you absurdly lavish gifts, custom jewellery, designer clothes, and multiple bouquets of your favourite flowers just to watch your reaction. He just loves to see the sweet smile that spreads across your face when you open his presents.
• Titus treats you like an angel. Despite how brutal he is during the Council's twisted games, he is so gentle with you. If you ever get caught up in the crossfire of his family's bloodbaths, he will gently wipe the copper stains off your skin and whisper praise to soothe you, but he usually doesn't like for you to get involved in the hunts.
guys this was my first time doing headcanons, I hope you enjoyed 🫶
Jack Abbot who falls even harder for Reader than he thought possible when they decide not only to move in together but to find a place together. Reader who insists to their realtor that they only want to see one story houses.
Yes she knows Jack has figured out how to manage stairs with his crutches but she insists that he shouldn’t have to just “manage” and make it work. She understands he tends to go without his prosthetic at home as he does need a break from it and needs to let his residual limb breathe in order to avoid skin breakdown.
She knows a one story place will be way more assessable for him than having to deal with stairs.
She considers his needs even when he tries to insist that it’s not a big deal and she shouldn’t accommodate or sacrifice her wants for him.
She has to remind him that there is no sacrifice as her wants involve a home her boyfriend can feel comfortable in and move freely in without stressing his body.
She does occasionally have to remind him that there is zero shame in admitting his body’s needs. She has to remind him that admitting when he’s tired or in pain is not a sign of weakness, it is simply being aware of his own body.
She makes sure that the shower in their new place has a built in bench. She makes sure the doorways are wide enough if Jack ever does decide to break down and use his wheelchair, which he’s always super reluctant to do, that the chair can fit though them with zero effort.
She insists that her dream home involves a space where he can exist without effort. She loves him effortlessly and she wants him to live effortlessly with her.
andrew pope cody, who takes everything a little too literally.
he could be getting handsy with his girl, but she swats his hand off, telling him its her ’shark week’. now, andrew thinks she means literal sharks— which obviously confuses him. her shark week? 10 google searches and 2 reddit threads later, he discovers she means her period. she could still have sharks, though.
his girl tells him shes ’so hungry she could eat her foot’ he gets a little mortified, and will literally go to whatever food place is the nearest and grabs whatever food is ready the fastest.
he’s about to go out on a job and his girl tells him to ’break a leg’ so he spends the entire job mad as fuck (at himself) bc he thinks his girl is mad at him for doing jobs, hence telling him to break a leg.
his girl telling him ’when we get home, im eating my weight in pizza’ and he takes it literally and is about to order WAY too many pizzas (he thought she was just practicing for an eating contest)
roadtrip. his girl is driving, asking him to watch the map. he does. after passing far too many turns, she turns to him and asks when they’re meant to turn, only for him to say it was a few miles ago. she asked him to watch the map, not give directions.
ugh andrew pope cody i love you and your sad little puppy eyes🩷🩷🩷
Diamond Rings, Pearl Necklaces, Two Bengals, and a Tabby.
Brett Richards X Younger Wife!Reader
-Part One: Homecoming-
💖 Next>>
This series is a collection of stories about Fire Chief Brett Richards and his younger wife, as they move through life together. Reader is early 30's, hyper-feminine, whip-smart, rich girl of the Clean Energy industry, and the only impulsive thing Brett has ever done in his life is marry her after only 6 weeks of meeting.
Original little Inspo Blurb is here.
Reader is inspired by @thatfanficstuff's reader from her fic That's My Girl! Go read it's cute!
Chapter Summary: Tired of dealing with Chief Richard's strict attitude, Bode and a reluctant Eve follow him home to confront him, but are surprised to see...you? Meanwhile Brett and you reunite after his stressful week-long shift at a new station, the only way you know how. 4.6k words.
Tags: fluff, nosy coworkers spying, age gap, reunited sex, dom!Brett, use of SIR and baby girl, sex on a counter, fingering, ✨✨squirting✨✨ ;), this first one is mostly smut...
A/N: okay it's time to solve the problem of a lack of Brett fics. I have ZERO idea how many parts this is going to be, but I'm aiming for shorter stories for the most part.... if you have suggestions for scenarios for them I'm 100% open to hearing, no guarantee I'll follow through but don't be shy!
Read on A03 if you prefer!
"I still think this is a stupid idea."
"I still think, I didn't tell you to get in the car."
Bode Leone and Eve Edwards bicker back and forth as Bode drives them carefully up a mountain road, following just far enough behind a red pickup truck that they've been tailing for the last hour. The truck that is driven by their new Interim Fire Chief, Brett Richards.
Brett Richards, who is from Boston, blasts classical music, and puts ketchup on his eggs. Which aren't really the most important issues that Bode has, but Eve makes a point to bring them up as often as she can.
Brett Richards, who has a reputation for diagnosing problem Fire Houses, and solving those issues by any means necessary.
Brett Richards, who so far has been an insane hard ass, who has drilled them about day one basic rules, threatened to fire several firefighters from their station, and close the thing down entirely on multiple occasions, after only being there for a week.
Brett Richards, who today implied that Bode is the reason his father died in the Zabel Ridge Fire, that had decimated almost half of Edgewater.
After being held back from decking him right in the face, right there in the middle of the station, Bode has made it his mission to follow Brett home and give him a piece of his mind. Eve forced herself into this rendezvous to be some semblance of a voice of reason, and possibly beg for Brett to not close their station no matter how Bode behaves.
"Bode, come on man!" Eve groans, rubbing her hands down her face. "Brett is an asshole, we all know that, but there are more important things at stake here than your pride!"
"It's not my pride! If I was able to get into that fire, my father would still be here! He didn't die because we don't know the rules, he died because we chose that time to actually perfectly follow them. Richards doesn't get it, and I'm going to make him."
"Yeah, that has nothing to do with pride..." Eve mumbles. "You know, I'm about to lose Three Rock? We're about to lose the land, and the only chance we have to fight for it is if we get people like Brett Richards on our side. Maybe we shouldn't go full stalker mode on the guy?"
Bode brushes right over the stalking comment and goes back to his rant. "Brett Richards is already not on our side, there's no way he'd help with Three Rock, I doubt he even cares."
Eve lets out a long sigh, just as they watch Brett's car turn down a small, dirt road. Bode keeps a fair distance, stopping at the end of the street, and the two of them lean over to watch from the window as Brett pulls up to the only house on the street.
It's a quaint little cottage, two levels, a long driveway, and a very lush, very wild butterfly garden, filled with flowers of all shapes and colors. It's nothing like what either of them expected Brett Richards to live in.
They look at each other with confused frowns, then go back to observing him.
"Do you think he's visiting someone?" Eve asks.
"No," Bode says, pulling up his phone to check a picture he'd taken earlier that day. "I checked his file, this is the home address listed."
"I'm gonna pretend I didn't just hear you say that."
"You're in the car, you're already complicit."
Before Eve can open her mouth to make a retort, Brett climbs out of his truck, and a pair of spotted Bengal cats run out the open front door and to his feet.
They watch as he smiles brightly, like way too sweetly compared to the guy who was nothing but frowns and furrowed brows, with the occasional amused smirk at Sharon when she stood by him and watched the team fuck up. The cats circle him and nuzzle his legs and he leans down to pet both of them behind the ears. Bode and Eve can't hear him, but the way his lips form a circle, they have to wonder if he's...cooing at them?
"What the fuck?" They say in unison.
Then a third cat enters the picture, but not on its own.
No, this last one, an orange Tabby, is cradled in the arms of a beautiful...significantly younger than Brett...clad in a tight pink floral sundress that hugs her curves in all the right ways...woman. Girl? Lady.
You smile softly at Brett, scratching the tabby behind the ears, and the two voyeurs watch as your mouth moves with a soft greeting.
"Okay...who the fuck is that?" Bode asks, exhaling his disbelief.
"Maybe she's... his daughter?" Eve suggests.
Then, much to both their ever-growing ability to be shocked, their jaws drop when Brett scoops you up in his arms, and plants a long, deep kiss to your lips.
"God, I hope that's not his daughter," Eve says with a low, haunted tone, eyes wide.
"What the fuck is happening?" Bode asks with a confused laugh. "Brett Richards, stick up his ass, Mr. Rulebook, has a girlfriend our age? Oh, that's just rich."
"What do we even do with this information?" Eve shakes her head, staring down at her hands, anything to not look over at the incredibly odd scene in front of her boss's house.
"Fuck if I know, but looks like Interim Chief Richards isn't as perfect as he pretends to be."
+
"Mmmm, you taste good, Sweetheart, new lip balm?" Brett asks, releasing you from his arms, carefully placing your bare feet back on the ground.
"Lip balm," you giggle. "Yeah, we can just call it lip gloss, old man."
You squeak when Brett pinches your ass in retaliation for your teasing, and the little cat held between your bodies lets out an annoyed meow. She wiggles in your arms until you loosen up, and she hops down to join the other cats around Brett's legs.
"Princess Tangerine missed you," you mused, sliding your hands up Brett's hard chest, pausing over the CAL FIRE insignia over his heart.
"Oh yeah?" Brett's voice drops seductively. He takes a moment to admire you and your perfectly styled hair, freshly manicured pink and white nails, perfectly winged eyeliner on top of glittery shadow, and the silver band paired with a pink oval-shaped diamond. You're biting your lip and looking up at him with big, wide eyes, just the smallest hint of a flush on your cheeks. "Just her?"
"Hmm, no, I think Ludwig and Ember missed you too," you tease again, voice hitching when he pulls your body up against his, and his hands slip down to grope your ass.
"That's too bad," Brett shrugs. "Cause I missed you, Sweetheart. Missed our bed. Bet it's been cold without me."
"Always," you pout, standing on your tip toes to connect your lips again. You both melt into it, days of being apart washing away as you moan into it. "How was the shift?"
Brett groans, fingers rubbing hard at his temples. "This station is full of stubborn wildcards, immature probies, and Sharon Leone who hates my guts. And none of them got my jokes."
"I bet your jokes weren't actually funny, so there's that," you say, pulling his hand away from his face. Your fingers wrap around his, his hands are so much bigger than yours, and you trace a little circle over his ring finger. "Your ring is back from the jeweler, by the way, and they sent the silicon one with it this time. So, you know, if you wanna wear it on your next shift and ward away any of the firefighter groupies, I would greatly appreciate it."
Brett snorts, bringing his fingers up to tip your chin to him. "What groupies? I didn't see any."
"I'm sure you were too busy yelling at everyone to notice them, but they exist, Handsome," you say, blinking up at him as you push one of his loose curls from his forehead.
"Well, I'd never have eyes for anyone else, sweetheart," Brett mumbles into your lips, before turning you back around towards the house, and patting you on the ass lightly to push you forward. "How about we go get my new ring on, and I'll show you how much I missed you?"
You hum again as the cats disperse from around Brett's feet, and Princess comes to paw at your ankles. You look over your shoulder with a sly grin as you bend down to pick her up, and you catch the subtle raise of Brett's brows when he catches the view between your legs.
"Sweetheart..." He says slowly, walking up close behind you as you start to make your way into the house.
"Hmm?"
A small part of him thinks maybe he imagined it. Maybe this first week of being at Battalion 42, having to deal all with all their shit while you were mostly unreachable on a work trip to L.A., has caught up and caused him to have very horny hallucinations.
But as his gaze trails up the fabric of your dress, where no lines can be found bumping from your skin, he's pretty sure his eyes were not lying to him just now.
"What set are you wearing?" He asks, playing it cool.
"What do you mean?" You ask, putting on an innocent, higher tone to your voice. The same one you always use when you want to bait Brett into something.
"What lingerie are you wearing?" Brett asks, voice a little firmer, even though he already knows the answer. "Or are you going to tell me we haven't seen each other for a week, and you didn't dress up in something special just for me, like you usually do?"
"Oh," you say, sarcastically elongating the word as though he's helped you solve some great riddle. You look back at him again as the two of you step through the door, and Princess jumps from your grasp again. "Well, I'm actually not wearing anything under this."
"Jesus Christ, come here," Brett mumbles, but you jump away from his reaching hands, running into the kitchen with a wild laugh instead. Brett catches up with you as you lean against the kitchen counter, arching so your ass sticks out enticingly. A little white bag sits on the counter next to you. He puts his hands on his hips and does his best to give you a stern frown, but god you just look so cute on your tip toes, curve of your ass poking out from the bottom of your dress, it's hard to be annoyed.
"Is that it?" He asks, nodding his head at the bag, and his shoulders soften when you look over your shoulder and give an eager nod. He slowly saunters up into your space, not stopping until he's right up against your back, nose to your cheek, voice rumbling against your skin when he whispers, "Go on, Sweetheart," his left hand traces around to your stomach, as he rolls his hips against your ass, so you can feel how his cock is already stiffening up for you. "Put it back on me."
A shiver runs down your spine and your thighs clench. It's been a whole week without his touch, and you feel like a live wire about to explode. Without turning around, you carefully take his new ring out of the packaging, pushing your ass back into him at the same time and earning a low, moan from deep in his throat.
You smirk. You've never been much of a brat in bed, you really don't like degradation, but ever since you met him, you've found it's way too fun to wind Brett up. You'll always be his good girl, but you'll do anything to push him to be a little rougher, a little firmer with you.
With one hand, you take his new ring, a silver band with little twisting pleats engraved around it, and start to put it on his finger, while your other hand slips between your bodies, rubbing at his cock through his pants.
"Fuck," he grunts, leaning his forehead down to your shoulder, grabbing onto your tummy with his left hand once his ring is secured.
He lets you touch like that, rubbing slowly at him between your bodies, while he lets out soft moans. You drive him simply crazy, at a time when he'd thought his body would be past the ability to perform so easily, you always do it for him.
You ass starts to move again, and you let out a needy whine, stopping your touch to grab at his cock, now hard and begging to be released.
"Ha, feelin' needy, Baby girl?" Brett mumbles, kissing along the sensitive skin on the curve of your neck. "Waited too long, huh? Yeah, I know, I feel it too, Sweetheart."
Suddenly, you're squealing in delight as he scoops you up in his strong arms, and turns you to plop you down on the counter, grabbing your face to trap you in a hurried, breathy kiss. You giggle into it, rolling your hips into him, your dress rides up, and your bare pussy tenses at the sensation of the metal of his zipper against it.
Brett pushes his tongue into your mouth, drawing yours out so he can suck on it, moans and vibrations growing the arousal all through your body. You press yourself completely against him, finding purchase in the silver curls on the back of his neck, rutting into his strong tummy. It's wet and it's hot and it's desperate, floodgates opening from your time apart.
You feel hands tug at the bottom of your dress and you lift enough for it to be pushed up your stomach, hissing at the cold of the counter on your bare ass. Then Brett swiftly rips the straps of the dress down your shoulders, until the whole thing is just bunched at your middle, breasts freed and open for him to mouth at.
"Know what I want?" Brett asks, kissing down your chest, pinching at one of your nipples while tugging at the other with his teeth, as you writhe against him and whimper. "Know what I've been craving for days?"
You nod, because of course you know. Ever since the first night you spent together, you know there's one thing Brett loves to get out of you more than anything. "Been good, Sir, didn't touch myself all of yesterday or today. Stayed hydrated...just waiting for you to come home to me."
"What a good girl you are," Brett says, voice low, dripping with love. He snakes a hand between your legs, and your back straightens as you gasp at his touch. "Oh yeah, I can feel it, Baby girl, you're so wet," he mumbles, running his pointer and middle finger up and down your folds, collecting the slick into his palm. "Want my fingers?"
"Yes sir," you say breathlessly. "Yes please—oh!"
Your voice cracks when he slowly tucks his fingers inside, curling them instantly into that spot inside that drives pleasure into your bloodstream.
The thing about Brett is that everything about him is thick. His body is sturdy and strong, all muscles and strong biceps and tree trunk thighs. And his hands...one of the first things you ever noticed about him was his hands, with those girthy fingers. The first time you ever had them inside you, it was like you were hooked, no one else would ever compare.
He knows what to do with them, can feel the way your pussy clenches down on him with each quick movement, each curl upwards. Your mouth drops open and he watches as you pant, little mewls escaping when you can't control them.
"Feels good, yeah?" He teases, smirking as he watches your brows knit together.
You nod quickly, biting your lip to try to stifle your sounds, even though you know he hates that. But it's like you're trying to hold on to something, anything that feels like control over your own body, even as he slips a third finger inside, fucking into you fast and hard. The pads of his fingers drag on your walls, pulsing the pleasure up through you, and you let go and moan, high and loud.
"Oh, god," your voice is close to crying, heartrate speeding up so much you heart it muffling your ears.
The kitchen starts to fill with the wet squelching sound of your pussy leaking around him, and Brett can see it in the way your head drops back, hips rolling down to meet his hand, he's got you.
Then he drops to his knees, biting and kissing at the inside of your thighs, and you twitch away from the tickling sensation. His other hand comes up, fingers rubbing at your clit, quick circles to match the speed of the ones inside you, and you cry out from somewhere deep in your throat.
"Brett—it's—I'm gonna—" you can't finish a thought, head swirling, racing around from the arousal that swarms in your belly.
"Yeah, I know baby girl, I know, give it to me," Brett encourages, looking up at you between your legs. He rubs your clit faster, pressing down just a little harder, tingles of pleasure spiking with every circle.
"Yes sir, mmm, close!" You cry, chest heaving.
Your belly grows tight, thighs twitching, a coil beginning to break inside, and you feel it. The tightness and fullness, the dam inside about to break, the feeling that lodges in your throat and makes your breathing stop entirely.
Until your whole body locks up and then it's released with a scream, head thrown back, air screeching out of the tightness of your throat, as pleasure tears through you. And Brett pulls his fingers out from the force of your juices ripping from you, splashing like a fountain onto his hand, his forearm, his bare chest, and the floor below him.
He swears softly, always in awe that he can even make you do that, as he shoves his fingers back inside to curl roughly against that delicious spot, causing another, smaller stream to flow from you. All while you shake and cry and slap your hands onto the counter, knuckles flexed with how tight you hold on for balance.
"Yeah, yeah Baby girl, that's it, oh fuck," Brett moans, slowly pulling his fingers from you, eyes wide and crinkled into a smile as he follows the glistening path down his arm to the floor. "Oh, that was so much, Sweetheart." He pulls his shirt over his head and uses it to wipe himself off, and he throws it onto the clear puddle you made on the floor. "That was fucking beautiful, baby girl, just what I needed."
"Brett," you whine, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him in. You're still feeling it, the overwhelming light that circles you from your intense orgasm, but you're also feeling the emptiness inside. "Fuck me, please sir."
"Sweetheart, we can stop, we can—"
"No! No, sir," you gasp, as your hands reach up to grab him by the face, and your eyes blink up all wide and blown out and wet. "Need your cock, please, it's been too long, don't make me wait long."
"Don't know how long I'll last," Brett confuses, neck twitching when he feels your hips roll up against his cock, still straining in his pants. It's so much worse than earlier, dick so hard it hurts, and he knows his resolve is going to break so easily for you, it always does.
The first night you met, you had him almost exactly like this, in a hotel bed in Las Vegas, crying and needy after he made you squirt all over the sheets, begging for his cock. It was the first time in a long time he'd let himself be taken over by base instincts, and his need to bring someone to the deepest heights of pleasure. It was the first time in his life he'd ever let himself give in to someone so quickly, and even though his dick was in full control that night, when he woke up in the morning it was his heart that said he couldn't let you go.
"Don't care," you gasp, nails scratching down his freckled skin from his chest to the silver hairs on his lower stomach, pausing reluctantly at the top of his pants. "Just need to be full of you."
"Goddamn," Brett sucks in a breath, grabbing at your plush thighs, buck into your hands. "Alright, alright Baby girl, go on, take my cock out."
You bite your lip, giddy smile on your face as you eagerly undo his fly and shove his pants down just enough to free his cock, red and hard and already leaking. It's so thick in your hand, you remember the first time you saw it, it was the first time you ever feared a dick wouldn't fit. But Brett turns you on so much, always puts your pleasure first, always makes sure you can take him, even when you're in the mood for it to hurt a little.
Brett lets out a brief, relieved moan as his hand wraps around his cock, giving it a few strokes with your fluids that still cover his hand. His free hand roughly drags you to the end of the counter, ass hanging off the edge as he shoves his cock in you.
There's nothing gentle about the way he desperately fucks you, chasing his pleasure. You're fucking dripping on him, warm and tight but welcoming to his size, and he whimpers a little pathetically as he watches your pussy stretch around his girth.
"Ready, Sweetheart?" He asks, voice tight from how he's holding back.
"Yes, sir," you say, nodding and rolling your hips into him to make your point.
"Good, that's my girl," Brett groans, thrusting up into you. He takes it a little slow at first, just controlled, hard thrusts to hit you deep inside, push little, pleasured sounds from your lips. "Feel so good, needed this."
"Harder, Brett, come on," you whimper, throwing your hands over his shoulders. "Know you wanna hit it harder, give it to me like you mean it."
"Little fucking minx," Brett grunts, but what kind of a man says no to a pretty thing like you begging to be fucked like this?
He starts to move faster, shallow thrusts, the delicious squelching sound of his cock moving through your slick only spurs him on. He grunts in your ear, latching onto your neck with his mouth. He licks and sucks at your skin, marking you up.
You feel so good around him, sucking him in, pussy fluttering and begging to be used, to be bruised by his cock hitting your cervix. Your sounds start to grow louder, higher, until just his name is cracked between each whimper.
His hand flies up to slam on the cabinet door for balance, the sound emanating all around you. You moan and pull him in for a kiss, nipping at his lip with your teeth, rutting your hip into his every move.
He's not going to make it much longer he knows that, but he'll be damned if he comes before you do on his cock.
"Gonna make you come again, want to feel that sweet pussy squeeze my dick, Baby girl," Brett grunts, reaching down to rub at your clit again, fucking into you harder.
You give in almost instantly, back arching and a cry tearing from your mouth as you feel it come over you, pure white-hot arousal washing up your body in a delicious wave, shaking your spine as your cunt clamps down on his cock like a vice.
Another, little sputter of juices leak around Brett, and he whimpers into your mouth as his thrusts stutter, one last hard thrust deep inside, a cry of your name and he's coming, spilling his seed inside you. "Shit, yeah, yeah, Sweetheart, fucking perfect."
You both stay locked tight around each other for a few moments, while the aftershocks settle between you, energy flowing between your bodies. Brett kisses up and down your neck, licking up the beads of sweat that have dropped, inhaling deeply to take in your scent.
Once your body is settled to his liking, Brett carefully pulls out and leans back, hands on either side of your body on the counter, arms flexed as he uses his strength to hold himself up.
"God, I did miss you, Brett, missed you so fucking much," you sigh, tiredly running your hands up and down his arms. You sit back, looking up at him with red eyes, face dewy, and makeup running all over, but smiling nonetheless. "I'm sorry you had a hard time at the station. I'm sure you'll get them together."
"Yeah, just might have to be on this assignment longer than I want, but I'm not gonna do a whole week again, okay?" He assures you, pushing the damp hair from your face and kissing the top of your nose. "Two days on, two days off, see how they can keep up my orders between, see who steps up to take control."
"Hmmmm, take control..." You start to giggle and you're met with an amused shake of your husband's head.
"Okay, you're starting to get loopy, better get some more fluids—water," he quickly says before you can make another joke. "More water, into you. I'll clean up your little mess before the cats get back in—"
"You made me do it," you pout.
Brett ignores your comment, "And I'll make you one of those fancy grilled cheese you like, and you can tell me how your week went. Sound good?"
You shrug, throwing your arms over his shoulders. "Okay, can you put bacon on the grilled cheese?"
"Of course, I said I'd make it fancy," Brett coos.
He places his hands under your thighs and lifts until you wrap around him like a koala, so he can carry you over to the sofa. Brett carefully sets you down and crowds the pillows around you, as well as two warm blankets, while your eyes start to shut.
You listen as Brett opens the fridge and fills a glass with water and ice, then the distinct sound of the kettle being put on the stove.
"Making tea too?" You ask in a whisper as he hands you the glass.
"Course, need you to get some good sleep in before work tomorrow," Brett says. "You've got a big contract to get signed, right? You told me the company is trying to be the exclusive supplier of wind turbines in Virginia? That's a big deal, Sweetheart, you'll need your energy."
"It'll be easy, I got 'em right where I want 'em already," you say with a yawn. But then your eyes shoot open and you squint through them as you look up at him suspiciously. "Wait... do you mean we're just gonna go one round? Gimmie twenty minutes, I'm gonna ride you into the bed until you pass out, old man."
"Sounds fun," Brett chuckles. "But this old man is gonna need more than twenty, Sweetheart."
Your eyes roll as you pull him down by the neck for one last, tired kiss. "Fine, but you better rest up, because when I'm done with my meeting tomorrow, you're giving me at least two rounds as a reward."
"I think I can meet that challenge."
FIN.
A/N 2: okay so like i have so much more in mind lol. like there's not really a set plan or anything but i have THOUGHTS, and the next part/chapter (idk?) is going to be a direct sequel to this with Bode and Eve and the team and not smutty!!! Just wanted to start with a little something to kinda show the dynamic with Brett and also just get right to the smut cause there's not enough with him........
anywayyyyy: REBLOG! COMMENT! GIVE KUDOS/COMMENTS TO ARCHIVE! remember likes don't really help spread the Brett love ;)
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in which jack abbot had a rough shift, and accidentally takes it out on his sweet girlfriend.
warnings; mean!jack for literally 2 seconds, mentions of bad past relationships, reader has low self-esteem kinda
a/n; the 1k follower special is finally here!! i really hope u guys enjoy this!! <3<3
word count; 1.3k
masterlist
A bead of sweat dropped down your temple, as you hauled a handful of grocery bags into the kitchen, spotting Jack in the living room, pulling off his scrub top.
”Oh hi, honey!” You smiled, dropping the groceries on the table. Jack filling in for Robby this week meant that you could actually spend evenings together, sometimes.
He murmured a non-committal ’hello’ back, which you brushed off to him just being exhausted. You knew being a doctor was a physically and mentally taxing job. Quietly humming under your breath, you put the groceries away, turning the oven on so you could start prepping dinner.
By then, Jack had swapped into more comfortable clothes, his prosthesis now pulled off and stood upright against the side of the couch. You brought over a water bottle for him, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw.
”Dinner won’t take long. Maybe like thirty minutes.” You spoke softly, tidying up some discarded clothes from the living room, while Jack turned the TV on. He was quiet, but that didn’t bother you.
Sometimes after long shifts he was just tired. But you knew he was listening, and you didn’t mind filling in the silence.
You rambled on about what you did and saw during the day, twisting off to a five-minute drabble of a cute stray cat you saw. Jack loved listening to your rambles, since his job didn’t give him much time to be on his phone, he liked the daily debriefs he got from you after work.
”Oh— and honey, could you take a look at the dryer later? It’s making that weird clunking noise again. And the bathroom sink-”
”Jesus! Can you just let me be for one goddamn second?” Jack snapped out of nowhere, making your spine go rigid. His jaw was tight grit, and his hands were flying around, as if to emphasize his point.
Your eyes caught his, and you could see the angry look fade instantly. He never snapped. Hell, he never got angry. Not at you.
The laundry in your hands was forgotten now, and you had that awkward, forced smile on your face. He’s just having a bad day— he didn’t mean to take it out on you. Don’t cry.
”Yeah— sorry.” You cleared your throat awkwardly, dropping the laundry on the couch, wiping your hands on your thighs, ”Uh, I can just…I’ll call someone about the dryer. It’s fine.”
”Shit, sweetheart. I’m sorry—” Jack’s words died in his throat, as he watched you walk into the kitchen. He knew you inside out, and he knew damn well he practically just stuck a dagger into your heart.
It’s not your fault he’s having a bad day. He’s being unfair— he knows that. He’s just exhausted. With a long sigh, he buries his head in his hands. He needs to cool off for a second.
Meanwhile, you’re in the kitchen, eyes burning from the tears you’re holding back. You hadn’t meant to be an inconvenience. The dryer has just been bugging you for a while, and Jack always tells you to go to him when you have any problems.
Maybe you didn’t read the room. Maybe you ask too much? Your brain ran over every possible reasoning, but every single thing came with the conclusion that you’re asking for too much, being too needy.
Jack knew you were beating yourself up. He remembers that night, when you two laid in silence, and you unloaded some of your burdens on him. How in past relationships you were made to feel like an inconvenience. From that day onward, Jack wanted to make sure he’d never make you feel that way.
And he messed up royally. There you were, still prepping dinner for him, even when your sniffles echoed in the kitchen. God, he was just the worst boyfriend ever. You do so much for him, and he takes out his frustrations on you? If his mother was here, she’d smack him.
You were asking for so little, he knows that. It’s rare of you to even ask him for anything, but now you did, and he just snapped at you like a dick. He wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to poison him. Though, he knows you’re not like that.
After cooling off for a little, Jack grabbed his crutches and hoisted himself off the couch with a groan, slowly padding his way to the kitchen doorway, where we watched you for a while. The tight set of your shoulders as you chopped vegetables, the small sniffles escaping you. Even the way your hand would occasionally lift to swip over your cheeks.
“Sweetheart, stop that.” He spoke in a low rumble, walking up behind you. One crutch abandoned, so that he could wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you to his chest. His lips pressed onto the crown of your head, “You shouldn’t be cooking. I should be doing everything. I’m sorry I snapped.”
“It’s fine, Jack-” You started, but he shook his head, hand coming up to ease the knifee out of your grip.
Once the knife was set down, he gently covered your hand with his. “No, it’s not fine. I had a shit day at work, and I took it out on you. And that’s not fine. Not in any possible way. You did nothing wrong, it was all me.”
He could tell you were about to argue again, so he swiveled you around, his hand moving to grasp your jaw, “Don’t. I know you’re about to say ‘it’s fine’ again, but it’s not. I was a dick. I’m gonna make it up to you.”
Watching your sad eyes, he thumbed away the remains of tears off of your cheeks, eyes softening at the look on your face. God, he’s the worst.
And Jack knew you’d still forgive him immediately, but he won’t stop apologizing. He once vowed to never be the guy who makes you feel small, and he’d went and did that anyways.
“Tomorrow’s my day off. I’m fixing the dryer. The sink. Then, I’m taking my girl out.” He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, “We’ll go to the bookstore. Your favorite coffee place. Anything you want.”
“Jack, that isn’t necessary-”
His hand pressed over your mouth. “Ah-ah. There’s no talking your way out of this, sweetheart. I was a jerk, and I’m damn well going to make it up to you. I’m sorry I snapped at you. It wasn’t fair of me at all.”
The tension in your shoulders slowly eased, heart warming at the care and attention he pays to you. Not one person in your life would go this far just to apologize. But Jack would. He’d walk through fire for you. If you’re cold, he’ll gladly crank up the heating, even if he’s overheating. He’ll get up early to make breakfast, just so you can sleep a little longer.
Every single thing he does for you is a testimony of his love.
“There she is.” He whispered softly, a small smile quirking up his lips, as he watched you slowly return to your normal self. He let his hand slide down to rest on your hip, gently patting it, “How about you sit down, sweetheart? Let me finish dinner. Then we’ll cuddle on the couch and I feed you, yeah?”
And well, you knew there was no arguing with him. So you gave him a meek nod, moving to sit down at the table, not before handing Jack a stool though, so he didn’t need to cook one-handed.
Usually, you feel bad whenever you let him do stuff. His work is draining as it is, so you tend to avoid having him do stuff around the house as much as possible– if you can do it yourself.
Jack, of course, knew that you were bound to start feeling bad. So instead, he kept distracting you with his words, asking you to elaborate on your activities for the day.
Dinner went smooth. You two cuddled together on the couch, with Jack feeding you bites of food, while letting you have full control over the remote. You could watch exactly what you wanted to, tonight is all about you.
And the morning after, when you were doing laundry early in the morning, the weird sound coming from the dryer was gone.
summary: in the wake of jack's defense, you struggle to accept a few things, scared that if you give in, javadi's harsh words would become true. jack is there to make sure that the only person you need to believe is him.
tags: jack abbot x reader, reader struggles with acceptance, basically just pure smut (bathtub fingering, oral!fem!receiving, daddy kink [it's justified], praise kink, piv-unprotected sex, oral fixation, dumbification, creampie, slight cockwarming), NSFW 18+ MDNI
notes: well....yall are welcome for not keeping you all too long for this part two. lowkey should have done it all in one part, but I like when people beg 😈, anywho, I guess people don't have to read part one, but it helps set the scene, MY TAGLIST IS SADLY CLOSED I'M SORRY, please enjoy!
word count: 4.9k
read part one here
The warm smell of vanilla, courtesy of the first candle Jack let you buy for his house, greeted you upon entry. Your chest expanded deeply as you sucked in the smell, all tension melting away because home somehow did that. The saying was "there's no place like home," and you were a firm believer.
"Go start a bath, sweetheart," Jack said as he toed off his one shoe before reaching down to tug the other one off his prosthesis. "I'll get dinner warmed up, and I'll bring it in when it's done."
You eyed his leg wearily. "Are you sure?"
He looked up at you through his lashes, torso still bent downward. "I'm sure. After today, you deserve to be looked after, okay?"
Desperately you wanted to agree, but the small ugly feeling bubbled deeply in your gut.
Talk about daddy issues. You shouldn't be making Jack do all this especially with his leg. It should be you making dinner and looking after him.
Stupidstupidstupid.
When you failed to start walking towards the bedroom where the deep tub lay waiting in the bathroom, Jack straightened and spotted the absent expression you wore and frowned.
"Hey," he said, a little louder than necessary, but he needed to get you out of your head. "Bath. Now. I know you can take care of yourself; but you have me to help. I'll be in there soon."
Jerkily you nodded, body finally moving. It didn't take long for you to reach the carpeted bedroom floor, toes gripping the plush threads. The warm bathroom lights flickered on while you began to push your scrubs off. Your fingers curled around the hem of your scrub top and undershirt, pulling upward to get them both over your head, leaving you in just a bra. Next, your scrub pants joined them on the tiled flooring. A chill raced up your bare skin, and goosebumps rose along your arms and legs.
You reached over the tub and twisted the hot water knob. Like a balm, the instant steam and rushing sound of water quieted any thoughts that tried to push through. Without waiting for the tub to be filled, you peeled off the rest of your bra and underwear and dipped your first foot in, the second joining a breath later. After being seated, you added a small bit of bubble bath, and the room filled with the expensive scent of honey and jasmine.
Jack had been the one to buy it along with a complete set that he kept stocked for moments like these. The bubbles added a slickness to the water, but not enough for you to still feel dirty after getting out. Your hair would need to be washed, but that would have to wait until after dinner had been made. You reached a hand out and turned off the faucet and allowed your eyes to flutter shut as you rested your head on the small bath pillow.
It couldn't have been more than ten minutes before Jack walked through the bathroom door, tray of food in hand. He quietly set it down in order to pull up a spare chair he kept in the bathroom. The legs scraped across the title, and your eyes opened in time to see him sit down.
"Hi," you breathed, and Jack could tell that the bath was working its wonders.
Your skin held a healthy flush from the hot water, and you looked a bit more alive on the outside. He loved every version of you, but this one had to be his favorite: you looking so relaxed and sleepy in his presence. He couldn't help but smile while he picked the food up to place along the bath tray.
Dinner smelled divine, and instead of pulling your hands out to dry them, Jack insisted on feeding you bite by bite. Your stomach fluttered and your thighs tightened with every good girl and proud of you for eating he sent your way, and soon, you emptied your plate with rapid speed.
Jack moved the plate and tray away and scooted closer. That had you leaning up, brows slightly furrowed.
"What about you? Did you eat?" you asked, definitely not seeing another dish for him.
"I ate while I fixed up your food; promise," he said while reaching for your shampoo. "Now sit up for me."
Without much thought, you followed his direction, torso rising to the point your shoulders and breasts showed over the bubbles. Jack's hazel eyes darkened at your naked body, but he ignored his own needs. You were his priority, and he already had plans that he could act on after he got your hair washed.
His thick fingers slid through your silky strands, and you couldn't help but moan softly at the feeling, eyes fluttering back shut. Your sound sent a shockwave right through Jack's chest all the way down to his chubbing cock. His thighs squeezed together when he was able to draw a louder one out by gently tugging at your roots.
"Fuck, sweetheart, wait till we get you cleaned," he teased while using the hand-held shower extension to rinse out the conditioner.
All you could respond with was a breathy sigh of content.
Jack didn't even grab your loofah to wash your body, choosing to squirt the body wash right into his palms to run them down your body in fluid motions. You could always exfoliate later after he was done with you, but his self-control was waning.
He softly ran his hands down your front, fingers cupping your breasts and squeezing gently, drawing another moan from your chest. His fingers circled around your nipples and formed them into soft peaks, the buds perking under his ministrations. He leaned forward and attached his lips to the closest one and sucked, your skin and flesh pulling deep into his mouth. He alternated between sucking, licking, and pinching.
"Jack," you whimpered, eyes now open as you watched him fondle you without such care.
"Yes, sweetheart?" he asked, barely pulling away to answer before biting down gently.
"Need you."
"Need me?" He cocked an eyebrow, and you met his half-lidded eyes near your breast. "Need me? Want me to make you feel good before I can even get you into bed?"
You nodded, but Jack tsked his tongue against his teeth.
"You know how to ask." He pinched your nipples and tugged, drawing another low moan from your lips.
"Please," you squeaked out, chest pushing out into his hands. "Please touch me and make me feel good."
"Good girl," he cooed, giving your breasts one more grip and placing another kiss to one before trailing his fingers down your stomach and deeper into the water, back hunched over the tub to reach.
You arched slightly at the first brush of his fingertips along your folds, the sensitive skin already slick with the cooling bathwater and initial arousal. Your hips pushed your core up slightly for him to dip lower. With practiced ease, he slowly circled his pointer around your clit, rough skin of his fingertip giving delicious pressure and stimulation to the nerve endings. The moans you gave were music to his ears, and Jack craved to get you louder.
With one skilled twist, he angled his wrist and forearm to allow him to push a thick middle finger into your fluttering hole while his thumb continued to fiddle with your clit. The reaction in your body was instant, and a high-pitched whine pulled deep from your throat.
"Sound so good, baby," Jack groaned. "You make the prettiest sounds for me."
Even without the heated water, a warmth rushed up from your middle to your cheeks at his praise.
"Thank you," you panted, chest heaving as he added his ring finger right next to his middle. The initial stretch to accommodate the two made your core throb and clench before your walls eased around the digits.
Your thighs spread wider to give him more room, and the movement made a small wave splashing over the side of the tub. But neither of you cared, not when Jack was stretching his fingers to reach deep up into you. With a curl upwards, his fingertips expertly brushed against the softened spot of your walls, and your innermost muscles contracted to keep him there.
"Jack!" you yelped as your hips rocked into his hand. "Fuck! Feels good shiitttt! Please, please, please!" You weren't too sure what you were begging for at this point, but the need to please held your reins tight.
Jack quietly cooed. "Don't need to beg me, baby. I'm riiightt here," he drew out while pressing his fingers against the same spot. "Can you feel me this deep? Can't wait to get my cock inside you."
You nodded with an open jaw and silent moan at the overwhelming feeling. By now, all the bubbles had disappeared into the bathwater, giving Jack a murky view of his hand deep inside you. He could tell you were close by the way your hips started to stutter and the way you slightly held your breath to concentrate on the pure ecstasy your body was thrumming through your veins.
But he didn't speed up; he kept his fingers exactly where they needed to be while his thumb played with your clit in circular back and forth motions.
Your core clenched rhythmically as white-hot pleasure built at your navel.
"Yeah, I know," he consoled, making sure to stretch his fingers out inside you. "I want you to come for me, sweetheart. Want you to cum right in your bath around my fingers."
Jack wanted to keep talking over the slosh of the water, but he bit his tongue. A certain name settled on the tip of his tongue, and he wasn't sure if it'd be accepted after what happened. But Jack was a curious man who knew how to put you back together. He leaned in closer, stomach pushing into the edge of the tub, and licked a hot stripe up your pulse point to your ear.
"Gonna cum, Jack—shit, pleasepleasepleaseplease!"
"Cum for me, sweetheart," he whispered, hot breath puffing into your ear. "Cum for daddy."
Your pleasure fell over the crest at the name, instantly stretching through every cell in your body. Your legs snapped together, trapping his hand between your thighs as you rode your high in stuttering motions while your inner muscles clamped around his finger. Jack could feel the way your clit throbbed against his thumb, and if he were any weaker than he already was, he could have cum from the feeling and noises pushing past your lips.
"Good girl," he said. "My perfect girl for listening to me. Doing so so well."
His praise added to you high, turning your brain into straight sticky syrup. However, tears pricked your eyes, and once the endorphins settled and ebbed, you choked on a sob. Jack's expression dropped, face drooping the moment your cries hit his ears. He quickly withdrew his hand and placed both on your cheeks to tilt your face in his direction.
"No, baby, don't cry. What's the matter?," he asked, scared out of his mind that he'd gone way too far. "Was it the name? I won't ever say that again. I don't know what I was thinking. I shouldn't have—"
"But I liked it," you wailed, tears streaming down your cheeks and into his palms.
Jack tilted his head. "Then what wrong, sweetheart? You don't have to be ashamed of liking it."
"B-but if I like it, then what Javadi said is . . ." you trailed off into another cry as your eyes pinched shut, and Jack's chest clenched tightly.
"No, no, no, oh, sweetheart. Baby, look at me," he said. "Please, look at me."
It took you a moment to settle before finally cracking your eyes open enough to see Jack's sad face.
"I'm only going to say this once, so listen to me," he started, "I know her words are going to stick with you for a long time, but I need you to know that there's nothing wrong with you. Do you know how happy it makes me to see you preen under my praise? Do you know how nice it is to take care of you? I get to wake up to such an amazing woman by my side most mornings, and I'm so incredibly thankful that I get to call her mine."
Your face drooped slightly as you took in his words and glossy eyes.
"I love you, and that includes whatever you throw my way." He chuckled softly and reached for your hand, grasping it and pulling it toward between his legs.
You gasped at the feeling of how hard he was, and Jack stuttered out a moan.
"You don't know how fucking close I was to cumming in my pants like a damn teenager because you came so hard around my fingers. Baby, you could call me literally anything in the bedroom, and it won't change a thing."
"Jack—" you tried, but he shook his head.
"But please understand that it's okay to like . . . it. Calling me daddy doesn't mean you automatically have daddy issues. Trust me, I've met your dad, and he is far from being absent in your life."
You giggled softly and stared lovingly into his hazel hues. "I love you so much."
Jack smirked. "And I love you so much more."
Your face tilted as you leaned in to place your lips on his, taking him a bit off guard by how fast you moved, but he quickly reciprocated in soft mouthing kisses. While he stayed pressed against your face, his right hand sipped from your cheek and back down to your breast. Your mouth parted in a gasp when he took the whole thing and curled his fingers around the flesh while he pushed his tongue between your teeth. His hot muscle licked around yours in slick, languid motions. After he pulled back, you followed slightly, chest once again quickly rising and falling.
"Let's get you out of here and into bed, sweetheart," he muttered before going back in for one more kiss. "I want to make you cum one more on my tongue before I get my cock in you."
His big hands grabbed onto your upper sides, almost right under your armpits, and tugged upward as he stood from the chair, bringing you with him. Water dripped from your skin, and your knees almost buckled in the effects of your first orgasm. But Jack was right there. His hands tightened, and he stepped forward, catching you slightly and supporting as you took a shaky step over the tub. Your hands curled around his biceps, and the minute you were fully out, damp skin already chilling slightly, he walked you right back into the bedroom.
"Jack, the bed is going to get wet," you grumbled after he pushed you down into the soft, pillowing comforter. "Let me just dry off—" You tried to push back up, but one of Jack's hands planted in the middle of your chest and sent you backwards.
"Stay there," he ordered, hands gripping at the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head.
You couldn't help but swallow thickly at the sight of his bare chest, bulging pecs, the thatches of hair nestled between them, the pudge of his stomach with his unshaved happy trail dipping below his scrub pants. Jack's head tilted slightly, and in the next moment, he reached out and thumbed at your lip.
"Already drooling for me, sweetheart?" Jack muttered, hazel eyes blazing with lust. "I bet you're just drooly everywhere, yeah?" He placed both hands on the tops of your knees and spread them, revealing your more than glistening center. He whistled lowly while settling his knees onto the edge of the mattress for more support. "Look at her; so wet; so needy."
At his words, you keened loudly, not caring if it probably carried outside the walls.
He bent lower until his face was mere inches away. "Such a drooly pussy for me." His tongue darted out and kitten licked your clit. His tongue was hot against your skin in such a contrast to the cool air of the bedroom, heightening the sensation. "Such a good girl for being this way." He leaned in and ran his nose through your slick, inhaling deeply. "Can't wait to eat you dry, but I bet she's just going to weep for me. Isn't that right, sweetheart?"
"Jaaaaack," you whined.
He smacked the side of your thigh, and you yelped at the sting.
"Be a good girl and ask for what you want. Tell daddy where you want him."
"Your tongue."
"Where?"
Heat rushed into your cheeks as you looked down your stomach, meeting Jack's lifted eyes as he waited to hear you tell him exactly what you wanted. He'd give it to you eventually, but nothing got him off more than hearing dirty things drip from your mouth. One of his hands dragged through the comforter and swiped from your hole to your throbbing bundle of nerves.
"Come on," he murmured, his lips brushing against your outer folds. "Tell me like a good girl."
"Y-your tongue on-on my pussy."
Jack hummed in approval. "Anything else? Already gave you my fingers in the bath."
"Wha-want them again," you stammered, heat crawling to the base of your neck. "I-inside."
"So proud of you, baby," Jack groaned, hips bucking into the mattress.
In less than a breath later, he indulged your wishes and dragged his tongue along your folds before dipping between them and up the most sensitive line. Your clit caught at the tip, and he languidly lapped at it, wetly coating the nerves with his spit. The filthy noises coming from his mouth as he sucked and slurped sent you reeling with your head pressing backwards into the bed. Your hips tried to rise to meet his mouth, but a quick hand splayed across your belly and held you in place with added pressure.
To keep him against you, your fingers slid and dug into his salt and pepper curls, and Jack groaned when you pulled the strands. The low noise sent vibrations scurrying up your core.
"You taste so wonderful like always, sweet girl," he said while bringing his unoccupied hand to join his lips, this time slipping two fingers in at first. He dragged them slowly along the lower portion of your sopping hole, hooking them slightly at your entrance to stretch you further. "She's opening up perfectly for me. Gonna get her all happy with my fingers again, and then I'll reward you both. Sound good?"
"Uh huh," you barely breathed out, too focused on the feeling of his plunging fingers and his tongue. "Good."
Jack gazed up at you over your stomach and smirked at your already dazed look. You were teetering on the edge of how he wanted: pliant and barely able to gather thoughts other than the pleasure he was providing.
"Already looking fucked out up there, sweetheart," he said before suckling your clit deep between his lips. "We can stop if it's too much—"
"Nooooo," you dragged out, thighs clenching together around his head. "Please no."
He chuckled against your core. "Okay, baby, okay."
His fingers picked up the pace slightly to the point that wet squelches danced with the free flowing moans from your lips. He continued to lick and nibble at anything available. When he tongued right at the top of your hole, right where his fingers were disappearing into, you chocked.
"Fuh-close!"
"Close? But we just started," Jack said, lips all in a pout. "But I guess that's okay for my sensitive girl. I guess I just know exactly what you need."
"Need," you echoed with a dropped jaw. "Need to—"
"You gonna cum for me again? Gonna make a mess on the clean sheets?"
You nodded dumbly against the comforter, but Jack wasn't too concerned with the lack of response, not when you were so close to that comfy, fuzzy feeling that was already licking at the edges of your brain. He doubled down to tip you right over the edge. Your fingers tightened in his hair, and he finally let your hips start to rock against his face.
"There we go, sweetheart; use my face to get off. Use daddy's face to make you feel good. My girl knows exactly what she needs. Smart, smart girl. Daddy's perfect girl."
Jack kept his eyes trained on your pinched face, brows all furrowed, eyes closed in concentration, mouth wide open as you sucked down gulps of air. While he had you distracted, the hand across your belly pressed downwards right as he puckered around your throbbing clit and finally stuck three fingers deep inside, his fingertips curling right into your sweet spot.
You came almost instantly with a prolonged moan that made Jack wonder if you'd pass out from lack of air. He continued lapping profusely as your walls clenched rhythmically around his thick digits, arousal jetting out between the gaps and right into his mouth. This wasn't the first time he'd been able to make you squirt, but he was in awe every time it happened.
He tried his best to prolong your high for as long as he could, but when your thighs began to shake from overstimulation, he slowly pulled his fingers out and pressed one last kiss to your clit before crawling over your heaving chest while leaving open-mouthed kisses in a trail from your navel to your mouth.
All you could do was breathe into him, mind reeling and struggling to catch up with anything but pleasure. Jack tried not to coo as he stared into your glossed-over, unfocused eyes. He patted gently against your cheek until your eyes focused slightly on his face.
"There she is," he whispered. "Hi, baby."
"Hi," you panted. If you'd been a cartoon, your pupils would have been heart shaped as you looked up at Jack. Your face leaned into his palm just as your eyes fluttered shut.
"Can't go to sleep yet, sweet girl," Jack said, already rolling off you to get his prosthesis off. He swallowed a sigh of relief as the pressure released around his limb, fingers rubbing at the remaining soreness. He leaned the leg against the bedside table. "Gotta turn that brain off all the way, and then you can sleep all you want."
You grumbled in response. He chuckled while he hooked two thumbs at his waist line and pulled his pants and boxers off in one go. This time he couldn't hold back the groan that ripped from his throat when the tip of his cock bobbed against his lower stomach. He gripped it tightly, just to ease some of the already building pressure, before letting go in order to turn back over to face you.
Jack patted your ass softly, and your eyes flew back open.
"Still awake," you tried to clearly say, but your words were slurred. "I'm awake."
"Sure you are," Jack replied. "Shift up the bed for me and roll over."
Lazily, you wriggled up the bed and settled with your head on the pillow, facing the wall. Jack curled around you, stomach pressing and fitting just right into the curve of your spine. The two of you moaned softly as he shifted his cock to fit between your legs and draw it back and forth through your slick, the head nudging your sensitive clit.
Your head tilted back until the base of your skull met the crook of his neck. Jack squeezed his eyes shut as he drew his hips back far enough to catch the tip of his dick right at your entrance. He used his unoccupied hand to bring your left leg up and back to hook around his hip, knee resting against his bone.
"Ready, baby?" he asked softly.
You nodded against him. "Please . . . daddy."
"Fuck," he hissed, cock not even inside you but already pulsing just at you finally giving into calling him that. Without waiting much longer, he slowly fed his length into your core, your walls stretching nicely around the intrusion like you were made for it. "That's it; there we gooooo."
You sobbed at the overly full and stuffed feeling that currently overwhelmed your lower half. "Feels hnnngggg!"
Once he was fully sheathed, he paused and took the minute to concentrate on not blowing his load before he could even fuck you stupid. However, you seemed insatiable because you began moving against him in earnest motions, desperately looking for friction.
"Daddy," you whined.
Jack gripped your thigh a bit tighter. "Okay, okay, I hear you, baby."
He slowly drew his hips back, enough to leave just the tip in before he pushed all the way back in with a snap, pushing a punched out moan from your lungs. You could only lie there and take what he gave you.
His hand uncurled from your thigh and draped over your hip, splaying against your navel.
"Can you feel me there, sweetheart?" he grunted out after feeling the movement of his cock through your stomach against his palm. "You're sucking me in so deep. It's like you're just made to perfectly take me." He curled into you more and began to kiss and bite at your shoulder as your inner walls clamped down on his length with each thrust. "Tell me—fucking shit—tell me who makes you feel this good, baby."
"Youuuuu," you mewled between the head hitting your spot and drawing out enough to stretch your entrance.
"Uh-uh-uh," he tutted, punctuating with three forceful thrusts that had your toes curling and belly filling with a tightness. "That's not my name. Now, like I told you, who makes you feel this good?"
"DADDY!" you screeched before the word twisted into a high-pitched moan.
"That's damn fucking right." Jack's head returned to nuzzle against the side of your face. He nipped at your earlobe before licking a hot stripe along your neck. "You're being such a good girl for me. Taking exactly what I give you. Probably can't even think about anything else but my cock in your soaked pussy, yeah? What do you have to say about that?"
The hand that was on your stomach trailed down further until his fingertips found your clit once more. He timed his circular motions to match his thrusts, and he knew it wouldn't be long until you finished.
"C’mon, baby. Talk to me? I wanna hear my sweet girl's voice."
You blinked rapidly, mouth going dry at the mere thought of having to form actual sentences for him. Still, you tried your best, but all you could manage was a slurred mess of moans and babbles. The corners of Jack's mouth stretched into a wild grin as he listened to what he believed to be you trying to obey him, but you were too far gone to actually string together eligible words.
He hushed you softly. "I'm proud of you for trying, sweetheart. You listen so well for me. Can't believe I got someone so perfect."
Your moans grew louder as your stomach tightened beyond belief, body begging for release for the third time that night.
"Daddy puhleaseee," you drawled wetly, drool leaking from your open lips that failed to really close the entire time Jack thrusted into you. "Wannacuh—"
From between your shoulder and your bed, Jack suddenly pushed two fingers deep into your mouth, the moan muffling around the digits.
Like acting on some deep instinctive need, you began sucking, tongue curling around his fingertips. He kept them right in the middle of your tongue, careful not to push any deeper so you wouldn’t gag. Now with the added intrusion in your mouth, the rest of your whimpers and whines sputtered around his knuckles as you tried to swallow his fingers down.
“Keep my fingers in your mouth, honey,” he said, keeping you from taking them any deeper. “Don’t want you choking right now. Maybe tomorrow, I’ll let you take them as deep as you want to, but right now, I want you to focus on my cock inside your pussy and my fingers down hereee–” With his other hand, he circled your clit faster until his fingers started to burn from over extension, but he'd be damned if he stopped before you could cum.
"If you wanna cum, then just cum for me, baby. Daddy's—fuck—got you. I wanna feel you cum around me, and once you do, I'm gonna fill you up so much." His hips started to stutter in their motion as his own pleasure warmed his belly.
It only took three more angled thrusts to hit that deepest spot before you came, body tensing, lungs heaving, and eyes tearing at the sheer pleasure that washed over you at once. Your moans couldn't be contained as Jack continued to move inside you.
Just as your body started to relax, a high-pitched whine tore up Jack's throat as his stomach clenched and cock throbbed deep inside before he started cumming too, tip spurting his release and adding to the wet pooling between your thighs. He held you tightly against him and didn't dare pull out even after he finished. His chest heaved against your back while he placed soft kisses along your shoulder, whispering nothing but praise into your skin.
"Did so well for me, my perfect girl. Wouldn't want anyone else. Thank you for letting me take care of you. I love you so, so much."
You didn't move much as he spoke, mind still too numb to catch up much. But what you could understand was that, while lying there and feeling the safest you've ever been in Jack's arms, he was telling the only truth you ever needed to believe.
♡ synopsis: when a patient attacks you & embeds a scalpel in your abdomen, you go to jack for help. overwhelmed & irritable, he snaps at you to go find someone else for whatever it is which you're running to him for. once robby has tended to your injury, he informs jack of how he royally screwed up & your husband comes home after his shift to make amends.
♡ a/n: requested by @styx03, ty! i hope i did ok ;_;
Blood drips in fresh, crimson splatters onto polished white tiles from the wound your hand hovers near.
Protruding from your right lower quadrant is a scalpel which a patient has just impaled you with. You don't even respond—there is no screaming, wailing in panic, or hyperventilating to bear witness to which interrupts the beeping, shifting monotony of the ED—before you turn and head out the door of his exam room without another word.
With your shirt awkwardly clutched in your hand, you walk with measured steps to an empty room—cringing all the while from the rhythmic movement.
Once you've closed yourself behind a locked door, you pull the silver instrument from your now inflamed abdomen with a quiet cry of distress, and drop it into the stainless steel sink you stand at. Clattering against the metal basin, you pluck half a dozen tissues from a plastic box mounted to the wall and press them firmly to your weeping laceration.
Not but perhaps two hours ago did you stand at a patient's bedside and hold his hand as a heart attack claimed his life and ripped him from his family's embrace. His wife threw herself over his corpse after—screaming all the while for him to wake up, wake up, wake up; she can't do it without him, how will they survive?
Her children, meanwhile, trembled in a corner while holding fast to one another—their tiny faces flushed and red from tears, unable to understand why daddy wouldn't open his eyes like mommy wanted.
You excused yourself to the restroom to vomit thereafter.
Fighting down a familiar feeling of nausea, you flex stiff limbs while continually pressing numb fingertips against your palm—continually counting them as a grounding technique.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
You believe that you may be going into shock.
You'd like a heated blanket to keep you warm, or your husband's arms to make you safe. Most of all, you wish to leave this place.
You go in search of Jack.
"Hey, Jack?" you ask quietly from the entryway of Trauma 3, watching as he smoothly inserts an IV in the arm of an unconscious patient.
You slide your shaking hand behind you so no one can see.
At least you're still upright, you think. Small blessings.
Even behind the blue and white mask he dons, you can hear him huff in irritation. "Honey, I'm a bit busy right now. If it's a consult, or you're needing help, you need to go find somebody else."
You take a small step forward, ignoring the way your fresh wound smarts when you do so. "I was just—"
He swiftly tugs down his mask and grips the handrail of the patient's bed he stands guard beside. "Go find Robby or Langdon. Anybody else. Can you do that?" he barks. "I don't always have to be the one you come to. They're just as capable."
Your eyes flit to Parker, who turns to Jack with an open mouth—you know she intends to defend you; chew him out for the way he's just spoken to you—until you take a step back in acquiescence to prevent an argument.
Sniffling quietly, you nod, now feeling like a burden. Does he often feel like that? Like you're breaking his concentration, or are too attached? Perhaps it's unprofessional behavior on your part. Work and home are two different things which you've ignorantly merged into one.
"Yeah, I'll go find Robby. I'm sorry for interrupting."
The door swings shut behind you.
You stare at Robby a handful of feet from where he stands, and watch as he heads into an empty exam room before following close behind.
"Are you busy?" you inquire softly while fingering the edge of the striped polyester curtain you waver beside.
He glances to you with kind brown eyes before tearing wrinkled paper from the exam table he stands at. Robby shakes his head while balling it up and tossing it into the trash. "Never too busy for you. What's up?"
You pull back the curtain to give yourself a bit of privacy.
You nervously tug at the hem of your shirt while your other hand continues holding your throbbing side, which Robby's eyes flit to before meeting your own once again.
"I need you to promise me," you say while shuffling forward. "That you're not going to make a federal case out of this. I...I think he's going to end up under psyche's care. I left him—" You shake your head. "I shouldn't have."
You half turn around then. What if he leaves his room and harms someone else? Why did you just walk out and not call security like protocol demands?
Stupid, stupid, stupid. No wonder Jack was so short with you.
You go to head back the way you came until Robby starts toward you and grabs your forearm. "Sweetheart," he says while resting his opposite hand on the crown of your shoulder. "You're my concern now. Tell me what's going on." He nods toward your stomach. "It have anything to do with the way you're holding yourself?"
You shift on your feet uncertainly and wince quietly from the movement. "Promise me. He's unwell. I don't want him arrested, or—"
Robby finally throws up his hands. "Fine, fine, if it'll get you to tell me what's wrong, I will give this man the royal treatment. Now, tell me."
You chew the inside of your lip, then gingerly lift the bottom of your shirt before carefully peeling away the wad of tissues that've dried to your unwanted incision.
"Jesus Christ," Robby curses while stepping forward and gripping your hip to begin examining the damage inflicted. "When did this happen?"
"A few minutes ago," you sputter in explanation. "I didn't tell anyone. I just turned and walked away. I don't know why. I went to Jack, but he...he was busy—"
"Too busy for this?" he asks incredulously. "A patient sliced your fucking stomach open."
You hang your head. "It's not that extreme, Robby."
Maybe if you deny that you were assaulted, things won't turn out to be as bad as you're afraid they are when he finally takes a look.
Robby gently prods at it and your hand flies—sinking your nails into his shoulder. "Ow!"
He raises a brow. "Isn't it?" Robby shakes his head. "Jack should've dropped everything to tend to you."
He waves you toward the exam table, and you climb awkwardly atop it while favoring your side. "I didn't exactly tell him," you murmur while lying back.
Pulling on a pair of gloves, Robby purses his lips in disapproval.
"He told me to come find you. Or just...someone. He was busy—overwhelmed—so he didn't mean to snap at me."
Robby shakes his head. "No excuse. When you come to me, I drop everything without complaint."
You grin, ignoring the way your body is trembling because it's so painfully cold. "It's because you just adore me, right?" you say playfully between chattering teeth while tucking your shaking hands beneath your thighs.
Seeing how you're shivering, Robby frowns, then shrugs off his hoody before draping it over you. "You know I do," he rumbles before grabbing a pack of wipes. "Was the instrument—"
"Sterile," you supply. "I just need stitches." Your eyes flit to the machine next to him, and your stomach sinks to your knees. "Robby..."
"What is it, sweetheart?"
Your chin wobbles. "Ultrasound." Your hand flutters toward your stomach. "My...my ovary."
He stills for a moment and studies you—the way your tearful eyes plead with him to tell you anything but that which you're now terrified of hearing.
He wheels the machine around and switches it on.
You stare up at him through glassy eyes. "Is...is it—"
He shakes his head. "It didn't go deep enough to hit anything. Barely went any deeper than the subcutaneous level."
You squeeze your eyes shut and begin to sob.
Pushing the cart away, Robby slides a palm over your forehead while shooshing you. "It's alright. I'm going to clean the area, give you a few stitches, and then," he says while folding your shirt until it's positioned just beneath your breasts, "I'm taking you home."
You shake your head. "No. Robby, I can—"
He drags an antiseptic wipe over the affected area. "This isn't some option I'm laying before you. I'm an attending, you're my resident—"
"I'm Jack's resident," you state.
Robby looks at you. "I'm making you my resident right now. And as your attending, I'm telling you that you're going home. I'm not asking," he states with finality.
Throwing your head back against the hard vinyl beneath you, you huff in irritation. "Fine."
Robby alerts security to the altercation which occurred where you clearly neglected to, followed by a page to psyche for a consult. After you've completed a workplace incident form and he's compiled a bag of supplies for you to take home so you can tend to your wound in private—as well as some pain meds—he presses the keys to his truck into your palm and tells you to go wait for him.
You think to ask as to why he can't come with you, but refrain.
You'd really like to sit down, and the sooner you make it to his vehicle, the sooner that can happen.
Jack's just exiting the room he found himself unwittingly stationed in for the last hour to the sight of Robby coming straight toward him with a displeased look on his face. He's left to assume that you went to him in the end like he commanded you to, then, and now he's about to be ripped a new one for daring to withhold attention for a damn minute.
"Take it she came to you?" Jack asks while ripping off a surgical gown.
Robby crosses his arms. "She's out in my truck. I'm taking her home."
"I'm sorry, what?" he asks with a raised brow while swinging around toward him.
"I'm guessing you don't have any idea why she came to you earlier?"
Jack plants his hands on his hips. "I assumed because she had a question, or needed help with a patient."
"She was the patient," Robby spits.
Jack falters momentarily.
"He's been taken up to psyche, but she was trying to treat a man having an episode of psychosis. He shoved a scalpel in her belly for it."
Jack curses then runs the heel of his palm along his eye and past his temple. "She didn't say—"
"Maybe if you'd bothered listening for a moment—allowed her to get out what she was trying to fucking tell you—then you might've known."
Jack hardly wastes a moment before shoving past Robby and hobbling toward the doors of the ED. His leg is giving him fucking fits tonight, and instead of dealing with it like a man, he chose to take it out on you instead. You, who was already terrified after someone committed battery against you.
You had looked a bit wan, but he merely shook it off as hazards of the job. Hardly anybody around here is in tip-top shape at all times.
Robby jogs to catch up with him, then presses a hand to his shoulder to halt him in his tracks. A gesture which he bats away. "I'm going to see my wife."
"Jack—"
"Dr. Abbot," calls Henderson from two doors down. "He's crashing, we need you!"
Jack grits his teeth and growls in frustration before turning back around yet again. "Just get her home. I'll be there as soon as I can once my shift is over," he calls reluctantly over his shoulder.
"You sure you don't want me to come in with you? Stay for awhile?" Robby asks while settling his forearm atop the center console and turning in his seat to face you.
You shake your head and force a smile. "No, thank you. I'll be okay. I'm just going to go in, try and bathe," you say with a breathy laugh. "Maybe order something, or just warm up leftovers. Afterward, I'll probably lay down for awhile and watch TV."
Robby seems to debate something for a moment, but ultimately relents. "Alright. Just call me if you need anything," he says while giving your hand a reassuring squeeze.
You nod. "I will. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, sweetheart."
When Jack enters your shared domicile, it's to strict quietude. He presumes that you long ago fell off to sleep in wait of him, so he heads in the direction of the bedroom to get his damn leg off and switch to the relief crutches provide.
And then he finds the bed devoid of your previously expected presence.
Tugging off the apparatus, he practically tosses it onto the floor at his side of the bed, slides himself onto his preferred means of physical support—when he's home, anyway—and goes in search of you. An exploration which doesn't take long when he sees light peeking out of the crack found at the base of the bathroom door.
He knocks quietly. "Honey, can I come in?"
He hears something roll across the floor, followed by a quiet "damn it."
"Sweetheart, I'm sorry for what happened at work. I just had a lot going on. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. Just open the door for me, angel. Please."
There's the sound of something crinkling.
With a huff, he goes to turn the handle, only to find it locked.
He's really in the doghouse this time, isn't he?
"Either you can let me in, or I'm going to find a key," Jack states.
"I'm busy," you snip.
He sighs, rolls his eyes, then turns and heads for the multiple keychains that hang near the front door.
The doorknob jingles, then turns with a quiet squeak. "Now, do you wanna tell me why—" He promptly shuts his mouth.
It's worse than he thought. Robby did a clean job of repairing what that man damaged, but he's horrified by the sight of you sitting atop a towel in the middle of the bathroom floor in no more than your underwear while you try and clean your dozen stitches.
Leaning his crutches against the sink, Jack hops forward, presses a palm against the wall, then slides downward to join you on the floor.
"C'mere," he murmurs. "Let me take care of it."
"No, I can do it," you mumble while half turning away.
Jack plants his legs on either side of you and shoves your hands from the injury before you manage to reopen it.
Picking up the bottle of rubbing alcohol, he eyes it with a raised brow before glancing to you. "You know better."
You shrink into yourself out of embarrassment. "I was only gonna use a little..."
With a shake of his head, he reaches across the way, grabs the top, and screws it back on.
Swiping an ace bandage from beside you, he peels it open and tosses the wrapper in the trash before making to apply the dressing. "I'm sorry," he begins while smoothing the edges with his thumbs. "I didn't know. Not until Robby told me. For what it's worth, I was a worried wreck for the remainder of my shift. I couldn't get back here fast enough. I went flying by a state trooper on the interstate, but got lucky when he didn't come after me."
In every spare moment Jack had tonight, he found himself subconsciously fiddling with his wedding ring—not wanting to acknowledge the ugly truth of what kind of hell losing you would bring upon him.
He feels doubtful he could survive it; unsure that he would want to.
But you don't need to ever hear something so ugly.
Once you've been properly tended to, Jack grips your hips and pulls you toward him. "My leg has been aching all fucking night, I ended up having to do a cric on the patient you saw me with—" he shakes his head. "Doesn't matter."
Cupping the back of your head, he tries pulling your lips toward his. "I'm sorry, baby."
You slide a hand up his chest. "I forgive you," you whisper.
An apology which is soon followed up with a mischievous smirk. "Robby's really good with his hands, by the way. You ever had 'em on you?"
Jack glares at you. "You do not want to test my patience right now."
"I'm the one who got stabbed," you retort. Leaning in close, you giggle. "Even let him come inside and tuck me in..."
Jack deadpans. "I need to check the security cameras?"
You shrug. "Only proof of what we did in bed is stored on my phone in a locked folder. It's filthy."
He fights against a smirk. "You're such a pain in my leg."
You raise a brow. "And you're a pain in my belly."
He snorts while bringing you flush against his chest. "If something like that ever happens again, you scream at the top of your fucking lungs. Alright? Made me sick thinking about you trapped in there alone... He could've done far, far worse."
You nod while nuzzling against his neck. "I just froze. My body locked up, and my voice with it. All I wanted was you I was so scared."
He could put his head through a fucking wall hearing that. Jack wraps his arms securely around you. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. What happened tonight will never happen again. You come first. Always."
Sliding a hand up your back, he presses a kiss to your temple. "It's my job to protect you. And tonight I failed to—"
You shake your head. "Jack, I didn't even tell you." Leaning back, you caress his cheek. "It happens. As terrible as it is, it does in our line of work. It's just a cut that, at most, may leave a small scar. Better it be me with a sterile instrument than someone he attacks on the street with a dirty knife. He wasn't himself. I'm okay."
He presses a long kiss to your forehead. "You're way more empathetic than I would've been. Good thing you didn't tell me. Because if you had..." He doesn't want to think on how he may've very well put the assailant in the morgue.
"I'm just glad he's safe and getting the help he needs. Everything is alright now," you insist.
He brushes a kiss over your lips.
"C'mon," you say while pushing back. "Come lay in bed for awhile and I'll massage your leg." You grin. "Robby gave me the good painkillers, y'know?"
He rolls his eyes. "He does tend to baby you," he says with a grunt while pushing himself upward.
You paw at his middle once he's standing. "Guess that makes two of you."
You pad out of the bathroom and he pinches your rear on the way out, causing you to yelp in surprise.
"Let's go see if we can't overwrite your and Robby's video," he croons while sliding onto his crutches.
"'Overwrite'? Think you're cruising in the wrong century, old man."
He switches off the bathroom light and nearly barks a laugh at the reply that comes to him. "Yeah, well, I'm about to fuck you into the next one, little girl. So you better hope those stitches were sewn tight enough."
Clark peers down at the notification on his phone screen curiously. He’s a little too busy arranging a bouquet at the moment to open it—he likes to buy a couple from the florists and hodgepodge them into behemoth, beautiful arrangements for you. You deserve them. The first time he made you one you got teary-eyed, and spent the night sitting under his arm like some dearly loved creature too happy to move away from him.
The phone pings again with an attachment, a photograph. He abandons the pink sprig of teeny flowers and picks his phone up, the screen covered in green trimmings and splashed water.
Clark opens the notification. It immediately displays your photograph full screen: it’s a selfie, sort of, with the majority of your face and shoulders and the soft valley of your chest, and just behind you there’s a butterfly caught in motion.
Clark smiles. So beautiful, he texts back.
Isn’t it! Blue wings, that’s an emperor butterfly? you respond.
Not the butterfly, you. You are so beautiful. Where are you?
There’s a couple of seconds, and then, to his delight, another selfie, sitting in the same place with the sunshine on your skin. The only difference is the park now shown behind you. You’re out with friends, and must’ve stopped in Metropolis Park to enjoy the spring-to-summer heat.
At the park. Do you want to come and get me? They’re all going home, but it’s so nice.
Clark stares at you. It must’ve taken you half a second to capture a photograph of yourself, and you’ve never looked so beautiful. Smiling, eyes tired from an early morning, your lashes in a crush at the corners of your eyes.
You’re perfect. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, he texts.
So you’re not coming to the park? you ask. Then, quickly, you don’t have to say stuff like that.
Clark sends off a last message that says he is absolutely coming, scooping the arrangement out of the vase and wrapping it in a scrap of wax paper. You deserve flowers now, right now, his heart practically racing as he thinks of you waiting for him in the grass. So pretty. He wishes you could read his mind sometimes, to realise the extent of his appreciation, and to appreciate yourself with more tenacity, but he does not mind doing the reminding.
When he finds you, he almost melts. “Here you are,” he says, the bouquet as big as his chest, flowers tucked up under his chin and at the bottom of his view, framing you where you’re looking up at him with delight. “I’ve been looking all over for you. I looked everywhere, but I finally asked someone if they’d seen the prettiest girl in the world and they pointed me to you.”
You climb up on your knees with your arms out. Clark leans down to kiss you, the flowers reflecting gentle colour onto your neck.
snowghoul
turnnoffyourmind
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
yousharknotpass
tangentwithtanner
titsay
