i hate having to repeat myself, it’s not x reader if you put a white woman as your face claim!!! you dumbass bitches are making it impossible for a bad bih like me to enjoy dean di laurentis fics!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! lock in and i mean NOW
synopsis - luke breaks up with ally. luke tries to apologize to reader.
tw: annabeth and reader WILL say nigga so if you are not black or are uncomfortable with that exit on stage left. reader calls herself the queen, the goat, and the baddest. reader refers to the internet as "beyonce's internet". alison is her sister and she is black as well, sorry not sorry. grover is referred to as the boy best friend who knows all of her business. swearing, bullying, nsfw if you squint), percabeth, slowburn, & angst.
a/n: HI SWEETIES SORRY FOR BEING GONE SO LONG IVE BEEN DRAINED SORRY FOR SCREAMING TOO ANYWAY I SEE MORE INTERACTIONS SO WE WIL KEEP THIS ONE GOING FOR A LITTLE LONGER ALSO SOMEONE DM ME AND TELL ME HOW TO MAKE A MASTERLIST ALSO IM MAKING MY RAFE X POPE SMAU RIGHT NOW ALRIGHT BYE
LUKES POV (please dont mind any inaccuracies in the time and date. also this is set before luke’s next pov which is directly after this)
Synopsis: Stack absolutely hates when you post on social media.
Warnings: Heavy Smut, degrading, overstimulation, Stack is insatiable, pregnant sex, cursing, use of N word, overstimulation, squirting, Stack talks you through it.
Part 1
Part 2
MINORS DNI
-
You were the perfect picture of innocence. A rare beauty that stopped anyone dead in their tracks, with a smile so warm they could practically melt. A southern belle with an accent thick enough to make anyone swoon. You had always been the center of attention and yet remained humble enough to ignore it.
You also ignored all the boys that tried to tie you down, not interested in the cookie cutter, goodie two shoes that were convinced they’d be perfect for you.
Your mother begged you to settle down with a good man like Johnny, who goes to church every Sunday, or Thomas, who was the pastors son. But you didn’t care for them, they bored you out of your mind. Too soft to handle you like how you truly wanted.
You were convinced that Mississippi didn’t have the version of the man you craved and that at some point you’d have to settle for one those men your mom kept trying to put you on to.
That was until the twins moved back. You hadn’t heard of them, too busy wrapped inside your own little world to worry about what others had going on but once they came back, the word spread like wildfire. The flames were big enough to knock the walls down of your domaine and the whispers echoed loudly in your ears.
“Heard they just came back from Chicago.”
“I heard they was over there stealing and killing people.”
“I’m surprised they ain’t locked up. Somebody should do something.”
You minded your business though, tended to your horses, dogs and your bakery business.
Cookies, pies, cakes, brownies and just about anything sweet that you could name, was your specialty. You started getting called Peaches for your obsession with making peach cobbler and handing it out to your neighbors. You had learned to cook and bake from a very early age, your mother making sure you knew how to throw down in the kitchen so that you could impress your potential husband.
But you didn’t care for that, you learned because you liked it, loved it actually, and eventually you took your talents elsewhere.
To Tik Tok.
Pink kitchen and utensils caught the attention of millions of people who liked to watch you do what you do best. You hadn’t expected the surge of attention, the videos only being posted in hopes to your reach your friends and family, but the algorithm had other plans. And so that’s how you spent your days, tending to your animals and baking sweets for your millions of fans and to share with your neighbors. Eventually you became the talk of the town, everybody wanted to try a piece of your desserts and before you knew it, you had people showing up at your doorstep asking for anything, a crumb even.
One night, while you were preparing sugar cookies, you heard a knock at your door that wasn’t frantic like it usually was. It was slow and loud. Just two knocks.
You wiped your hands on your pink apron, long curly light brown hair cascading down your back as you walk towards the entrance, the shorts you wore barely covered your ass and the cropped tank top hugged your upper body tight. You weren’t expecting anyone this late, no one usually showed up at this time.
The clock ticked to 11PM just as your hand reached the handle. A man, who you hadn’t seen before, stood there in a all black suit. His face was expressionless but his eyes stayed on the way your cheeks reddened before they traveled down your body, zeroing in on the deep brown moisturized skin that glowed against the moonlight.
Something about his demeanor made your stomach turn, nerves clawing at your body, but there was something else, a heat hidden behind the fear.
“Oh. Hi! H-How may I help you?” Your voice was soft and something about it caused Stack’s jaw to tick slightly, that and the way you smelled of fresh vanilla and peaches.
“Evenin ma’am. Names’ Stack. My apologizes for disturbing you so late. I’m here on behalf of Mrs. Delphine, says her husband sick and in the hospital again, been craving sum of them lemon cookies you be making.”
His voice was deep and rough in a way that would send anybody else running. Accent slow like molasses and thick just like yours. Your thighs clenched before you could stop yourself.
“Oh um. Y-yeah. I have some. I just gotta pack them up for him. Um—” You hesitated, teeth sinking into your plush lip before mentally telling yourself ‘Fuck it’.
“Um— Do you want to come in and wait while I get everything together?”
Stack nodded, a small smirk appeared on his lips before he stepped inside your little world that you had carefully crafted for yourself.
And the rest was history.
Your viewers started to notice the change, the way you recorded videos with a smile so wide you’d think the measuring cups had told you a joke. They noticed how softer you were, the dreamy look on your face and the way you just glowed.
Assumptions about a man being in the picture were in almost every single video you posted. You didn’t bother confirming nor denying anything. Just let them keep guessing.
Until you popped out with a ring on your finger. You weren’t even bothering on being discreet, your perfectly manicured hand was all in the camera as you recorded how you baked a cheesecake. The boulder on your finger catching the light and making its presence known.
You tried to remove the ring, your audience too distracted by it to pay attention to what you were making but Stack wasn’t having that. Not one bit.
“Stop fucking playin with me. Put that shit back on.”
He groaned as he watched the video you had posted without it. Stack didn’t even have a tik tok account before you, didn’t even care about anything pertaining to social media. But once the two of you got together, he made sure to watch anything you posted.
‘User3829928’ liked your video.
He didn’t even bother making a name for himself, didn’t care to post or even watch anything else. His only purpose was to watch you. Sometimes you’d post things to get under his skin. A picture with a miniskirt that was wayyyy too short. A dress that hugged your curves too tight for a video on how to make homemade ice cream. Or starting a ‘get ready with me’ video in a silk robe that showed a little too much for him. Each time ended with you on your knees, attempting to apologize to him as he fucked your throat. You promised you wouldn’t do it again through tears that seeped through the pillow case while he fucked you silly.
But you never kept your promises.
-
You shouldn’t have done it, but you were frustrated beyond belief. Stack had left early that morning with the lie stuck on his lips that he’d return in time to make cupcakes with you. It was a cute little tradition the two of you had started since you first got together.
Every Friday, the two of you would spend the day baking or cooking something. Anything.
Last Friday, Stack wanted tomato soup and grilled cheese. So the two of you spent the day making that, even had more than enough to send over to Smoke and Annie.
This Friday though, you and the small little bean growing inside of your belly were craving cupcakes and Stack had given you his word. Said he just had a few errands to run with Smoke and that he’d be back early enough to bake the cupcakes so that they’d be ready by dinner time.
By 5PM you were still waiting for him, the pout on your face deepened as you texted him for the 8th time in the past 10 minutes.
By 5:30 you have had enough. You changed into a red halter top, mini dress that Stack had specifically bought just for you to wear for him, fluffed out your curls and touched up your makeup. You grabbed your phone, set it up on the tripod in the kitchen and started the live.
Comments flooded in seconds, compliments being thrown left and right. Some from the ladies but most from men.
“Hi guys!” You waved to the camera, the stack of bracelets dancing loudly on your wrist. “It’s a bit late but I was planning on making cupcakes so I figured you guys would like to join me.” Your smile was sweet, as it always was. No one suspected your ulterior motives.
No more than 5 minutes of you starting, your iPad started ringing. Your phone, which was placed on DND, recorded as you watched your iPad ring before shutting it off.
It only took Stack 20 minutes to drive home. You were distracted, too deep into explaining your recipe to notice him walk into the kitchen. His heavily tatted arms were crossed across his chest, his body stiff behind your phone. White T shirt clung to his muscles, black jeans handing low on his hips, some Jordan’s and chains sitting heavy on his pretty neck.
“Okay so make sure that you’re adding enough vanilla extract or it’s going to taste like—” You jumped once you noticed him, heart racing loudly in your chest. The viewers noticed, half concerned, half excited to maybe get a glimpse of your man.
“Is that him?”
“Omg don’t tell me we’re about to meet Mr.Peaches himself.”
“Guys have you noticed that she looks a bit pregnant here?”
Stack eyed you. Fully. From the top of your head, down to the French tip pedicure on your toes. He clenched his jaw as he looked at the dress you wore.
“End the live fa me, baby.” You bit the side of your bottom lip, eyes wide and staring up at him. Somewhat embarrassed that this was happening on live, somewhat turned on from the intensity of his stare.
“I—I’m not done, papa.”
“I know you ain’t done but we gotta talk, so end the live.”
“Ooop not my good sis done fucked up”
“Shiiiitttt girl he sound like he not playing, ga head and end the live.”
“Why do I feel like I’m the one getting in trouble?”
You nodded. “Okay guys, I’ll see yall in a bit.” The screen went dark as soon as the live ended. You locked your phone and placed it on the counter. You could feel the weight of his eyes on you but pretended not to.
“You like playing with me?” Stack slowly walked up to you.
“Stack—”
“Nah, answer me. You like pissing me off?” He stood right in front of you, arms on either side, holding on to the counter behind you. He leaned down and it took everything in you not to throw yourself into his warmth. He smelled of cologne and weed, scent strong enough to make you dizzy with desire.
“No…” your lips formed a pout, eyes wide in the way you knew could get you anything you wanted. His lips twitched, trying hard not to smirk at how cute you looked. “Get ya ass upstairs. Now.”
“But-”
“Now, baby.”
You nodded, and headed up the stairs with him trailing behind you. He didn’t like being mean to you, you were too sweet for that, but he was never afraid to put you in your place.
You sat at the edge of the bed and waited for him to walk in, your nerves were through the roof but you also lived for the thrill and he knew that. Stack’s steps were heavy, you expected him to walk right to you, to grab you up and choke you like how he always does but instead he walks to the vanity that sat across from the bed. You watched the muscles on his back move, his big frame blocking what he was doing.
After a few seconds of messing around, he turned and walked to you. His hand gently gripped your jaw, thumb smoothing circles onto your skin. “You wanted my attention, mama? Huh? That’s why you did that?”
You nod, face formed into a pout. This wasn’t usual for him, the gentleness after you piss him off.
“Nah speak up. Tell me what the problem is.” Your breath stutters and eyebrows furrow in confusion. His voice was soft, the complete opposite of what you were expecting. “Speak, mama. I’m here now. Tell me what’s up.”
Your mouth opens, getting ready to spill your truth, to admit that your hormones and emotions were completely out of wack and all you wanted was your man.
Stack lowers down to his knees, his hands pull your dress up in one quick motion. A small gasp escapes your mouth when he presses a kiss to your knee, trailing his lips further up your thigh. “I don’t hear you.” He looks up at you, waiting for you to say something, anything.
“I—It’s just that I-” Stack spreads your legs further, prompting you to lean back on to your elbows. He digs his nose onto the damp spot of your panties, groaning at your scent. Your breathing picks up, hands already gripping onto the sheets and body slightly trembling.
“Mm, so fucking sensitive.” He places a kiss to your covered mound before gripping the sides of your underwear and pulling them down your legs. “I don’t hear you talking.”
You whimpered at the heat of his face so close to where you needed him the most. “Elias” You softly begged.
“Nah, none of that. I ain’t moving till you speak.”
You groan, laying your body down fully as your eyes stare up at the ceiling. “I just… I really wanted cupcakes and you promised me you’d make them with me—” Stack dug his face in your drenched pussy, tongue flattening on your clit before pulling back. A moan stops you mid sentence, eyes drifting down to him as you watch him spit. His fingers mix it with your essence before slowly pushing into your tight hole.
“Eliiiasssss” Your back arches, small belly bump covering the way he leans in and wraps his lips around your aching clit.
“I ain’t tell you to stop, did I?” His fingers curl inside of you, moving faster as his tongue continuously laps up your juices. “Talk to me. I’m listening.”
“F-Fuck!” Your moans mixed into whimpers, already feeling the coil forming in your stomach. “Don’t stop.” You gasped, eyes rolled to back of your head while Stack feasted on you.
He smacked the inside of your thigh with his free hand. “Keep talking or ima stop.” You felt him slow down, face slowly pulling back just as you were about to cum.
“Fuuuuckk, okay okayyy. I just, I needed you here—” Stack hummed in satisfaction, fingers continuing to slowly pump in and out of you while he watched you try not to fall apart. “A—And you were gone for a long time—” You couldn’t stop whimpering, pregnancy making you extra sensitive to his touch.
“Mhm and what else, mama?”
You squirmed, full body trembling from the feel of his fingers reaching deep inside of you as he slightly picked up his pace. “Eliasss fuucckkkk.”
“Keep going, you doing good, baby.” He placed kisses to your clit, holding you right at the edge of that breaking point.
“Fuccckkkk, I just needed you here. I needed your attention— I just wanted you, daddy.” You sounded so sultry, voice high and full of moans.
“Yeah? That’s all it was?” Stack puckered his lips around your clit again and let his tongue play with it. You cried out, hands reaching out to grab his head while your hips frantically moved up and down his face.
“Yes! Yes! That was all, daddy. I swear!” It didn’t take much for the restraint to snap, your juices decorated Stacks face and your body twisted and turned as if trying to find a place to store the pleasure you were feeling.
“You so fucking wet, my god.” Stack moaned as he sucked and licked every drop from you. He stood to his full height, hands immediately reaching for his shirt and removing it. Next was his pants, thrown to the side along with his boxers. You moaned at the sight of him, tattoos tracing his front and back, including your name right along the side of his neck.
Stack grabbed your body and turned you to the side, then laid right behind you. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you to his chest while the other one gripped your leg, lifting it high enough for your knee to reach his shoulder. “This what you wanted, right?” You felt the head of his dick nudge your folds, drenching it in your essence. The sound was obscene. There was no denying how badly you needed him.
“Yessssss.” You arched back onto him.
“Ga head, take it. Take what you want.”
Your trembling hand reached down and grabbed his dick, slowly pushing it inside of you. Stack groaned, burying his face in your neck as he slowly moved his hips.
Moans escaped your open mouth as you felt the stretch from the pure girth he carried. “Oh my god.” You cried out as he bottomed out, his full length deep inside of you while you clawed at his arm and the sheets. “Fuck!”
“Mhmm, take it, take that shit baby.” He sped up his pace. Thrusting in and out of you while you cried out every time he kissed your cervix.
“S—so big, papa!” You whined, already feeling the way your stomach was tightening again.
“I know baby, I know. But you can take it right? Look how good you’re doing. Taking all this big dick.” He grabbed your face and turned it to his. Your lips met in a slow dance that contrasted with the way he was fucking you. You couldn’t stop moaning into his mouth, your face forming a small pout.
“Don’t look at me like that. You wanted this right? Take it. Just like that.” His voice was like silk against your ears. Your hand weakly grabbed onto his arm as you squirted with every thrust.
“Eliaaaassssss!”
“Mhmmm, give it to me. Give me all that shit. Nut all on your dick, baby.”
Your body shook and bent against him but he wouldn’t dare stop. You were nothing but gasps and whimpers, trying your best to come down from the intense high you just experienced.
Stack pressed your lips together again, tongue sneaking its way into your mouth. “Open.” He spit into your mouth the second you followed his order. Hips still digging into you.
He slowed down and shifted so that he’d be able to deepen his strokes. You sobbed into his neck, your French tips pressing crescent moons on his thigh. His other hand rubbed your small but plump belly. “Cum for me again. Do it. Let me see you break.”
Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your juices sprayed out of you, another orgasm ripping through your body without permission.
“Drown me just like that. Keep going, don’t fucking stop.” His lips were right by your ear, you heard every small groan, every breath and whisper that he tried to hide.
“Okaaayyyy.” You whined, feeling completely out of your own body.
You couldn’t stop squirting, all you could was sob and try your hardest to gain some type of control of the situation but your body was overstimulated and done for. Stack didn’t care though, he kept going. Dick sliding in and out of you with a wet splat each time he went all the way in.
“Good girl, mama. You gon let me ruin you like this, huh?” His strokes slowed down, you felt each inch of his thick cock trying to tear you apart.
“I— I can’t.” Your tears fell in waterfalls, short breaths turned into gasps as he continued to abuse your already swollen folds.
“Yes you can. Come on, give me one more. You can do that for me, right?”
“I caaaannnt. Elias, I can’t, fuck. I can’t.” Your toes curled and your body hadn’t stopped trembling since he started. You cried out over and over again as you reached a state of what felt like hysteria. He felt so good but you could barely breathe and were practically drooling. Your eyes kept rolling to the back of your head and your juices drenched the mattress beneath you.
Stack reached his hand down and pressed a two fingers to your clit. Your jaw dropped, hand reaching back to lightly slap his chest over and over again, as he rubbed your nub in circles. Screams echoed throughout the room as your body practically convulsed.
“There she go. That’s exactly where I want you. Just like that, baby. Stay just like that while I ruin you.” Your walls fluttered around his length, another orgasm threatening to destroy you. “Breathe. Let me hear you.”
You took a deep breath, eyes squeezing shut while you sobbed. “I love your dick, daddy. I love it so much!” You cried out loud.
“Yea? This why yo ass pregnant now. Nasty ass girl.”
“Keep fucking me, please! You feel so good inside my pussy. Don’t stop. Don’t stop!”
He moaned against your ear, hips stuttering from trying to hold himself back. “Look at you. Dumb off of dick. They don’t even know how you get. Tryna act all innocent for them people—If only they fucking knew.” He sped up, hand lifting your leg higher to reach parts of you, you didn’t even know could be touched. “You love me, hm? Tell me you love me. Tell me I’m the only nigga that could ruin you like this.”
“I love you! I love you! I’m gonna cum. Fuck, I’m gonna fucking cum, Elias. Oh my god!” The hand on your clit sped up to match his thrusts.
“Say it. Tell me this mine. Tell me I own you.” His strokes were brutal, all that was heard was the slapping of his skin against yours and the mess you were currently making. “This my pussy, my body, my nut. All of it. Mine. You hear me? I own you, baby. All of you.”
“Yes! It’s yours. All yours! Fuck!” Your body snapped, shaking profusely as your cum flowed out of you. Stack whimpered, his thighs trembling as he filled you with his seed.
“Oh fucckkkk” he moaned against your shoulder, pressing kisses to your damp skin, trying his best to calm down. He slowed his movements, letting the both of you ride out the orgasm.
You twitched against him, slumped over in a state of absolute bliss. Stack kissed you all over, hands rubbing your sides to calm you down.
Your eyes opened slowly, looking around as if you couldn’t believe that just happened. It felt like you had an out of body experience.
The vanity that sat right in front you, had your phone propped up and facing the both of you. Your eyes widen as you gasp.
Stack followed your eyesight, he chuckled slightly before getting up. Grabbing your phone, he pointed it right at your exhausted figure.
“Thought I’d keep this for memory as a reminder of what happens when you try to play with me.” You bit your lip, stomach turning in a way that it shouldn’t have been after all that. But the thought of having a video of the two of you having sex, saved into your phone where you could watch whenever, caused a fire to burn deep within you.
“Come on, baby. Show the camera the mess we made.” A smirk played on your lips as you turn over. Back arched and chest pressed onto the bed, you reach back and open your folds with two fingers. Stack groans, moving the camera closer to catch the way his nut slides out of you.
“Perfect.” He moaned before turning it off and lightly spanked your ass.
“Let’s get you cleaned up before you get me started again.” You giggle as he picks you up bridal style and heads to the bathroom.
The palace felt cold now, despite residing in the hottest nation in the world, like the flames that kept this place alive had suffocated at the hands of melancholy as well.
You thought after a few weeks, the color would begin to appear again, but your days were still painted in shades of blue. You had underestimated how much you would miss the Fire Lord. Even the garden, once vibrant and flushed with life, was dull.
“I brought you some tea.”
You turned toward the voice, interrupting your moment alone, to find a familiar face.
“It’s the expensive kind.” Hua clarified with a sheepish grin. “The new girl accidentally brewed extra, so I stole a cup for you.”
“Thank you, Hua.” You took the cup of tea into your hands as she joined you on the grass.
“The garden could use some maintenance,” Hua eyed the overgrown weeds. “I’m surprised the Fire Lord allowed this place to go unkempt. I hear this is his favorite place in the palace."
You went rigid at the mention of the Fire Lord.
“Did I say something wrong?” A worried expression made its way on Hua’s face.
“Err no,” You coughed. “I had tea stuck in my throat…”
She snorted at your response.
“You know, for once, I’m glad to hear your lame excuses.”
“Hey,” You exclaimed. “It wasn’t lame.”
“It totally was.” Hua teased.
A comfortable silence followed Hua’s response, as you both enjoyed the faint breeze that rattled the leaves and the gentle rays of moonlight.
“Did something happen with the Fire Lord?” Hua questioned, bluntly. “You've been distant since your last encounter with him?”
A part of you wanted to confess about your affair with the Fire Lord, but the other part of you, the one filled with shame, wouldn’t allow you to. You were afraid you would be viewed as just another servant girl trying to seduce a nobleman.
"No." You quickly shot down. "It was like I said before, I stepped out of place, and he was just reminding me of it."
"But you're the finest maid I know," Hua argued. "Even Suyan would agree."
"I appreciate your kind words," You looked away in shame. "But I'm far from the perfect maid."
"Well, I disagree." Hua protested. "However, I'll let it go in the name of friendship."
This time, it was your turn to snort.
"Thank you, Hua." Your gaze softened. "Your friendship means more to me than you could ever possibly know."
"Likewise." She reciprocated your sincerity, with her own gaze softening.
Another moment of comfortable silence passed.
"I'm not looking forward to that meeting tomorrow.”
"Don't remind me." You groaned. "What even is the meeting about?"
"Suyan didn't say," Hua shrugged. "I just know supposedly it's important."
“Ugh…”
☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼
The following sunrise, the regal kitchen was overcrowded, buzzing with maids dressed in fire nation red, all gossiping among themselves.
You and Hua were at the very back of the kitchen, near a group of maids who were rambunctiously palavering about the Fire Lord, using their distance from the head maid as an advantage. You tried to refrain from eavesdropping, but you were desperate to know any news regarding the man who stole all the color from your world.
“Did you hear about the Fire Lord?”
“I heard his council is finally forcing him to take a wife.”
“Is that why he's been moping around the palace lately?”
“Maybe, but my bet is on Lady Mai.”
“Lady Mai?”
“Haven't you heard? She's betrothed to that commoner, Kei Lo.”
Each sentence stabbed at your heart, but the following words uttered, were a direct cut through your artery.
"It's no wonder the Fire Lord is sad. The only woman he's ever loved is promised to another man, and one of such low ranking, must be embarrassing for his majesty."
There it was again.
The reminder that you weren't the woman he loved and the confirmation that someone of your rank would never be accepted into high society, much less the Royal family. It was orthodox even in the eyes of your peers.
Hua took note of how your mood dampened at the mere mention of his majesty, once again. She wanted so badly to press the issue at hand, skip the formalities, and ask what she really wanted to know.
What was your obsession with the Fire Lord?
But before she could work up the courage, she was interrupted by the head maid.
“May I have everyone's attention?” Suyan silenced the masses. “Yesterday evening, the Fire Lord asked us to prepare rooms for the Avatar and his friends.”
Chattering immediately filled the room.
“I know, I know,” Suyan chuckled. “ Everyone is excited, as am I. It is a great honor to serve the Avatar, but we have much to do."
A chorus of groans echoed throughout the kitchen, including yours.
"I want the rooms cleaned to perfection, a menu curated to the Avatar's taste, the proper accommodations for Lady Toph, and not a single mistake."
“Yes ma’am.” The maids spoke at once.
"We have a week to prepare," Suyan informed. “So today, we will begin our deep cleaning.”
☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼
After nearly two hours of very clear instructions and task assignments, you were on your way to the wing designated for the guest of the Fire Lord.
You were to prepare a room for the Avatar and Lady Katara, which was a great honor for you. You've always admired the way the master water-bender carried herself, compassionate yet assertive.
And of course, it was an honor to serve the Avatar too.
Suyan had earlier informed you that his majesty himself had assured that Lady Katara and Avatar Aang were appointed to the largest room in the wing, farther down the lavish corridor.
You admired the splendid display of artifacts and portraits on the walls, taking in the history of the Fire Nation, before reaching the French doors of the suite.
The room, to no one's surprise, was swathed in luxury. Silk and draperies lathered the surroundings, as well as works of art from the Fire Nation’s most praiseworthy artists. In the center, there was a four-posted bed shrouded in the finest fabric. And to the left of the entrance, a small living area.
And you can't forget to mention that it also held its own personal potty chamber.
You started by opening the windows, so you could spray every surface in the room with disinfectant, including the bathroom. Then, you stripped the bed of its linen.
Next, you began dusting.
You were in the sway of things when the door creaked, notifying you that someone was there. You assumed it was either Suyan or Hua, so you didn't bother to look before you spoke.
“Did you forget to mention something?” You casually let out, fluffing out a decorative pillow.
“Uh no,” A timid voice replied, one you knew all too well.
One very male.
You jolted at the sound of his voice, turning so quickly that you nearly got whiplash, and dropping the decorative pillow in hand.
There he stood, fidgeting under your scrutiny, his cheeks flushed.
He was still so handsome, you felt your heart was in your throat. He was dressed in his usual attire, a red and gold robe fitted for a king, and his hair...
It was loose and cascading, just the way you always told him you liked it.
“What are you doing here?” You managed to let out after a moment of awkward silence. "How did you find me?"
"Suyan keeps a very detailed chart on all the maids and their assigned tasks." He scratched at his head. "And I asked her to assign you to this room."
"Of course, you did." You rolled your eyes. "Still doesn't answer my other question, though. What are you doing here?"
He faltered at the annoyance in your tone. The last thing he wanted was for you to be upset with him.
Well, more than you already were.
“I miss you.” He confessed, so softly you nearly missed what he said.
Your heart fluttered.
you missed him too.
“I hardly find that appropriate, your majesty.” You coldly disregard.
“Please,” He begged, slowly approaching you as if you were a frightened animal in the wilderness. “I’ll do anything to fix this.”
He was so close to you now, that you could feel the heat radiating from his Herculean build.
“To fix us.” His gaze met yours.
“You can’t.” You looked away. “I meant what I said.”
Suddenly his lips were on yours.
The kiss was desperate, his teeth tugging at your bottom lip, and his hands gripping at your waist. You relished in the bliss, moaning when he left soft kisses on your neck, and whining when he bit at your ear.
It went on longer than you should have allowed, before you finally pulled away.
"Why do you find it suitable to kiss me?" You questioned, struggling to catch your breath.
"Because you're irresistible," He kissed you again, sucking your tongue into his mouth.
“But,” You planted your hands on his chest, firmly pushing him away. “Why do you find it suitable to kiss me?”
Zuko was confused now.
“Would you find it suitable if I were a Lady ?” You inquired, hesitating before continuing. “If I were Mai?”
“Where is this coming from?” His brows knitted. “And what does Mai have to do with it?”
Zuko didn't know how to make sense of what you were asking. He's never once discussed his relationship with Mai with you. Hell, he hasn't even spoken to Mai in years.
“Would you have asked Mai to be your concubine?” You contested. "Would you have asked her to relinquish her virtue, dignity, and self-respect?"
He was at a loss for words.
He understood what you were asking now. Would his proposal be different if you were of noble descent? And in truth, if you were, he would have asked you to marry him a long time ago.
Not that he was shallow enough to care about one’s status in society, but given his peculiar position, his council would forbid him from marrying anyone who wasn't of "proper breeding."
But he couldn't say any of that.
"I'm sorry," Was the only thing he could manage to get out.
"Just leave me alone, Zuko." You sighed, defeated. "And focus on finding a woman in your class, one you deem worthy enough to ask to be your wife."
He wanted to say more, to make you feel better. But instead, he nodded at your words, turning to take his leave.
He didn't want to make things worse for you, and selfishly not for him.
You retrieved the decorative pillow from the ground, returning to your task, and waiting until the sound of his footsteps disappeared.
When you were finally alone, you grabbed at your chest, trying to contain the heartache. It hurt to watch him walk away, to see him give you up so easily without a fight.
You made yourself a promise, right then and there, that this would be the last time you cried over the Fire Lord.
summary: ever since becoming a pilot for the navy, you had earned the call sign chatter box. but there was one pilot that never seemed to mind, until he did.
warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, unprotected sex, fingering, soft dom jake, slight sub reader, language, jake is a little mean (but he makes up for it), friends/roomies to lovers, no use of y/n
word count: 8k
a/n: i'm back! jumping into a new fandom and i'm hoping to post whenever i have free time. thanks for supporting me!
masterlist
your call sign: chatter box
Being a part of the Dagger Squad was one of the best things that happened to you. You were a young, talented flyer; it was evident to anyone who saw you in the sky. You quickly made your way to the TOPGUN program, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but determined nonetheless.
On your first day, you were paired up with Jake Seresin. He had squinted his eyes at you, like he couldn't believe you had made it to the same program as him. But as soon as you took to the sky, all assumptions about you were gone. He was quick to correct his cocky attitude, especially after you flashed a sweet smile his way after both of you dusted the other team in training that day.
Jake and you became quick friends, and he learned quickly why your call sign was Chatter Box. It wasn't that you were constantly talking; no, you knew how to control yourself around admirals and other higher-ups, but when you flew, it was hard to tell whether your jet or your mouth was moving faster. You knew how to make friends anywhere and always managed to make new recruits feel welcome. Bright smiles and genuine questions were a constant with you. Jake swore you were the friendliest person he had met.
So, when you reunited with him in San Diego for a coveted, top-secret mission, you were quick to sweep him into a tight hug. The other aviators watched as you fired question after question in Jake's direction. He smiled the entire time.
Jake had grown to miss your constant chatter in the few years you had been a part. Quickly after you both had graduated from TOPGUN, you were both called to different parts of the world and lost touch. But seeing you again, here of all places — he should've known you'd be called for this mission — was like fate. It wasn't that Jake didn't have a lot of people he could call friends in the Navy, but he hadn't ever clicked with a pilot as quick as he did with you.
The squad saw how close you and Jake were, and honestly, to them, it didn't make a whole lot of sense. Jake was a cocky, stubborn, headstrong, self-absorbed, know-it-all. You were sunshine in a person, all smiles and chitchat to anyone who even glanced your way. But when you were around, Jake seemed to soften. The constant talk thrown his way and little comments every few seconds would've driven him crazy if it came from anyone else but you. They were surprised that he put up with it, let alone fed into it. Always asking you about the latest TV show you were watching or how your family was doing, hell, even the weather could get your motor mouth running. And yet, he never shied away from it, away from you.
You were used to noticing people grimacing or tapping their feet as you made conversation. You expected it at this point. But during your time at TOPGUN, Jake had never once tried to escape your constant chatter. He always made eye contact with you, would hum along with the story you were telling, and even barked out his signature laugh at times. It all made you feel a little mushy inside. Even if you'd never admit it to anyone else, Jake's constant attention during your time together had given you the self-confidence to continue being your outgoing self. It was hard at times to stay bright in the Navy, but with Jake by your side, you never found yourself feeling anything but happy.
It was a no-brainer to ask you to be his roommate when Maverick had told the squad they would be a permanent fixture in San Diego until further notice. Sure, he could've asked Mickey or even Bradley, but everyone on the squad had their own little quirks that he just didn't think he would be able to get past. Bob seemed innocent enough, but one comment about how he had never taken less than two hours at the grocery store was enough for Jake to be driven straight to your arms.
Living together had proven to be even more fun and stress-free than Jake had ever imagined. You had standing Wednesday pizza and movie nights that Jake looked forward to every week. Sure, he had to sit through a lot of chick flicks, but seeing your heart eyes at the sappy stories made it worth it. But it was only because Jake liked to see you happy, not because of the way that your breath would catch without fail when the first kiss or love confession happened. Your lips parting just a bit, and your eyes would go wide, and he didn't know if you had realized it, but you always fiddled with the dainty charm on your necklace. No, he just liked the pizza and the way you let him pick out whatever toppings he wanted. That was definitely his favorite part about Wednesday nights with you.
Jake had a few habits, too, that you didn't seem to mind at the end of the day. He was always up before you, way earlier than you. But he made sure to be quiet as he snuck out of the house for his morning workout. You would only be awoken a few hours later to the smell of fresh coffee wafting from the kitchen.
This was Jake's favorite part of the day. Reading over briefing notes from Maverick and having some hot coffee was a great way to settle into his mornings.
"Good morning, sleepy head," he called out. Jake always greeted you as such in the mornings. You figured your bedhead had something to do with it.
"Good morning, Jake," you quietly said back. You were always so soft in the mornings, he thought. The way you padded down the hallway, no sense of urgency, just one slipper in front of the other. And the way you always came into the kitchen looking like you had just rolled out of bed. Your baggy tees and sleep shorts were always a little askew as you reached up into the cabinet for your coffee mug. Jake always took a minute to watch you during this part. You picked a different mug every morning, something he noticed a few weeks into living with you. The way you stretched to reach your coveted cup of choice was cat-like, your shirt and shorts rising just a bit, showing more skin than Jake felt okay seeing as just your roommate.
"Sleep well?" he asked you, not looking up from his laptop as you poured yourself a cup of the coffee he had brewed for the both of you.
"Mmhm," you hummed into your mug. Eyes closing at the first sip, letting the warm liquid flow down your throat. Jake's eyes came up to watch this part of your little routine, always returning to his screen before you could open them back up and catch him. "Anything of note this morning in Mav's announcements?" you asked him as you moved around the kitchen, beginning to make breakfast for the both of you.
"Actually, yeah. Something about a new op in a few months. Says we're going to start training this Monday," he told you with a look of concentration on his face. He looked up to see you staring just as intensely at the eggs you had just cracked in the pan, as he was staring at his laptop. He wanted to smooth out the crease between your brows with a firm, calming fix of his thumb. Instead, he opted to quell your worries with his words. "I'm sure it's nothing too serious. Nothing we can't handle anyway."
You nodded at this and began to settle back into your routine. Jake didn't miss the way your throat bobbed, though, or the way your hands were a little less steady as you sliced the oranges for breakfast.
"Hey," he called out to you, pulling you out of your own mind for a second. "We'll be okay, I promise. No use in worrying about it until Mav tells us the whole story. Plus, we gotta go grocery shopping later and I'm gonna need your organization and that list thingy you always have."
"My Notion list?" you put down the knife as you faced him now. "I don't understand why you need me to go with you every week. And why does it take two hours every time? My list is very organized, sectioned, and everything."
"I just get a little distracted," he shrugged. You rolled your eyes at this, but he didn't miss the small smile that crossed your lips as you went back to slicing the oranges. Turns out, two-hour grocery trips weren't as bad as Jake had thought they were.
જ⁀➴
You were a month out until Operation Black Jay was set to take place. You had been put on the same team as Jake, like always. Even Maverick couldn't deny the great back-and-forth in the way you worked together. Flying together always had its perks. You were the only one on the squad who could keep up and predict Jake's every move. You didn't mind following his lead in the sky as you were already so in tune with him. The squad was always amazed at the way you both flew in sync, but even more than that, they were impressed at the way you and Jake talked the entire run and always managed to hit your marks. Your chatter didn't seem to bother him one bit; instead, it was like your voice and constant talking made him even sharper, move quicker, fly with a freedom that didn't come easy.
But for the past few weeks, Jake had been thrown off center. It came after Maverick started training with both of you as the enemy pilot. He had come out of nowhere, driving you away from Jake in seconds. You tried to avoid him, but it was to no avail.
"Maybe if you focused more on shaking me off your tail than talking with Hangman, you'd still be alive, Chatter Box. You can't be distracted like that again, pilot," Maverick half-chastised, half-teased you.
"Mav, it's how she concentrates!" Rooster chimed in on the channel.
"Yeah, come on, Mav. She can't help it. Especially when Hangman is such a dedicated, attentive listener," Phoenix snickered over the same channel. You could feel your cheeks flushing at her comment. Damn Chili's bottomless margaritas and your loose lips. You had sworn Phoenix to secrecy after she had told you about your ramblings the night before. You covered your face as she recalled the constant talk of Jake walking around shirtless in your shared apartment. And to horrify you even further, Phoenix told you it wouldn't have been so bad if your recollection of his V-line wasn't so accurate and descriptive.
But while you were drowning in embarrassment from your friends, Jake heard something entirely different. You were distracted, distracted by him, and that let Maverick catch you off guard; he had gotten you killed. And to make things worse, Phoenix had pointed out the one thing he had always known but didn't really realize. You were talkative, but with Jake even more so than anyone on the squad. If you had been paired up with Rooster, maybe you could've gotten away from Maverick. Bradley was always good about getting you to focus, but Jake couldn't help it. You talked, he listened.
You had sent him a thumbs-up as you strapped into your jet. Maverick was still drilling you on the various runs and situations you might be in. And today, he would be taking to the air again, going after both of you. Jake was determined to make this run one that counted. One where you both came out alive.
Jake had been trying. Trying to quiet you down, not feed into you as much. He just wanted you to focus, and he was your main distraction. But like always, you had found something to talk about.
"Can we get olives on the pizza tonight? I know you don't especially like them, but we could just do them on half. I've just really been craving that this week." It hadn't even taken 5 minutes to be in the air and you were off.
"Yeah, sure. Turn coming up, stay locked," he quipped back. Jake didn't want to ignore you completely, trying to remind you to stay focused.
"Yay, okay! Wow, that was easier than I thought it would be. I think the last time I brought up olives on our pizza, you fake gagged for like 10 minutes. It was dedication, I'll admit that," you didn't bother responding to his command verbally. You always followed Jake through the air in perfect sync; today was no different.
The airway was quiet for a few seconds, and Jake sighed in relief. Maybe you were finally focusing, looking for Maverick, realizing the stakes at hand.
"And I know I picked last week, but I've been really meaning to watch People We Meet on Vacation. I just finished the book, and I've been putting off watching the movie until I was done. But now I am! And I think it would be so fun for us to watch. What do you think, Jake?" your voice came through his comms, and he felt his heart rate increasing. Maverick was nowhere to be seen, and you were worried about what he thought about the movie tonight, not about the mission facing you.
The Dagger Squad chuckled at your constant ramblings to Jake. But as they watched you fly, you never strayed from Jake's path.
"How does she do it? I think everything just runs a million miles an hour for Chatter Box. Mind and mouth," Mickey joked as the rest of the squad hummed in agreement. Their laughter and comments about your nature were quickly stopped as Maverick appeared next to you and Hangman.
"Surprise, pilots!" he called out, and you could tell he was grinning under his helmet.
"Break! Formation 2B!" Jake barked through the comms. You were quick to follow his orders, dropping in elevation and darting away from Maverick.
"If that doesn't sound good, though, we could watch that one action one you've been talking about. Ooh, or the new one with Timothée Chalamet! I remember hearing Bob talking about it a few days ago at lunch," you chimed in, not even seconds after Maverick's appearance. Jake's stomach churned at the thought of this run going awry again.
"Lost tail. Confirm position Chatter Box, over," Jake's voice came through your channel.
Your brows furrowed at his odd behavior. "Um, coming back into formation. Tail lost, over."
"Copy, let's gun it through the canyon, try to lose Mav before he finds us again," Jake's voice was firm. But his heart rate wasn't slowing down anytime soon. Not until you were back down on the ground, safe.
"Sounds good, lead the way. Over," you replied. Letting out a deep breath, you tried not to think too much about Jake's behavior. It only took a few seconds for your voice to come through the channel once more. "We don't have to watch my movie or get the olives, sorry, I just- Oh shit! Mav's incoming, 3 o'clock! Breaking to 4D!"
Jake's eyes flew to Maverick's jet, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. "Copy, going into formation 4D."
"Are you mad at me?"
Were you seriously asking this? Right now?
"Because if you're mad, that's okay! We can talk it out, and I won't suggest olives again. I know I don't like it when you suggest pineapple, so I guess it's only fair."
"Chatter Box-"
"And we don't have to keep watching rom coms. Honestly, I'm surprised at how many you've sat through at this point. I thought for sure after Legally Blonde you would be done."
"Any sign of Maverick? I think-"
"But can we please grab a pint of that one ice cream we both like on the way back tonight? I've been thinking about that today, too, ever since I saw Payback eating a Snickers earlier today. Sorry for exposing you, Payback, but it did look really yummy."
"Confirm position, have you spotted Maverick?"
"Or we could save it for this weekend. Like a little treat for a week of perfect runs, y'know! We've been doing so well recently."
Jake hadn't realized it, but you had made it out of the canyon. You had finished the run. No mishaps, maybe a close call or two, but everything was on the up and up. Like you had said, it's been a perfect week of runs so far. So why did his chest still feel so tight? Why was he gripping his controls like he was afraid they'd run away from him? Why wasn't his heart slowing down?
You touched down on the tarmac and practically jumped out of your jet. The team had lined up near your and Hangman's jets for the quick debrief Maverick would give.
"Nice job aviators-"
"God, do you ever shut up and just focus?" Jake's words sliced through the praise Maverick was about to hand out to both of you. "It's like you can't help yourself! Mav's on our tail, and all you can talk about is ice cream or pizza! I mean, what the hell was that? You're not invested! You don't care, and it's so fucking obvious, I don't get it! I'm trying to get us back down, back to the base, make sure you're safe. And what are you doing? Fucking talking! Constantly! I just-"
"That's enough, Seresin!" Maverick's commanding voice boomed. It was like Jake had been shaken awake at the call. His eyes finally met yours, and what he found was awful.
Tears were pooling in your eyes, one slipping down your cheek as you tried to blink them away. Your bottom lip is tucked under your teeth, probably to stop the wobbling of your chin. And your left hand had traveled up to your dainty little necklace, playing with the charm, like you were trying to distract yourself from Jake's fire. Jake's heart broke in a million pieces as your eyes met his for a fraction of a second before returning to the ground, the tears seemed to flow freely now.
"Drop and give me five hundred for the outburst. The rest of you are dismissed for the day," Maverick's voice was steadier this time, but just as biting.
Jake's eyes widened as you began to turn away from the scene. Not even staying to rip into him the way he deserved. "Wait, I didn't-"
"Drop! Now! Make it a thousand!" Maverick stepped in his line of sight, blocking any connection Jake might be able to make with you right now.
You wanted nothing more than to run to the locker rooms, strip out of your flight suit, and take a scalding hot shower. But just as you were about to escape, you felt a large hand wrap around your shoulders and pull you into a tight embrace. And you broke. Standing in the hanger, your tears were flowing freely against the kaki uniform that was pressed against your cheek. One hand rubbed soothing patterns into your back while the other wrapped around your head, providing some protection from prying eyes.
It felt like your whole world was coming down on you. Was that really what Jake thought of you? That you weren't invested, weren't focused? Just because you talked? And you thought he liked it, liked when you talked. Maybe you read all his smiles wrong, when you should've been looking to see if they held more pity than sincerity.
Hiccups began to come up from your throat, and the arms that were wrapped around you just tightened.
"It's okay. I know that was rough, but you're okay. None of what he said was true. You're going to be okay, and I'm right here for you."
At his words, you began to sob harder. Your body was shaking now.
"Do you think we can move to the locker room? I want to sit with you, make sure you're okay. Does that sound okay?"
You just nodded, your hand gripping onto his uniform even tighter as you fell apart. Guiding you through the hanger and into the locker rooms, you felt the strong arms that were holding you up begin to loosen and help you to sit up against the lockers.
"You're already doing so much better. Breathing so good. You're going to be okay, I promise."
He was right, the sobs had started to subside. The hiccups disappeared as you drew in deep breaths. The shaking began to turn back into a steady, strong body as his big hands rubbed up and down your back and cradled you in his hold.
After a few minutes like this, a few minutes of catching your breath, you untangled yourself and looked up at the man who held you so dearly.
"Doing better? I'm sorry, that really sucked," Bob's face was screwed up and looked a little sour as he looked down at you.
You just nodded, unable to find the words for how you were feeling.
"I can go grab Phoenix, she can help you out of your flight suit and rinse off. I know you must-"
"Please don't go yet." Your voice was the quietest Bob had ever heard.
"Yeah, yeah, of course. I'm right here," he said, nodding his head. You nudged back into his hold, and he felt a new batch of tears begin to soak his shirt again.
જ⁀➴
You were thankful you packed such a good go bag. Maverick had given the squad Thursday and Friday off after everything that happened. Said everyone needed to calm down and unwind for a few days. Phoenix met you and Bob in the locker room a few minutes after he had managed to calm you down. She ushered both of you out to Bradley's jeep, ignoring your protests and insisting you would stay with the three of them for the long weekend.
And you were grateful for that. Going back to yours seemed too daunting right now. Having space away from Jake would be good. At least that's what you were trying to tell yourself as the countless calls and texts rolled in throughout the weekend. You hadn't looked at them or listened to the voicemails either. But it was Sunday morning, and you knew you would have to face Jake sooner rather than later.
"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" Phoenix asked as you loaded your things into the back of Bradley's jeep.
"I'm sure, Nix. I'll be okay, I promise," you grasped her hands and squeezed them tightly.
"Yeah, and I'll be there just in case any ass-kicking does need to happen," Bradley chimed in with a shit-eating grin that made you both laugh.
"You'll be okay. I know he didn't mean it, you guys will be okay," Bob said sweetly. He always balanced all of the hot-headed, impulsive pilots so well.
Walking over to him, you wrapped your arms around his neck. "Thank you for everything. You're the sweetest ever, Bobby, seriously." As you pulled back, you saw the subtle blush creep up his neck. He just shook his head and gave you a bashful smile.
"Ready?" Bradley asked as he started the car. You nodded and climbed into the passenger's seat. Waving bye to your friends, you were off, not quite sure if you were ready to face Jake yet.
Bradley didn't grill you about what you would say to Jake when you got home or how you were feeling about everything on the drive over. Instead, he just turned the radio on and let the wind flow around you. It whipped your hair in every which way, but it was nice to feel the freedom of sitting in Bradley's passenger seat, just letting the world go by around you. His silence was something you liked about him; he was always so grounded and careful. It was admirable, especially to someone like you.
Soon enough, Bradley stopped outside your small rental house. He helped you with your bags and walked you to the front door, almost letting you turn the key, but before you could do so, he wrapped an arm around your waist and then your shoulders. It was sweet. You could feel every bit of Bradley's emotions in the hug. Telling you to be strong, to not back down, but that it was also okay to call for help and to cry.
"Good luck, call us if you need anything."
"I will Roo, thank you again."
"I mean it seriously. I will take any opportunity to smack Hangman around," his grin told you he wasn't being serious, well, at least not completely.
"Okay, okay. I'll call if I need any muscle," you giggled at the man. He nodded and squeezed your shoulder one last time before turning to walk back to his car.
When you entered the house, everything was a mess. It seemed as if a tornado had been wreaking havoc in the living room, the kitchen, the hallways, and Jake's room. The only thing that had been left untouched was your space. You made a beeline for your room, slipping off your clothes and starting your shower. If Jake were sticking to the schedule for your Sundays together, he would be at the grocery store for another hour or so. That gave you more than enough time to take a nice, long shower.
The hot water was refreshing, like a nice cleanse from this weekend. You knew in your heart that something else was going on, something else had caused Jake to act like that. But it didn't mean it hurt any less.
Jake stumbled through the front door, grocery bags in tow. Without you to shop with him, Jake had been more efficient than usual, already back at your shared place in under 45 minutes. He took a minute to set down the groceries on the kitchen counter, and it was then that he heard the shower running down the hall. You were home.
Like a madman, he ran around the apartment cleaning everything. He hadn't expected you to come back so soon. God, he was such a dick, took out his frustration on you for no good reason. After his push-ups, Maverick had sat him down to take a look at the flight path you had run that day. You were reactive, smart, and focused. You flew better than Jake had, taking each turn with an eased precision. Maverick hadn't said anything the entire time, just let Jake stew in his stupidity.
The entire weekend had been torture for him. He half expected you to ignore him the entire time you were home, but when he got back to an empty apartment, he knew he had messed up big time. Jake tried calling you, texting you, checking your location. He just had to know you were okay.
It was about the 5th voicemail he had left you. His eyes were red and raw, and his voice a little shaky. His large body had been sprawled out on the couch; he was camping out in your living room just in case you decided to come home.
"Hey, just calling to see if you're okay. Bobby texted me that you're staying with them, which is good. I'm glad you're with them," he sighed, trying to stay composed.
But the thought of you not even wanting to be home with him broke his heart. Not wanting to talk to him. To try and work things out.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, honey. I know I fucked up, and I know you didn't deserve that. I took out my stress on you, and that's not okay. Please just come home. Please. I want to talk to you. I just want to-" The beeping from his phone signaled that Jake was out of time. He slammed his phone down on the coffee table in front of him.
Jake spent days like that. Grieving your relationship, grieving what could've been. It was hard for him to admit, but Jake had fallen for you. From the early-morning scramble you did to get out of the house on time, he remembers watching you hop around the house in one shoe, keys in hand, always managing to forget something. The way you would sit on the couch and read for hours on end during the weekends. More often than not, he would join you for a bit, take your feet, rest them on his lap, and give you a foot rub on occasion. Other times, you would complain that he was purposefully trying to tickle you, so you swung around and rested your head in his lap instead. The way that your eyes always found his during a joke, like you were looking to see his reaction and share that moment with him. How you would always glue yourself to his side during busy nights at the Hard Deck, either looping a finger to his belt or guiding his hand to rest on your hip as you maneuvered throughout the crowded space. Jake wasn't dumb; he didn't miss all of these things as they were happening right in front of him. But he never thought he would lose you like this. That one day, all of it would just stop, disappear forever.
So when he heard the shower running in the distance, Jake made sure to get his shit together.
He heard the shower stop running just as he had finished folding the throw blankets in the living room. His heart was hammering in his chest. Would you come out of your room? Talk to him? Or would you lock yourself away for the night? Ignore him? Maybe you just came back to get all your things. To pack everything up and leave.
His thoughts were cut short at the sound of your slippers; the familiar sound was music to his ears. Your hair was still wet, you were in an oversized Navy shirt, and your sleep shorts, and your eyes were a little red and puffy, something that was definitely his doing.
"Hey," you said.
"I am so sorry, honey." Jake saw the way your eye began to well up at his apology. He took a step forward, not wanting to pressure you, but also needing to hold you so badly. "Can I... Can we talk? I'm not sure if you got my messages, but I want to talk to you. I want to apologize."
You nodded your head as another tear slipped down your cheek. Making your way over to the couch, Jake hesitated for a moment before settling next to you.
Just as he was about to start his speech, your voice broke through the silence. "Why'd you say that, Jake? I thought," Your voice was fragile-sounding, and you took a deep breath before continuing. "I thought you liked it when I talked to you. I thought it made you fly better; you always told me you fly better with me. I'm sorry I didn't-"
"Don't you dare say sorry," Jake was quick to cut you off. "I'm sorry. I was a jerk, and all those things I said, I didn't mean them. I know it's not an excuse, I know that, but I've been so worried about this mission. I don't... I don't know what I would do if I were the reason you didn't make it back safe."
"What?" Your brows furrowed as you looked at the man sitting next to you. His hands were twitching at his sides, like he was aching to reach out and hold something. To hold you. Slipping your hands into his, you started again, "Jake, there's no universe where I don't make it back because of you. You make me better. You make me want to come back down."
At your admission, Jake's throat tightened. "I just... This mission is different. I'm leading us, and I'm responsible for you. I don't know what I would do if... If something happened and I didn't tell you." Again, you were confused by his words. The look on your face urged him to continue. "I... I don't know what I would do if something happened to you and I didn't tell you how I felt. If we never even got to try. If I never got to kiss you or hold you or tell you how much I love you."
Jake heard your breath hitch. Your mouth parted and eyes wide. Your fingers found your necklace once more. His eyes found yours, then they flickered down to your lips, then back up to you. Inching closer to him, you nodded your head at him. That's all it took.
His hands grasped your face, bringing you forward and into his hold. The kiss was gentle, but hungry. Jake kissed you like you would leave any second, like this wasn't real. And to him, it didn't feel like it. Your soft lips were even better than he had dreamt about. And the way your eyelashes fluttered shut almost undid him.
After a particularly bruising kiss of his lips, you gasped into his mouth. Jake took the opportunity to push further into your mouth, to take all that you were giving him. At this, your hands flew to his shirt, to his hair, just trying to hold onto something, something to keep yourself grounded.
"Jake," he heard you whisper as he started kissing down your neck. His hands now wander down your side, slipping under the old tee you were wearing, finding purchase at the softness of where your tummy meets your hips. His lips lifted off of you as he looked into your eyes, hands never loosening.
"I'm sorry, honey. Let me make it up to you. Can we try this? I promise I'll be good, I'll take care of you." With each word that left his lips, you felt the throbbing in between your legs grow stronger and stronger. You nodded, and he was back on you. His lips tracked down your throat, taking his time to make you squirm in his hold. His hands inched further up underneath your shirt, and he looked at you for permission.
"Yes, please. Touch me, please," your voice soft and breathless. Jake could've sworn he was dreaming. His rough hands met no resistance as they crawled up your torso, his cock throbbing when he felt your pebbled nipples, no bra covering them. At the first roll of them in between his fingers, you whined and pushed your hips into the couch.
Jake sank off the couch and knelt in front of you, tugging your shirt off as he continued to worship you. After you threw the tee onto the ground, he was quick to grab your hips, tugging you toward him. His mouth latched onto one of your nipples as his hand tugged at the other. He hovered over you, and all you could do was arch up into his hold. His free hand slithered down the front of your shorts, and upon feeling your heat, Jake groaned.
You were soft in his mouth. Jake swore he could spend hours flicking your tits until you were squirming from overstimulation. Seeing how reactive you were to his movement was nothing compared to his fantasies of having you like this. Your whines were quiet, and your eyes rolled back. But that would have to wait for another time.
Feeling how wet you were, Jake sucked harder around your nipple, squeezing and tugging around your other boob harshly. Grinding into the couch seemed like his only salvation as his fingers dipped lower and lower into your underwear. His middle finger teased your entrance as his thumb found your clit, rubbing slow, tight circles as you continued to arch into his hold.
"Please, Jake. Need you to touch me more, please," your voice came out in a small whisper. God, you were perfect. He didn't even have to ask you to tell him what you wanted. Saying please like the sweet girl you were. It was only fair that he rewarded you.
Sinking a finger into your heat, your jaw dropped at the stretch. "Feel good, honey?" he asked, and you immediately nodded your head. "That's good, being so good for me. Want me to finger this little pussy 'till you come around me? Want me to take care of you?"
"Yes, yes. Please take care of me," you gasped at his words. Core pulsing around his digit at the way he was talking to you.
"Anything for you, honey. I'll take good care of you," he groaned, feeling the way you tightened around him. Watching your face twist with pleasure was his new favorite sight. His mouth latched onto your nipple again as he sank another finger into your entrance. Your whines were music to his ears as he continued to work on your clit.
Pleasure was building up in your belly, and you didn't know how much longer you could hold on like this. Sure, you had imagined what kissing Jake might have felt like or the way he would hold you as he fucked into you, but seeing him on his knees, worshipping you, was something else entirely. Your hips chased his movements, and you made the mistake of glancing down at his own hips. They were flush against the couch, rubbing in a firm and steady pace. You clenched around his digits at the thought of him inside of you, fucking you in that steady rhythm.
"Gonna come for me, honey? I can feel your tight, little pussy gripping me. You can come, it's okay," he said in between kisses to your neck.
You hummed at his words. "Okay...Okay. Gonna come, Jake. Oh gosh." Your fingers buried themselves into his hair, tugging as you arched in his hold. The knot in your tummy unraveled as he continued to kiss all over your body.
Jake watched the way your eyes fluttered shut, how you tugged your lip between your lips, the way your perky tits rose and fell in shallow breaths. He couldn't wait to see what you looked like falling apart on his cock. The way your eyes would roll back as it sank into you. How you would grip his arms as he pushed in, inch by inch.
"Gotta have you, baby, please. Need you so bad. I'm about to explode in my shorts if I can't have you," he confessed to you, lips tugging the skin around your jaw.
"Yes, Jake, please. Need you too."
Upon your admission, Jake scooped you up into his arms and charged down the hallway. There was no way your first time together was going to be on the couch you had gotten off Facebook Marketplace. He'd probably have you ass up on it another night, face digging into the cushions. Another thing to look forward to for Wednesday movie nights. But for now, he wanted to show you how much you matter to him. He wanted to take care of you.
Lying you down on your soft sheets, Jake tugged your bottoms off, kissing around your inner thighs as he worked himself out of his shorts and shirt. You propped yourself up on the back of your forearms and watched the sight. Giggling to yourself, Jake's eyes met yours. But as soon as his shorts dropped to the ground, your giggles stopped. To say Jake was well-endowed would be an understatement.
"Not laughing anymore, huh, honey," he teased you as he caged your body around his.
"Wasn't laughing," you huffed. "You're just a little eager, is all, makes me smile."
Jake narrowed his eyes at the mischievous look on your face. "I got another thing that will probably make you smile," he grinned at you. You rolled your eyes at his cocky attitude, but still held a small smile on your face. "Got condoms in here, honey?" he asked as he reached over you and tugged the drawer of your nightstand open.
"No, but it's okay. I'm on birth control and clean. If you're okay with it?" you bit down on your bottom lip, a little nervous for his response.
His eyes found yours quickly. "Oh, if I'm okay with it?" You just hummed, avoiding his eyes. "I'm okay with that, honey. I wouldn't mind feeling your tight, warm pussy around my dick. Can only imagine what it'll feel like when you come around me."
"Jake!" you cried out, cheeks flushing at his vulgar words. But just as you were about to continue to chastise him, you felt one of his hands guiding his member towards your entrance. And soon, all the air was sucked out of you.
Pushing into you made Jake's eyes roll back into his head for a few second, but he was quick to put his focus back on your face, your body. On the way he saw the veins on his cock pulse as it pushed deeper into you. Or the way your face screwed up a bit, mouth open though, giving him the perfect in. He kissed you hard, pushing his tongue into your mouth, and he felt the effects of his actions immediately at the clench of your pussy around him.
"Fuck, honey. Feel so perfect. Pussy's all ready for me, feels so good," he groaned in your ear as the last inch of him sank into you. His heavy balls resting on your ass, his fingers gripping your hips. You could tell he wanted to move, but held back. "Feeling good? Want you to feel good. This is for you, okay."
His words made your heart beat a little quicker. And the way he kissed the top of your forehead didn't help either. Soon, Jake's mouth made its way down to your cheeks, to your nose, to your lips. You kissed him deeply, humming into his mouth. He felt your legs wrap around his waist and a slight nod of your head.
"Ready? You can tell me to stop anytime, honey. I want to take care of you," he kissed your lips one last time before he started moving in and out of your wet pussy. Groaning, Jake dropped his face into your neck as he moved his hips in and out.
He was slow at first, taking the time to let you adjust, to see how you reacted to his body. But after a few minutes of working you on his cock, Jake's right hand left your hip and started playing with your tits. This elicited a whine of his name from your mouth, as it was ever the sensitive area for you. Picking up the pace, Jake felt the way you began to grab onto him. Arching into his hold, trying to meet the rhythm of his cock sinking into you. You needed more.
"Please, Jake. Need more," you gasped.
"Yeah? Need more? Want me to fuck you harder?" His words made your mouth fall open. The way he talked to you was so foreign, but not unwelcomed.
"Mhm, please."
"Okay, honey. I've got you. Gonna fuck you the way you want, the way your little pussy needs." With that, his hips began snapping into you, grinding the same rhythm that you saw earlier on the couch.
The weight of his body on yours was heavenly; you could feel the thick muscle working against you. Your clit hits the perfect spot in his firm stomach. His hands grip your hips, hard. Surely there will be bruises tomorrow, but it will be worth it.
The bed creaks at Jake's pace, and he throws an arm above you, holding onto the headboard with a white-knuckle grip. He watches the way your tits bounce with every thrust, nipples all perky and red from his teasing earlier. But the way that his cock disappears into your entrance makes his stomach churn. You're taking him so well; your noises are music to his ears.
Sure enough, after a roll of his hips, you grip onto him, tugging him closer to you. Jake's arms wrap around you as he pistons in and out, the new angle making your moans grow louder and louder with each thrust. Bringing his thumb down to your clit, makes the pressure in your tummy snap.
Jake revels in the feeling of your nails scraping down his back, the way your legs shake around his waist, and most of all, the way you say his name, whispering it so soft and sweet. That makes the thread snap in him as he pumps his load into your soft, warm pussy. His hips slow down and he kisses all over your hairline, whispering sweet nothings to you.
"Did so good for me, honey. Felt so good. Gonna pull out, start us a bath, okay?" he asked in between kisses to your face. Humming at his words, he ducked down to kiss your lips one last time before pulling out and running to start a bath for the both of you.
જ⁀➴
The squad wasn't the least bit surprised when they saw Jake fusing over your flight suit and helmet on Monday before our trial run. You swatted his arms away from your head, but he went right back to tightening your chin strap.
"So, he finally told her," Bradley said with a hum.
"Took both of them long enough," Phoenix groaned. "I swore if I hear another story about Jake did this for me this weekend, or Jake did that, isn't he so sweet? I was gonna barf." The squad cackled at her imitation of one of your love-sick rants. But it would go unknown to the two of you who were meters away from the squad.
"Jake, it's too tight now. I feel like my teeth are glued together," you complained as he fiddled with the straps on your helmet.
"Good, that means it won't come flying off or rattle," he grinned down at you, patting your head. You rolled your eyes, but he was being quite cute. After your bath last night, he had ordered takeout from your favorite place in San Diego, and you finally got to watch the new rom-com on your list. He never left your side the entire night, and you're pretty sure the deliveryman thought you were in a hostage situation with the way Jake was holding onto your hip. But true to his word, he took care of you. Talked to you. Made you feel better about everything that happened the week prior.
Not even twenty-four hours later, he was back to fussing about you and your safety.
Jake saw you squint up at him through your visor, and chin strapped be damned, he almost unclipped it to pull your helmet off and kiss you. Instead, he opted to smoothing down your shoulder, squeezing up and down.
"Ready to kill it, baby? Week two of perfect runs," he asked with a teasing smile.
"Sir, yes, sir! Maybe I could lead this time, y'know cause I'm so reactive and quick and-"
"Not happening. You follow me, I need you looking out for my behind," Jake huffed.
"Mm, not a bad view," you teased with a wink. Jake just narrowed his eyes at you as you began to laugh to yourself.
"Alright, love birds! Let's try this again!" Maverick's voice startled the two of you out of your moment. But just as quick, you caught Jake's eyes again. You both made your way to your jets and strapped in.
Jake looked towards you, and soon his voice was filling the channel, "I'll see you up in the air, honey."
"You'll hear her before anything, Hangman," Rooster chimed in, and you both heard the laughter of the squad in the background.
"That's mighty fine with me. Just me and my Chatter Box. Ready to smoke you all, again," he said with his signature Texas charm.
"Let's see about that," Maverick called out. "Hangman, Chatter Box. You are a go."
summary: abbot offers up his house for a simple family bbq to help you out of a jam...unfortunately, neither of you are capable of keeping it simple.
warnings: smut! fingering, abbot jizzing in his pants, porn but with a lot of plot & build up, tension, inappropriate thoughts, masturbation implied & discussed, alcohol consumption, minor injury (small cut), petty abbot because he snatches r's phone, brat tamer abbot if you squint?? he likes to mock you okay???? slight angst at the end :)
wc: 9.5k
pt 2 can be found here!
Now that you’re actually standing in front of it, it’s…offensively small.
You tilt your head like that might miraculously improve the situation, like there’s some hidden angle where this becomes a perfectly reasonable barbecue and not what looks like a prop from a dollhouse garden party. As if, with enough optimism and a slight squint, the laws of physics will rearrange themselves out of sheer pity.
Because your freezer currently sits enough food to cater a mid-sized wedding.
And your patio?
A grill that could maybe handle…four sausages. Five if they’re prepared to be very close.
You exhale slowly, hands on your hips as you realise you’ve made a catastrophic, deeply public planning error. There has to be a system. A rotation. A schedule. Some kind of… grilled meat tetris.
You glance back at the freezer like it might offer solutions. It does not. It sits there, smug and overstocked.
“Okay,” you mutter to yourself. “This is fine. This is workable. People love waiting for food…People expect to wait for food.”
Except your siblings are the least patient people you know.
And just to make matters worse, a knock sounds at the door. You know it’s Abbot because he generously offered to give you a hand with the grill after you mentioned hosting your family in passing, like he had absolutely nothing better to do on a Saturday night.
Now it’s feeling less like generosity on his behalf, and more like you accidentally inviting him to a very unfortunate comedy show.
You hover for a second, hoping if you wait long enough, he’ll go away.
He doesn’t. He just knocks again.
You smooth your hands down your shorts, the denim rough enough against your palms to remind you to breathe. It’ll be fine. Everyone can just mingle in your tiny garden while they wait approximately four hours for dinner. Great. This is exactly the way to show your family how firmly you have your life together.
You make your way to the front door and pull it open to find Abbot standing there, fingers hooked around a bag you assume has something useful in it—like tongs, or maybe the competence you seem to be lacking. You’d take two of those right now.
“Hey,” you greet in a tone that reeks of desperation.
“Hi.” There’s a slight raise in his brow, like he’s already caught on that something here is…off.
“Come in.” You move to the side, gesturing him in.
He nods and walks through. You close the door behind him, your back mounting to it as you watch him take the place in, realising this is the first time he’s ever been inside.
Momentarily, you feel like you’re under an imaginary microscope, like you’ve been set out in the sun, quietly examined and a little overexposed all at once. Except there’s no microscope, no audience.
Just Abbot.
And the glass of wine you indulged in earlier, which is currently doing a fantastic job of making you feel about three degrees warmer than necessary, and significantly more aware of your own existence than you’d like.
You’re not sure what he’s going to think of your home. It’s smaller than his, you know that much without asking. It’s cluttered but in a lived in kind of way, everything has a purpose or a memory attached to it. You’d love to tell him some of those stories, walk him through it properly, if you had the time…or if you were sure he wanted to hear them.
He probably doesn’t.
And you definitely don’t have time.
“Cute place.”
“Cute?” you repeat, a smile pulling at your lips. “Is that your way of dressing up the word small?”
“No.” His gaze drifts around once more, slower this time, like he’s actually taking it in rather than passing through. Then it settles back on you. “It’s cute. Very you.”
That annoyingly lands somewhere you weren’t prepared for.
You blow air from your nose, glancing away as if the console table requires your full attention. “Right. Well I’m glad my personality translates into…square footage.”
There’s the faintest hint of amusement in his expression. “That’s not what I said.”
“That’s what I heard.”
He watches you like could argue if he wanted to, but he doesn’t.
You clear your throat, deciding you need air. And to also rip the band-aid off already, because you’ve made Abbot clear his schedule to help you out, when in reality you won’t be needing his help at all.
Unless he’s particularly skilled at dialling for takeaway.
“Anyways,” you say briskly, turning to the back door. “Let me show you what we’re working with.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
You’re absolutely blaming the glass of wine for the effect those two words have on you, trying to desperately ignore the way your brain’s decided now’s a good time to develop new problems.
You step outside first, the warm air hitting your skin, and wait for him to come up beside you. When he does—close enough to be mildly distracting—you gesture flatly towards the root of all your issues. “There she is.”
He looks.
There’s a faint pause.
“She’s, um—”
“Cute?” you supply, nudging his arm with your elbow.
“I was going to say compact.”
“It’s second hand,” you reply, because that feels like important context. Of course you were going to buy a second hand grill. Why wouldn’t you? You’d much rather spend your money on something you’ll actually get use out of. This was supposed to be a practical, sensible, one-time summer purchase.
It is now very clearly the opposite of that.
“It looked bigger before I picked it up,” you add, because his silence is doing absolutely nothing for your need to stop explaining yourself. “Please say something before I finish the bottle of wine I started.”
“I’m thinking.”
“It’s not that big of a deal, right? I’ll just do, like, ten rounds of grilling and keep everything wrapped in foil to keep it warm. It’s hot as hell out so stuff would probably stay warm enough anyway?”
He finally meets your gaze.
“...No.”
You blink. “No?”
“No.”
You stare at him, cheek caught between your teeth. “Wow. Okay. That was…very immediate.”
“You’ll have people waiting too long between rounds,” he says calmly. “Half of it will go cold. The rest will be overcooked.”
“Great.” You throw your hands up. “Just kill me now, then. Put me out of my misery.”
There’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“I will never hear the end of this,” you continue, reaching for your empty wine glass and topping it up from the bottle beside it. “They don’t take me seriously enough as it is—” you take a quick sip, like it might soften the blow of what you’re about to admit, “—and they’re constantly expecting me to mess things up before I’ve even started. Perks of being the youngest, apparently. Comes with its own very specific set of stereotypes”
You glance at the grill, then back at him. “And this will absolutely prove them right.”
“Have it at my house,” he offers breezily and you almost drop your glass.
“Sorry?”
“It’ll be easier,” he explains, like he’s just suggesting you move a chair. “More space. Proper grill.”
“That would mean my entire family going to your house.”
“Yes.”
“And you being there.”
“I live there.”
You narrow your eyes. “I don’t think you realise what you’re suggesting. It’s not just my parents coming. Well, it was at first and then my siblings decided to invite themselves and I’m fairly certain their partners also got swept in without my consent.”
“And you couldn’t say no?”
You let out a disbelieving laugh. “No, absolutely not. But you can. Please say no to this.”
He doesn’t even look slightly concerned. “I’m not saying no.”
“Why not?”
“Because it solves your problem.”
“We’re not at work.” You set the wine glass down, like it might help you regain better control of the conversation and his absolute ludicrous idea. “You don’t have to solve my problems.”
He tilts his head like he’s considering that, then steps closer to the grill to give it another once-over. His fingers drag lightly over the metal bars, testing them, like there’s still a chance this thing might redeem itself under a second opinion.
It does not.
“Well,” he says, almost absently, “if it makes you feel any better, you’re rarely creating problems for me at work, so just let me give you a hand with this one.”
You stare at him, then gesture vaguely between him and the grill. “But don’t you think it’d be weird? What am I meant to say to them?”
“That we work together. That I’ve got the space and offered to host. That’s it.”
“You’re making this sound so simple,” you scoff, shaking your head.
“Because it is simple. I’m offering a solution. Take it. We’ll load up my truck with what you need and go.”
“And you don’t think they’ll assume things?” You almost cringe as the words leave your mouth, it sounds so juvenile, like something you should’ve outgrown years ago.
“Assume what?” he presses, and you don’t know if he’s genuinely not following or if the last several months have just been you reading into things he hasn’t seen nor reciprocated.
“Nothing!” you blurt out quickly, downing the rest of your wine like it might undo the last ten seconds. “I’m being stupid and I’m out of options so I guess we can have it at your house—if you’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Great. Amazing. Perfect.” You set the glass down again, and walk past him, heading into the kitchen, because if you stay in this conversation for even a second longer, you’re not entirely convinced you'll make it through this BBQ—or your next shift with Abbot—without saying something you absolutely cannot take back.
You had texted the family group chat about the change of plans, keeping the message short, light, casual, even if your brain has refused to get on board with that narrative.
Because there are, conservatively, about a hundred reasons as to why this is a terrible idea. Reasons that all seem to be shouting over each other the longer you think about it. Starting with the fact that if there is anyone capable of turning a harmless situation into something more layered and deeply inconvenient, it’s your family.
Who are now going to be meeting Abbot.
Your boss.
Who you might be slightly crushing on.
And your earlier exchange?
Yeah. That did an excellent job of confirming that’s very much a one sided situation.
“You’re sure you don’t need me to drop by the store first?” he asks.
You’re not sure if he’s looking at you because you angled your body away from him about ten minutes ago, in a very deliberate attempt to not be distracted.
It hasn’t been working.
If anything, it’s considerably worse, because you’re now hyperaware of everything you’re trying not to look at. The way his sun-warmed arms flex as he adjusts his grip on the wheel, the sleeve of his black shirt sitting snug around his bicep. The completely unbothered way he’s driving, like this is exactly what he had planned to do with his day off.
“No.” You risk a glance at him, only to find his eyes already on you before they flick back to the road. “I pretty much emptied my fridge into the back of your truck, so we should be sorted.”
He hums like that checks out. “Alright.”
“You still haven’t changed your mind?”
He glances at you again. “About?”
You stare at him.
You’re not sure if he’s doing this on purpose, but it feels like he is. Like he’s deliberately backing you into saying things out loud. Making you name them, lay them out clearly instead of hiding behind vague gestures and half-formed sentences.
It’s incredibly annoying.
Because it has your mind drifting to…other situations where he might take the same approach. You picture him for a brief second, between your legs, the way he’d look at you expectantly, waiting until you spelled it out for him.
Like he’d make you tell him exactly what you want.
Exactly how you want it.
And look at him while you do it.
“Oh my god,” you mutter out loud, the thought hitting you all at once. You shift in your seat, pressing your thighs together like that might physically cancel your brain.
“Everything okay?”
“No. No—” you shake your head quickly, turning to the window like the outside world has suddenly become fascinating. “I think we need to stop by the store.”
“You just said you had everything.”
“Why are you asking so many questions today?” You turn to face him, and you’re pretty sure you’re glaring now, because he is officially on your last damn nerve.
“That wasn’t a question.”
You inhale slowly and manifest restraint because he doesn’t deserve you snapping at him, but he’s also been the leading cause in your rapid mental decline today. “My mistake.” You tack on a smile that feels convincing for a second before it slips, the corners of your mouth dropping almost immediately. “I’m not sure I’ve got everything for the salad, so if you wouldn’t mind stopping by the store, that’d be great.”
He laughs under his breath, turning on the indicator. “I love the customer service voice.”
“I’m not doing a customer service voice.”
“You are. It’s very polite.”
You blink at him, lips parting like you’re about to argue it, then stopping when you realise there’s probably no winning this.
“Can you stop by the store or not?” you ask instead, folding your arms across your chest.
“Of course,” he answers easily. “You’re the boss today.”
You don’t dignify that with a response, mostly because you’re too busy being relieved when he finally pulls into the car park. You need to get out of his truck that smells exactly like him and into somewhere with actual air conditioning. Not that his truck doesn't have it—it does—but he seems to be absorbing all of its effects, leaving you to slowly overheat in his general vicinity.
You unclip and fling off your seatbelt, grab your purse but pause when you catch him doing the same out of the corner of your eye.
“What’re you doing?”
“Going to the store? What’s with all the questions?”
“No you’re not,” you reply, pointing at him. “You’re staying here.”
“Am I?
“Yes.”
“And why’s that?” he questions with a lazy smirk, and you can feel yourself inching closer to just smothering him with your bag for the sake of peace and quiet.
“Because I’m the boss today.” You give him a smug, entirely fake smile before climbing out of his vehicle and shutting the door with just a little more force than usual.
You power walk to the store and once inside, head straight for the freezer section. You pull open one of the large glass doors and just stand there for a minute, relishing in the cool air.
This is exactly what you get. A direct consequence of your own poor planning, which you don’t usually do. But today, of all days, everything seems to be going from bad to worse.
Starting with your brilliant idea to save money by buying a second hand grill without actually seeing it in person first. Then not having the heart to say no to the poor old woman selling it when it turned out to be…that. Then not saying no to the ever-expanding guest list. Then not saying no to hosting this entire disaster of a night at Abbot’s house.
And now, just to round things up nicely, you can’t even seem to keep a lid on your own feelings.
You can do this, you tell yourself. You handle crises everyday at work, actual ones, where people depend on you. This? This doesn’t even come close to being half as bad as your worst shift. This is just a barbecue. All you need to do is put on your big girl pants, get through the night, and never speak of it again.
With a deep breath in, you shut the freezer door, ignoring the judgemental look from one of the workers, and try to source the supposed salad ingredients you’re missing.
By the time you’re paying, you feel calmer, like your head has finally been screwed on right, and that there’s a small chance of you getting through this night without another existential breakdown.
You try to hang on to that same thought as you make your way back to Abbot’s car, digging out a pair of sunglasses to wear for the rest of the journey. Avoiding eye contact should be significantly easier with a barrier.
“Got everything?”
“Mhm.” You keep it short as you climb back into the passenger seat and place the bag between your feet like everything is perfectly normal.
When Abbot pulls into his driveway, you realise there are a lot of firsts happening today—you’ve never been to his house before either.
You take it in as the truck slows, your gaze dragging over the place in pieces, trying not to make it obvious. You'd been right in thinking it’ll be much bigger than yours, because from the outside it looks like your place could slot neatly into a corner of his and still leave plenty of room to spare.
The house is framed with tidy hedges and a curved driveway. It’s dipped in a warm golden wash from the late sun, the light catching on the windows and casting long shadows across the patio that actually looks used.
You can almost picture him out there in the evenings. On his own, or maybe with Robby. Something cold in his hand, leaning back like he’s got nowhere else to be.
You’re already a little too curious to see the garden. He lives far enough out that it feels quiet, tucked away from everything, and the front looks well kept that you’re almost certain the back will look even better.
That’s your dream one day. To have a big stretch of green out the back that you could look out over from your bedroom window in the mornings. You imagine stepping out barefoot, the grass still damp beneath you. You’d have a little table, with mismatched chairs you tell yourself you’d replace but never do. Maybe something growing, even if it’s just herbs you’d forget to use anyway.
You think about hosting without overthinking it. People just…spreading out, drinks in hand, no one hovering awkwardly because there isn’t enough room. The kind of evenings that go on a little longer because no one is in a rush to leave.
Or just to soak up the sun on days like this.
“Ready to go?”
Abbot's voice breaks you from your daydream, and you shift in your seat like you’ve ended up somewhere you weren’t supposed to go.
“Yeah,” you clear your throat, reaching up to remove your sunglasses. “Beautiful house.”
He glances at you briefly, then back at the front of the house like he’s seeing it through your eyes. “It does the job.”
“Does it very well.”
You step out into the warm air, a light breeze slipping past you, and your attention follows Abbot as he rounds the truck. And just like that, your mind does that thing again, wandering somewhere it absolutely shouldn’t.
You picture it a little too easily for your liking, a day like today, minus the chaos. What it’d feel like coming back home from a grocery run, a truck filled with nothing in particular. The domestic bliss of unpacking, then sitting in the garden, something simple on the grill.
You can see yourself curled into him on the patio, the air dropping a few degrees, a glass of wine somewhere nearby, his hand resting absentmindedly on your waist. Maybe you’d end up in his lap, talking about nothing, or everything, it doesn’t really matter because you’d be doing it with him.
These thoughts leave your stomach sinking because that’s all they are, just the results of chemical activity moving across the brain that you’ve inconveniently grown attached to. There’s nothing real or solid behind them.
“Where do you want everything?” you ask with a huff, grabbing the grocery bag from the front seat.
Abbot doesn’t answer straight away.
You feel it before you look up, the sense of being watched. When you glance over, he’s already looking at you like he’s trying to figure something out, like he’s somehow got your pathetic little fantasy down, and is rethinking every decision that’s led him here.
Your stomach continues to drop.
“Kitchen?” you add, because silence suddenly feels like the worst possible outcome here.
He looks at you a little longer before he nods, going back to unloading his truck. “Yeah. Through there.”
You return his nod and make way to the front door, shifting the grocery bag higher on your hip. Your hand finds the handle, the same moment you realise the door’s not even unlocked.
You turn to call for him only to end up bumping straight into his chest.
“Shit—” The word slips out as you stumble, your grip tightening on the shopping bag to keep everything from spilling.
“Got you,” he says, his hand settling at your waist, steadying you before you can lose your balance. It’s a simple gesture, except your mind has that deeply irritating habit of taking simple things and turning them into something they’re not.
“Sorry,” he adds as an afterthought. “Should’ve given you the keys.”
You nod even though the apology seems misplaced, your attention snagging somewhere else entirely. On the warmth of his hand. The way it hasn’t quite moved yet. How easily it could slip under your shirt so you could feel him on your skin. Properly.
“It’s fine.” Which is both true and very much not.
His hand drops then, his focus shifting to the door and getting it open. You move to the side to give him space trying to collect yourself all over again.
“Kitchen’s just straight ahead,” he tells you, gesturing you in once the door swings open.
Inside, the house is spacious, with dark wood floors and barn-like furniture. It’s less cluttered than yours, with only a few things slightly out of place. You step in slowly, taking everything in. You’re not sure when you’ll next ever get a chance to visit, so you selfishly take a little longer to wander through, noticing the few pictures and trinkets he has scattered around.
When you reach the kitchen you place the shopping bag and your purse on the marble counter, fully intending to head back out and give Abbot a hand with the other bags, but you stall once you get a view of the garden through the glass French doors leading out from the kitchen.
Well-kept grass stretches out for what looks like miles, the edges framed with low trees and shrubs. There’s even a small greenhouse tucked to one side. It looks too tidy to be in use, but you imagine how it might look filled anyway. Further back, there’s a perfectly sized outdoor kitchen, with a large grill and enough counter space to move around comfortably.
So this is where he disappears to when he’s not at work.
“Is it okay?”
You turn a little too quickly at the sound of Abbot’s voice, like he’s caught you doing something you shouldn’t. Your brows pull together, because you’re not entirely sure what he’s asking is okay.
“The house,” he clarifies, shifting the bags in his hands like he’s suddenly aware of how that sounded. “For tonight.”
“Oh.” You glance back at the garden, then around the kitchen. “Yeah. No, it’s—” you gesture vaguely, because there are too many ways to describe it and none of them feel casual enough, “—more than okay.”
He nods once, like that’s all he needed, and moves further into the kitchen to set the bags down beside yours before he’s going out again.
You’re almost finished with the salad when the knife decides your finger might be a better addition than the cherry tomatoes. It’s so quick it almost feels hypothetical, but then the sting registers and your finger flies straight to your mouth, like that’s the only medical training you’ve managed to retain.
There’s already a metallic taste spreading across your tongue, blood pooling faster than you’d like, making you wince.
“Oh, for the love of god,” you mutter, searching for the paper towels and your brain, which might be lounging on the kitchen counter somewhere, soaking up the sun streaming in through the windows, because clearly it’s not being put to any practical use.
And just so the universe could curse you some more, you hear Abbot walking back in.
Great.
You immediately turn your back to him because he doesn’t need any more reasons to think you’re incompetent.
“Everything okay?”
“Mhm,” you hum, because you still haven’t spotted the paper towels and are stuck sucking your finger like that’s a reasonable long-term solution.
“Grill’s coming along,” he continues and you can feel him moving behind you, followed by the rip of the said paper towels. “Got it up to temperature, just needs a few more minutes before I start putting anything else on. Should all be ready in time.”
“Mm, that’s good. Thank you.” You decide to face him, and immediately regret it because you hadn’t realised how close he was. “Could I have one of those?”
You reach for the roll but he doesn’t hand it over.
“You’ve cut yourself.”
“Yes. I’ve already added it to my list of incompetencies today. It’s fine. Very minor.”
“Give me your hand.”
You hesitate, because that feels like an escalation for something you’ve just described as very minor.
“It’s really no big—”
“Give me your hand,” he repeats, reaching for your wrist.
You exhale and let it happen, relaxing your hold as he draws your hand towards him, the crimson gathering along the cut in a way that suddenly looks far more dramatic under proper light.
He tosses his used paper towels on the counter and rips a few new sheets. “Here, hold that. I’ll get you a plaster,” he instructs, pressing them against your finger before turning and disappearing down the corridor.
You stand there, listening to the sound of a cupboard door opening and then closing, something unzipping and then zipping until his footsteps make their way back to you again.
You watch the quick and efficient way he frees the plaster of its wrapper and you’re instinctively holding out your finger, letting him wrap it neatly around the cut. His thumb runs along the edges, making sure it’s properly stuck down.
“Thank you.”
He meets your eyes. “You have—” he lifts his thumb to your chin, the pad of it brushing gently along your skin “—a little blood there.”
Your mouth parts, breath catching somewhere on the way out. You feel him move closer, his touch tracing up to the corner of your mouth carefully, like he’s not sure how far he’s allowed to go, but isn’t stopping himself from finding out.
It’s nothing. You were standing there with dried blood on your chin—he’s just being kind.
But your traitorous mind immediately offers up a list of alternatives for what he could be doing with that exact same touch, and you have to physically dig the heels of your feet into your sandals to stop yourself from leaning into it.
“There.” He retracts his hand, and once again you’re mourning the loss of contact.
You nod your thanks to him and turn back to the counter, picking up the knife again so you can finish your salad. “So, is the grill behaving?” you manage, which is frankly lousy small talk considering you couldn’t care less about the grill right now.
He clears his throat. “Yeah. Heat’s holding. I’ll start with the sausages, get a good sear on them, then move them over so they don’t dry out.”
“Love a man with a plan,” you mutter out loud, which was definitely supposed to be retained as an internal thought.
Silence fills the space and you freeze, knife hovering uselessly over the cutting board. You hear some shuffling behind you, maybe him binning the paper towels and the plaster wrapper, or maybe he’s just giving you a second to realise what you’ve said.
“Good to know.”
Your phone vibrates in your back pocket, followed by a ping, and you’ve never been more grateful for technology in your life. You wipe your hand on your shorts before pulling it out, unlocking it a little too quickly.
Dad: We’re running late, honey. Hotel’s messed up our rooms…long story. Still trying to sort it with reception. Will message you when we’re on our way…
“They’re running late,” you mumble, a welcome exhale slipping out.
“I’ll hold off on the sausages. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, just some mix up with the rooms at the hotel.” You tuck your phone away and dump the rest of the tomatoes in the bowl giving it a halfhearted stir.
“You’re putting them up in a hotel?”
“Well, yes. Should I let them pick a corner to sleep in at my house instead?”
He smiles at you and you feel some of the tension ease out of your shoulders, as though you've been waiting for permission to relax this entire time.
“I’m all done with the prep on my side, and since they’ll probably be a little while…would it be absurd if I used your shower?”
“Yes. It would be absolutely absurd.”
He’s mocking you. Funny.
“Right. I’ll just stand in your garden and hose myself down instead, shall I?”
“No complaints on my side.”
Now he’s…flirting?
“Sure. Let me just get out of these clothes—” You bring a hand down to your shorts, fingers hooking at the waistband because apparently two can play this game.
“Bathroom’s just down the hall,” he cuts in quickly.
You grin at him. “Thank you.”
“Spare towels are in the cabinet.” His hand comes up to drag across his mouth, thumb catching briefly against his stubble as he watches you bend and grab one of the tote bags on the floor with your clothes inside.
“Thanks,” you add again, more out of habit than anything else, before turning towards the hallway.
“Mm.”
The sound follows you as you walk away, and once again you’re stuck dissecting every interaction you’ve had with him today. It’s enough to give you whiplash. One minute he’s distant, the next he’s standing far too close to be friendly, touching your face like it’s nothing. You don’t know where you stand with him, and moments like this don’t exactly help.
You make your way down the hallway, your grip tightening on the tote bag as your thoughts spiral, circling the same questions with absolutely no answers.
What was that?
Does he even realise he’s doing it?
You push the bathroom door open, and step inside. For a second you just stand there, because that’s easier than thinking but that doesn’t seem to last long.
Dumping your tote bag on the counter, you turn to the shower. It’s walk-in, with enough space to move around freely, and a built-in seat tucked into one corner with handlebars nearby. There’s an overhead shower as well as a handheld one clipped to the side, which you’re immediately grateful for because you definitely don’t have time to deal with washing your hair.
After locating the towels, you strip out of your clothes and once you’re under the water, you realise you’re stuck using his shower products because you’d only planned for an outfit change, not a full reset.
Now you get to smell like him even when you’re not near him.
You’re hoping the shower washed away all your inappropriate Abbot-related thoughts along with the sweat and stress of the day. You don’t entirely trust that it has, but you dry off and get dressed regardless.
On cue, your phone pings with a message from your father to say everyone’s on their way. Just one more push and this whole shit show of an evening will be over. Easy. Completely manageable. Light work.
Before you even reach the kitchen, you can smell the grill, and when you do, you notice the dining table has already been set. Something in your chest dips a little at the sight. How he’s gone to all this effort for you and your family without questioning it twice.
You shake it off, physically, like that might dislodge the feeling before it can settle anywhere inconvenient, heading for the fridge instead. You grab two beers, popping them open against each other and follow the smell outside.
The humidity hasn’t let up. It's still the clinging type and you can already feel a new sheet of sweat forming on your skin the closer you get to the grill. Abbot has his back turned to you, one hand resting on his hip, while the other works the tongs with an ease that suggests he knows exactly what he’s doing.
He looks unfairly attractive just by doing the most mundane task—just by existing.
You slow your step without meaning to. Which is embarrassing.
You stop a few steps short, watching him, like your body’s decided this is worth savouring, and you hate that there’s something about him that manages to calm your nerves and make you feel like they’re running laps all at the same time.
There’s probably a scientific explanation for it. Some chemical imbalance, some misfiring signal in your brain that’s confused admiration with something far less convenient.
He turns to you, and you force your feet to move before you risk looking like a complete creep.
“Thought you could do with something cold,” you say, holding out the beer to him.
“Perfect timing,” he replies, reaching for it, his fingers brushing against yours. “How was the shower?”
“Necessary,” you quip, setting your beer and phone down on the counter so you can hoist yourself up onto it. It’s probably not the smartest place to settle, perched this close to the grill, but you do it anyway.
He watches as you shift into place, not even trying to be subtle about it either. His gaze dips, catching onto the strip of skin revealed by the slit of your sundress, then drags back up again like it’s something he has to consciously pull away from.
“You look nice,” is all he manages before shifting his focus back to the grill.
“Thank you. And thanks again for doing all of this. You’ve gone through so much trouble and I don’t even know where to begin in repaying you.”
He huffs at that, turning one of the sausages over with the tongs. “You don’t need to repay me.”
“Mm,” you hum, letting your foot swing idly against the cabinet, making no effort to cover up the exposed skin he was looking at earlier. “I’d like to.”
“Yeah?”
You tilt your head, watching him the way he’s been watching you, then reach for your beer and take a slow sip before answering. “Yeah.”
“You always like having the last word?”
You lower the bottle, meeting his eyes. “You asked a question, didn’t you?”
“Thought you had a problem with those today.”
You grin at him. “Think I’m over it now.”
“Is that so?”
You nod, taking another sip.
“Okay,” he drags out, setting his tongs down before ripping off a paper towel to wipe his hands with. “You want to tell me why you were acting weird in the car?”
“I can tell you exactly why I was acting weird in the car, but you’d have to tell me something first.” You’re not sure where all this bravery is coming from, certainly not the lukewarm beer acting as liquid courage.
He raises his brows with a small smile as he walks past you where you’re perched on the counter, and reaches into a cabinet beside you for a plate. “Go on. I did say you’re the boss today.”
“Why go through all this trouble?”
He opens his mouth to answer, but you stop him by lifting a finger just as he turns back towards you, a plate in hand. Your finger hovers somewhere between his chest and the idea of touching him, and his eyes drop again, predictably, to the stretch of bare skin where your thigh is exposed, right between where he’s standing.
“I don’t want the same answer as earlier,” you add, lowering your hand, your knees parting just a little wider without making it obvious. “Because it’s bullshit.”
For a moment he doesn’t respond, but you’re not panicking. It's probably because you can tell you’ve nudged something, pressed a spot he’d probably rather you didn’t find.
He takes a step closer.
You feel the plate before you register what he’s doing. The cold edge of it presses lightly against your thigh, a contrast that makes your breath catch before you can smooth it out. Your skin warms it up almost instantly, but that’s not what holds your attention.
It’s his hand. Still there. Still keeping the plate pressed to you.
“Bullshit?”
You swallow, which is annoying, because you hadn’t planned on that being noticeable. You gather what’s left of your composure and try again, aiming for even. Landing somewhere just adjacent. “Yeah.”
“Then ask properly.”
Your hands stay braced on the edge of the counter, your knees now parted enough to fit him in between them perfectly, the plate still pressed to your thigh.
You let out a slow breath, trying to unknot your fuzzy thoughts, but it’s harder than it should be with him this close.
“Ask properly,” he says again, softer this time, like he's not in a rush for you to answer.
You glance down at where the plate meets your thigh, and catch the way his other free hand comes to rest on your knee. You feel your whole body light up at his touch, something fluttering low in your stomach and spreading out from there before you can do anything about it.
“Why,” you start, your voice wavering, “are you doing all of this…for me?”
He removes the plate, setting it beside you, both of his hands coming to rest on your knees.
“You think I do things I don’t want to do?”
You swallow again, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. “No.”
“Then that’s your answer.”
“That’s not an answer,” you push, a little breathless now. “You can’t answer my question with a question.”
“You want me to answer it properly?”
You nod, because words have completely abandoned you at this point.
“I did it because I wanted you here.”
You don’t quite know where to file that information.
There’s no neat place for it to sit, no category your brain can quickly shove it into so you can move on and pretend this is all normal, because want is a dangerous word.
It’s not polite or distant or easily explained away. It doesn’t leave much room for interpretation, and that’s the problem. You’ve been working with interpretation all day, picking at glances and half-answers and things that could mean something or nothing depending on how brave you felt.
Your fingers press harder into the edge of the counter, and you look at him to check if he actually said it, because maybe you imagined it the same way you’ve been imagining everything else.
He’s still there, looking at you like there’s absolutely nothing for him to regret or take back.
“Not the answer you were hoping for?”
“No.” You shake your head, hands slipping from the counter to rest over his where they sit on your knees. Your fingers find his without much thought as you drag his hands up to your waist. “It’s exactly the answer I was hoping for.”
Abbot’s grip tightens, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip, but he doesn’t pull away. “This is a bad idea.”
“Yeah,” you murmur, not arguing it. “But I haven’t even told you what I was thinking of in the car.”
“Jesus,” he hisses under his breath. “You should go back inside. Your family could be turning up any minute.”
“You want me to leave? I thought you wanted me here?” you press smugly.
“I need you to go inside,” he replies, more firmly now. His hands don’t leave you right away, instead they slide leisurely from your waist, down along your hips, over your thighs, until his fingers briefly press into the skin just above your knees.
Then he lets go, taking a step back like that’s going to fix anything.
Before you can come up with something smart, your phone starts vibrating against the counter.
You grab it, clearing your throat before answering. “Hi, Dad.”
“We’re outside, honey.”
“Okay,” you say lightly, sliding off the counter, taking one last look at Abbot—more specifically at his very evident hard on—before you’re tuning away. “Now coming.”
“That went well, don’t you think?” Abbot’s voice sounds behind you as you finish rinsing the glasses.
He’s right. It did go well. Suspiciously well. And you’re not entirely sure whether you’re glad or irritated with how easily he seemed to slot into your family. Objectively, it’s a good thing. In practice, it’s…inconveniant. Especially considering the way you two left things before they came over.
You’re tempted to ask what he spent so long discussing with your father outside at one point. It had gone on long enough to make you nervous. You could’ve gone out there, hovered and earwigged—you’d even considered it for a full ten seconds before deciding to pour yourself another glass of wine.
Surprisingly, no one had thrown any inconvenient questions or accusations your way. They all left thinking that Abbot is just some cool guy you work with. A totally laid-back, easy going boss…that you’ve spent the entire night thinking about screwing.
You nod, switching the tap off. “Sorry for the mess.”
“Didn’t notice one.”
“That’s because I just spent the last half hour cleaning it up.”
You turn to reach for a towel at the exact same time he steps in to place something in the sink, and just like that, you’re back in that position you seem to keep finding yourselves in, like there’s some invisible thread pulling you into the same orbit whether you mean to or not.
You hesitate for a moment, then abandon the towel altogether and wipe your hands on your dress instead, gathering the fabric as you do, letting it ride up slightly before pulling it back down, just enough to expose your cleavage more so than before.
Whatever Abbot had dumped in the sink is forgotten instantly, his attention narrowing straight down to you.
“You didn’t have to.”
“Yeah, well,” you shrug casually, “it’s the least I can do. You’ll finally be able to have your place to yourself.” You turn to reach for your phone. “I’ll call myself an Uber and be out of your hair.”
There’s a pause, giving you enough time for you to open up the app.
“Out of my hair?”
His tone makes you pause and you glance back over your shoulder.
He seems…tense.
“Well, yes Abbot. I’m not planning to crash at your place, you’ve done enough for me today.”
“Right.” He nods, but there’s an edge to the word and it has you raising your brow.
“You told me to go inside, remember? Or is that not what you want anymore?” You tilt your head. “You know, for someone who was so adamant about me asking things properly, you seem to be struggling to do the same.”
He stays silent.
“What do you want?”
Nothing.
“Huh?”
Still nothing.
You shake your head, focusing back on your phone and booking that damn Uber, because you’ve just about had it with the events of today, and dealing with a manchild is not something you’re adding to the list.
You’re halfway through entering your details when the phone is suddenly snatched right out of your grip.
“What the hell?” You look up just as Abbot slides it straight into his back pocket.
“I can’t tell you what I want, because then I won’t be able to take it back.”
“Well, that sounds like a you problem,” you shoot back, stepping towards him, reaching for your phone.
He takes a step back.
“Give it back.”
“No.”
You roll your eyes. “You’re absolutely insane.”
“And you’re not listening to me.”
“Oh, I’m listening. Loud and clear. You don’t know what you want, you won’t say what you want, and apparently now I’m being held hostage because of it.”
“That’s not what’s happening.”
“Okay,” you scoff. “Well, enjoy whatever this is.” You gesture vaguely between the two of you. “I’ll just walk home.”
His expression shifts, like he doesn’t believe you, like you’ve just told him something mildly ridiculous…which you have…because there’s no chance in hell you’re actually walking back.
“You’re not walking.”
“Watch me.”
You turn away from him, but you don’t even make it half a step before his hand closes around your wrist. You barely get a second to react before he’s pulling you to him, your spine lining up flush against his front.
“Quit being such a brat,” he scolds, breath hot against your ear, his hands settling at your hips to keep you there, his groin pressed firmly against your ass.
You buck into him out of instinct. “I am not—”
One of his hands reaches for the slit of your dress, his bare fingers tracing up your thigh, slowly, like he’s giving you every chance to stop him.
You don’t. Obviously.
“You are,” he repeats, voice threading through you. “Threatening to walk out just to see if I’ll stop you.”
You let out a quiet breath, something halfway between a scoff and something far less convincing. “I don’t need you to stop me.”
His hand stills, high on your thigh now, thumb pressing in like he’s testing the truth of that. “No?”
“No.”
His grip tightens on your hip, enough to pull you back into him again, closer, if that’s even possible. “Then go.” His words don’t match what he’s doing.
You don’t move.
Not even an inch.
His thumb traces inward along your thigh absentmindedly, while your heart knocks behind your ribs.
“Funny. Could’ve sworn you were in a rush.”
You swallow, your fingers curling useless at your sides, like they’re waiting for instructions you’re not giving. “I was.”
“Yeah?” His nose brushes along your jaw. “What happened?”
“Y-you’re in the way.”
“Am I?” His hand drifts higher, the tops of his knuckles brushing along the damp spot of your panties.
Your head tips back before you can stop it.
“That doesn’t look like I’m in your way,” he murmurs, something faintly mocking tucked into it.
You exhale, shaky, annoyed at him, at yourself, at your entire nervous system. “You’re very confident for someone who didn’t even know what he wanted five minutes ago.”
“I know what I want,” he assures you. “I just don’t think we’d be able to go back from it.”
“So let’s not,” you argue weakly. You can hear it yourself, how desperate it sounds, how little conviction there is behind it. “This is just a one-off. We can pretend this never happened tomorrow.”
“Is that something you can do? Because I don’t think I can.”
“Yes, you can,” you breathe, pressing your ass into him. “I can,” you add quickly, which is actually just a bold-faced lie. You don’t think you can ever come back from this, not really—but you’d try, you would, if it meant his hand would keep inching higher instead of stopping where it is.
“Yeah?” he murmurs into your neck.
“Yes—please. I’ll even move to the day shift,” you say, half-delirious, as though that’s a completely normal bargaining chip to throw on the table. “We’ll never speak of this again.”
“Don’t do that,” he mutters, a hint of a smile in his voice now. “I need you on the night shift.” His hand finally shifts, thumb pressing against your clit through the fabric.
“Okay—okay, sorry—I’m sorry—” The words tumble out, rushed and barely coherent.
He presses a wet kiss just under your jaw, and a small, involuntary sound slips out of you in response.
“One off?” he asks in between the kisses, his voice humming against your skin.
“One off.”
His hand slips beneath the fabric, middle finger dragging through your folds, slow enough that you feel every inch of it. You can hear how wet you are—actually hear it—and feel it too, with how easily his thumb finds rhythm.
“Jesus, baby,” he breathes, the words half a laugh. “Have you been this worked up the whole day?”
You bite your lip down, unable to concentrate on anything other than the hot feeling pulling tighter in your stomach.
“I asked you a question.”
“Yes,” you hiss as he picks up the pace, making your knees buck, properly this time, your balance tipping forward before his other hand tightens at your hip, holding you in place like he anticipated it. The hard line of his cock presses into your ass, completely unignorable and more than enough to get drunk on.
“Whole day,” he repeats, like he’s piecing it all together. “Walking around like that…talking to me like nothing’s wrong. Is that why you needed that shower?”
You nod—once, then again, and again—your body answering for you, a little too eager to cooperate where your brain has checked out.
It gets worse the second he slips a finger in.
You’re that soaked that there's no resistance when he pumps it in and out of you, and you don’t manage to stop the strangled noise that slips out when he curls that same finger. Your breath doesn’t quite keep up. It stutters, trips over itself, your chest rising too fast, too shallow, like you’ve forgotten how to regulate something as basic as breathing.
Your back arches into him, your hand gripping his wrist out of desperation, and you feel it then—how saturated his wrist has gotten, slick with you, the mess of it not contained to just there but spread further down your thighs, probably all over your dress.
It's humiliating.
“Did you touch yourself in the shower?”
“N—” you start, which is ambitious of you, really, considering the circumstances.
“Liars don’t get to come,” he warns. “Did you touch yourself in there?”
“Yes.”
He tuts. “Dirty girl. I was out here trying to make sure everything was perfect for your family and you were getting yourself off in my shower.”
You want to argue with him. You really do. Something witty, something that would land clean and put you back on even ground. But there’s nothing. Nothing except your uneven breathing and pathetic whimpers you’re trying to swallow down.
“Did it feel as good as this?”
“No—fuck,” you bite out when he slips a second finger in, the stretch pulling the word straight from you. Your thighs press together out of the sheer intensity of him, but he doesn’t let that happen for long.
His foot comes in between yours, nudging them apart. “Don’t go shy on me now, baby. You still haven’t told me what you were thinking about in the car.”
Your walls clench around his fingers, pulling him in deeper, each curl pressing against that spongy spot that has you gasping for air. He thinks the fantasy in the car is the worst of it—or the shower—but he has no idea how many times you’ve thought about him like this. And feeling him get off on it too, the way his cock keeps chasing friction against you, is almost enough to tip you over on its own.
“Jack, please—” you beg, for what, you’re not sure.
“Say that again,” he breathes into your hair, voice catching slightly as he grinds into you again, pulling his fingers from inside you just to shift his attention to your swollen clit.
“Jack,” you mewl, and you hear the way he curses behind you, “I’m so c-close.”
“Yeah,” he pants, fingers picking up the pace. “Yeah, I can feel that.”
Your legs tremble, your whole body tightening, the pressure building too fast now, too much, your breath breaking completely as you clutch at him like that might hold you together. You feel his chest rise and fall against your back as he keeps bucking into you, steady in theory, less so in practise, his fingers falling into a messy pattern, too fucking slick with you to manage anything more coherent.
“M’gonna—fuck—Jack—”
“There you go. Just like that.”
He bites down on your neck and everything blurs, sound dropping out, thought following quickly behind it, your body trying to fold in on itself, like it doesn’t know where to put this feeling or how to contain it. Your thighs try to close again, tightening as your orgasm reaches its peak, your cunt pulsing through it, Abbot’s heavy breathing in your ear.
“Shit–” he exhales, his hand slowing against you, “—fuck.”
For a second, neither of you move.
Your body is still catching up, small aftershocks running through you, your grip on him loosening but not quite letting go, like you don’t trust your legs to do their job just yet.
“Shit.”
“Yes, you’ve already said that,” you whisper, leaning your head back against him as he caresses your thigh.
There’s a huff against your shoulder, an attempt at a laugh that clearly requires less energy than he actually has.
Neither of you really get the chance to come down though, because there’s a knock at the door.
You both still, unsure if either of you heard it right, until it sounds again.
“Who is that?” you ask, pulling yourself away from Abbot, your hands immediately going to your dress, smoothing it down.
“I don’t know—can you—” He pauses, shifting awkwardly behind you. “Can you get that?”
You turn to look at him, brows lifting. “Me?”
“Yes, you,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m not answering the door like this.”
“Like what?”
He just looks at you while you look down, lips pressing together like you’re trying very hard not to smile.
“…Right,” you concede, softer this time.
“Thank you,” he says, the sarcasm sitting heavy in it, as you tug your dress back into place and make your way towards the door.
You wipe at your forehead, still a little flushed, and swing the door open.
“Hey man—” the guy on the other side starts, stopping short when he realises who’s opened it. “Abbot around? My car won’t start and I’m late for my night shift—” he leans slightly past you, like he expects to see him.
“Uh yeah, he’s…”
You don’t even need to turn to know he’s there now.
“Yeah,” Abbot calls, voice steadier than it has any right to be. “What’s up?”
“Oh man—I didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” the guy says, glancing between the two of you, something faintly amused flickering across his face.
And only when Abbot steps up beside you, do you realise what the guy means.
He’s now shirtless, using the black skimpy t-shirt as a cover across his groin, like that somehow makes things less obvious.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Think the battery’s dead,” the guy explains, scratching the back of his neck. “It just won’t turn over.”
“Alright,” Abbot nods, dragging a hand through his hair before glancing down at himself, very briefly, like he’s just remembered. “Give me a second.”
“Yeah, yeah, no problem at all, dude. I’ll wait outside.”
You close the door, not fully, but enough to block your conversation from prying ears.
“...I’ll book that Uber now… if I can have my phone?” You hold your hand out expectantly.
There’s a pause.
“...Right.”
You raise your brows, just as he pulls your phone out from his back pocket, placing it in your palm slowly.
“You could stay,” he suggests hesitantly, because he knows better.
Your fingers close around the device. “That’s not what we agreed on, remember?” you reply, trying to keep your tone light. “It’s a one off.”
Something shifts in his expression, and you feel the slight drop in your stomach, like something’s been pulled out from under you just as quickly as it appeared.
“Yeah…One off.”
You nod like that’s the end of it, pretending you’re not feeling a little hollow. “Take your time,” you add, stepping back. “I’ll let myself out.”
He stays where he is for a moment, just watching you, before he finally reaches for the door, leaving you standing in his home, probably for the last time.
And you already hate this arrangement, this promise you both talked yourselves into, because it doesn’t feel like a ‘one off.’ Not when your body still feels like his hands are on it, not when you can still smell him on your skin, not when you’re still standing here in his space—thinking about how easily he asked you to stay.
summary: your relationship with jack has always been 50/50: he buys you everything, and you let him. this arrangement, as he calls it, works perfectly - until you start to worry that you may not be the only one who's doing it with. (4k)
characters: jack abbot / fem!reader, mentor!michael robinavitch, baran al-hashimi, samira mohan
contents: friends with benefits, sugar daddy!jack, jealousy, angst, hurt/comfort, so much sexual tension cw for mentions of injuries, medical procedures, medical inaccuracies, heavy mentions of smut 18+ (MDNI)
( NAVIGATION ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( AO3 )
Jack Abbot rushes into the ER with a high-velocity GSW, a close call of his own, and a terribly smart mouth.
Splotches of dark crimson stain the camo of heavy-duty tactical gear as he bursts through the double doors of the ambulance bay, squeezing rhythmically at the intubation bag he holds in a bloodied hand. You rush instantly from the work station to meet him halfway without a second thought.
“I thought you were off today,” you tell him, in lieu of a greeting, as you escort him to the nearest open trauma room from the opposite side of the gurney.
“Well, my therapist said I needed a hobby, so…” he quips, with sweat dripping from his greying curls. He manages to flash you a playful look in the midst of all the chaos as you situate the unconscious policeman in the center of the room. “What about you, huh? You’re supposed to be off, too— What’s your excuse?”
“Well, I had a strange feeling that I might see a pretty man in uniform today,” you shrug, slipping on a pair of gloves. “So I decided to work a double— See if my wish would come true.”
The corner of Jack’s mouth lifts into a crooked, tight-lipped smile. “Well, if you like this, you should see me as a flight attendant—”
Robby rushes in with Dr. Al-Hashimi just behind him a second later, shattering the playful tension between the two of you with a thousand different questions. You’re left as the only resident in a sea of attendings and nurses; Dr. Al passes you the reins accordingly. “This is a learning hospital, right? Time for you to learn how to be the boss, R4.”
“Hear that, Abbot?” you joke as the older man migrates inevitably to your side, smelling of blood and sweat and the cologne he always leaves on your pillow. “I’m the boss here.”
“Well, you could try to be a little more humble about it, sweetheart,” he squints and tugs on a disposable PPE gown, which Perlah helps him tie in the back. “Let’s do some skin hooks— 4 Shiley. Sound good?”
You hiss through your teeth and drag the clear blue sleeves of your own gown over your shoulders, while Robby stands behind you to knot the garment in place. “I don’t really like the curve of a Shiley… Especially not if we’re about to rush him up to the O.R.”
“I didn’t know you were so picky.”
“Well, you should know better than anyone, Dr. Abbot,” you grin. “Cut me an ET tube, will you? 6-0?”
“Yes, ma’am…” the older man nods and holds back his giddy grin until he turns away from you.
Robby grumbles a noise of disgust in the back of his throat in the meanwhile — quickly realizing that the two of you were much easier to stomach when you were working night shifts together, and he only had to see you for half an hour in passing, at most.
“Jesus Christ— Get a room, you two.”
“Well, technically, this is a room,” Jack quips distantly as he returns to your side with the endotracheal tube in tow. You make room for him at the head of the gurney on instinct, and drape a thin blue cloth over the patient’s neck, centering the aperture over the gushing wound.
Robby moves to the opposite side of the bed and pulls the haphazardly placed intubation bag from the man’s mouth with careful hands. “One without me in it, preferably,” he argues.
“Ooh…” you lilt. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Dr. Robby.”
“Just focus,” he scolds in a gritty tone of voice.
“You need to find the second and third tracheal rings,” Dr. Al instructs, sliding between the crowd and motioning to his neck with her gloved pinky. “You’ll be able to feel them with your fingers— just make the incision through the cricoid cartilage and be careful to avoid hitting the vocal cords, yeah?”
She flashes you a dark, doe-eyed, and distantly unamused look, seemingly immune to the playful banter surrounding her.
You nod once, scalpel in hand. “Yes, ma’am.”
You make the incision while Jack preps the tube. You work together with deft hands and a relative silence, aside from a few procedural directions. For the most part, the two of you communicate without words — you locate the man’s ruptured trachea in a sea of bright red blood while Jack slides the thin tubing to make an airway.
“I’m in,” he blurts after a few tense minutes. “Balloon up.”
The rapid beeping of his dropping SATs begins to even out almost instantly.
“I’ll sew the tracheal to the skin,” you announce within a sigh of relief. “2-0 silk, please.”
Jack passes you the round of sutures with a proud nod and a quiet smile. “Not too shabby, Doc… We make a pretty good team.”
“Or maybe I’m just really good at telling you what to do, Abbot,” you quip.
“Yeah,” he shrugs. “That, too.”
Robby and Dr. Al take their leave when the chaos dissipates, and Garcia comes down from the O.R. for a consultation. They trade the crowded trauma room for an equally crowded emergency department — slowly filling to the brim, like a pot bound to boil over. But, even still, it’s not nearly as tense as whatever you and Abbot have going on.
“Are they always like that?” the woman wonders aloud, nodding her tied-back curls towards the room behind them.
“Yep…” Robby nods with a heavy sigh, rubbing hand sanitizer between his calloused palms. “But they’re not usually dayshift, so… My philosophy is— let the night crew deal with it.”
You and Jack decide to follow Robby’s advice and find a room of your own — on the half-abandoned wing of the eighth floor, where everything smells like dust and time gone by, and the dying overhead lights only work a quarter of the time. It’s a good enough place to be alone with him, though; it gives you ample time to patch up the wound on his shoulder, and saves Jack the trouble of getting caught with the injury and being forced to fill out a mountain of paperwork accordingly.
He sits on the edge of the hospital bed with his shirt off and his broad arms crossed over his chest. The tendons in his freckled back twitch despite himself when you smooth a fresh bandage over his freshly cleaned scrape.
“Does it feel okay?” you ask him.
“Yep…” he nods once, trying and failing to get a peek of the gauze from over his shoulder. “Fine.”
Your concern doesn’t waver. Your brows lower with it, in a palpable look of worry that etches across your face. “You’d tell me if you were, like, in pain, though, right?”
Jack ponders for a moment, lips jutting faintly. “No, probably not,” he answers, too blunt for his own good.
“Well. At least you’re honest…”
You sigh and turn on the heel of your sneaker to chuck the dirtied napkins and crumpled wrappers into the bin across the room. Jack watches you go with something mischievous glimmering in his gaze.
“But I am fine, though— If you’re really all that worried about me,” he assures you with a quiet smile. “I’m a little banged up, but… I’ll survive.”
“So I can still come over tonight?” you wonder, half-shy.
Jack nods slowly and tilts his scruffy chin to keep your gaze when you walk the short distance back over to him. “Yes, sweetheart— I still plan on buying you dinner tonight,” he answers in a dry, sarcastic lilt.
Because that’s usually how it goes nowadays. You keep him company for a night, and he gets you food, pays off your grocery bill, or covers your rent — and then you go to work the next day like none of it ever happened.
It didn’t always used to be that way, though, this quid pro quo thing that the two of you had struck up over time. Jack bought things for you because he cared about you, because he didn’t want you to go hungry or homeless when he knew he had the money to help. It was all a part of his job, he figured, to help his residents out whenever he could. But, somewhere down the line, he became more than just your attending, and a whole lot less than your boyfriend. It was more like a secret, third thing that the two of you never bothered to put a label on.
You frown. “That’s not why I was asking, smartass.”
“Well, that’s the arrangement, though, right?”
“Calling it an arrangement makes it sound like I’m your— mail-order bride or something,” you scoff and cross your arms over his chest, following his form with a squinted gaze as he reaches for his discarded shirt. “You don’t have to make it sound so formal, Jack. I know this is fun for you, too.”
“Well, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t…” he quips with a faint wince as he slides the thin black t-shirt over his head, grimacing at the burn that blooms beneath the bandage as he does so.
“And no pressure or anything, obviously, but, uh…” You trail off and swallow hard, struggling to find the courage to continue as your eyes flit everywhere but at the man before you. “My student loans are about to hit for this month, and I—”
“I know,” Jack interjects with a polite nod. “I already took care of it.”
You lose your breath almost instantly, for a reason you can’t quite name.
“…Seriously?”
He scoffs like it’s obvious and rises from the bed, towering several inches over you. “Well, yeah. I told you, sweetheart— You don’t have to worry about that stuff anymore. As per the arrangement...” he croons lowly, with a playful half-smile, before bending softly at the waist to press a fleeting kiss to your lips.
You’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe to respond.
You struggle to finish the rest of your charting through the thoughts of Jack still plaguing your mind. You don’t think you’ve been so taken care of before; so seen, so held. You’re not entirely sure what to do with all of it now — these feelings that you’re harboring for your boss, of which you’re almost certain there is no room for in such an arrangement, as he so lovingly calls it.
Because he doesn’t take care of you because he loves you. He takes care of you so you’ll come over at the end of every night, and remind him what it feels like to be a little less lonely. And even still, you run hopelessly to his side anyway — half-ashamed because you don’t even care that he’s using you; half-ashamed because you like it.
“Have you seen Dr. Abbot?” Samira wonders through panted breaths, disrupting your distracted train of thought. She enters your tunnel vision from the opposite side of the desk, and all of a sudden, you’re back in the E.R. The distant droning of constant noise fills your ears when you’re shoved back to reality again. “I’ve been trying to find him for, like, ten minutes at this point.”
“Uh… No— Not recently, no,” you stammer.
Her chest deflates with an exhaled breath. “Shit…”
Your eyes narrow as they scan over her form, frazzled and sweaty, with dark curls falling out of her claw clip to frame either side of her face. “You okay? What happened?”
She sighs and leans her elbows on the desk in front of her.
“Nothing, I just… I should’ve planned this better,” she murmurs, mostly to herself. She talks with her hands as she rambles, “My patient doesn’t have any insurance. And he’s already in a mountain of medical debt as it is, so I was gonna send him home with some supplies, right? But then I lost him, and I was gonna Uber the stuff to his house, but then Dr. Abbot said he’d pay for it, and… Now I can’t find either of them, so…”
She trails off with a deep huff.
You forget that it’s your turn to respond, too hung up on the fact that Jack had offered to help her pay. It shouldn’t bother you as much as it does, but it hits you like a punch to the stomach all the same. Because you weren’t special, Jack was just kind; and you’re only realizing now that this arrangement of yours was never exactly exclusive.
“Sorry,” Samira shakes her head. “I know I’m rambling. It’s just… been a long day.”
You blink rapidly, clearing the haze of hurt from your eyes. “No, I— I totally get it. You should check upstairs. He might be with Hiro in the O.R.”
“Thanks,” she says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, that disappears the second she heads back for the elevator across the room.
You return to your charting when she’s gone, but forget to do any of it. You lose yourself in the void of the stark white computer screen, instead, while your hurt and distant jealousy scratches at your chest from the inside out.
Robby watches from afar, giving you a few minutes alone, before dismissing himself from the interns and shattering your cynical stream of consciousness. “How’s the charting coming along?” he asks in lieu of a greeting as he walks to stand at your side.
“Great,” you deadpan, muffled into the hands holding up your heavy head.
He scoffs out a quiet laugh. “Not to say I told you so, but… I did kinda tell you so…”
You turn slowly, peeking at him with one glaring eye as he leans against the desk beside you with his arm crossed over his chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you question in a gritty monotone.
“I told you not to get involved with Abbot,” Robby shrugs. “Not until you were done with your residency— ‘cause you already repeated one year, and if you want that neuro fellowship, you can’t have Jack screwing with your head.”
“Oh, yeah?” you squint, feigning interest as you slouch back in your chair. “The same way you screwed with Heather’s? When you got her pregnant when she was your resident?”
You say it to hurt him, and you can tell that it does, though it doesn’t feel as rewarding as you thought it would.
“Yeah, actually…” Robby nods and scratches at the greying patch in his beard. There’s a hurt look swimming in his dark eyes that almost makes you cower when he peers down at you. “Look, kid. I don’t care what you and Abbot get up to in your free time. That’s not what this is. But I’ve known you since you were an MS3— and I know you’re gonna go off to do great things, because I’m the one that taught you, right?”
Your frown deepens.
He smiles wider. “I just don’t want some relationship getting in your head, that’s all.”
“Well, it’s not, so…” you trail off with a less than convincing waver in your voice.
“Really?” he hums, eyes narrowing in a challenging squint. “Have you checked in with that fellowship you wanted?”
You smack your lips against your teeth. “Not yet…”
“And why’s that?”
“When did you become my mom, exactly, Dr. Robby?” you joke and spin in your chair to face him. “‘Cause it feels a little like you’re reprimanding me here—”
“I am reprimanding you,” he tells you, only partially joking, before turning at the distant call of his name. He stands to full height again and flashes you a playfully stern look as he walks away. “Take care of it, alright? Or else I’m grounding you.”
“For how long?” you call after him.
“However long it takes to get your head out of your ass—”
You’re left reeling for the rest of the day, trapped in a merciless cycle of want and unwavering doubt.
Jack is not yet close enough, even when he’s all but smothering you in the center of his bed, pressing you into the mussed sheets below with his broad body propped on top of yours. He smells distinctly of sweat, stale cologne, and the steak dinner he took you to after your shift ended.
You wrap your arms around his freckled shoulders in a feeble attempt to pull him impossibly closer, careful to avoid the bandage still stuck on his left shoulder blade. You bury your nose in his greying curls while he sprinkles warm, wet kisses along the tendons of your neck, relishing in the salty tang of sweat staining your skin.
But even as he slots himself between your spread thighs, even as he marks his territory in the lovebites he litters on your collarbone, you can’t shake the feeling that he’d rather be somewhere else — that there’s someone else he’s thinking of, someone else he’ll call after you’ve left for home, someone else he’ll take care of when you’re gone.
The train of thought leads you inevitably back to the root of your cynicism, which you struggle to shake out of your mind once the visual has entered it.
“Did you ever find Samira?” you hear yourself ask, shattering the honeyed quiet of his lamplit bedroom.
Jack’s head is far too cloudy to hear you properly the first time.
He pulls away from you with a quiet smack and sits back on his haunches. Your hands fall to your stomach, clad only in a thin white tank top, while his rest over your bare thighs, propped on either side of his waist. Your cotton panties are the only thing keeping you hidden from him now, and his form-fitting boxers cradle a hardening length that threatens to make your mouth water.
He wears a swirled look of confusion across his scruffy face, along with his spit on his swollen, kissbitten mouth, as he asks, “Did I ever find what?”
“Samira,” you echo, brows raised to your hairline. “She was looking for you a little bit before we left— Said she needed your help paying for something.”
“Oh. Yeah,” Jack hums, pale shoulders bouncing in a lazy shrug. “Her patient needed some supplies Ubered to his house, so… I took care of it. No big deal.”
He bends down to kiss you again, but freezes with his nose pressed against the bridge of yours when he feels you tense below him. His heavy sigh fans warm across your jaw before he sits back again, features screwed in a faint grimace.
“And I’m realizing now that that’s probably not the best phrase to use, but… I was just helping out a friend— a patient, actually,” he rambles. “That’s it.”
Your eyes narrow in a playful squint.
“That’s it?” you echo.
“Trust me, sweetheart,” Jack scoffs and shifts between your thighs, lifting your hips with his wide hands cradling your ass and bending at the waist to press his mouth over the bow in the center of your underwear. “The only girl getting her student loans paid off by me, is you.”
He leaves another chaste kiss on the cotton of your panties, right over the place where you throb like a heartbeat for him. Your stomach blooms with warmth.
“Because I’m special or because you don’t have the money to afford anyone else?” you ask.
Jack squints, light eyes glimmering with mischief in the low light. “Because you’re special and because I don’t have the money to afford anyone else. How about that?”
You roll your eyes despite the soft smile hinting at the corners of your mouth. “Just get to work, Dr. Abbot,” you scold in a distant monotone.
“With pleasure,” he mumbles, right before sliding his fingers through the hem of your underwear, pulling them to the side, and kissing your glittering pussy the way he would your mouth.
The lamplit bedroom swells with panted breaths and the heavy scent of sex.
Jack slouches against the headboard, heavy-eyed and wearing a mixture of your cum and spit down to his scruffy chin. His toned chest is coated in a thin layer of hair and glittering sweat. You watch a rogue bead trail down his sternum from where you’re perched on top of him — with the sheets bunched around your hips, and your thighs straddling his waist. Your pussy still clenches with the aftershocks of your orgasm while his spent cock softens slowly inside of you.
His calloused hands trail slowly up and down the length of your torso — from your shoulder blades, down to your ribs, over the bend of your waist, and up again. His touch is softer than summer rain, warmer than the cum leaking slowly out of you now.
“Do you think you could write me a letter of recommendation?” you ask, tracing the freckles on his chest with your pointer finger. “You know, for the neuro fellowship we talked about?”
“Wow…” Jack croons drily, brows raised to his hairline. His words slur slightly together as he comes down from the remnants of his high. “No aftercare, huh? Not even a little pillow talk? Just… straight to the point?”
You flash him a playfully stern look from beneath your lashes, lips quirking in a shy smile. “‘M just asking a question…”
“Yeah, while I’m still inside you,” he scoffs a tired laugh. “You know you don’t have to sex with me to get what you want—”
You frown. “That’s not what I was—”
“—You can just ask.”
“I’m having sex with you because I like it, Jack,” you blurt, very foreignly stern with him, as your eyes harden in a glare. “And I’m asking you for a letter of rec because I respect your opinion—”
“And because you don’t trust Robby to give you a good one, I’m assuming?” he quips with an arched brow.
“Exactly,” you nod.
Jack laughs. You can feel it rumbling in his chest beneath your palms. “I’ll e-mail it to you later. How about that?”
“There’s no rush,” you assure him. “Seriously. I haven’t even applied for it yet—”
“Don’t worry about it. I already wrote it.”
He steals the breath from your lungs for the second, third, or hundredth time that day.
“You already wrote it?” you echo, brows furrowed. “When?”
“When you told me about it the first time,” he confesses, bouncing a bare shoulder in a lazy shrug. “I knew you’d need a letter of rec eventually, so... I wrote while I had some free time and just… waited for you to ask, I guess.”
Your face screws with skepticism. It burns somewhere in your chest, too.
Even with him softening inside of you, leaking out of you, you can’t help but feel slightly suspicious of his sincerity. You still can’t quite believe that he cares about you this much.
“…Really?”
“Yeah,” he laughs and squeezes gently at your sides. “Why do you look so shocked? I do care about you outside of… all this. You know that, right?”
“I didn’t…” you confess, painfully shy, and lacking the courage to meet his gaze for several long moments. You focus instead on your hands, and the shapes you trace along his chest. “Not until now…”
“Well, what do I gotta do to prove it to you, huh?” Jack asks within a huff as he rises from his slouched position against the headboard.
The mattress creaks softly as his weight shifts. His warm chest presses firmly to yours, smothering your breasts against his heartbeat, as he cradles you to his chest. His glittering eyes dart back and forth between the two of yours as he says, “I’ve already given you everything, sweetheart…”
“I don’t want everything,” you murmur with a shake of your head, unable to tear your gaze from his attentive one. “I just want you.”
content warnings: 18+!!!! Gets quite smutty, fluffy, jack abbot invented YEARNING, age gap!!!, no use of Y/N
notes: i know this one sounds kinda depressing but i promise its fun and funny and flirty and it’s my favorite one ive ever written!! also debating on making an ao3 account - should i?
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
Jack Abbot was unfortunately intimately familiar with the 5 Stages of Grief. Depression, Bargaining, Denial, Anger, Acceptance.
He grieved his leg at the ripe age of 31 - courtesy of an IED in the desert of Afghanistan.
He began grieving his late wife the following year at 32 - courtesy of an arrogant, misogynistic emergency medicine resident.
At 33, he grieved the life he thought he was going to have while he started a new one. No longer a husband, but a widow. No longer an army medic, but an Emergency Room attending at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.
Sometimes when he would come back to the empty home he bought at 34, the ghosts of that life were louder than any silence he thought he could drown out with the police scanner.
Jack Abbot knew the 5 Stages of Grief like the back of his hand.
In hindsight, he didn’t know how he didn't realize the 5 stages in which he fell in love with her were quite similar. A mirror of his grief refracted through a lens of unconditional love.
depression
If someone would have asked Jack at the time, he wouldn't have admitted he was depressed. He truly didn't think he was.
He didn't need therapy to deal with his trauma. His wife passed away a decade ago. His leg, or lack thereof, the constant reminder of the time he gave up while he had her on this earth - was physically healed. As much as it was going to be anyways. So therefore he was mentally healed. As much as he thought he was going to ever be anyways.
He'd been running on autopilot. It carried him from but mostly to the emergency room at PTMC. It's what made him stop at the unfamiliar sight of Gloria in his ED. This was why he didn't work the day shift. He never wanted to deal with all of the bureaucratic administrative bullshit. The only business Jack Abbot was ever interested in was the one of saving lives. Gloria hadn't even opened her mouth and Jack already knew that Robby was going to owe him one.
"Dr Abbot! Wonderful timing. I have a residency interview waiting in Robby's office for you."
Now Robby really owed him one. "Doesn't Robby usually..." Jack scratched at the back of his neck, still confused as to why Gloria had involved herself, and now him, in a residency interview, "...facilitate those?"
Gloria gave a curt nod before glancing around them, as if checking to make sure they would not be overheard. She lowered her voice as she spoke, "Yes but I specifically scheduled this one when I knew you were covering. She is the best candidate we have ever had and probably ever will. I cannot risk Robby running her off."
Right. The Adamson of it all. There was a joke in there somewhere about Jack being considered the stable one in the ED. He guessed he must be. He had become fairly good at presenting an even keeled, calm front. He still had kind of felt like a mess in every other area of his life but the ED was the one place he was the furthest from one. It's where he solved the mess instead of becoming it.
She shoved a printed resume into Jack's hands before she was off. Back up to her ivory tower. He took a look as he strode over to Robby's office. Full ride to Stanford for both her undergraduate and medical degree.
For once, he agreed with Gloria. What the hell did this candidate want to do with PTMC?
He asked her as much as he sat across the desk from her, brow furrowed in genuine curiosity. Residency interviews usually went one of two ways. The candidate was either far too cocky or so nervous they barely got a complete sentence out.
She struck the balance. She was confident. More so than some of his residents who had been out on the floor that day. She wore a dark gray wool sweater and maxi skirt set. The monochrome was only cut by the deep maroon of her belt, tights, heels, and purse. Her long hair was slicked back into a simple pony tail and her makeup was minimal, if any.
It wasn't the typical look of a medical student on a residency interview. Still completely appropriate, but far less stuffy and much more self assured.
Jack wouldn't know good style if it had slapped him in the face but he did know what hers revealed to him about herself. It was the kind of style that someone who knew who they were had. Who had spent time getting to know what they liked. Whether it was what they were reading, listening to, watching, or doing. Her style wasn’t an afterthought but she carried it with a quiet confidence that let everyone know she was not overcompensating for anything either.
It was a demeanor and style that was derivative of having a life outside of medicine - which was quite uncommon for medical students and residents alike. It was completely foreign to Jack. It intrigued him. She intrigued him.
Her body language was relaxed but respectful. One leg crossed over the other as she leaned back into the wooden chair that was probably older than she was, hands clasped in her lap. Jack doubted her heart rate had reached over 65 the whole time she had been in there.
She took a beat to answer his question which also intrigued Jack. She was not rushing to answer just to fill space. She seemed to be comfortable with the time silence gave her to craft intentional responses. Why PTMC?
A ghost of a smile that looked like it might be haunted by one appeared on her face, "My family is here."
"That's it?"
"Do you want the practiced professional answer that every other interviewer has gotten or do you want the real one?"
Jack bit back a grin at her bluntness. Ignored the stirring in his stomach that made him feel special that she may share something about herself with him that she hadn't with anyone else. He tells himself to Get. A. Grip.
"I am sure the absolute best residencies in the country are foaming at the mouth to land you and you want to come here because of your family? Give me the real reason." He let his smirk slip through as he crossed his arms over his broad chest, "I'm a captive audience after all."
The airy laugh that he got out of her almost knocked him out of his seat. What was wrong with him? He had a feeling she didn't just hand out a laugh as ethereal as that one. That she was not the kind of woman who just giggled because it was the part of the conversation where she'd been socialized to appease the man speaking that he was funny. She seemed far too smart for that. For probably everyone in the building. For him, especially.
"I have already been away in California for eight years. I could have fifty years left with my dad and my brothers and my sister in laws and my nieces and nephews or they could be gone next week," she uncrossed and recrossed her legs before continuing. Didn't rush before speaking again, "I don't want to build an unguaranteed future alone and then have no one to share it with when I get there. I wanna spend time with them now."
Jack's adam's apple bobbed in his throat. His eyes burned as he fought to hold back tears. It must have been some kind of cruel joke that right then his phantom limb pain wanted to shoot up through his thigh. Like a reminder of the time he spent wasting while he had his wife alive.
He had joined the army to become a doctor debt free. Then he had spent all of their marriage overseas, saving money for a life they never even got to spend together. He had borrowed time from the future that didn't even exist. And all he had to show for it was ironically - more money - monthly life insurance, disability, and veteran affairs checks. Oh and one and a half legs.
He blinked rapidly. He was not about to cry at work. Nevertheless while he was conducting a residency interview. He diverted the conversation away from himself, "You didn't mention your mom."
"She died. When I was a teenager, about ten years ago. After coming here actually," She coughed out a dry laugh that sounded like she dragged it up through her throat, kicking and screaming. Awfully different to the one Jack had floated out of her moments prior, "She was pregnant and they sent her away without so much as a full consultation. Just chalked her symptoms up to pregnancy and she died from an aortic dissection later that night."
Jack wanted to vomit at the almost exact recountance of how his wife had died. He was so focused on not emptying his breakfast onto Robby's desk that a tear slipped - the first in probably years.
"Oh, Dr Abbot. I didn't mean to make you emotional. I can go back to the professional answer any time you want." Another scoffed laugh, her eyes full of compassion but no tears, "Trust me - it's probably easier for both of us."
Jack really never talked about his late wife anymore. He liked to tell himself he was healed. He most definitely didn't talk about it at work. But he found himself wanting to then - with her, "No it's just - my late wife - she died the same way, about a decade ago. I was away on a stupid bachelor party trip and she didn't want to worry me so she didn't call me about it and then she, uh, never called again."
"Jesus - I am so sorry, Dr Abbot."
He noticed, appreciated, the way her head didn't tip and her eye contact didn't waver. She was not expressing her condolences out of pity or not understanding but of exactly the opposite. She knew exactly how he felt. He ignored the way his heart jumped out of his chest at the thought.
God, Robby really owed him one.
"Thank you - I am sorry about your mom. I am just impressed you still wanna work here. I could never work in the hospital that did that to my wife. The couple years after she passed - I could barely work here."
"Well, the other option was becoming one of those weirdos who swears off doctors and hospitals and science."
Jack tilted his chin at her in consideration, rubbed at the scruff there, and let out a sputtering laugh, "Are you sure that is the only other option?"
He pulled another light chuckle from her and he exhaled. Truly exhaled. For the first time in maybe ten years - like he had been underwater for so long he had forgotten what fresh air felt like.
"This is my way of letting her live on through me. To do something about what happened to her rather than using it as an excuse to sulk through life. I wanna see life as something that comes from me and not at me."
She picked at the lining of her purse that was perched in her lap. The first sign of potentially any nerves. The first time he realized that he was getting the true her. Not the front she must put up for interviews. It didn't seem much different - just a little more vulnerable.
Jack could talk. So much so he had a reputation for it in the ED. He was no stranger to being on the receiving end of a 'God do you ever shutup?' so he was a bit stunned that she had managed to shock him into silence.
He hugged his crossed arms closer to his chest as if that was even possible and just stared.
She cracked a smile, back to what was seemingly her calm and confident self, "Too esoteric for a residency interview?"
"Oh no. Not at all. I just..." Jack couldn't seem to find the right words to tell her that she had just reframed his entire outlook on his life and his grief in one sentence so he settled on, "...I uh never really thought of it that way."
"Me neither. But I have an excellent therapist."
"I will have you know, if you choose to do your residency here, I do not make it a habit of trauma dumping on my residents like I did on you today."
"I think I started that, Dr Abbot. But since I made you cry - does that mean I am in?"
That earned a genuine cackle out of Jack. A cackle. A kind of sound he wasn't even sure he was capable of making anymore but the bright, beaming smile she reciprocated made him want to do it for the rest of his life.
Maybe he owed Robby one.
Jack tried not to think about her as he got the old laptop down from his hallway closet later that night. He may never even see her again. He ignored the fact that that thought made him sick to his stomach.
Tried not to think about how Gloria had never ever personally been the residency candidate welcome committee until today while he googled 'Veteran, disabled, widower therapists near me'.
He tried not to think about how she looked the best anyone has ever looked in that emergency department as he murmured to himself, "God, that's a depressing search."
He tried not to think about how she had the most beautifully intriguing brain of anyone who had ever stepped foot into that hospital, potentially his entire life, as he booked his very first therapy appointment.
bargaining
"Remember when you told me you didn't make it a habit of trauma dumping on your residents?"
Jack didn't even have to look at her to know there was a huge smirk plastered on her face. She had been his resident for a little over a year. Although, it had taken much less time for the ribbing to start.
"Telling you about how Shen won't stop calling me 'Unc'," Jack had put air quotes around the Gen Z slang term as he continued, "is not trauma dumping."
"You seem pretty traumatized by it. You've only brought it up 85 times this shift."
"And to think - I was gonna ask you to a research breakfast after this." Jack nudged his shoulder gently with hers, tried his best to stave off the grin that played on his lips.
"And to think! You're going to anyway, old man." She nudged him right back, a little less gentle causing him to turn his shoulders and gaze towards her, feigning shock and offense.
That got the exact reaction he was fishing for - a big bright smile, loud laugh, and a second or so more of eye contact that he wouldn't have had a reason to justify otherwise.
What can he say? When it came to her - he was greedy.
"You two! I would prefer to get the hand off completed before you're both back on shift tonight. I swear you're like young and dumb medical students after shift sometimes." Dana chastised them but not without a hint of a smile.
Dana had known Jack for over ten years at this point. Seen him in a lot of different moods; but never as happy as this.
"Well, I'm young." She emphasized the 'I' with a smirk and pointed the finger that she had aimed at herself over at Jack, "He is just being dumb."
Jack barked a laugh. A sound that was no longer so foreign to him. No longer so foreign to everyone else in the ED.
He didn't miss the knowing glance Dana shot his way, a grin fighting to appear on both of their faces. He did his best to give Dana a look that said that he wasn't hopelessly infatuated with his resident. That he enjoyed spending time with each of his residents equally. He was not entirely sure he convinced Dana. He wasn't even good at convincing himself.
He could take her to breakfast if it was to help her with her research. It was most definitely not to see how many times he could pull a laugh from her. Bonus points if he got a nose scrunch or an accidental spit take of the orange juice that was already half way down her throat.
He could bring her a coffee every shift if it was to ensure his best resident was energized for her shift. It was not because of the way she looked up at him with her bright, big eyes through her lashes and said "Thank you, Dr Abbot!" like it was some sort of melody. If he started buying coffee for Dr Ellis and Dr Shen as well to make his affection less obvious - what was the difference?
He could let her do a pericardiocentesis way before anyone else her year probably should have if it was to improve her education. And because she truly was ready. He'd have bet his entire career that she was better at it than all of the surgical residents upstairs. Which meant it wasn't so totally obvious that he was staring at her in awe all of the time. Because when she was doing shit like that - everyone was. Being able to guide her hands through a procedure was just a bonus. Even if there were latex gloves between them.
He could bring extra food to shift, knowing she was going to eat half of it, if it was because he wanted to ensure his best resident was properly fueled and empowered to do her job to the best of her ability. He kept it to himself that he drove to a grocery store thirty minutes out of his way to get the specific kind of candy he knew she liked.
He could drive her home if it was to ensure his smartest resident got home safe. It was totally not because he got to spend more time with her. He definitely didn't take the long way to her apartment and he went exactly the speed limit because that was what was safe. Not because it meant extra time with her. No one else needed to know that he went at least fifteen over when she wasn't in his passenger seat.
No one also needed to know that he bought an aux cord just for her because he loved to hear what kinds of songs she liked. He definitely didn't have a playlist compiled of them all that he listened to at home now instead of his police scanner.
denial
She had been his resident for a bit over two years now and the ED was Q word tonight. No one had said it but the combined time they had all spent fucking around at the hub proved it.
Shen was on his fifth tiktok trend of the night. He thought he was being inconspicuous about the amount of time he had been spending with Javadi but his new found interest in the social media app gave him away. Jack couldn't really say anything to his new junior attending about the dangers of falling for someone that you were the superior to without blowing up his own soft spot for a certain resident.
So Shen was on his fifth tiktok trend of the night and he had roped her in.
Jack thought he knew all of her secret talents by now but he watched from behind her, amused and hands tugging at his stethoscope looped behind his neck, as Shen played various Britney Spears songs to see how quickly she could guess them.
She hadn't needed more than 3 seconds for any of them.
Then they were busy for an hour or so. A couple drunk twenty somethings with some concussions and laceration repairs - nothing too crazy. And then they were back at central. The quiet was interrupted by a gasp from Dr Shen. Which was quickly followed by Dr Ellis looking over his shoulder at his phone and then both of them dying laughing.
"I don't even want to know." Jack threw his hands up in surrender.
"Oh, yes you do! You're going viral for being hot!" Shen exclaimed.
"I don't know what viral means if it’s not to do with an infection and I already know that I’m hot thank you very much." Jack didn't even glance up from his charting as he spoke.
“For being hot and being hopelessly in love.” Ellis clarified.
That got Jack's attention. He got up, snatched Shen's phone out of his hand as he muttered, “I am not hopelessly -" he didn't even want to give the accusation a real denial to validate it, "-let me see that.” He pressed play.
It was ironic that he had been telling himself he needed to start schooling his expressions when it came to her when the same dopey smile and enamored eyes he had going in the video were on his face as he watched the video.
He knew Shen and Ellis were monitoring his reaction closely but he couldn't help but let out a laugh at the part of the video where he had guessed the song 'Lucky' before she had.
She had whipped around in the spinning chair so fast - her hair had stuck to her glossed lips, "How the hell do you know that?!" she asked surprised, a wide smile taking over her face.
Jack shuffled around in his wide stance, large hands going from the ends of his stethoscope to clasped behind his back, his chin tilted up at her as he spoke with a drawl, "I let you play your music when I drive you home, don’t I?”
In the moment, Jack had missed what was caught on camera - the knowing smirk Dr Ellis had leveled at Dr Shen off camera as she said, “Oh, I’m sure you do.”
Jack's rebuttal hadn't even had a chance to leave his mouth before Shen and Ellis were reading the comments aloud, taking turns as they went.
"WHOOOO DAT IN THE BACK!?"
"Paging Doctor biceps in the back"
"Close enough. Welcome back Lexie grey and mark sloan"
"What in the greys anatomy"
"Do the two doctor sexys know that age gap august is upon us"
"If she doesn’t wanna bite on his biceps I will"
"Does that girl know she has 30mins to claim that man before I do"
"He does not play about her!"
"A man who YEARNS is a man who EARNS"
"Dr sexy is down bad for the other doctor sexy"
"Where is this emergency room at … for research purposes"
"I want Doctor sexy to look at me like that"
"Okay, I don’t look at her like anything!" Jack hissed low in a whisper, hoping to a god he did not believe in that she was still busy with the drunk college kids and was not hearing any of this.
"Well, you definitely don’t look at me like that." Shen laughed, sucking on his Dunkin straw even though nothing had been left in his cup for hours.
"I look at you all the same." Jack deadpanned. He sat back down at his computer. An attempt to get back to charting. But not before taking a sweep of the ED and making sure she was nowhere within earshot. Not that Shen and Ellis were making it easy with their hysterics.
"Bro - if you looked at me like that I would call HR. She's just into it."
“Into what?" She asked monotonically, not even looking up from her iPad as she approached the rest of the night shift crew at the hub.
“Nothing!” Jack barely got out, grumbling and exasperatedly running a hand through his silver curls as he got up from his computer and went to chairs.
He didn't miss the raise in her brows as she looked at Shen and Ellis, silently asking 'What the hell is up with him?'.
He couldn't tell you the last time he voluntarily went out to chairs but he was hoping his fair Irish skin would be finished betraying him with the pinkness in his cheeks, ears, and neck by the time he made his way back to central.
He knew it was only a matter of time before Shen and Ellis showed her the video and he did not want to be there when they did.
So he missed the flush in her cheeks, ears, and neck that had been identical to his.
And her slightly embarrassed, definitely exaggerated, "You guys stop - he is literally our boss."
"But you're not not into it?" Ellis had pushed. If anyone was getting it out of her, it was Ellis. They had been attached at the hip since their residency began.
"It doesn't matter if I'm into it. He is our boss! He is not into it."
"God, for someone so smart you are so stupid sometimes."
Jack had waved Shen off when Shen had come out to chairs to tell him about that interaction, practically vibrating with excitement. Or maybe that was the caffeine. Jack had parroted her, tried to make a joke of it all. Said something along the lines of, "I know you guys like to pretend otherwise but I am your boss."
But once Jack was home, black out shades drawn and snug in his bed, he couldn't wipe the huge, stupid grin off of his face.
anger
Jack was not an angry man. Never had been. Very few things on this earth made him genuinely angry - one of them being the annual hospital gala. Every year they were trotted out as show ponies to raise money that the ED would never even see. You can't save patients with empty compliments and an open bar.
He had managed to avoid it the past couple years - always worked instead. So when he saw he wasn't scheduled to work the night of this year's gala, he printed out the schedule and marched right over to Robby's workstation to rectify what was surely a mistake.
"Why am I not scheduled to work tomorrow? I didn't even check the schedule until now because I just assumed that my friend would do me a solid because he owes me one-"
"Because you have to go to the gala, man." Robby interrupted Jack's rambling.
"What part of 'you owe me one' did you not understand?"
"Did you happen to see who else is not scheduled?"
Neither of them had to say anything for them both to know who's name Jack was scanning that piece of paper for.
Robby clapped him on the back, satisfied with a smile on his face as he walked away, "Go home and rest, Romeo. You got a big date tomorrow night - you’re welcome!"
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
So again, Jack was not an angry man. Never had been. But he had decided to add a new line item to the short list of things that made his blood absolutely boil. The thing being every single young, conventionally attractive, rich, tall surgeon working in his hospital hitting on his resident at this stupid fucking gala.
They hadn't even made it to dinner yet and he was sure she'd been approached over ten times. Jack had to step away after the most recent one - under the guise of getting a drink.
Jack unfortunately was very familiar with this particular suitor of hers. She was well into her last year of her residency and it had not been an uncommon occurrence for Dr Harvard from cardio thoracic surgery to make any and every excuse to come down and consult when she was on shift.
Jack made a conscious effort to forget his name. Shen and Ellis loved to remind him of it.
They'd tease him about it. They'd say that there was a plus side to it all. They never had to wait long on a cardiac surgery consultation anymore. But selfishly, Jack would wait fucking years if it meant he was chatting her ear off instead of Mr Harvard.
Jack wasn't naive. She was practically glowing. She always was. She always looked beautiful. Before tonight, he basically only ever saw her with no makeup on, hair a mess, wearing hospital issued scrubs and he still thought she was the most gorgeous person alive.
But tonight. Tonight, Jack was surprised he did not end up as a patient in his ED the first moment he had laid eyes on her. Her hair was carefully curled, framing her perfect face that was painted with just the right amount of makeup. Her lashes were more prominent than usual, her cheeks more flushed and her lips a bit more pink and a lot more glossy.
And then her dress. That damn dress. It was vintage because of course it was. Of course, she found time to vintage shop on top of the grueling hours she put in at the ED. Even in her last year of residency, she had never lost sight of being her own person both in and outside of work.
The dress reminded Jack of something from the prohibition era - celebratory. He was trying not to be so obvious in his celebration of how the structured seams of the powder blue silk created a corset shape that wasn't too tight for a work function but definitely was tight enough to have his imagination wandering.
With delicate lace panels towards the bottom of her dress and the swooping off the shoulder neckline with draped cap sleeves - Jack was being a sap but she looked like she had stepped out of a romance movie. Or off of a runway.
It was the kind of dress that reminded him of when they first met. He loved getting glimpses of her like this. Of who she was outside of the ED.
She had said she found the dress at a second hand shop on consignment. After that he had spent most of their evening dreaming about what it would be like to hold her hand and watch her shop.
Get to see the process of how she selected what she liked. Get to bring her hand up to his lips and kiss it - knowing that he was one of those things that she liked. Maybe even loved. And of course, buy everything her gaze lingered on even when she insisted not to. Especially then.
So Jack was not naive. He knew she was absolutely, positively stunning. He knew even beyond that - she was kind and funny and fucking whip smart. Smarter than anyone he had ever met and in so many different ways. If he could move into her brain - he would. So he was not naive enough to think other men wouldn't flirt with her. They would be fools not to. He just wished he could be the reason they wouldn't.
He sipped his old fashioned and did his best to pretend like he was looking anywhere but at her and Mr Harvard. He can't imagine that he was very successful. A ding from his phone took him out of his misery.
From Shen: Yo - i know you hate that gala shit. Kinda bogus robby made you go. Thought you guys were friends. Anyway, can you come help? Ellis has got a hot date. Or so she says
Jack had never been more thankful to receive a weird text from Shen in his life. He replied with a quick 'On my way' before taking one last glance over at her.
He sighed at the sight of her digging through her purse for something. He couldn’t see her expression but he sure could see Mr Harvard's. Dude couldn’t wipe the grin off of his face. Jack wished he could do it for him.
Okay chill, he reminded himself. As much as he wanted to, he figured it would be rude to interrupt her to say goodbye. She probably didn’t want her old attending cock blocking her anyways.
Jack set his half finished drink on the bar counter along with a $20 tip and turned on his good heel. He had his hands on the cold metal of the event venue's door when he heard his favorite voice behind him.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?"
Jack turned to see her and the sight made him melt. Arms crossed over her chest, brow furrowed, and lips in a stern line that was slowly slipping into a pout.
"Shen and Ellis need a cover."
"And when were you planning on telling me?" Her hands moved to her hips. Jack's hands flexed at his sides. All he wanted to do was kiss the sass out of her. But he couldn't. She was still his resident. And probably not even interested in him.
"You seemed busy. We haven’t even eaten dinner yet." Jack's response earned an eye roll out of her.
Before he could even blink, her arm threaded under his own - grabbing his bicep, "I'm coming with you."
Who was Jack to argue with that?
"How'd you get out of your conversation with Mr Harvard?"
Another dramatic eye roll. He loved it. Then the prettiest little smile he had ever seen.
"Told him my mean, scary boss said we had to leave."
He couldn't decide his opinion regarding the short walk to his SUV in handicapped parking. One part of him was thankful. He wouldn't be shocked if he had burnt holes in his suit jacket from the way his skin had heated up under her feather light touch. The blush was sure to creep up into his cheeks any moment now.
On the other hand, he could walk for miles if it meant she was touching him the whole way. She stopped at his passenger car door and turned to look at him.
"Mean, scary boss huh?" was all Jack could get out while he was under her gaze. It sounded like he had dragged his words through gravel on their way out. But with the way her eyes still shone in the moonlight and the fact that they were solely trained on his own - he was lucky he managed to get any words out at all.
"The scariest." she winked. She fucking winked. Jack had never been more thankful that he had metal for a leg because if he didn't - his legs were sure to have wobbled out from beneath him right then.
His hands were stuffed into his slack pockets. He didn't trust himself for them to be anywhere else. Her hands had given him a moment of reprieve. No longer lightly squeezing his bicep. But now they trailed up his chest, stopping to pretend to fix his tie even though Jack knew it was perfect. Military habit. Didn't matter - she could do whatever the hell she wanted if it involved touching him.
His breath hitched at her touch. He hoped she didn't notice.
"He cleans up nice though - makes up for all the mean and scary."
"Did your mean, scary boss mention you look beautiful tonight." Jack kept his hands in his pockets but took an experimental step forward. Was this really happening? Was she really hitting on him?
It was almost as if she had heard his inner monologue. Wanted to make her intentions clear as she looped her arms around Jack's neck and absentmindedly threaded her fingers through the curls at the nape there.
Ever since she had started fiddling with his suit, her eyes had dropped to anywhere but his face. Typical Jack would have dipped his head, forced eye contact but Jack right now was just trying to stand up right.
Her gaze snapped to him and this time he hadn't even tried to hide the palpitation in his heart or his breathing, "No." was all she said. Barely a whisper but Jack heard her loud and clear.
His hands immediately fell to her hips. He filed away the way she seemed to sink into his grip. Exhaled a little. Like it was muscle memory from a past life.
Her fingers circled their way higher up onto his head, fully tugging on his curls and lightly scratching at his scalp. Jack had to bite back a groan as he squeezed at her hips and pressed her fully back onto his unopened car door.
"Jack." She murmured out low somewhere between a moan and an airy breath, head tilted back in pleasure at the pressure of his fingers on her hips. Jack was fucked now that he knew what his name sounded like falling off her lips without inhibition.
The expanse of her neck now available to him was like a siren song. The past four years had felt like a siren song and he couldn't help himself any longer. One of his hands found the back of her head, gently cradling it back up for her to look at him. His other hand rubbed at her jaw in sweeping strokes of his thumb.
Neither of them could rip their gaze from the others' lips - their panting chests just a mere centimeter apart. He was finally going to do it. He was finally going to kiss her.
Until he wasn't.
Until a loud bang of the door opening broke them apart. A slew of hospital administrators spilled out behind it looking for their next smoke break. Had Jack mentioned that he fucking hated the annual hospital gala?
They flew off each other at what would have been a rather impressive speed if it hadn't felt so agonizing. What was Jack thinking? That he could make out with his resident against his car like they were a horny teenage couple while all of the people in the building a few feet away from them could have her fired for it in a heartbeat? He had to be better. At least until her residency was over with.
He had to get it together - for the both of them it seemed like. Jack cleared his throat and ran a hand over his stubble to hide the smile threatening to take over his face at the realization that she had wanted to kiss him. The way she had said his name with so much...want. Need, even. Maybe this thing wasn't so one sided after all.
He got out of his own head just in time to stop her closing of the passenger door. He wrapped his hand around the top of the door, held it open and waited for her to look up at him after she had buckled up. But the buckle clicked and her gaze stayed trained on her lap.
"Hey." He whispered softly. They both knew the eye contact he was seeking. She slowly turned her head in his direction, gazing up at where he was standing in front of her.
"You look absolutely breathtaking. You always do."
She sucked in a breath and then there she was - big bright smile, shoulders no longer slumped, no more fiddling with her purse strings just to avoid the space between them. She was back to herself.
"Just for that I'll order pizza to the hospital." His favorite.
"Thank you." He probably should have shut the door by now. Should have probably already been on their way to the hospital. But he couldn't stop fucking staring at her. What's new?
"Don't thank me. I still have your card in my DoorDash account." She giggled and all Jack could get out was good before he shut her door.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
They ate their pizza in their gown and tux at the hub with Ellis and Shen.
Ellis raised the polaroid camera that Dana kept at the hub desk and signaled for them to get together for a photo. Jack hooked two fingers under her rolling stool and tugged her over into his side.
"Woah! Old man still has moves!"
Jack ignored Shen as he wrapped his arm over her collarbone from behind her, pulling her closer. Her head instinctively leaned toward his and her fingers delicately held his wrist as they smiled for Ellis's camera.
Jack didn't miss the look Ellis had given her. Maybe he was delusional or maybe she had gotten her best friend Ellis's advice on making a move on her attending at the gala and now Ellis was checking in on the results.
Jack also didn't miss the way her cheeks heated up and the subtle shake of her head at Ellis. As if to signal that they would talk about it later. Probably, when Jack was out of earshot.
Shen tried to get them to pose like they were going to prom. When they both refused citing unprofessionalism, Shen threw a bit of a hissy fit. Mumbling something along the lines of "Oh, now we are being professional!"
Ellis settled on writing ‘Gala Girlies' as the caption for their polaroid before taping it onto the hub counter with the rest of the pictures that had accumulated over the years. This one was definitely Jack's new favorite.
He knew exactly what Robby was going to say when he saw it tomorrow morning, “You owe me one, brother."
He was so fucked.
acceptance
Jack was bored. He never thought he'd say that but this hospital without her was straight up boring with a capital B. He worked here without her for ten years and now - the ten days of PTO she had taken before her first day as a junior attending - felt like the longest of his life. And he was only on day 6.
He wasn't even supposed to be there right now. He had come in after a Tactical EMS job gone bad. His buddy had already gone up to surgery. Before Jack could leave, Robby had roped Jack into joining him on the new day shift attending, Dr Al-Hashimi's, welcome tour.
He was waiting on a text from her. She was spending the day with her family and then she and Jack were supposed to go watch the fireworks together - alone. It was the Fourth of July after all. He had it all planned. He had practiced how he was going to profess his feelings to her in the mirror like a dork more times than he cared to admit. He had long accepted that he was in love with his resident. Now his colleague. He could work with that.
He checked his phone again. No luck. He ignored Robby's inquisitive glance. Jack had never been so interested in his phone like he had been today.
They stood at the hub as Robby droned on and on about day shift procedures that Jack was so thankful not to have to know too much about. Jack just admired the polaroids on the desk in front of them. He was still plotting a way to inconspicuously steal the one of him and her from the gala for his wallet but it had become a fan favorite in the past few months.
Dr Al-Hashimi directed her next question to Jack, pulling him out of his thoughts. She held up his second favorite polaroid with a raised brow, "Am I going to have the pleasure of meeting..." Dr Al-Hashimi squinted to read the writing below the picture, "...Abbot's Angels?"
Jack couldn't help but laugh. The photo had been taken over a year ago. Shen had begged him to take it. Handed the camera over to Jack as he maneuvered himself between the two girls. Both her and Ellis's backs to Shen. All three of them holding up finger guns to their lips with faux serious expressions.
As if her ears were ringing, Dr Ellis appeared behind Jack at the hub. Clapping him on the shoulder and extending a hand out to greet Dr Al-Hashimi, "Don't bring it up to him. He is going through withdrawals because his favorite is still out on PTO."
"Parker - I do not have favorites. You guys aren't even my residents anymore." Jack muttered in defense as he checked his phone again.
Dr Al-Hashimi clocked him, "Dr Abbot - I am good to go here and I am sure I will be seeing you. You should go. It's your day off and a holiday. I am sure you have plans."
"Yeah, what are your plans, Dr Abbot?" Ellis teased. She must have known her best friend's plans were with him for the night. Ellis was enjoying herself. Jack shot her a glare.
"I think his plans just showed up!" Robby clapped his hands together, sputtered out a laugh at the coincidence.
"Brother - I am not taking another case! I am leav-" Jack looked up from unscrewing his water bottle to follow Robby's gaze.
He spotted her mid sip and he genuinely choked on his water in a way he thought only happened in cartoons. He was ready to send Ellis out to chairs when she patted his back like she was burping a baby and suggested that there was a cooling room in North 5 if he needed it.
She was simply glowing. Wavy hair, bright eyes, sun kissed skin donning a short jean skirt and a white halter tank top that accentuated the tan lines over her collarbones left by her bikini.
"Well if it isn’t the prodigal princess of the pitt herself!" Robby goaded, grabbing a clip board and rounding the hub.
The man she was pushing in the wheelchair piped up at that, "You guys actually call her that? Seriously? I thought she was making that up. Please stop - her ego is big enough as it is."
"What do you got?" Robby asked. Jack was still staring. Who the fuck was this guy?
"Idiot male. 37 years old. Broke his ankle trying to relive his glory days coaching youth soccer practice," She was leaned over, pushing the wheelchair with all her might, "and could stand to lose a few pounds."
That pulls an almost relieved huff from Jack. Whoever this guy was - she must've not been that fond of him.
"Hey -" the man reached behind him and tugged on her hair "-my arms still work!"
Oh hell no, Jack thought. Ellis must have noticed he was about to step in and she stopped him before he could, "At ease, soldier. That is her brother."
"Well your brain clearly doesn't" she whacked him right upside the head.
Her brother imitated her, high pitched while she made a show of dramatically handing over his wheelchair to Robby so he could take him away for X-rays.
She thanked Robby as she made her way over to the hub, introducing herself to Dr Al-Hashimi and grabbing the bag of candy that Jack was offering out to her.
She looked him up and down and nodded her head at his camouflage pants, "Really? What is with the GI Jack get up? I thought you were gonna get a hobby.”
"And I thought you said you were gonna stop stealing my food."
"And I thought you said you were gonna stop buying t-shirts one size too small."
"From Walmart." Dr Ellis added.
"You guys, I told you - I do not shop at Walmart."
She giggled and gently nudged her shoulder into Ellis's, "Oh yeah Parker, how could we forget? He shops at Costco!"
"They send good coupons in the mail!" Jack defended himself
"Bro - you're a disabled, widowed veteran who makes more than half a million dollars a year. I think you can afford real clothes." Ellis deadpanned.
“Any other comments from the fashion police about my outfit?”
“Don’t threaten us with a good time.”
Jack cocked his head towards her, smirk widening. He couldn't hide how happy he was to see her. It had been a long couple of days, "And to think I was just starting to miss you."
"Just starting to!?" She raised her eyebrows in challenge, feigning offense while her eyes practically sparkled up at him. He could feel the weight of Ellis's knowing smile on them. He didn't care.
He was debating how obvious it would be for him to pull her into a hug until Dana beat him to it.
"Dr Al, you have just met one of our finest," Dana squeezed her harder, "Except you probably won't see her much because Abbot is always hogging her on nights."
She was released from Dana's grip just enough to clap a light hand on Jack's shoulder, giving him a squeeze, "He needs someone to keep him sharp in his old age."
Jack grimaced the second her hand had made contact with his shoulder and dread washed over her face. Dana fully released her now. Letting her turn all of her attention onto Jack.
“Jack…”
“I’m fine.” He avoided her probing stare and that was exactly how she knew he was not fine.
“Really?” She asked - not buying what he was selling.
“Yes!" She applied light pressure on his shoulder again and he wriggled out of her grasp with a sharp and hissed, "- ah!”
“The room right there is open. Go patch him up.” Dana pointed to the room across the hall. Shooing them in there before Jack had a chance to protest.
Jack sat on the bed as she shut the door and pulled the curtain. Her back was still turned to him as she said, "Take off your shirt."
"At least let me take you to dinner first." Jack tried to pull a laugh from her. It didn't go over well.
"Jack." She warned. Now turned toward him with her arms crossed, “What happened?”
“I was intubating in open fire and a bullet grazed my vest. I’m fine.” He shrugged as he pulled off his shirt. As if what he just said was a completely normal and frequent occurrence.
“You were shot!?” She hurried over to him, standing in between his legs as he sat on the bed.
“Shot…at."
She tilted her head at him in annoyance. Pausing her opening of the various utensils she was preparing to clean his wound.
“What?” He asked.
“Can’t you just take up tennis or golf or literally anything else? Like a normal person?”
“What fun would that be?” Jack insisted upon keeping it light. She shouldn't ever have to worry about him. That was his job.
She lathered some kind of ointment onto his open wound that was on the front of his chest, right above his collar bone. Jack was too distracted by how close they were to care and see what kind.
“There is nothing fun about me coming to work one day and finding out you’re dead because you wanted an adrenaline rush.”
“That isn’t gonna happen.”
“You don’t know that. You think you’re invincible and you’re not.”
“Is that an old joke?”
“Jack-“ her voice cracked and Jack was immediately on his feet, cupping her face in his hands.
“Woah, woah honey okay - I thought we were kidding. I’m fine.” He cooed, one hand stroked her cheek bone making sure not one tear fell while the other steadied her at her hip as she stood between his legs.
“Look at me." He tilted his chin down while he tilted hers up, holding her gaze with his own, "I’m fine. And I’m not going anywhere."
“I won’t survive you dying, Jack. I can't.” Her voice sounded wrecked as her chin wobbled. Jack felt horribly responsible. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug.
He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. Naturally, like they had been in this position a million times before. He murmured into the side of her hair, “Okay forget the SWAT thing. Although, you should’ve seen me earlier in my full uniform I looked pretty sick”
Jack huffed a sigh of relief as he felt her laugh vibrate through him. He pulled her back with his hands on her shoulders to get another good look at her, "There's my girl."
She wiped a sniffle with the back of her hand and lightly pushed him back down to a seat. His hands never left her. Just slid down her body until he rested them on the outsides of her upper thighs - a safe distance away from the hem of her jean skirt.
She worked in silence for a moment until Jack piped back up, “I’ll pick up tennis or golf like a normal person. I promise.”
“You don’t have to do that, Jack. I just want you to have a little more regard for your life okay? Can you please just do that for me?”
“I can’t think of anything I wouldn’t do for you.” Jack didn't even think that was an exaggeration.
“Except for wearing the correct size shirt.”
He teasingly pinched her leg and she swatted at his good shoulder, laughing. She was done helping him but they hadn't moved. Neither of them really wanted to.
“That’s for you too. Don’t think I don’t see you staring at my biceps.”
Her eyebrows rose in faux surprise as she dragged a hand down his freckled arm.
“Oh you wanna talk about staring? I must have picked that up from someone.”
“This is a teaching hospital.”
“Could’ve mistaken it for a staring one.”
“Come on - you’re always performing medical miracles while looking like that. I can’t help it. Cut a guy some slack.” Jack's hands felt like they were on fire, practically kneading her thighs. God, she really had to wear this skirt today of all days.
“You’re a flirt, you know that?”
“Only with you.”
They had about a second to jump apart at the sound of a knock on the door before the curtain was pulled back to reveal Dr Al-Hashimi.
Jack rubbed at the back of his neck. Both him and her were looking anywhere but each other. Jack wasn't planning on getting excited but he was thankful he had placed his shirt over his lap to cover himself now that they were no longer alone.
Dr Al-Hashimi cleared her throat, obviously picking up on the fact that she had interrupted something, "Sorry to uh, interrupt. But my number, Dr Abbot. Like we discussed. For that date.”
Dr Al-Hashimi handed Jack a piece of paper and then turned to her, "You have a visitor from cardio thoracic surgery outside."
Jack groaned. Could Mr Harvard have any worse timing? She shot Jack a glare and stepped outside. Jack could see the shadow of Mr Harvard who he knew was down here pretending he'd have something to do with her brother's ankle surgery just to flirt.
He caught the end of her dismissing Mr Harvard's valiant attempt at being her knight in shining armor. Jack smiled to himself as he made his way back to the hub to catch up with her. He was explaining a procedure to Whitaker as he walked, "You're gonna have to start with your finger. And then slowly over a few minutes as the wetness gathers, go deeper. All the way to the back of the knuckle."
Whitaker nodded in understanding and was on his merry way. She turned right on Jack the second he was in her vicinity.
"What the hell is your problem?!"
"Problem?" Jack asked, genuinely perplexed.
Her voice pitched down, she whispered, "Why do you have to say everything so unnecessarily slutty? You wanna ask Whitaker out too!?"
Now that - Jack was not expecting. He quirked his eyebrow up in surprise. Also in confusion.
"Ask Whitaker out? What are you-"
He was cut off by a little girl screaming her name and running right into her arms, "Look! Look! Your work is on my new soccer jersey!"
The girl couldn't be older than five. Jack recognized the little girl as her niece from photos she had shown him. He noticed who must have been her sister in law a few feet away, talking to Robby presumably about discharge instructions for her brother as he awaited surgery that he would probably have next week once the swelling went down.
"What are you talking about? Lemme see that." She plucked the jersey from her niece and examined the PTMC logo on it.
Jack knew his cheeks were ruby red. He could see the gears in her head putting it all together as she stared at the small jersey with the ironed on PTMC ED patch. A couple weeks ago, she had told him offhandedly that her niece's soccer league was going to get cancelled since they had no sponsor. So Jack called up the park district and paid for it himself. Under the guise it was the PTMC ED. It was no big deal. If her niece was happy, she was happy.
She put her niece down next to her on the ground as her eyes looked up to Jack, softening, "We don't have the budget for this."
"I know. But I do."
She opened her mouth to say something but her niece cut her off, climbing into her dad's lap on his wheelchair as he, her sister in law, and Robby joined them at the hub, "Auntie, is this Dr Sexy?"
Jack's lips immediatley preened, quirking up into an amused smirk, Dr Ellis and Robby doubled over in laughter.
"No baby - this is Dr Abbot." She tried to recover, her eyes blown wide, mouth agape and her cheeks beet red. She couldn't even look at Jack.
"But you always call him Dr Sexy when you are talking to mommy. What does sexy mean?"
"OKAY-" she said loudly, still looking anywhere but at Jack. She turned her gaze on her brother as she clapped her hands together, "-it is time for you all to leave."
"Only if Dr Sexy walks us out." Her brother teased.
She groaned, putting her head in her hands as Jack wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She hid in the crook of his neck, "I am getting a new job."
"Oh no you're not."
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
Jack met her at her car after he helped her family to theirs. “Dr Sexy, huh?”
“Shut up. I'm trying to be annoyed with you and you’re making it damn hard”
“Why are you annoyed with me?” Jack steadied himself with a wide stance, crossed his arms over his chest as she turned to look at him, leaning against her car door.
“Seriously?"
Jack just raised his eyebrows back at her in question.
She mirrored his stance, crossed arms over chest, "So you go on dates now?”
“What are you talking about? Is this about tonight? If you don't want to go anymore we don't have to-”
She imitated him and Dr Al-Hashimi from earlier, "Sorry to uh, interrupt. But my number, Dr Abbot. Like we discussed. For that date.” She emphasized the word.
Jack rubbed his hand over his face, stopping at his scruff and trying to mask the smirk that was threatening to take over his face, “Are you…jealous?”
She scoffed, trying to sound nonchalant but Jack knew her too well for that, “Me? Jealous? No, Jack I just think it’s wildly inappropriate. This is our workplace.”
“Well that’s a damn shame because I didn’t ask Dr Al on a date. I’m setting her up on one. With my army buddy actually."
Her lips formed a barely there oh, "Well…now I just feel like a bitch."
Jack laughed and stepped closer, shaking his head in refute to her statement. He let his hands find purchase on her car, caging her in.
His voice came out far more groveled than expected, "But I’ve been wanting to ask you on a date for going on, oh I don’t know almost five years now, but if you think it’s so wildly inappropri-"
“I don’t!”
“You dont? But I thought-“
He earned himself an eyeroll and a stern, “Jack.”
“You just said-" He couldn't help the huge grin spreading across his face.
“I know what I said.”
“So - let me get this straight - it’s only wildly inappropriate if it’s a date with anyone but you? Is that stated somewhere in the HR handbook or-”
"God, do you ever shutup?" And then her lips were on his.
His whole body felt like it was on fire. Her hands on each side of his face, his squeezing at her hips and pressing her up against the car. Just like that night at the gala. Except this time he actually got to kiss her. He was kissing her.
His head spun at the way her fingers circled around to the nape of his neck, tugging at his curls. He cradled her jaw in one strong hand and grabbed her waist with the other, hand pushing up the white tank she had on to make contact with her bare skin. They couldn't possible get any closer but it still didn't feel close enough.
Jack didn't want to ever stop the exploration of his hands along her body. He grabbed at the flesh on the outside of her upper thigh, hiking it up slightly around his hips. She ground herself down onto his bulge and the gasp she let out was heavenly. Jack took the chance to swipe his tongue into her mouth, as she ground down again, slower this time. Jack couldn't keep his moan from tumbling out.
He pulled back ever so slightly, their lips still practically touching as their chests heaved, "Baby, where are your keys?"
"My keys? That is what you care about right now?" She went to grind on him again but Jack's hands grabbed her hips, halting her.
"If you keep doing that I am going to come in my pants in the hospital parking garage and I would much rather come somewhere else in the comfort of my own home. I've been thinking about this for a long time. I want to take my time with you."
"How long?" She asked as she slipped her keys into Jack's front pocket.
"Inappropriatley long. Now get in the car so Dr Sexy can drive us home."
"I am never gonna live that down, am I?"
"Absolutely not."
"I hate you."
Jack grabbed her chin and peppered her face with kisses, ending with one on her lips as she giggled. Kissing her hard because he could do that now, "Somehow, I am not convinced."
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
Jack's left hand flexed hard on her steering wheel. His right hand preoccupied with a steady grip on her upper thigh. Her left hand played with his curls as he drove.
"What are you thinking about?"
"How after the gala last year I went home and touched myself. Imagined my fingers were yours." Jack choked on nothing at her words.
"Jesus Christ - I am trying not to cause a mass casualty event, honey. Can you please just wait till we get home."
She groaned his name in frustration and squeezed his fingers between her thighs, trying to find friction anyway she could.
"You're that needy?"
"Yes, Jack."
"Show me then." His voice was gritty and low as he knocked her knees apart. He batted down the sun visor on her side, sliding the mirror cover up and aiming it perfectly to reflect her lap.
She whined at the loss of contact as both of his hands now gripped the steering wheel. Her eyes screwed shut and her chest lifted, breathing heavy. The way her hard nipples were peaking through her tank top was enough to make Jack scared he was going to crash the car.
"Show me how you touch yourself when you think about me. You think you can handle that for me, baby?"
His words seemed to hit her all at once. Demanding in the way it was when he was ordering people around the ED. The tone went straight to her core as she hiked her jean skirt up over her hips and slid her small lacy black thong down her legs. She stuffed it in one of the pockets of Jack's camo pants, lightly squeezing his bulge as she did. All Jack could murmur out was a hissed fuck as she angled her center to the mirror above her, giving him a perfect view of her absolutely soaked core.
"I asked you a question."
"Yes, yes I can handle it. I promise." She rushed her words out in one run on sentence, out of breath as her chest heaved.
"Good girl, baby. Show me how you touch yourself."
She nodded as she began to rub her clit, her voice shakey as she spoke, "I start like this and I think about everything you said to me that day. When you tell me good job after a prodecure or how you order everyone around or how-"
A tumbled moan falls from her lips, cutting herself off.
"Do you play with these pretty tits?" Jack reached over and gripped the nape of her neck, tugging at the string of her halter top and letting it fall. He pulled it down, her tits spilling out as he tweaked a nipple, kneading it after with his palm.
He thought she squeaked out a soft uh huh with a nod that trailed into a moan as her right hand slipped two fingers into her center. The sound was obscene as she pushed in and out, her head falling back and her chest pushing forward into Jack's hand.
"Jack!" She was getting louder now, the pace of her fingers moving quicker. The tone of her voice filled with unabashed need.
"What else, baby?"
All she could do was babble in response. Jack's hand fell from her nipples to her pussy, giving it a slap before grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at herself in the mirror, "Do you see how pretty your pussy is? What was that you said earlier? That I say everything so slutty? Look who's the slut now."
They both saw the way her pussy contracted around her two fingers at his words. The way her already dripping core somehow managed to get even more wet at the filth he was spilling.
"Oh you like when I am a little mean, don't you?"
She could barely nod, her chest hitting her chin as her breathing became more rapid the closer she inched towards her finish line.
"You wanna come for me?"
"Please." She panted. Jack smirked to himself as he grabbed her wrist, pulled her hand from her center before she could even think about finishing, and pressed her fingers into his mouth - licking them clean.
Her head lolled against the seat, she groaned his name. A mix of frustration and want as she dazedly stared at him.
"I've waited almost five years to taste you, honey. You can wait five more minutes till we are home, yeah?"
She huffed out an, "I hate you."
"Somehow, I am not convinced." He chuckled as he placed a soft kiss on the back of her hand.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
Jack held her hand gently as he tugged her into his house. She was practically bouncing on her heels behind him. "I'm gonna shower first and then-"
"Like hell you are." She snipped. Now she was pulling him. Through his foyer and straight to his couch where she perched herself on his lap, bracketing his hips with her thighs and grinding down on his bulge that was dying to spring out of his pants.
He pushed her skirt back up her hips and rubbed her upper thighs as she rocked her bare pussy down on him, her hands steadying herself on his neck as she leaned into press her mouth to his.
Jack's chest was heaving, "Baby, I'm all sweaty and gross from TEMS."
"I couldn't care less, Jack. You might be patient enough to wait five years but I sure as hell am not. Please touch me."
"Like this?" His fingers rubbed her clit, her head falling back in relief at him finally touching her where she needed him most.
"God, you were dripping all over your car and now you're soaking my couch? Who's got you so worked up?" She gasped as Jack entered two thick fingers in her, kissing up her neck as he did. Nipping at her jaw line as he pulled her tank top down so he could swirl his mouth around one of her sensitive nipples.
She pulled his shirt off over his head, flashing him a mischevious smirk before, "Dr Harvard from cardiac surgery."
Jack's fingers stopped immediatley. She whined and writhed in his lap at the loss of contact. Jack wrapped his other hand around her neck, squeezing slightly, "I thought you were gonna be good for me?"
"I will, I will. I am." She begged. Jack didn't know what he did in a past life to get her begging like this in his lap but he was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
"Atta girl." He cooed, adding a third finger and plunging back into her tight core, "I am gonna ask you again - what's got you so worked up?"
"You, Jack! Your voice and your arms and your curls and these stupid fucking pants."
"Oh my girl likes my uniform, yeah? Is that what had you so bratty today? Want me to fuck you in it?"
"Please." she huffed. Sweat beading at the top of her forehead as she began to rock her hips, riding his fingers.
"Come for me first."
"Yeah, thats it." Jack hissed, trying hard not to imagine what it would feel like to have his cock where his fingers were. That would surely lead to an early curtain call, "That's it. My good girl."
"Fuck, Jack" She let out a shakey laugh as she came down from her orgasm, riding it out on Jack's fingers as she threaded her fingers in his hair.
"The uniform really does it for you, huh?"
She kissed him hard, "You do it for me. The uniform is just a bonus."
Jack readjusted her in his lap, pushing her legs open further over the expanse of his thick thighs. She whined at the stretch, "Come here, baby. you're doing so good for me. Wanna take my time with you."
"You can take your time with me later. I need you to fuck me now."
"Yeah? That needy, huh?"
"Yes, Jack please." She murmured as she undid the belt on his camo pants.
"You're the boss." Jack winked. He may have been her boss at work. She may have liked him bossing her around in bed. But she was the boss in every other sense of the word.
"Funny."
"Glad you think so." Jack hissed as she wrapped her hand around his hard length, preening with pre cum at the tip. She pushed his pants and his boxers down in one go, his erection immediatley slapping up against his stomach.
Jack's head fell back onto the couch as he let out a moan, her fingers rubbing the precum from his tip down his shaft and back up again. She spit into her hand and repeated the same movement. Jack thought he might come right then and there.
"Wanna ride you, please. I'm clean and have an IUD. Need to feel you."
Jack couldn’t even get words out. He was too busy trying not to come from a handjob like a horned up teenager, "Same. Mm clean, too" He managed to get out, eyes fluttering shut as another wave of pleasure wracked his body, "Fuck, baby."
She sunk down on him in an instant, relishing the stretch and sending them both into a fit of whimpered moans. Jack used one hand on her hip to guide her motions, the other rubbing up and down her back, eventually landing in her hair as he tugged her forward into a blistering kiss. Now that he knew what her lips felt like he was never gonna go long without kissing them.
"Fuck!" She rocked down hard on him again, "You feel fucking phenomenal. So tight, So. Perfect." He emphasized his praise with kisses, "Taking me so well. Like you were fucking made for me."
He took the hand from her hair and placed it on her clit, rubbing it as she started to rock quicker. He could tell she was close again. He was in danger of spilling over at any second, "You have no business being so good at this. Fuck, I'm not gonna last long baby. Fuck, look at you." Jack brought the hand from her hip up to her mouth, pushing his thumb into her mouth, moaning as she immediatley began to suck on it.
"All these years. Had a feeling you'd get off on praise. Knew you'd wanna be so good for me. Knew you'd be such a good slut just for me, yeah?"
"Yeah, please. Just for you, I promise." Jack didn't know how he had managed to keep himself from finishing with the way she was riding him. She steadied herself on his shoulders, brought herself all the way up and then slowly rocked herself back down, taking all of him and making sure he felt every fucking inch of her velvety walls.
"If you keep doing that I am not gonna last long." He managed to grunt out.
"Then don't. Come in me, please. Want you to fill me up."
Those words alone did it for Jack as he spilled his warm release into her, continuing to rub her clit. "Give me another one baby. I know you can do it. You can do anything. You're fucking brilliant. Your brilliant fucking brain. C'mon, I feel you clenching. Let go. Come on my cock, please."
She tugged hard on his hair, mixing her own release with his as she came. Panting into Jack's mouth as he whispered, "Good girl."
Jack cradled her cheek as she rode out her orgasm on his cock, whispering praise as she did. He swiped two fingers through the mix of their arousals and brought them to her mouth.
Jacks eyes watched, mesmerized, blown out with arousal as she sucked on his fingers, released them with a pop and then, "The second I saw you in that uniform I wanted to drop to my knees in the middle of the hub and suck the soul out of you."
She wrapped her arms around his neck, laying her bare chest over his and nuzzling into his neck, peppering kisses there as he scratched her back. His laugh vibrated through her, "Jesus Christ - you can't say shit like that when I'm still inside of you."
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
He eventually gently cleaned her up. Once she agreed to finally get off of him. He had to bribe her with kisses. He didn't mind one bit. He dragged her to the shower which lead to him having to clean her up again. Again, he didn't mind one bit.
He was at the stove now. Donning only a pair of gray sweatpants as he cooked dinner and watched her pad around his kitchen in only his tshirt and some basketball shorts with probably the dopiest smile of all time on his face.
She wrapped her arms around his waist, tucking herself into his side. He used his free hand to wrap his arm around her shoulders and tugged her closer, pressing kisses into her hair. She behaved for a moment until he felt a pair of soft lips pressing kisses across the side of his chest that was accessible to her.
He turned the burner down, dropped the spoon he had been using to stir the pasta on the counter and then grabbed her hips, trapping her against his kitchen island, "You're going to make me burn dinner."
She put her finger to her lips, pretended to think about what he had to say and then with a quick kiss to his lips she muttered against them, "Mmmm, don't care!"
He dug into his pocket, unlocked his phone and put it in her hands, "Put on music. It is already hooked up to the speaker system,"
He picked her up by her hips, causing the cutest squeal he had ever heard, and plopped her down onto his counter. He rubbed a gentle thumb against her cheek, the other against her hip as he stood between her legs, "You need to eat, baby."
She grumbled a fine. She knew when it came to taking care of her - Jack would not budge. She scrolled through his Spotify - she wanted to find something both of them would like but first she was gonna stalk what he already listened to. Of course her curiosity was gonna get the better of her.
A quiet gasp fell from her lips - causing Jack to look over from his spot in front of the stove, "What?"
She turned his phone screen to him, already spotting the flush creeping up on his chest. He recognized the playlist almost immediatley. Made up of all the songs she had played while he drove her home these past couple years - simply titled with her name. There was hundreds of songs on there.
"Did you make this? Do you listen to it?"
Jack figured now was as good a time as ever to lay out all his cards onto the table. Even if he was so embarrassed he couldn't even look up from the dinner he was cooking. He spoke fast, "Would you be entirely creeped out if I told you I replaced the police scanner with it?"
"Would you be entirely creeped out if I told you I am so beyond in love with you?"
Jack's head snapped up from the dinner. He'd never moved so quickly in his life. He was back to standing in between her legs, holding her face - just staring at her with a huge smile. The same expression was being mirrored back to him. It made his heart soar.
"You do? I mean, you are?"
She laughed, "Where have you been the past couple years?”
"Waiting for you to realize that I've been hopelessly in love with you."
"Are we the dumbest smart people alive?"
"Potentially. But doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Only you. Only us." He kissed her now. Slotted his lips over hers like the perfect final piece of a puzzle. His stomach fluttered at the sensation of her fingers finding their home in his curls. He couldn't believe that this was real. That she loved him. He already knew that the astronomical amount he loved her was very, very real.
"God, I love you." Kiss, "So much." Another kiss.
"Say it again." Jack whispered against her lips, smiling like a little kid.
"I love you, Jack."
He pulled back just a bit. Just enough to murmur how much he loved her and get a good look at her face, "Remember when you were so jealous earlier?" He teased.
"I was not-" She began to deny it but Jack leveled a look at her, "I hate you!" she giggled, swatting at his shoulder that was not bandaged up.
"Somehow, I am not convinced." He preened.
"Mmmm, good." She was kissing him again. He could do this forever. He will do this forever - if he has anything to say about it.
The ding of her phone was what made him pull away. But not by much. They both looked at the cause of the disruption, Jack planting kisses up and down her neck, jaw, and chest as she unlocked her phone.
From Robby: Doing scheduling. Can you pick up a shift next Tuesday night please? Shen needs off. You'll get to see your doctor sexy🤪
They both let out a cackle. Jack took her phone and took a selfie with his middle finger up. He sent it to Robby along with a message that read, 'Stop texting my girlfriend.'
"Girlfriend, huh?"
Jack rubbed up and down her thighs as he spoke, "Figured you might think I was insane if I said wife after just one day but trust me that is part of the plan."
"What else is in the plan?”
“Maybe a kid or two? Or four? Or zero. Really as many or as little as you’ll give me. I’m just happy to be here.”
She chuckled, kissed him while lovingly stroking his face, “I like that plan.”
“Yeah?” He asked, brimming with hope.
She nodded as her phone went off again, a message from Robby flashing across the screen. Jack kissed each of her cheeks, her forehead, and then her lips before reading it out loud - sending them both into a fit of giggles.
Summary: Spencer revealed that he's inexperienced in the field of making women feel good, so through a stupid drunk text, you let him know you're down to teach him. What you didn't expect was for him to happily take up your offer and do an amazing job in the process.
Warnings/tags: 18+ smut and fluff!! oral (f!receiving), inexperienced spencer, clit play, pussy play, praise kink, vaginal fingering, spencer loves ur pussy, mutual pining, clothed grinding, nipple play, kissing, yearning, overthinking, begging, dumb and in love, alcohol, no drunk sex tho, drunk texting, making out, down bad reader, pantie... play i guess?
Word count: 10.4k (oops...)
Author notes
╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ this fic was a lot longer than expected, but I didn't really know when to stop, still feel like it's not complete, so if you want more, just let me know, and I can whip up a part two or morning-after follow-up.
Important!! - I also just want to take the chance to say that if you like this fic, please, please reblog it as well as the likes you give, whilst I am really grateful for likes, they don't do much. reblogging on the other hand, does! I spent more than 30 hours on this, and reblogging would be really helpful for me in terms of sharing my work. much love x
⟶ masterlist
“Oh no, you absolutely did”, Morgan teases Spencer with a boyish grin.
“I did not blush”, Spencer replies sheepishly, a red tint of embarrassment fleeting over his cheeks, speaking more than his words had with just a sheer colour change.
The childish bickering of Derek teasing Spencer had been going on since the plane took flight, a whole ten minutes ago. You had drowned out the conversation for a few minutes, spending the passing time reading the same page of your book, having to re-read it five times to soak in the information. Every time the sound of Derek and Elle giggling or laughing reached your ears, you were blown off focus, which resulted in you becoming completely unaware of anything you had just spent the past minute reading.
You had given up on it when it got too moving your eyes up the page for the sixth time. Placing the book next to you, you decide you need some other form of entertainment.
“What are we teasing Spencer about this time?” You ask, sliding into the seat next to Elle and opposite Derek.
You already had a good idea about what it was to do with, and you definitely wanted to participate in the teasing this time. You were on the way back to Quantico after finishing up a case in Los Angeles, following a string of rapes and murders around a few of the popular strip clubs and nightclubs.
You weren’t with Derek and Spencer when they were interviewing the girls in the clubs, but you can only imagine what Spencer was like.
Everyone knew Spencer was pretty inexperienced with females, and when he was required to talk to one his age, he got pretty flustered. Fumbling his words, doing his awkward smile that they usually thought was weird (you thought it was cute), busying his hands and blinking faster, everything out of a pre-pubescent teenage boy textbook.
“The fact that genius boy here does not know anything about women”, Elle answers in a teasing tone aimed towards said genius.
“That’s- that's not true, I’ve read things ab-” Spencer retorts, fumbling over his words.
“Oh my god, guys spencer reads porn!” Elle fakes a gasp with amusement.
Your cheeks hurt from how hard you try to keep your laughter in. The look on Spencer’s face is nearly enough to knock you overboard to the point of no return. His cheeks get redder, almost the colour of a ripe tomato during the heat of the summer, something you were sure was impossible.
“Fifty Shades of Grey? Brigertons? J.D Ward?” You say with curiosity, a teasing smile finds home on your lips as the words spill from them.
Doubt was a very vivid emotion when it came to the possibility of Spencer reading erotica; it was porn on paper, for god sakes, there’s no way he would-
“I’ve read Fifty Shades of Grey before, but it wasn't very good”, Spencer starts, sitting up, something he does before he starts explaining facts and talking statistics. “I finished it out of curiosity. From a literary standpoint, the character development is… limited. Also, the contract section is surprisingly unrealistic.”
Oh my god
“But when I purposely look for information on... women, it’s mostly blogs on how to- talk and other things.”
“I’m sorry, blogs?” Morgan raises his eyebrow “You read blogs on how to have sex?”
“Wha- I didn't say sex”, He squints his eyes, he speaks the word ‘sex’ as if it’s the most outrageous thing he’s ever spoken or possibly even been accused of.
“Yeah, you didn’t have to”, Elle mutters behind her glass, which she brings to her lips.
A small smile spreads over your lips at the picture this makes in front of you. Inexperienced, shy, nerdy, scared of women, Spencer reading ‘how to’ blogs in the dark of his apartment, wondering how to make a woman feel good whilst so desperately needing someone to touch him.
Holy shit.
You don’t know why, but that thought causes a heat in the bottom of your stomach. As a small throb makes itself recognised between your legs, you clasp your thighs together in a motion you hope goes unnoticed.
And for fucks sake, apparently you're ovulating because you’ve also just noticed how good Spencer looks when he’s flustered.
He’s got those pretty puppy eyes, his dark brows are furrowed in such a way that you almost lean over to kiss them. What the fuck?
“Look, pretty boy, if you want tips on how to get laid, just ask me” Derek shrugs his shoulders; he’s got such an ego when it comes to the topic of getting laid or hooking up, his smugness is evident on his face. He nudges his broad shoulder with Spencer's.
“Yeah, everyone knows you’re run through Morgan”, Elle comments with a chuckle laced in her words, and Derek responds with a playful eyeroll that you're surprised doesn’t reach his frontal lobe.
“It’s not- It’s not that, I just want to make a woman feel-” Spencer sighs like he already regrets his next word before he speaks it, “good.”
Spencer looks at you as soon as the sentence leaves him, a silence forms between you, and you have to wonder why the silence feels so heavy, why it has that buzz to it, the one that rings in your ears and through your bones. He looks away quickly, but quickly isn’t the way you describe the buzzing leaving, because it doesn’t.
It doesn’t leave.
“What do you mean by good? You know, there are thousands of ways to make a woman feel good,” You inquire, your tone sounding a little too interested in the matter. “Oral, kissing, fingering, licking, sucking, uh- words i guess, dirty talk maybe” You count them off on your fingers, you can feel Spencer’s embarrassment rise with every word spoken, and yet you find that’s the reason you're doing it.
“Money”, Elle adds.
“That too”
“Touching and.. Tasting,” Spencer says softly, but also like he had to force them out at the same time.
He looks so pretty flustered. And those words coming from his mouth sound the equivalent of dirty talking, at least they sound dirty to you. Is that weird?
“I already see it”, Elle nods her head, “Proper munch.”
As if you all have a sixth sense, you and the others turn around at the same time and face the eyes burning into you from the jet's couch. You had felt it, the way it always felt, like a parent scolding their children for misbehaving.
“Let’s not talk about Spencer’s sex life on the jet”, Hotch chides, glancing up from the file he had been reading. He has one of those looks that only went to one of the team members (Elle) but felt like it was aimed at all of you, even Spencer, whose cheeks still burn like the sun shining through the plane windows.
As though you were dogs just told they’ve been bad, you turn around again. The jet goes awkwardly silent for a minute before Elle’s poor mistake of trying to hold her laughter fails. You let a chuckle out alongside her, and when you hear one slip from across the table where Spencer sits, you look up.
Again, meeting his eyes, holding eye contact for longer this time. It speaks louder than last time, the absence of words wither at the heat between your glances. He smiles softly, it's genuine and warm and matches like a perfect pair with his golden eyes, they both shine from unimaginable heights and knock the breath out of you just the same.
The rest of the flight is filled with those heated glances between you and Spencer, words not spoken because even if they were… they wouldn’t live up to the feeling of catching his eyes from across the table.
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩
After you and the team had gotten back to the BAU, Penelope had come up to you, Elle and JJ and asked if you could all go out for drinks.
You knew you couldn’t say no; it was Penelope.
Derek had also somehow managed to sneak himself into the plans to get pissed at the nearest bar, using his flirting tricks and good looks to sway Garcia.
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩
When Garcia normally pulled you to the bar after a long case, you had some control over yourself when it came to drinking, but tonight was different. Tonight, you had things on your mind that you wanted to push back into the farthest parts of yourself, and nothing did that better than shitty alcohol in a bar that stunk of cheap liquor and sweaty bodies.
You had been sitting in the booth at the far end of the bar for a while now, just observing with your hazy eyes and dizzy head. Elle and Penelope had ditched you for an interesting conversation with a lone guy sitting at the bar, and JJ had headed home half an hour ago, so you were currently alone and wallowing in the unspoken feelings that had been eating away at you since the jet.
From the corner of your eye, you notice Derek being rubbed on by a group of three females who all look like they are trying very hard to get lucky tonight. You don't think their attempt at dancing did much for them, though, but you could tell that Derek wasn't paying much attention to their so-called moves and more to the cleavage that was being moved about in his line of sight.
He was very noticeably enjoying the female attention, a wide grin is plastered over his face, and his chuckle rings out when one got close enough to his lips in a teasing motion that you were surprised they weren't full-on making out in the middle of the room.
Your head buzzes like you were a million miles away, and your head sways to the speaker's music with a motion you swear you don’t control. You had a bad habit of doing things you weren't particularly in control of when you were more than four shots deep.
The words that came out of Spencer's mouth earlier on the jet had been vivid in your mind since: his cheeks that warmed as his words became more revealing, the way his voice went up a pitch when Elle had lightheartedly accused him of reading porn. And the genuine laugh when he looked up at you, the pretty one that sounded like a melody coming from a vulnerable place in his chest.
You tighten your legs together as the presence of the vision and the sound of his voice from earlier dance in your head, slow, fast, quiet, loud and oh so good. You’ve felt that way about Spencer a few times on occasion, but you always brushed it off as needing to get laid after so long. This was different in a way you weren't accustomed to, and you had no descriptive words for it other than… want. Pure unfiltered want.
You blame your actions on the stuffiness of the bar and the six empty shot glasses in front of you as you pick up your phone that had been left on the table and click on the contact you only ever really texted when it related to a case or something another to do with work.
You thought about how to word your text to him, but it wasn’t exactly up to you as the vodka in your system took the reins and sent a text that sober you would have paled over.
(you) 11:02 pm: do yu wnat me to teach you?
(you) 11:20 pm: please
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩
You didn’t want to see Spencer; your only thoughts whilst riding the elevator up to the BAU were the hopes that Spencer was off sick. Well, not sick exactly, you’d rather he wasn’t actually unwell, you weren't that cold-hearted.
But you were delusional enough to hope that once you stepped out onto the floor where you worked, you would come across an empty desk where Spencer would normally sit.
Your manifestations had come out cold and were not of any use as you hesitantly stepped through the glass doors to the BAU and met the hazel eyes at the desk you had so desperately hoped was empty. You look away as quickly as you can manage and speed walk to your desk at the other end of the bullpen so fast you send out a hissed curse when your hip comes in contact with the edge of the wooden table.
The dividers between the desks kept Spencer out of eyesight as you slump down on your seat and let out a groan when your elbows rest on the desk with your head in your hands. You had fucked up so bad when you sent that text last night that you couldn’t even come into work the next day without feeling like you were committing a crime.
Your chest had a burning feeling you couldn’t quite differentiate between guilt or a soul-eating dread; you had a good feeling it was the latter.
You had woken up early that morning with a pounding headache that was later soothed with painkillers and a burning hot embarrassment (that was not cured with painkillers) as you checked your phone and saw the two blue ticks next to your stupid, so fucking stupid text.
You had gotten ready with the pace of a snail as you contemplated crawling back into bed and pretending you didn’t exist. You couldn’t, but you came to the conclusion that you could pretend Spencer didn’t exist and that last night didn’t happen. And whilst that is hard to do because it is not only hurting you, but you're sure Spencer will start to feel hurt too, you have manipulated yourself to think that it's the best thing you can do as an outcome to your fucking stupid, drunk, pussy ass, fuck ass text that drunk, horny you thought was genius to send, just fucking genius.
You had asked yourself a million questions on the way here with an angry tone to your thoughts, and you only had two answers to them that you had only just admitted to yourself.
You were attracted to Spencer Reid.
You wanted to teach Spencer how to make a woman feel good, and you badly wanted that woman to be you.
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩
You had managed two hours of writing reports and going through old case files, ones that contained photo evidence that had made your stomach twist, before you started heavily craving caffeine as the effectiveness of your painkillers depleted when the seconds ticked by.
It took some persuading from yourself, but you get up and make your way to the bullpens' corner kitchen that you and your team only used for the coffee machine.
You remember the last time you opened the off-white mini fridge in the corner, and the putrid smell of well gone of food had you and JJ gagging, you decided to hold your nose when you planted the mouldy chinese on Gideon's desk and told him to never leave it that long again. You remember leaving his office and hearing the soft huff that sounded a lot like a chuckle seep out from the crack of the half-closed door.
You had joined the Behaviour Analysis Unit two weeks after Spencer had joined, and since that day two years ago, you have come to find yourself a family, one that didn’t just have that family feeling during working hours but all the time.
But out of everyone on the team who you held close to your heart and considered family, Spencer was your person, and he was like an extension of you most of the time. You suppose that's why you feel so much guilt about the text you sent him the night before; you didn’t want to fuck up the bond you both already cherished so deeply.
You knew you had always felt more with Spencer, but like, with pretty much everything in your life, you chose to ignore it. Until the results of your bottled-up feelings came out in a drunk text that had been weighing heavily on your heart since the morning.
You were so consumed in your own thoughts that you hadn’t been aware that you’d been stirring your coffee for at least a minute, that was, until you heard a honeyed voice behind you.
“You’ve been stirring for one minute and thirty-two seconds- and counting”
It’s like your body short-circuits and stops working on you as you freeze up in response to Spencer's words. Turning around, you meet his gaze, and so many unsaid words drift in the space between you.
You swear he looks more beautiful than the last time you saw him, but you can’t tell if it is your mind playing tricks on you, maybe it was the still-fading pain meds or just… just. Maybe it came down to the feelings you had only just admitted to yourself that were still new in your head.
He has a small wrinkle between his softly furrowed brows as he sets his eyes on you and then to the cup of ‘going cold by the second’ coffee on the counter behind you.
“Yeah- yeah, I'm sure it's mixed by now” You turn back to your coffee and toss away the wooden stirrer into the trash can by your feet. You feel a warm heat travel up your neck, curl around your ears and settle like a blanket, a very heavy blanket, on your cheeks. You knew the whole ‘ignoring’ wasn’t going to last long, but three hours felt kind of feeble. You should have expected it wouldn't go on for long. Spencer had a habit of noticing when things were ugly or, more so, awkward in this case, between him and someone, and wanting to fix it as soon as he could, as soon as he found the courage for it.
“Did you- did you have fun last night?” Spencer says with a voice that made it obvious he was trying to hide the awkwardness that was surely settled deeply in him.
“Yeah, it was good” You nod to your words and sip your coffee, trying to look at anything but him.
“Derek told me you had a lot to drink and uh- showed me the video of the karaoke”
You mentally groan so hard you accidentally let one slip out of your own throat that you don’t bother covering up. You only half remembered the poor attempt at singing to 22 by Taylor Swift after being dragged on stage by Penelope, but you find enough memory of it to know it involved drunken giggling, slurring and pure fumbling over your words that really wasn't attractive in any way.
“I was way too out of my mind to even notice that he had been filming”
“How out of your mind?” Spencer's voice was quieter than it had originally been, almost like he was getting his hopes up that you would give him the answer he wanted.
Whatever that was.
“Spencer..”
He takes a step closer, not a big one but one that shows he’s listening.
“Were you drunk enough that you’d say things?” he breathes out in soft frustration “, things that you didn’t mean”. His brows go up in question.
You shake your head in disagreement as he takes another step closer; you had never witnessed Spencer so determined to get an answer from someone in such a way that he looked like he was holding onto every word said and every shaky breath you exhaled.
He looked at you through his thick lashes that you had always said you were jealous of, and you thought you might melt right there as a result of the tension swirling around the air.
“I need you to tell me what you're talking about so I don't say something stupid about a thing that's not even relevant to what you're on about” You ask gingerly.
Spencer was acting in a way you had never seen before, and you didn’t understand how you were meant to feel knowing it was the result of you, of something that you had caused.
“Well, last night you sent me a text-, do you remember?” Spencer questions as if he couldn’t actually decide whether you knew what he was on about, like the possibility of being too drunk to forget a text like that was a high chance.
“Yeah, I remember- I know”.
“Okay, then, tell me what you meant, " he remarks.
You look down at the steaming mug in your hands, carefully moving your palms so the coffee would sway and malipulate small ripples across the surface ever so slightly. It was almost calming in a way, something so minuscule like the movement of your own hands was an enticing hypnosis. That was a habit you had had for a long time, moving whatever was in your hands as a way of distraction from the fact that you had to answer and were too flustered to even think of a right response.
“That I wanted to teach you”
“I need more than that”
“Do I really need to speak it out loud, because I'm starting to think this is a humiliation ritual”
“I would prefer if you did” His pretty puppy dog eyes that he wore so well catch your eyes and hold contact as he waits for a response, " Please.”
You exhale a sassy breath and look up to the water-stained ceiling above you so you wouldn’t have to hold eye contact and gauge his reaction in response to your answer.
“You said on the jet that you wanted- this is so stupid- that you wanted to know how to make a woman feel good. It was all I could think about last night, so I sent you that text to let you know that I'm always here if you need… a lesson. A physical one”
The prolonged silence rings out louder than any words ever could, and the burning behind your eyes starts with no grace or warning. Not with embarrassment or anxiety, but with an achy feeling commonly known as ‘I fucked up so bad, he hates me and thinks I'm a right weirdo, and why did I ever think he would want to go down on me, blah blah blah’.
“Okay”
Okay??
Tearing your eyes off the ceiling and blinking away your blurry vision, you take notice of Spencer's slicked back hair that you're sure looks more out of place than it had been before you looked up, as though he was running his hand through it absentmindedly. The tips of his curved ears are a shade darker on the blushed scale, and the pupils in the middle of his hazel eyes are a size bigger, and if you didn’t know better, you’d say he looks more flushed and perhaps hungry in a way he wasn’t even certain he knew how to feel about.
“Okay?” You repeat, trying to figure out what exactly he could mean by okay, okay was such a versatile word that could be taken any which way, depending on the tone of voice, but when the word drifted from Spencer’s pressed lips, he revealed nothing.
“I- I’d like that, " he stutters, “If the offer is still up.”
You stand there stunned for a while before you speak up, your voice wavering, “Actually?”
“Unless the text was only a drunk thing- and you didn’t mean.”
“I meant it”, You say matter-of-factly, the previous unease within you flattens at the statement.
You’d gone through all the possible outcomes of this conversation when he had come up to you a few minutes ago, and you didn’t have a single ounce of hope that Spencer would agree; in fact, it hadn't crossed your mind once that Spencer would be acquainted with the idea of a lesson between your legs.
“Good, good, well, I’ll Em- do you do Email?”
“Text me, Spencer”
He nods, stepping away to walk back into the bullpen “Yeah- okay, I’ll do that”.
A small smile graces his mouth before he walks away, and the contagiousness of the upturned lips passes onto you and lingers even after he’s sat down at his desk a few meters away and you start making your way to your own desk. Your desk that was covered in silly little figures that Penelope had planted there on your first day, she told you that the minute you had stepped into the bullpen, you had a look about you that came across to her as you needing some sparkle in your life.
But the sparkle that had changed your life around for the good wasn’t the small unicorns that littered your desk, the pom pom pens in your tabby cat mug or the stickers decorating your name plaque, but instead it came in the form of bright hazel eyes, brown slick back hair, an IQ of 187 and a soft mouth grazed with frequent smiles that would soon find a place between your legs.
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩
You could swear you still felt a small curly hair tickle the soft skin of your upper thigh; you couldn’t exactly pluck out a pube in the middle of an apartment building hallway, so you could only hope that it was dark enough in Spencer's apartment that he wouldn't even notice the single hair on your otherwise smooth skin that you had shaved, scrubbed and moisterized more times than once.
Every step closer to his apartment door had your heart beating faster in a way that was almost a cause for concern.
You had received a text from him two hours ago, two days after the conversation in the BAU’s corner kitchen, and it only consisted of four words.
(reid >ᴗ<) 4:58 pm: Can you come over?
Shortly after reading it, you had sped into your bathroom and spent an hour under the warm rush of hot water whilst bending and stretching in awkward positions to shave the skin between your thighs, and when you were as satisfied as you could be, you had dried and moisturised with pure determination.
Only as you had been ready to slip on your underwear had you replied to Spencer.
(you) 6:03 pm: black or white?
(reid >ᴗ<) 6:05 pm: Context?
(you) 6:05 pm: doesn’t matter
(you) 6:05 pm: just answer
(reid >ᴗ<) 6:05 pm: Is this part of my learning?
(you) 6:05 pm: yeah, and it’s important
(reid >ᴗ<) 6:06 pm: White.
(reid >ᴗ<) 6:08 pm: And lace.
You gently rap your knuckles against the smooth wooden door, and on the final firm rap, you stop midway as you hear the unlocking behind the wood. The second you hear that small sound of the metal clicking out of place, your brain runs around frantically, overthinking every small thing you did whilst getting ready only a few minutes ago.
Did you put enough deodorant on? Should you have drunk more of the sweet pomegranate juice that had been in the fridge for a couple of weeks that you knew would have its use at some point? Is the lace showing above your jeans slutty in a good way or a bad way? Is the black push-up bra that you got a size too small a bad fashion decision, or should you have matched it with your underwear? Is your pussy smooth enough? What if you didn’t exfoliate right?
As the creak of the door opening sounds out, you meet the warmth of his gaze and the overthinking is reduced to a small buzz at the very bottom of your list of important things. He’s not wearing his usual work attire that normally consists of a tie and a kitted vest, but instead he’s traded it out for a loosely fitting long-sleeved grey t-shirt and a red, white and black plaid pair of trousers you recognise as pyjamas.
You don't know why it feels so foreign to see him wearing his sleep clothes, and why the foreign feeling is quite a nice feeling that settles happily in your chest. You suppose not many people have the opportunity to see him in this state, so as you do now, you cherish it.
He opens the door up, and you turn one side of your mouth up in a half-smile as you walk through the door and into the warmth of his apartment.
You’ve only stepped foot into his apartment once, one year ago, when you needed to sleep on his couch for the night, when the smell of wet paint churned your stomach so much you couldn’t stand sleeping in your own apartment until the renovations had been completed.
You found as much ease walking into the room as you did the first time; the feel of Spencer’s apartment had that effect on anyone who had the chance to visit. Since the last time you had been in the apartment, there were more spaces filled on the bookshelf and more worn books piled on top of the storage unit where his stereo sat against the far right wall in the open-plan living room.
Knowing Spencer, he’d probably read all the books he already had and needed to buy more or borrow some from the library to feed his reading addiction.
“Would you like some coffee? Milk and three sugars?” Spencer asks from behind you; it’s very obvious he’s not got any idea how to create a sexually intense thread of tension between the two of you.
You had already told yourself that you would need to take charge and tell him what to do, to lead, but standing in the middle of his apartment with nothing in your palms to fiddle with, you didn’t actually know how to start something like this. With your previous relationships or hookups, you’d just lie there and let their mouth wander, and you’d never have to say or do anything but moan and look pretty as they tried their hardest to find the clit (they never did, and you ended up faking it 80% of the time).
You couldn’t with Spencer; you had to teach, show him how to touch and taste and make you feel good so he would know how to in the future…for other women. That’s why you were doing this, you reminded yourself. So he would know how to make women feel good, not just you.
“Just water”, your reply comes out softly.
Spencer strides to the kitchen at the same time you sit yourself down on the brown leather couch facing the window. You hear the kettle boil as he makes his drink, and the turning of the sink as he pours yours.
You reach behind the back of your head and undo the messy ponytail you put up in a rush on the drive here. Because you didn’t decide to bring a bag due to the fact that you had only brought your phone and keys, you slip it onto your wrist. You find yourself subconsciously flicking the black band on your wrist, not in a way that brings you pain or discomfort, but more so in a way your mind subconsciously finds soothing, a way to comfort the anxiety and dripping arousal.
As the sound of a cup being put down follows another, you watch the smooth movement of Spencer sitting down next to you, creating a small dip in the couch. The tension pulls between you, like a string being tugged or north pole and south pole magnets colliding.
Spencer’s gaze flickers down to your lips in a motion far from subtle. You watch his chest rise and fall with a steady rhythm, a movement that shows he’s feeling something like need, like it’s a pure hunger flowing through his veins.
“You know, if you're having your tongue on my pussy soon, it’s reasonable to kiss me”
Your words have him moving his eyes from your lips. He nods nervously as he agrees, “Yeah, I guess that makes sense”.
Getting ready to flutter your eyes closed, you pause midway to closing them, and then you fully open them again. You had half expected Spencer to take charge of the kiss, but you were mistaken; he looked like he didn’t have the slightest clue about how to lean in and what was right.
“Have you ever kissed anyone?” You question softly, shuffling closer to him.
“Once in high school, but we got our braces caught together”
You huff out a chuckle and shuffle even closer to him, watching his face for the emotions that fleet across his face, whether fast or slow. Accidentally bumping your knee with his thigh, Spencer’s finger tips graze over the top of your leg in a soft caress before settling his hand down like he wasn’t sure if you were about to tell him to take it off or press down even more.
You don’t say anything, but look him in the eyes as you move your body so you're straddling his lap and pressing your chest to his. His hips buck up slightly at the sudden movement, but like it’s almost natural, and he’s gone through his head practising this. He moves his hand up your body, sending shivers up your spine with every touch of your atoms meeting.
He seems to know what to do this time, driven by desire, desire evident from the growing bulge beneath you, strained by the layers of clothes. It’s quick but not rushed as he plants his other warm palm on the side of your neck, ever so gently and tugs you towards him.
The hand still resting on the side of your clothed waist squeezes gently as the rest of his body eases when your lips gently meet his in a way only described as euphoric.
Your brain transcends into mush as you find yourself melting into the soft lips of your co-worker, the same co-worker who sends a thrill up your spine as he pushes on your waist, moving you forward and then pushing you back. He tries to chase the friction between both of you by manually moving your hips with his grip on you and grinding you down on him; he does it so gently, never gripping too hard.
He makes a small gasp into your mouth as your lips move together; there’s no tongue yet added into the mix, but the softness of each other's lips and the unfiltered lust drive you both enough as it is.
When you do add tongue to the mix, Spencer is the one to initiate it as he opens his mouth and probes his tongue against your lips, swiping it against the slit in a question.
Your answer comes as opening your mouth and accepting his tongue; you moan against his mouth as you meet halfway. He tastes like black coffee (or sugar with a side of coffee, you suppose) and desperation, both things you love when served by Spencer.
Everything Spencer gives you, when he lets out a whimper, when he bucks up against you, when he pulls back and breaths heavily against your half-open mouth while looking up at you through his lashes, you take it. You take everything he gives you, and you make it yours.
His touch moves from where it resides and comes up to the hem of your ruffled shirt; it has you pulling back and looking at him.
“Can I?”
You nod.
You feel the hot exhale against your bare collarbone after he slides your shirt off and drops it on the floor behind you. Your body shivers from where his fingers narrowly skim across the sensitive skin of your waist.
You feel intoxicated with every touch or breathy gasp exchanged, your mind is set at a current setting that only lets you think of touch, taste and the lust that's filtered through every expanse of your being.
Spencer is definitely an inexperienced kisser, and you can tell when he has the occasional slip-up or when he accidentally clashes his teeth against yours, but the sexual desire coming from a pit within him controls the movements of his mouth and body, and that is more attractive than any slip-up he could make.
“I want to take you to the bedroom, I want to make you feel good”, He begs you, his voice sounding needy.
You only had to whisper a plea, and he had stood up, you around him, without much effort. It surprised you that he did it with that much ease; he wasn’t exactly fit. He wasn’t unhealthy by any means; you just assumed that without the muscle building him up, that he wasn’t exactly capable of heavy lifting, but he had proven you wrong.
It was a short distance to his bedroom, and you have your head buried into the warm skin between his shoulder and neck as he walks with you in his hold. You feel safe in a way you have never felt before.
He drops you down onto the softness of the mattress in such a gentle way that you feel like a treasured artefact. He positions you so your back is against the mattress, but your legs are half on the bed. You take your shoes off by pushing them against each other, and they fall to the floor by Spencer with a small thump.
With only your socks covering your feet, you place them on the edge of the bed, bending your legs at the knee. Spencer stands before you, admiring the sight of you splayed out on the bed, not yet fully undressed but beautiful, with regard. The tent in his pants is visible, and the imagined vision of what was under the layers, just by guessing based on the imprint, was an intoxicating picture displayed in the front of your mind.
He leans down, bracing a hand to the side of his head. He presses a quick kiss to your lips, the first kiss that didn't feel like lust or sexual desire but instead something unspoken, something that has you widening your eyes and feeling a precious warmth settle in your chest.
You were doing this for Spencer, you were teaching him how to make a woman feel good, and yet your personal attraction to Spencer that you had become accustomed to recently was causing a hot wire in your head. You were allured by him with a captivating charm you had never experienced.
His mouth was about to find home on your pussy, and you had to pretend like you weren’t falling for him even more every time he touched you.
When he pulls away from the soft peck, you lay a hand on his jaw and turn him back towards your lips and turn the softness of his kiss to a needier sweep of your tongues.
“Can- can you tell me what to do?” He catches his breath as he pulls away reluctantly and focuses on your face, his eyes moving from your lips.
“Take my bra off”
His dark eyes flicker down from your face and land on the black bra you had decided wasn’t as bad as you had thought earlier, because from your angle, your boobs looked amazing.
The small pulse that came from the bulge resting on your leg told you he thought so to.
You prop yourself up with your elbows, giving Spencer more space to move his hand behind your back. With one palm planted on the mattress beside your head, he uses his free hand to reach behind your back, trying and failing to unclasp the back of the bra.
You admire the way he bites his bottom lip in concentration, his fingers fiddling with the metal clasps in an effort to strip your breasts bare. You feel the skin of his knuckles gently graze against your back; it sends pulses of arousal through your body, pulses that travel slowly to your lower stomach.
“Spencer, do you want me-”
“No, I-”
You feel the fabric behind you loosen.
“Got it”
His eyes hold a captivating look that spreads like glitter everywhere his glance settles on your silky skin. With the way you're propped up, the straps that were sitting on your shoulders now slip down your arms and rest at the crooks of your inner elbows. The cups of the bra still hold your breasts, no more skin shown except the strip of your shoulder that the straps were covering before they fell.
Lying down again, the bra cups finally slip, and you pull it off the rest of the way, discarding it next to you, exposing the swell of your breasts and the rose coloured nipples that were perked up so beautifully.
Your body arches up in a wordless question, a wordless beg for touch.
“Spencer, touch me”
His eyes are stuck on your breasts, admiring them like they were the most gorgeous thing he had ever laid eyes on, like they were deserving of worship.
“I- here?” He doesn’t take his eyes off your tits.
Gently holding his wrist, you move his hand to cup your breast closest to him. The first touch of his palm sends a thrill through your nipple, and a little gasp escapes from the confines of your mouth.
“I- oh god- I don't know how” Spencer gently squeezes your tit with his hand before removing it.
“Put your mouth on my nipple”
“Yeah, I know that- I just don’t know how to use it”
“Then watch me, look for reactions, and you’ll know what I like” You breathe out, desperation's presence is known.
He watches you for a few seconds, just as though he was looking for permission, even though you had already solicited the act.
He looked so innocent like this, unaware of what to do and on edge about the possibility of doing the wrong thing. It gave you a small thrill knowing it was you he was doing this with, that despite it being a lesson, you were still his first.
Through half-lidded eyes, your attention forms on the shift of Spencer as he hesitantly flattens his tongue against your hard nipple; he licks a stripe along the peak, soaking the skin where his dripple lands. He moves so he’s lying on his side more than leaning, so he can get a better angle as he takes your nipple into your mouth.
The first feel of the inside of his mouth feels like something equivalent to heaven, your eyes roll back, and your nipple gets impossibly harder on the soft bed of his tongue. You squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to calm down the throbbing of your ever-so-needy clit that was begging for attention.
For someone who had never sucked a girl's tit, he was impressively good at it, combined with the magnetic pull that you already felt for him was the cause for the wildness you felt so deeply as he sucked and licked your sensitive flesh.
Opening your eyes, you notice Spencer looking up at you through hungry eyes that also some way or another, still looked pure, even in the act of being the cause of such pleasure, that your sure was evident on your face.
He examined every small gasp you made and every shiver that wracked your body. And when he sucked in the way that had you moaning his name, he drank it in and learnt how to draw out as much pleasure as he could using his mouth on one nipple and his fingers on the other.
He learnt how to pinch and twist using his hand, and when on the occasion it was too hard that you’d wince, he pulled back and kissed your lips with a whispered apology.
Both nipples were dripping with his spit, and the redness from pinching the peaks was stark against your skin. Spencer looks boob drunk when he pulls away, his lips pink and swollen, drool running down his chin, something you never classified as hot until this moment.
With newfound confidence, he reaches down to the waistband of your washed-out jeans and undoes the single button with one hand. Following his movements, he moves off the bed and again stands up before you. He leans down and unzips your jeans slowly, a small inhale slips through him as he moves his hands down to trace a finger against the lace of your panties that show through the opening of your jeans.
“Can I take your jeans off?” He asks.
“Please”, A small whimper slips out of you at the mere thought that you were only a couple of minutes away from having him settled over the throbbing wetness between your thighs.
He doesn’t watch his own movements as he shimmies your jeans down your legs with your help and plops them on the floor, where your discarded shoes sit. All of his attention is on you as he observes the desire written over your face in the most enticing colour he could ever imagine.
You bring the heels of your feet against the edge of the bed again, bending your legs at the knees; this time, you spread wider, giving Spencer more of a view. You can feel the wetness soaking your white underwear so much that it sticks to your pussy like a mould.
Without question, he kneels, his knees lightly hitting the hardwood floor beneath him. The sight is enough for you to prop yourself up again, just to view him on his knees at a better angle.
He experimentally brings his hand closer to the heat radiating in the middle of your thighs, stroking two steady fingers along the dampness seeping through the cotton. The gentle sweep over your covered clit has you opening your mouth on a silent moan, the bud his fingers are settled over throbs with hunger.
“You wore them”, Spencer addresses, looking up at you through his dark lashes. His voice is still nervous, almost boyish.
Spencer refers to the lacy underwear he had spoken about over text. You’d never told him what you had referred to when you asked him the question, ‘black or white’, but you guessed his IQ had come in handy when it came to the understanding of what you were on about.
You only owned two pairs of white lace underwear, and one pair had holes that your ex had been the reason for, so the options were narrowed down easily. The pair that you are currently wearing are your newest addition to your sexy underwear. You didn’t have many, so you had decided a few weeks ago that you should save up and treat yourself to a few more.
One of the best ideas you've ever had.
“I like them”, he says softly, cherished.
He moves his slender fingers towards the lace decorating your panties, tracing the delicate, floral openwork that you wore so well. Every touch against your skin brings electricity through your nerves; it feels like he’s painting a graceful lightning strike across your skin that can only be admired through feeling.
“You can keep them as long as you don’t rip them” You exchange eye contact with him.
“-keep them? I- why would I do that?”
You shrug as much as you can in the position you're in. “Smell them, wrap them around your cock?”
“People actually do that?” His eyes wide, and his voice is husky.
You nod, and Spencer's eyes furrow lightly like he’s contemplating the idea; you're sure a pros and cons list is being visually drawn through his eyes.
The pulsing of your clit only gets angrier with every awareness of time passing, every second Spencer is stuck in his thoughts and absentmindedly moving his fingers across the details on your panties and not on your clit like you desperately want them to be.
“Spencer, please do something”, You whine, drawing him from his thoughts.
“Hm? I'm sorry, so sorry,” he shakes his head like he's trying to clear his earlier thoughts out of his mind, a blush settles across his cheeks again, a sight you love to see.
He pokes his tongue out slightly, dragging it across his top lip when his attention falls back to your weeping pussy in front of him, the soaked white fabric not doing much to cover your flesh. His blink is slow, as though he’s entranced with the sight before him.
“What do you want me to do?” He asks, ready to do anything you ask of him with a simple word from your lips, “How should I make you feel good?”
“Most girls would want tongue first and then, whilst your mouth is on the clit add a finger, if you pull my panties down and-”
Your name falls out of his lips, and your eyes meet his as they glance up through a half-lidded gaze, “I don’t - I don’t want to know what other girls want, I want to know what you want”
Your body tenses, goosebumps rise over your arms at the devotion slips from Spencer's lips. So much for the ‘lesson’.
Holy fuck, that was so attractive.
You almost squeeze your thighs together with the pleasure that travels up your spine, but at last it’s probably not a good idea to suffocate Spencer with them before his mouth is even on you.
“What do I want?”
He nods, “What should I say and do to make you feel... good. Or the best I can make you feel, I suppose.”
You hesitate.
“Pull my panties down”
His fingers come to the waistband of the lace decorating your hips.
“Kiss my thighs and then my clit… if you find it”, You tease.
“I’ll find it, I’ve looked at enough anatomy books”
You huff out a laugh at his confidence. “Then put your mouth on me, suck, use your tongue, whatever and then spit on your finger and slip it inside of me”
You close your eyes as you speak, heightening the sense of touch, the feel of his fingers holding your underwear in his grip, and grazing them against the inside of your thighs as he slips the fabric down your thighs, and then as he gets you to close your legs together so he can bring them over your knees and slip them off fully.
Once he nudges his hand against your thighs and gets you to open your legs as wide as they were previously, he presses a soft kiss on the inside of your thigh, close to your knee. He hasn’t looked at your bare pussy yet, something he will cherish enough when he gets to it, you're sure.
“And what do I say to you?” he whispers, his heated exhales making your skin jump with every meeting.
“Praise me”
He nods and presses another kiss against your thighs, every press of his lips leading up higher than the last until you feel the smoothness of his lips press where it aches.
You divulge a sound stuck between a gasp and a whimper, and the silk bedding finds itself tangled up in your hand by cause of your grip. Such a small contact between your clit and his lips has you wanting more; your mind only speaks in desire, it speaks in a language only Spencer knows how to talk in.
He presses an open-mouth kiss right over your clit, and hollows his cheeks as he sucks gently. You respond by throwing your head back in pleasure, a gasp falling from your lips, one that edges him on.
‘There we go,” He smirks against you, proud of his achievements.
His tongue spreads across your clit, and his mouth moves in a dance of sucking, licking and kissing so sweet you almost find it affectionate if it wasn't such a dirty activity. He takes his time dragging the pleasure out of you; he plants his hands just below your ass, gripping for hold as he feasts on the sweet arousal dripping from every moment his mouth makes on you.
He whimpers against your pussy, and the sound has you pressing your hips further against him in an attempt to get more of him, as much as he is willing to give you.
For a man who’s never done this before, he sure is fucking incredible at knowing exactly how much pressure you want and when you want it, how long you want him to kiss for or what sounds he can make that have you shivering when they murmur against your clit.
You look down at him, devouring you thoroughly, and the blissed out eyes that meet yours are those of a starving man who has just had his first taste of real food in as long as forever.
He pulls back for only a second to mutter a few words, “You taste so sweet.”
“Need your fingers”, you beg, you're so fucked out at this point that there is no embarrassment resting in any part of you, all you know is that you need him so bad that if you don’t, you might cry, so you're prepared to beg as much as you have too to get what makes your legs shake and your head buzz.
“Yeah?” he teases.
You eye him as he spits on a single digit and runs it across your entrance before gradually pressing it inside you, dragging out your pleasure. You feel every motion he makes, to the press of the finger at your entrance to the curl that presses against the spongy part of you.
When Spencer reads at work, and his long fingers flick through the pages with velocity, you always find yourself watching the act in awe at how someone could do something so attractively with just a movement from their hands. His fingers were slender and long, something you had always admired.
But the difference of having one inside you was that it wasn’t just long, but it was filling.
You whimper loudly as he hits that precious spot inside of you that you can only reach on good days, the squelch of your wetness being played with stops, and so does the thrust of his finger.
“Is that a bad sound? Did I hurt you?” Worry is palpable in his tone, and it has your eyes softening at just how concerned he sounds.
“No, no, it’s good, really good”, You assure him, your fingers coming to thread in his hair, you push his head with encouragement to go back to the task at hand. He has an understanding of your wants; his finger brushes against your tight walls with a thrust, and he accommodates the feeling by sucking your clit between his lips and into the comfort of his mouth.
He works you with his finger until he knows you're ready, and follows along by drenching another finger with your slick and pressing it into you with gentle ease. You flutter your eyes closed and exhale a whimper. He’s exactly where you want him, and he's doing exactly what you want of him.
“Good girl”
His words cause a splutter of white-hot pleasure deep in your abdomen, and your pussy clenches around him with eagerness. His fingers fuck deeper into you; he’s obvious about how his words made you feel by the flushed look in your eyes and the grip your pussy has on him.
You can tell he wants more reactions like that from you because his fingers are suddenly moving with more speed, and praises fall from him like prayer; every word he speaks is made against your clit, and it sends a vibration through you every time.
He stops swirling his tongue around your sensitive, swollen bud, pulling off with a pop and exchanges it for kissing your stomach. He pecks along the fat at the base of your stomach; every peck feels like a comfort, something so soft and gentle compared to the ruin he was in the process of making you. The soft ‘mwah’ sounds he makes as he kisses you are a melody alongside your wimpers, moans and gasps that he drags out of you with determination.
You start to feel a coil tighten in your stomach.
“I'm close”, You manage to gasp out, wanting to give Spencer enough warning so you don’t just start spasming around him without him having any notice beforehand.
His fingers start thrusting faster, and you shake your head, “No, No, same pace, means- mh- means you're doing right” You gasp out.
His movement slows down to the pace it was when you had told him you were close, the coil comes back, this time tighter. You look at him, his lips are no longer resident on your skin, just hovering over your belly, his eyes are glancing down and watching you greedily suck in his fingers.
“Spencer- baby, kiss me” You beg and grip the back of his neck at the same time he perks up at your words, the heat coiling in your stomach burns hotter with every thrust of his finger.
His lips clap around yours, full of desperation. It’s a hot and heavy kiss; there’s nothing kind about the way your tongue fights with his as his fingers encourage the orgasm building up inside.
“This doesn’t feel like just a lesson anymore”, He says.
Your orgasm comes before you can decipher his words properly.
The coil snaps, and you pull your lips from the feisty makeout, pressing your forehead to his. Your orgasm washes over you in pulses, his fingers wring out every drop of release you have to give. Your vision goes fuzzy, and the self-control when it comes to the noises leaving your mouth was nonexistent. You gasp, moan and whimper as the charge of the orgasm reaches everywhere, every nerve ending in your body is not left untouched.
His eyes move quickly between your face and the sight of his fingers plunging into you between your legs. No matter where his eyes glance, it’s still the same look, an awed observation.
Once all the pleasure is wrung out from you, and Spencer's fingers retract from your soaked walls, you collapse for a better word. Your chest heaves as you gulp down all the air you can manage,your head hits the mattress, your body unable to keep holding you up.
Sweat tickles every where is runs, as though it’s teasing you with its fingertips.
“Are you okay?” Spencer's voice rings out, sounding as if he, too, is trying to get his heart rate down with the ragged breathing he expels.
You nod weakly, “mhm”
“Are you sure?” His voice is tense and on edge, his eyes never leaving your face.
“Yeah, just- give me a- give- a second”
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩
You start coming back to yourself, becoming more aware of your senses. You don’t know how much time has passed, but the faint buzz behind your ears tells you not too long.
It smells like black coffee, sex mixed with sweat, and old books.
You taste Spencer, you don’t know how to describe it other than ‘Spencer’.
And it feels.. Cold. Your forehead feels cold. Why does just your forehead feel cold?
You become cognizant of the pressure against your head, just above your eyebrows. Where it feels cold.
“You said you were okay”
You move your attention to your left, where Spencer sits beside you on the mattress, holding a damp cloth to your forehead. Worry is unmistakable; you notice the signs straight away. Tight lips, knitted brows and an increased blinking rate.
“Did I pass out?” You question, concern lays itself heavy.
“No-no, you just were a little out of it” He shakes his head.
You sit up, noting the fact that you were still naked and sitting down in the same place you had been when his fingers had been giving you attention. It comes back to you without any flashes or pictures, just memories of a few moments ago, before you lost your sense of who you were.
Your orgasm, his fingers leaving your heat, the kiss he pressed on your temple and then the quick rush of motion he made when he felt you burning up under his touch. He had left the room and came back with your discarded glass of water and a damp towel that was now resting against your forehead.
“I'm sorry, I didn’t mean for my mind to go somewhere else” You softly apologise.
“It’s alright- I was just scared I hurt you”
“You didn’t”
“Yeah, I know that now”, he whispers.
A beat of vulnerable silence passes.
“Would you be okay with staying the night?” His voice breaks the quiet.
Maybe the silent prayers you had sent up whilst getting ready earlier had worked; this seemed like a pretty good sign they had, considering one of the things you had pondered in your prayer had been whether you could have him longer than just a lesson went on for.
“Like with you?”
“In bed- sleeping. If that's okay”
You hear the unspoken words behind it, the real intent. He was just like you, having the same thoughts about whether you could share a moment like this longer, longer than the hour his hands and mouth had been on you. You both wanted more than just sex.
You lean towards him and take him by surprise by pressing your lips to his; it speaks kindness and affection. He melts against your lips and deepens the kiss, his tongue finds home in your mouth, joining yours and tangling together, only breaking apart when either of you needs to catch your breath.
When you pull back, Spencer chases the kiss and presses his lips against yours for as long as he can until you speak up.
“Yeah”, You smile with joy, just thinking about the non-sexual intimate act of sharing a bed is causing a warmth to line your cheeks.
“Good because I’d like that alot”
“A lot?”
“Mhm, I also quite like your lips against mine”, Spencer says against your lips after he leans towards you to catch you in a kiss again.
“Mhh, maybe I should give you a lesson on it”
“I’d like that”
“A lot?”
If you want to be added to the tag list for part 2, go here
☼*This was inspired by Sophie and Benedict from Bridgerton.
🔆Zuko x Reader🔆
**warning- I haven’t written in a long time so it’s kinda shitty.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The dishes rang loudly as you carelessly threw them into the soapy water, with a frustrated groan escaping your lips, as the said water soaked your uniform.
“Damn it!” You cursed.
“Is everything alright?” Hua questioned, her brows furrowed in concern.
“I’m fine.” You sighed. “Just a rough day.”
“I could take over if you want?” Hua offered with a shrug. “I was just going to deliver the Fire Lord his tea. I would be happy to switch you task.”
Delivering tea to the Fire Lord was the last thing you wanted to do.
“I’m fine, really,” you reassured, waving her request off. “I don’t have much left to do, anyway.”
She glanced at the mountain of dishes behind you, contemplating pointing out your obvious lie, but ultimately decided against it.
“Alright.” She accepted with a nod. “I’m going to go deliver this to the Fire lord now, before it gets too cold.”
You gave her a warm smile and watched as she left the kitchen, before returning to your task. With Hua gone and everyone else busy with their own thing, your mind drifted back to what was bothering you.
“Will you be my concubine?”
That moment replayed in your head, over and over again, stinging your heart each time. Was that all you were to him? A warm body for him to use and discard whenever he wants? You felt like a fool. But not foolish in the way that you believed he loved you, but foolish in the way that you believed he cared for you.
You should have known.
He rules a nation and fights beside the avatar, while you serve his tea and scrub his floors.
He was never going to love you, let alone, marry you.
But it still hurt to face the truth.
You were a few dishes in when Hua returned, the tray still in her hands, and an annoyed expression on her face.
“Was the tea too cold for his majesty?” You mocked.
“No,” She thrust the tray into your hands. “He wants you to deliver it.”
Your eyes widen.
“I-i can't deliver his tea.” You stuttered. “I have the dishes to do.”
“Well, you tell that to the Fire Lord,” Hua replied, taking over the dishes for you. “And let me know how that goes.”
“But I don’t know where his majesty is.” You lamely attempted to use as an excuse.
“His chamber.”
You were thinking of another excuse as to why you can’t deliver the Fire Lord his tea, when the head maid demanded you get a move on it, threatening to stick you on toilet duty all week if you don’t hurry.
“Yes, ma’am,” you murmured with a sigh.
As you got closer and closer, a tightness formed in your throat as well as a slight tremor in your hands. You inhaled deeply, trying to steady the tray of fine China and your nerves. But it was no use, as you approached the doors of the Fire Lord’s chamber, your stomach began to churn.
You stood outside his doors, struggling to regulate your breathing, before you mustered up the courage to knock. You waited to enter until he gave his command, your heart palpating as his silence loitered, when finally, his melodic voice carried an answer.
“You may enter.”
His back was facing you when you entered, his hair loose from his usual topknot, and a robe covering his strong build.
“Your tea, your majesty.” You announced, setting it on a small table.
He didn’t bother to face you or reply.
“Would you like me to serve you now, your majesty?” You tried again.
still no reply.
His silence was beginning to worry you.
Was he mad at you for not giving him an answer? Or was he looking for the words to dismiss you?
Or worse…
Was he expec-
“You’ve been avoiding me.” He finally spoke, turning to face you.
You let out a nervous laugh.
“Of course not, your majesty.” You lied. “I’ve just been busy.”
“Don’t call me that.” He sighed. “And I know you are, you’re usually the one to deliver my tea, but for the past week someone else has.”
“Like I said your majesty-”
“Zuko.” He interrupted.
“Like I said Zuko,” You corrected. “I’ve been busy.”
“Funny.” He laughed, unamused. “You always had time for me before.”
You couldn’t help but scoff. Was he serious? He’s acting like the hurt one. After he asked you to be his glorified mistress with a title.
You swallowed your anger and recomposed yourself.
“Is it because I asked you to be my concubine?” He asked, angering you all over again. “I thought I was doing right by you.”
“By asking me to be your mistress?” You sneered. “How could that possibly be doing right by me?”
Your reaction took Zuko aback. He’s never seen you so upset before, especially with him. He didn’t like it. He missed how y'all used to be before all this, the soft kisses, the lingering touches, and the passionate nights.
The unspoken I love yous.
“I hated seeing you drudge through the palace,” Zuko confessed. “I know I could never marry you, but I want to take care of you. Asking you to be my concubine was the only solution I could think of. You wouldn’t have to work as a maid anymore and it wouldn’t be frowned upon if we were seen together.”
His reasoning was logical. However, your heart didn't want logic. It wanted him to choose you. It wanted him to rebel against his council and declare to the world that he would make you, his wife. But now, you know, what you have always known, that he would never do that. It was never going to be you. It was always going to be some woman of noble descent, raised to be the perfect wife, whose beauty would set aflame the nation.
"We should stop seeing each other." You blurted out.
Hurt flashed upon his face.
"No." He argued. "I won't allow it."
Once again, you scoffed at his audacity.
"With no disrespect, your majesty." You spat. "The choice isn't really yours."
"You don't have to be my concubine," He assured, pleading with his eyes for you to reconsider, as he reached out to take you into his arms. "But please, don't end us.”
"I wouldn't be fair to myself if I continue whatever this is between us," You stepped out of his embrace. "I deserve better than this."
His heart hurt watching you retreat with the tray of tea, not once sparing him a fleeting glance. But it hurt more knowing that you were right.
You did deserve better.
When the door to Zuko's chamber closed behind you, you allowed yourself to shed a few tears, before heading back to the kitchen, where Hua was still present, a dish in her hand, as she greeted you.
"Hey, you're back." She let out a sigh of relief. "Think you can take over again?"
"Yeah." You laughed, halfheartedly, setting the tray near the other dirty dishes.
"You okay?" She frowned.
"I'm fine." You lied, with a smile. "Just you know a rough day."
"Okay..."
She glanced at the tray, still full of tea.
"Was the Fire Lord not pleased with his tea?"
"Uh no," You lied, again. "He just said he was no longer in the mood for tea by the time I arrived."
"Oh." She contemplated. "Why did he keep you for so long?"
Her face scrunched up in confusion.
"I forgot my place," You stared into the dishwater. "And he was reminding me of it."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*🔆*- Should I write a second part or should it stay a one-shot?
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