dbf!jack x f!reader
thanks for the photos
You just met your stepdad, and his best friend Jack, halfway through college- and then you accidently sent nude pictures to Jack while he's deployed ⊹ 5k words
content: NSFW/mdni ⊹ dads best friend Jack/some use of “uncle Jack” ⊹ hints at pervy stepdad Robby ⊹ age gap (reader is 20/21, Jack is 40s? 50s?) ⊹ alcohol/ drunk sexting ⊹ AFAB reader, but minimal descriptions (photos just for vibes) ⊹ no Y/N but use of kid/kiddo/cutie
inspired by this post by @jackrrabbot
⊹ ⊹
At the wedding, you saw Jack at the rehearsal, saw him standing on Robby’s side up at the altar, but you didn’t speak to him until you stepped outside during the lull between the ceremony and the reception. Maybe it wasn’t that surprising that you had never met your new step dad’s best friend, given that your mom and Robby had only met a few months earlier, when you were still off at college.
“Can I bum one?” You asked, dropping into the bench next to Jack.
He looked you up and down. “You old enough?”
“I’m twenty,” you rolled your eyes and held out two fingers. He smiled and pulled a cigarette from his pack, but when he pulled his lighter out you expected him to hand that over as well but instead he flicked it on.
“Pretty girls don’t light their own cigarettes,” he said, cupping his hand around the flame and leaning in to light yours.
The friends from high school– ones you had never seen since, much to your mother’s delight, since heading for different colleges– had shown you how to smoke, had cut class with you to sneak off to the strip mall, had laughed at you when you told them that you’d never been kissed. What would they say now that you were pressed close on a bench with a silver fox, all alone out the side door of a hard-to-navigate wedding venue?
For a little while you both sat there, slowly smoking and enjoying the quiet moment after the utter chaos of the day so far.
“Your mom told me that you were a good girl, you know,” Jack said as he looked you over again, and his eyes definitely rested on the bust of your green sundress that pushed your cleavage up. Before you could even formulate a response to that he shook his head. “Can’t be that good if you’re bumming a smoke from a perfect stranger.”
“You’re not a stranger,” you protested. “Robby always calls you his brother. Doesn’t that make you my, uh. Uncle?”
He laughed, tipping his head back, and it was almost a cruel sound. Like you’d fucked up, and you started to shrink into yourself, pulling away from where your bare leg brushed against him.
“Hey, no,” he said quickly, as soon as he noticed, and put his hand on your knee, rubbing his thumb in a reassuring motion. “Sorry. You’re just gonna kill me, kid.”
Your phone buzzed loudly in the little clutch next to you, but you didn’t move a muscle to grab it. Probably the wedding planner, asking where the hell you’d gotten off to. You ignored it, not wanting to break the spell of Jack next to you and touching you and looking at you with those dark eyes.
But then his phone rang, too, and the spell was broken. He reached into his pocket with his free hand to check his messages and he frowned.
“Duty calls,” he said, and used his hand on your knee to help himself push up from the bench. Once he’s standing he wasn’t touching you anymore and you frowned, looking down at your leg. “I know, but we can catch up later,” he said, as if he could read your mind, and when you look up he’s got a hand still outstretched like he wanted to put his hand under your chin.
The door to the venue opened and someone yelled looking for you.
“On my way,” you called back.
His hand redirected itself to help you up, his touch lingering for a touch longer than it needed to once you’re on your feet.
“Come on,” he said, and then you both quickly stubbed out your cigarettes and hustled back inside.
With the chaos, you never had a second alone with him again that night, and even though you didn’t dare look at him for too long, you could feel him watching you. Right in front of your step dad like it was nothing, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
You didn’t even have his phone number or his email or anything. But with Robby moving into your house, and them being close as brothers, you figured it wouldn’t be too long until you saw him again.
⊹ ⊹
Robby’s note popped into your inbox halfway through fall semester, when reading something from him was actually kind of nice for once, since it was anything else besides studying for midterms.
Jack’s deployed– I think I mentioned that? It would mean alot to him if you’d drop him a line, he put in the email, after a picture of the bathroom that was getting remodeled and a reminder to get some sleep and practice safer sex. God, he emailed like such an old person.
His email address was the first and only direct line you had to Jack: he wasn’t on facebook, and after the wedding you’d seen him once at a seafood place when your mom and Robby invited a few of their friends out for dinner. The group was too small for you to make any move, to try to lean in close and ask for his number or anything of the sort. He smiled at you, but when you didn’t approach him he seemed to accept that and kept his distance.
You drafted the email on your phone without really knowing what to say– hi, hope you’re okay, see any good movies lately? It sounded so awkward and stilted, because you didn’t know this guy: you just had one almost flirty moment together and you’d just sometimes thought about his fingers on your thigh, his eyes tracking you across the room, his deep voice right in your ear while your hand was down your underwear in your dorm room all alone.
A new notification popped up from Kyle that just made you sigh with annoyance.
I want to see you
please? one picture? maybe 2?
we’re both stressed out, yeah? It’ll help :)
The texts came one after another, all time stamped 2:01, and it was honestly as good as a you up text since you’d been hooking up with him on and off all semester since that Kappa party during syllabus week.
But he was right: you were stressed, and you wouldn’t be opposed to going over to his place later that week. Might as well.
You took two pictures– tasteful, your face but no nudity in one and your bare body but no face in the second. You answered the door for your drunk roommate who forgot her key again, and then refilled her water from the fountain downstairs, and then remembered to finish off your email to Jack and send it, and then cleared away all the books on your desk, and then finally texted the pictures to Kyle.
Midterms could not end soon enough, your brain was fried. You collapse into bed, your alarm set for not enough hours of sleep.
Hot, Kyle texted back with a dick pic. You rolled your eyes and put your phone down for the night, not thinking twice about the email.
How could you know that Jack got back to his bunk after a long shift, pulled out his laptop to check his emails, and saw a letter from you that made him smile before he even opened it.
Hi Uncle Jack, you’d written at the top, and he knew already that he was going to repeat himself in the email, call you kid and say you’re killing me.
How could you know that the two attachments took their sweet time to download on his shitty internet access? He finished reading what you wrote– boring, mostly, aside from mentioning a party which made him want to ask what was in the punch– and you hadn’t mentioned the two jpegs. Probably pictures from before the party, or of your dorm room since you’d talked about that, too.
How could you know that he’d just taken a sip of water when the first one finally loaded, you in a full length mirror wearing just lace panties and an arm covering your nipples, pressing your boobs up to emphasize your cleavage. He sputtered and coughed, and leaned in to check to make sure it was really your face, smiling in the selfie. Looking a little coy, a little mischievous.
How could you know that he clicked over to the next picture, still just a buffering sign, and waited with his eyes wide to see what the fuck that one could be? He was almost prepared for it when it loaded, your smile at the top corner of the frame and your fully naked body in the mirror.
How could you know that he thought about deleting them, for one single heartbeat. It would be the right thing to do, since you probably hadn’t meant to send them. But he wanted to hold onto these, and with everything else in his life being kind of shit– who was he to deny himself that?
You didn’t check your personal email again til the next night, too busy before that with a full day of studying as well as a midday trip to Kyle’s dorm that was thoroughly fine but not what you’d been looking for.
Jack had replied, and you read over it quickly– he answered with info about his own room he was sleeping in (a single with no roommate, unlike you) and what movies he’d seen recently and at the end, a paragraph you didn’t expect.
You’re so gorgeous. The people around you are so fuckin’ lucky, do they know that? Thanks for the photos, I’ll keep them in a safe place.
There’s a photo at the end of the email, a selfie of Jack on the weight bench at the gym in one of those tank tops that’s barely there, and you have to read his note again to try to make sense of it. Photos?
You felt your cheeks flush with heat when you look back at what you’d sent him.
But when you replied, an hour later, you added two more photos– older ones, since you’re too tired to pose in the mirror again, one from when you were tipsy after a party and smiling so wide in the skimpiest dress you’d ever worn and another nude picture you’d sent to Kyle some weeks back.
If you like them, I have more, you wrote at the end of your otherwise boring email.
⊹ ⊹
“Did you ever email Jack?” Robby asked a week into your winter break as you’re cleaning up after breakfast on his day off.
You were so glad that your back was to him because you knew you made the stupidest expression for a moment, your eyes widening and a little grin before you bit it back and shrugged like it was no big deal.
“I did,” you answered. “You were right, he is easy to talk to.”
You didn’t mention that the last two months, ever since midterms, you’d been emailing him, calling sometimes when your schedules lined up, and sending pictures and videos that he always replied so nicely to, always along the lines of gorgeous and just what I needed, goddamn.
“Do you know how long he’ll be gone?” You hadn’t wanted to ask, had wanted to keep your messages positive.
“Spring, probably,” Robby answered, looking up from his newspaper. “Why?”
“Just wondering how long I’ll be emailing for,” you answered, and with a clean kitchen you bounded up to your bedroom.
Unlike your dorm room, this one was private, so you could actually take your time. You’d even looked up some tips on editing, downloaded some software that you hoped hadn’t given your laptop any viruses, so that you could do more than just hurriedly record yourself getting off while your roommate was at a party or in class.
“I got this for myself yesterday,” you said into your camera once it’s propped up against your bookshelf. You held up a dildo, sort of a ridiculous blue color, but you’d been flustered at the sex shop and had wanted to get out quickly so you’d just grabbed something.
You skimmed your hands over your body and moaned and put on a bit of a show for Jack, and cried out his name during your second climax without even planning to. When you were panting and idly playing with your nipple, you looked right into the camera and smiled for him. “Hope you liked that, Jack,” you said before getting up to turn off the camera.
When you came down for lunch, Robby was still in the living room, flipping through some medical journal. He looked up at you and raised his eyebrows.
“Studying?”
“Just a project for myself,” you replied with a smile.
So perfect for me, he wrote back the next day and had a photo of himself, naked in his bed. He was splayed out, his arm holding the phone out to try to get all of him from his strong shoulders and abs all the way down to where he’d taken off his leg for the night. His selfie skills had improved since the time he first asked if you wanted a dick pic, rather than just shirtless ones. You were pretty sure that he was doing his own research, just like you were.
⊹ ⊹
For spring semester you settled into school again, classes that you mentioned in your emails along with the photos and hurried videos.
Are you having fun at school? I’m not distracting you? Jack asked once, as if he was worried that he was holding you back from some part of college. You got drunk that weekend at a party and got your friend to record you shotgunning a beer, and sent that along with a picture with your glassy-eyed smile to him on Saturday night.
I’m doing everything I want, you told him. You wondered if he was worried about you sleeping with someone else– you hadn’t talked about it, but you’d quit talking to that guy Kyle after you realized that thinking about Jack, thousands of miles away, made you come way harder than he’d ever been able to do. I just want to be talking with you.
He called you my sweet girl the next time in a recording he sent, the repetitive sounds of jacking himself off quiet as he groaned and said all mine before he came. You saved the track onto your phone and listened to it again as you walked back from class.
Robby emailed again two weeks before spring break, double checking that you would be driving home and hadn’t made some other plans.
I wish you were here, you wrote to Jack the next day. Then I’d just lie and tell him that I was going to see my boyfriend.
You laughed aloud when he didn’t seem to mind that. The idea of his best friend– your mom’s new husband who sent you amazon gift cards and reminded you to eat vegetables from the cafeteria– finding out about your relationship was so wild that you didn’t clock his exact wording until the second time you read through it.
I would tell him myself that I’m your boyfriend and that I wanted all your time, no lies needed.
Your boyfriend. It sounded so juvenile, but you hadn’t had one before. You tell your friend after class about your boyfriend with a dreamy lilt in your voice.
He can not know, you clarified to Jack. If he knew– if your mom knew– you’d be mortified. Your mom had still called you her little girl when she posted about your twenty-first birthday on her facebook wall.
Whatever you say, cutie.
As it was, you didn’t really have spring break plans. You were going to study some, and make another backlog of the louder, better videos for Jack. Maybe go see a baseball game with Robby, since you’d first met him a year ago the last time you'd come home for spring break when he took you and your mom to a Pirates game. It could be the start of a sweet tradition even if your mom was going to be out of town for work.
Robby’s email the last day before you were supposed to drive back to Pittsburgh left you utterly speechless. Heads up, Saturday afternoon I’m picking Jack up from the airport– did he tell you? If you get in early you can go with but you might still be driving. He’ll be with us for dinner either way.
He had not told you, and you were tempted to email Jack to demand answers. But if he was supposed to be back in Pittsburgh by the afternoon, you couldn’t even begin to guess where he was now or what time zone he was dealing with.
You had planned to sleep in on Saturday, get home whenever, but if seeing Jack is on the line, you set your alarm for five and went to bed early without an email. It was only the second time you’d skipped sending something, even just a line or two or a topless photo, since you’d sent the pictures during midterms. Even if he didn’t answer everyday, busy as he was, you made sure that you were on top of it.
Been thinking about you, Jack’s email read when you woke up, and he still hadn’t mentioned that he was coming back so you just ignored it.
You made good time on the road, already in your car by the time the sun was rising, because you’d be damned if you missed seeing him the second you were able. Even if it meant being in front of your step dad and having to keep your hands to yourself, giving him just a polite hug reserved for a family friend you had supposedly been emailing only occasionally and barely knew.
Robby’s head poked out of the main bedroom when you walked in and dropped your duffle bag by the door, just before noon.
“Oh, you’re an angel,” he said with relief in his voice, and you frowned in confusion as he looked at you like you were exactly what he needed. “The attending on shift got injured and they’re calling me in– can you pick Jack up? I was about to text you, if not I’ll be telling him to grab a taxi.”
You smiled wider than you should have before you could contain it. You really were going to have to practice being normal about Jack, and quickly. “Not a problem,” you nodded.
A minute later he came out in his scrubs and with his work backpack over one shoulder, and he pulled you into a hug and kissed the top of your hair. “Thanks, kiddo,” he said, breathing in for a second like he was getting ready for the work ahead of him.
⊹ ⊹
The moment you were both in the front seat of your car, you climbed over the console to get on top of Jack. The kiss in bag claim that made someone wolf-whistle at how long the two of you were together hadn’t been nearly enough. Neither was the way his arm had wrapped around your waist on the walk back to the parking garage, pulling him into his side like you might wander off if he let go for a second.
And it’s not like you were willing to wait until you got home to get your hands on this man. That could be half an hour in the traffic.
You settled over him, your hands pushed up under his shirt to feel the muscles you’d only ever seen on your screen so far, and he tipped his head back to look up at you with hunger in his eyes.
“Didn’t want to get your hopes up,” he said softly, again, when you feigned a stern expression again at him not telling you, because it was sort of fun to make him wait even though you were over him, your hips slowly rocking back and forth over his hardening length.
“A heads-up would have been nice,” you pouted. “If Robby had told me in person about you coming back it would have been so obvious.”
“Let ‘im find out,” he nearly growled, and put his hand behind your neck to pull you in for a proper kiss, his tongue against the seam of your lips and pressing in like he had every right to be there. And he did, your boyfriend, finally here, and just thinking about it made you whimper against his touch and sink further into his lap, earning some low possessive sound from him as his other hand gripped your ass.
By the time you were rubbing off against him in earnest, you wondered if you should have made him get a taxi home. You’d parked in the back of the garage, though, and it’s not like anyone would see what was going on, so you didn’t put up more than a feeble protest when he pulled your shirt off you and he kissed his way down your neck to suck hickeys on your chest, right up to your bra line.
“Can’t,” you murmured when one of his hands started making valiant progress at undoing the hooks on the one piece of clothing left between you and your nipples being out in public.
He exhaled loudly in disappointment but didn’t stop, and one of the hooks popped loose.
“Ja-ack,” you whined, and reached around to awkwardly try to swat his hand away.
He shook his head but did let himself be pulled away from the bra. He leaned his head back against the headrest, eyes closed and his breath heavy as the moment– however long it had been– starts to fade between you two. The reality of being in a car, almost topless and splayed out on Jack’s lap, crashed into you.
“I should drive us home,” you said softly, and he nodded. He put a hand on your side to help you navigate back to the driver’s side and handed you back your shirt.
You didn’t comment on how he had to adjust himself with a little wince in the passenger seat a few times on the way home, because you were pretty sure that if you looked over for more than a glance, you’d never be able to tear your eyes off him.
“How was your flight?” You asked once you were at least halfway home and mostly in control of yourself again, like you really were just the friendly daughter of his best friend there to pick him up.
His hand reached over to grab your leg, just like it had that first day at the wedding. “Long. Glad to be back.”
You kept up pleasant conversation, small talk to keep your mind off the way his hand was inching its way higher, his thumb rubbing circles against the thin fabric of your leggings. It was your early emails all over again, boring whatever messages with nudes and videos attached that you barely mentioned for the first few weeks.
You parked the car out front of the house and you looked over at him with a serious little tilt of your head. “No kissing me outside, alright? Robby knows the neighbors.”
He winked at you and gave a sideways grin. “If you insist.”
The moment the door closed behind you, Jack dropped his bags on the floor and pushed you against the door, trapping you in a kiss that picked up exactly where you’d left off.
“Bedroom?” He asked, when he pulled back from you just enough to get the words out with his lips still brushing against yours.
“Upstairs,” you squeaked out.
You led the way, your hand gripping tightly to his as you pulled him with you.
⊹ ⊹
You knew that you’d be telling your roommate about the welcome home dinner once you got back to college– how Robby had met you both at the restaurant after his shift, had hugged Jack and called him brother and then hugged you and thanked you for being so flexible.
The look that Jack gave you, mouthing the word flexible where Robby couldn’t see, made your cheeks heat again as you nodded and called it no big deal. Under the table, Jack’s boot kept bumping against your shoe, and you cautiously returned the touch.
The week was heaven. Jack had the time off before his normal civilian job put him back on the schedule, you had barely any responsibilities, and Robby was at work before you woke up most of the time. In the mornings you’d head over to Jack’s house, or he came to yours, and between getting very acquainted with each other's beds you almost played house– helping him restock his kitchen or cooking together or watching tv with his head in your lap as you idly combed your fingers through his hair.
You insisted that you not go to any of the closer restaurants, in case someone Robby knew recognized you, so he had you dress up and took you to a nice lunch in the suburbs, and afterwards you thanked him by showing him the vibrator you’d bought a week earlier, planning to film with it when you had the privacy of your own room.
“That good, baby?” he asked, holding the toy against your clit as you squirmed and panted. You’d just come twice, it was nearing in on too much but when he looked at you like that, his other hand intertwined in yours, you wanted to be good for him and keep going as long as he wanted.
“Yes– fuck, please, Jack, please–” you said, not sure what you were even asking for anymore. For it to stop? For him to finally touch you with more than just his fingers?
He turned the vibrator off and cast it aside, and you thought you were in for a reprieve so you closed your eyes, relaxing as you waited for his next move.
The bed shifted as he laid between your legs, and you looked down just as his breath hit your overstimulated nerves.
“Is this alright?” He asked, eyebrows raised, and maybe this was exactly what you had been begging for earlier, because as soon as you nodded he set his tongue to work and you saw stars.
Another two orgasms later, when you pushed him off with a whimper, he shimmied up in the bed so you could curl against him, your head resting on his chest as he wrapped his arm around you and held you close.
“Want me to–” you started to offer, but he kissed your forehead and snorted softly.
“No, you catch your breath. Doing so good for me, you know that?”
His rumbling voice was so soothing, and you were so damn spent from the day, that you fell asleep on him. When you roused from your nap, he did take you up on your offer and you crawled down the bed to return the favor.
⊹ ⊹
On Friday the tv was playing one of his shows, some silly first responder thing where the fire fighters seem to have more deep conversations than emergencies to handle, so you gently turned his head and kissed him to keep yourself entertained.
“I was watchin’ that,” he protested, but his hands were on the elastic waistband of his shorts before he even finished the sentence.
After the week you’d had, it was the most natural thing in the world to take a second and pull your clothes off while he did the same, and pull out a blanket from the basket to sit on top of. You straddled him, your slick folds rubbing over his length, back and forth lazily.
“Am I just your little toy, then?” He asked, voice right in your ear as you kept your head out of his way so he could keep an eye on whatever crap unfolded on screen.
“You don't want me to feel good?” You said, pouting for dramatic effect. The way you were moving had the head of his cock gently rubbing over your clit in a way that made you sigh.
His hands run up and down your bare back, pausing occasionally to grab at your ass or gently graze his blunt fingernails over your skin in a way that makes you jolt with pleasure. “No, I like it. Maybe we oughta set up your camera later, get this pretty sight on tape so when you’re-”
The deadbolt softly clicked, and you turned your head, trying to tell if you heard the door or if it was just part of the show.
And then the front door opened, Robby’s voice ringing out. “Kiddo? It’s just me,” he called, loud enough that you’d hear it from your room, so you wouldn’t wonder who the hell just barged in.
The couch was just out of sight of the front door, the living room a little off center, but you knew that once he took three steps- maybe two- you’d be fucked. There was nowhere to hide, and even if you could, you were naked and Jack was naked and his leg was off and leaning against the couch, so what would his story be?
Jack’s hands came down to your hips, holding you steady since really, that was the only option. “It’ll be fine,” he reassured you, quietly, before raising his voice. “Hey, Robby,” he called.
“Jack? What are you-” your step dad’s voice asked, and without turning you knew exactly when he stepped far enough into the house to see, his question cut off.
For a moment, you were utterly frozen, looking at Jack’s face, who seemed too calm for this whole thing, smiling over at his friend. You turn to take a peek, and that movement jolted Robby out of his own momentary pause from taking in the scene.
“Don’t let me interrupt, sorry,” Robby said with a chuckle, a hand coming up to rub at his beard as he looked over the two of you. “I guess I’ll grab lunch.”
You shoved your face into Jack’s neck, wanting to hide entirely. Your ass was out, and from the view Robby had you don’t know if he can see Jack’s balls, or how wet you’ve made him just rutting over him.
“Sorry,” you called weakly, and you’d bet that Jack can feel the heat of your cheeks against his neck from how much you’re blushing.
The door opened again. “Is she being good for you?” Robby asked, his sensible shoes squeaking as if he turned back in a oh, one more thing kind of move.
You couldn’t see, and you didn’t want to, but you felt Jack’s hands tighten on your waist.
“Oh, the best, brother,” Jack purred, almost directly in your ear, and the whole confusing thing made you shiver and you clenched against Jack in a way you knew he could feel.
Robby made an amused sound back. “Ah, I figured as much. I’ll leave you to it.” After another beat, the door slammed shut and then the deadbolt clicked into place.
“You liked that, didn’t you?” Jack murmured, kissing at your exposed neck. Not trying to get to you to peek out, giving you a second to hide away as you processed what the fuck just happened.
“No,” you whispered, and he laughed at how it sounded like a lie, even to you.
⊹ ⊹
A/N: it seems like Jack could? have? still deployed with the military after losing a limb, from my quick googling.
also I am still new at this, please let me know if i missed an important tag!!
