thinking about pope cody finally coming to see you when he gets out from prison…
pairings: pope cody x fem! reader
tags: no smut but still 18+ only, stalking, obsessive tendencies, dark! pope cody, longing, breaking and entering, legal age gap (reader is 22, pope is 39)
word count: 1090
summary: pope had been out of prison for 2 weeks, yet you didn’t know it, but he had been watching your every move and finally decides to come pay you a visit.
a/n: who wants to be on the shawn hatosy universe taglist? i may do a google form
two weeks.
that was how long pope had been home from prison, and also how long he had been watching your every move from afar, as he was so good at doing. standing hidden across the street, parked down the block, eyes catching the lights in your room flick on and off, you name it. smurf had caught him a couple of times walking down the street as late as 3 in the morning going or coming from who knows where. baz knew where he was going. where else would pope go?
your house.
well, your father's house. the father who leaves every friday night at approximately 8 pm to go to the bar downtown and wouldn't be back until 11 pm to midnight, drunk.
for the 3 years he was in prison, you got a different job, working at a retail store on the closing shift every other day. on those nights he watched you close the shop, he always brought his gun with him in case he needed to protect you from any nightcrawlers.
you had no idea he was home. when pope went in, your father made you cut all ties with the cody's and made you stop responding to pope's letters and collect calls.
'you need to focus on your college classes.' he would say.
'that andrew is older than you and dangerous.'
but he always had a soft spot for you.
every single night in prison, he thought about you. if you changed your hair, if you got a new wardrobe, if you still wore pink, if you had a new boyfriend. the last thought always angered him to no end, the thought of another boy touching you, caressing you, kissing you, making you smile. pope couldn't handle it.
your father was in the way.
pope didn't like people getting in his way.
you were 19 when he first got locked up, and now you were freshly 22, and even more beautiful than pope remembered when he last saw you. you were walking to your car one morning, pope watching you from behind the corner of your house outside. he decided to try and call you to see if you would answer.
you felt your phone vibrate in your hand, holding it up to look at the caller ID but it says unknown caller. you reluctantly slide it to the right to answer.
"hello?" you were met with silence, as pope's eyes traced your every move as you waited for a response that he would never give. you heard even, calm breaths through the phone speaker before speaking again. "...andy?" you breathe out and he hangs up the call before disappearing, not that he was in your sights anyway.
that was a few days ago.
now, pope was standing in your dark bedroom, watching your peaceful sleeping figure. he slid open your bedroom window with barely a sound before he stepped softly on the carpet and closed the window shut behind him. he tilted his head as he watched your chest rise and fall with each breath. you still slept on your side, facing the wall that was right next to your bed.
you didn't even stir as he walked to the edge of your bed and just stood there. you felt his presence before you saw him and your eyes opened only to be met with a tall, dark figure standing right in front of you. you shot up, sitting upright immediately and pushing yourself back against the headboard in fear.
"a-andy...?" your eyes still adjusting to the dark room and from just waking up.
"why were you avoiding me?" he asks in that tone that always made your breath hitch. your eyes dart all over him.
"i-"
"you knew i was calling you." he calmly spoke again. "you answered." his head moved with his words, never taking his eyes off of you.
"why didn't you come see me?" he asks with a lingering hint of sadness, it broke your heart.
"andy, i wanted to but-"
"i waited every day." he paused. "you weren't there." all those days you could've snuck out of the house to visit him while he was up there all alone came back to you.
baz had told you he was having a hard time. the guards not treating him right, getting into fights, you name it. you knew he had to defend himself. you could see the results of that; he was bigger, stronger. you gathered up the courage to get up out of your bed, stand up, and walk over to him. you looked him in the eyes before bringing your arms up to wrap behind his neck, standing on your tiptoes in a hug. his arms stay at his sides but not for long. when he does embrace you back, it's as if he's holding on to you so that you don't slip through his fingers.
he puts his nose into your neck and breathes you in, pushing that breath back out against the skin there as he reveled in your floral scent that always drove him crazy. "you still smell the same."
he spoke again. "you stopped writing me." his words muffled by the skin of your neck.
"i didn't want to, i promise." you truthfully tell him. your father threatened to stop paying your tuition if he caught you sending another letter or another one from pope being mailed to the house.
"he made you stop." it was more a statement than a question, to which you nodded your head.
"but i never stopped loving you, andy. i missed you so much." you kindly admit to him, knowing that he has doubts about love. he pulled back so you could see his face, as his expression broke. he didn't speak, he just slammed his lips against yours, his hand sliding to the back of your neck to grip it there possessively. three years of longing and desire put into this one kiss made your knees weak as you kissed him back.
as your lips were still connected, he walked you back to lay on your bed on top of the astray sheets, his hands coming to dig into the mattress on either side of your head.
"were you a good girl while i was gone?" he asked, alluding to did you sleep with anyone else. you violently shook your head no and the ghost of a smirk showed on his face.
"good. now show me how dirty you used to get, hm? just for me."
You look from your place in bed, glasses almost sliding off of your nose. You glance around the room once before pointing at yourself. Simon gives you a dead-serious nod of his head, drilling holes into you with his eyes.
“Huh, what’d I do, Si?”
“All that. I’m tellin’ you t’ stop bein’ a tease.”
You take yourself into account. You are sitting in bed in your ugly, mismatched pajamas, reading a book with everything about you totally undone. You were just nodding off when he walked in. What’s Simon on about?
“I’m-… Are we playing around? Joking? I don’t get it.” You’re about as un-sexy as you can be.
He huffs and walks up to the edge of the bed, reaching under the covers to wrap a large hand around your ankle and pull you to the edge, locked under his gaze as blankets crowd around you. “Look at ya, love. Quit playing games.”
You finally find it in you to laugh at his ambiguity, watching the corners of his mouth quirk. He shifts on his feet uncomfortably, tightening his grip around your ankle. “I don’t understand. I’m very unattractive right now. Startlingly so.”
“Don’t say tha’.” He mutters, leaning over to shove his face into the crook of your neck, humming in relief as he presses into you. You wrestle your arms free to throw around him, curling into his heavy body. The moment goes on sweetly until his hips roll lazily against you, exhaling shakily.
do u think jack would have a thing for his fingers in his girl’s mouth? like feeding her little oral fixation..
- 🦢
oral fixation with jack abbot
WARNINGS: MATURE CONTENT AHEAD (MDNI) - oral fixation, fingers in mouth, blowjobs mention, mean-ish jack (more just like dom!jack lowkey)
A/N: sorry this is a short one, i’m just getting back into the swing of writing & all that!! but this is the perfect way to get back into it :)
────────── ୨ৎ ───────────
it’s no secret to jack that you liked having things in your mouth. that sounds gross, but it’s true. you loved sucking on an ice block in summer, sucking on a straw until it was all chewed and you couldn’t drink out of it anymore, sucking on the ice from your glass until it melted.
and of course, the more sexual things. it should make jack feel perverted, the way he takes notice to these things. the way your mouth waters before you get his cock in your mouth. the way you suck hard, barely letting his cock leave your mouth. or how about the sheer amount of times you do it, going down on him every chance you get. god, sometimes you’d just be sitting on the couch and pull out his dick so that you can have it in your mouth. jack wasn’t particularly a ‘receiver’ more than a ‘giver’ but who would he be to deny his girl anything?
and when you didn’t have something in your mouth, something to numb the feeling? you were a brat. that’s the only word fit to describe you, jack decided. he learnt the signs early on, you were moody, short tempered, dissatisfied with anything he did. and the only way to fix you was to give you something to suck. which is how you’re in the situation you’re in right now.
he grabs your face with one hand, squishing your cheeks. "come on baby, open for me," he instructs. one word that makes your body go limp and without even thinking you comply, parting your lips just wide enough for his fingers to fit in.
he runs two thick fingers across your bottom lip and your eyes flutter closed at the sensation of his fingertips against your lips. he pushes them just past your lips, grazing the tip of your tongue and you close your mouth around them. you immediately move your tongue against them, swirling around them and without even realising it you begin sucking on them hard.
"is that what you needed huh, baby? just needed my fingers in your mouth to shut you up?" he coos, stroking the side of your face with his free hand, you melt into his touch, nuzzling your face against the large palm.
he pushes his fingers to the back of your throat, so he can hear the gagging sounds you make. he’s rock hard at this point but is enjoying the view too much to stop now. you with your wide, doe eyes staring up at him, drool dribbling out your mouth and coating his hand.
each thrust of his fingers reaches a new depth, each time you think he can’t go any farther back, he does. tears begin to pool in your eyes, the lack of oxygen getting to you. you try hard to breathe through your nose but each thrust of his fingers takes all the air out of you. you’re at his mercy, no choice but to take it, and love it. which you do.
It’s almost frustrating how gentle Jax is with you. Every touch is measured, every kiss so careful, like you’re something delicate he’s scared to break. Sure it’s sweet, but you’ve seen the way he used to be, heard the stories, the whispers about the girls before you. So you know for a fact he has that side in him, and you crave it. But every time things start to build, every time your hands clutch at him a little tighter or your voice slips into something a little needier, he pulls back, grounding them with those soft murmurs and feather-light touches.
Jax sees you as more than just another night, more than a fling. You’re not a body to use up and forget. He’s never had to think about how roughness might read when feelings are involved. He just wants to be good to you. Gentle feels safer.
In the thick of tangled sheets and low, breathless sounds, you decide to try again. Jax is above you, skin flushed, breath ragged, but still holding himself back in that way you’ve come to know too well. His touch is worshipful, slow, like every move is a question instead of a need. And you love him for it, really—but god, sometimes you want him less careful and more consumed.
So when his hand trails over your collarbone, you grab it, guiding it slowly, toward your throat. Your eyes meet his, and you don't say a word. You don't have to. The message is there, clear in the heat of your gaze, in the way your breath hitches.
But he stops. Just before his palm settles there, his fingers flex like he’s considering it—but then he pulls back, resting his head against your shoulder while stilling inside you. “I can’t,” he murmurs. “I just… I don’t want to go too far.”
“I’ll be fine, I need it Jax.” you plead. Then Jax finally sees it—feels it—like a punch in his chest.
“Fine,” he breathes, voice low, rougher than you’ve ever heard it. He pulls back just enough to look you dead in the eyes. “That what you want? You wanna be treated like a whore?”
You don’t flinch. Don't look away. Just nod, slow and sure, lips parted like you’re daring him to follow through.
That’s all it takes.
Jax flips you over, pressing you down into the mattress with a grip that finally matches the heat in his eyes. His hand splays across the small of your back, holding you there, his cock driving into you with a newfound purpose.
He grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head up, just enough to make you gasp. His mouth is right at your ear, breath hot and heavy. “Is this what you wanted?” he growls. “Huh? You want me to use you like one of them?”
But even as the words come out, there’s something else in them. It’s laced with desperation, with feeling. Like he needs to know if this version of him is something you still want—if you can handle all of him, not just the soft parts.
And when you breathe out a yes, shaking under his touch, he finally lets go.
summary: you hated jack, and you were positive he hated you too. two broken down cars and one blizzard bring the truth to the surface.
warnings: no age gap :(, med student!jack and med student!reader, I'm imagining they're both 26 and in the last year of med school, forced proximity, one sided e2l, there's only one bed! oh no!, cuddle or die, jack is kind of a dick , reader thinks jack is gonna kill her, don't worry he's just hopelessly in love, jack calls reader a bitch, love confessions, getting together, wearing jack's clothes, spooning, grinding, fingering, kissing, hickies, accidental somnophilia, dry humping, unprotected sex, big dick jack, belly bulge, creampie, mating press, sex in a strangers home
author's note: idfk what time period this is set in, im just here to sexualize this man
we're playing fast and loose with how both med school works and jack lore. I'm back to spreading my 'jacks legal first name is John' agenda. also, I barely know how undergrad works, since I am a drop out! suspend your disbelief, my more educated mutuals
There’s no way the universe should be this insistent on fucking you over.
Your shitbox of a car died a day before you were set to present your research at a conference in upstate New York in the middle of January. It was the biggest opportunity of your medical school career so far, and was going to secure your residency. But you couldn’t afford to fix it or buy plane tickets and there was no bus that could get you from Pittsburgh to Syracuse in time.
So when your program advisor called you into his office to say he found another student driving to the conference that would be willing to carpool, you nearly jumped for joy. Until the next words out of his mouth put a bullet in the brain of your newfound hope.
“-Jack Abbot! You’ve met him, right? You’re in the same year.”
Yes, you had met Jack Abbot. Several, miserable times.
Every interaction you’d had with Jack ended with you seething and him smirking. He seemed to be addicted to pushing your buttons every chance he could.
But you didn’t have a choice. And you’d definitely made sure to verify that Jack was your only option. You must have asked every other student you had classes with, but they were either flying or not going at all. So you were stuck with him.
Stuck in the confined space of the cab of his small truck, side by side on the bench seat, for five and a half hours.
Everything about him pissed you off. His perfect curls were irritating, especially since you were sure he used 15-in-1 soap to wash it, the woodsy scent of his aftershave made every breath feel agonizing, and the way his legs were spread wide was obscene. It was his car, you had no right to complain that he was taking up so much space. But god did you wish he was cowering against the door like you were. You wished he put more space between the two of you, but the small cab left about a foot between you, even with you folding your body into the farthest corner your seatbelt allowed. It was entirely too close for comfort.
You’d made it a point to avoid looking at him as much as possible since this disastrous ride had begun 2 hours ago. So far, you’ve managed to mostly succeed, focusing on the falling snow and the freezing scenery outside. But you felt his eyes on you every few miles. His gaze was hot whenever it landed on you. You could feel it, even through your thick sweatshirt and jeans.
But Jack didn’t say anything. He hadn’t said a single word since you’d met him in front of your apartment building at 1 pm and loaded up your bags into the covered bed. It was unusual for him. Normally, he liked to goad you into a reaction, sending barbs your way constantly. So the silence unnerved you. You didn’t know how to exist in a space with Jack Abbot when you weren’t on the defensive.
And then the universe decided to fuck you even harder.
The snow was falling even harder as Jack pulled off the freeway and onto a smaller back road. You wanted to question him, but you didn’t want to be the one to break the silence. Plus, you didn’t know where you were. For all you knew, Jack had driven through this area a thousand times before.
But the farther you got down the road, the heavier the snow was getting and the slower Jack was driving. You hadn’t seen another car or building for the past 30 minutes and the plows clearly weren’t running out here.
And then - truly the cherry on top- the engine started sputtering.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jack braked hard, the tires slipping slightly as he pulled off the road onto the shoulder.
“What the fuck?” You looked over at him for the first time in an hour.
Jack threw the truck in park before he was grabbing his coat. “Stay here.”
Where the fuck did he think you were going to go? You were in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of a snowstorm. The cab of the truck was pleasantly warm, and the burst of cold air when Jack opened his door convinced you even more that you were not going to get out.
You watched him round the front. He popped the hood of the truck, hiding him from view. What the hood didn’t hide, though, was the cloud of smoke that billowed out.
“Oh fuck me,” there was no way you were making it to the convention. You checked your phone. No service. Of course.
The hood slammed shut and you jumped, looking up to watch Jack walk back around to the drivers side. He slid back in, shutting the door hard behind him and scrubbing a hand over his face.
“We’re fucked.”
“What are we going to do?” You chewed on your bottom lip as you looked at the land around you. “I do not want to die of hypothermia in your shitty truck.”
“My truck isn’t shitty,” he sounded like a petulant child.
“It just fucking died on us,” you leveled a glare at him. “I’d say that makes it shitty.”
He grumbled something under his breath.
Both of you sat in silence for a moment.
“We need to find somewhere to shelter,” Jack was looking out the windows.
“There is nothing out - ”
“There,” he was pointing into the trees at something that you could not see. Everything blended together in the dim lighting and haze of falling snow.
“What?”
“There,” Jack started gathering a few things scattered around. His phone, his water bottle, and the keys made the cut, all being stuffed into the pocket of his heavy duty coat. “There’s a cabin.”
“Bullshit there's a cabin. I don’t see anything,” you really didn’t. All you could see was a mass of black and gray and green.
“There is,” he opened his door again. “Are you coming or are you going to freeze to death here?”
There wasn’t much of a choice. You could already feel the chill creeping in through the thin glass of the windows now that the engine was dead. You could follow Jack into the woods and either find shelter or freeze to death in the snow, or stay in the truck and freeze to death in the carcass of his shitbox.
No matter what, the threat of hypothermia was real and, even though you weren’t officially a doctor yet, you knew the risks. So you gave one last long suffering sigh, and opened your door.
You were immediately thankful you’d put leggings on beneath your jeans that morning. The temperature change slapped you in the face as soon as you stepped out into the ankle deep snow.
Jack was rifling through the bed of the truck, pulling out his duffel bag. You watched him hesitate for a minute, before abandoning the garment bag containing the suit he’d packed. You tried not to think about just how good he’d look in a formal get up.
“Grab your shit,” Jack was pulling on a pair of gloves. His cheeks were already rosy from the freezing wind. “We’ve gotta get there fast.”
You gathered your things, yanking your own gloves and coat out of your bag. You left your own garment bag containing the gown you’d thrifted for the final banquet in the bed alongside the covered poster board for your research. It was going to be ruined if you and Jack ever made it back to the truck alive, given that there was not a chance you’d be making it to the conference, you didn’t bother trying to save it.
“Lead the way,” you slung your bag over your shoulder, pulling the hood up over your head to try and shield you as much as possible from the chill.
Jack led you across the frozen road and down into the treeline. The snow came up to mid calf, soaking your feet through your boots. Very quickly, you started to shiver, trying to curl into yourself as you walked.
You were both grateful and pissed to see the shape of the cabin come into view. You needed to get warm, but you did not want to admit Jack was right.
It took about 20 minutes for you to reach the front porch. By now, the snow was falling so hard that you couldn’t see the road or the truck through the haze.
“C’mon, c’mon,” Jack tried the door handle, sighing with relief when it swung open.
The inside of the cabin was simple. About the same size as your studio apartment back in Pittsburgh. It was dark, but you could see a fireplace against one wall, across from a full sized bed. There was a small kitchenette and a small bathroom you could see through a half open door. The whole place was dusty and looked like it hadn’t been used since last summer, but it would have to do.
Both you and Jack tumbled in. It was cold, but at least the sturdy wooden walls kept the wind chill out.
“You got a lighter?” Jack was already moving towards the fireplace, inspecting a few of the logs piled next to it. He seemed to approve of a few of them, piling them up.
“Yeah, here,” you fished a lighter out of your jacket pocket, tossing it to him as you set your bag down on the bed.
You watched him for a moment. He shed his coat, pushing the sleeves of his sweatshirt up as he set a few scraps of newspaper alight. With a gentle few breaths, he grew the flame before placing it under the pile of logs he’d formed in the fireplace. It took a moment, but gradually the flames grew until there was a bright, flickering fire lighting up the small room.
You could feel the warmth it was putting off starting to seep into you, but it wasn’t enough. Your coat was still on, but you were shivering beneath it.
Jack noticed, doing a double take over his shoulder when he saw you still standing by the bed.
“Come over here.”
“I’m fine,” your voice was unsteady.
“You need to get warm,” Jack was untying his boots, digging through his bag for a new pair of socks as he discarded the damp pair he’d been wearing. “You’re gonna get frostbite.”
“No, I’m not,” but you were moving towards him, crossing the small room to stand beside him in front of the fireplace.
“Take off your clothes.”
You looked over at Jack like he’d grown a second head, ready to tell him off. But the words died in your throat when you saw he was stripping his shirt and hoodie off, leaving him bare from the waist up. You froze for a moment, eyes wide and brain buffering, until his hands grabbed for the zipper of his jeans.
“What the fuck?!” You spun around, trying to will your blush away.
“We need to get into dry clothes and get warm,” the shuffling sounds of his clothes hitting the floor was tempting you to turn around. You wanted just a little peak.
“I’ll be fine.”
“No, you won’t.”
And then Jack’s hands were at your waist, pulling up your sweatshirt.
“Woah!” You spun away from him, putting distance between you and begging your heart to slow down its rapid beating.
“I’m not letting you blame me when your toes fall off,” Jack crossed his arms over his chest. He’d changed into a plain black t-shirt, gray sweatpants, and thick wool socks. God damn it, he looked good. “I won’t look, but you need to change.”
“Fine,” you walked back towards your bag. “Don’t look.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jack’s eyes raked over you once before he was turning back to face the fire.
You moved quickly, stripping out of your layers. You’d been planning on being in a nice, cosy hotel and convention center, tucked safely away from the cold, so you’d only brought jeans, slacks, and your comfortable sleep shorts. Tight, spandex shorts that left very little to the imagination. The leggings you wore under your jeans were soaked up to the thighs with melted snow and unwearable.
So you grabbed your most modest shorts, although ‘modest’ was a stretch. They were tight and short, covered completely by the oversized crewneck you pulled on after. You didn’t have too many options for socks, stuck with a relatively thin pair of white ankle length ones. Your nice, insulating ones were soaked from your trek through the snow.
“Is it safe yet?”
You glanced over at Jack, silhouetted against the fire. His shoulders looked a hell of a lot broader than you’d realized, the muscles of his arms standing out. God fucking damnit.
“Yeah, it’s safe,” you cleared your throat, looking away from him as you moved your bag away from the bed, setting it on the floor by the nightstand.
“That’s what you’re wearing to not freeze?”
His judgmental tone made you bristle, reminding your traitorous mind that you did, in fact, hate this man.
“I didn’t have a lot of options,” you unnecessarily straightened your duffel, looking anywhere but at him. “I didn’t plan for you to get us stranded in the fucking woods. I packed for a fancy hotel and a conference, which is where we would be if you didn’t try to kill us.”
“I didn’t try to kill us,” he scoffed. You risked a glance at him. He was digging through his own bag. “I took a shortcut to go around the traffic on the interstate. Here.”
He wadded up a pair of flannel pants and threw them at you. You caught them, trying not to take a deep breath. They smelled like detergent and that addicting smell of his cologne.
“These are fucking ugly,” the idea of wearing his clothes and being stuck in such a small space with him triggered your fight or flight instinct. Seeing as flight wasn’t a reasonable option with a blizzard outside, you decided to fight.
“By all means,” Jack rolled his eyes. “Freeze to death because my pants are ugly. I’d finally get some peace and quiet.”
“The fuck do you mean ‘peace and quiet’? I didn’t say a fucking thing the whole car ride!”
“Yeah, and it was fantastic.”
Grumbling to yourself about what a dick he was, you gave in. You were fully aware he was trying to get you to wear the stupid pants. You could sacrifice your pride to put them on and deny him the satisfaction of you going silent.
“Maybe if I’d said something, we wouldn’t be stuck here,” you tugged the god awful pants up over your shorts, having to double know the waistband to keep them up around your hips.
“Oh so you agree, this is your fault,” Jack looked smug. He sat down on the rug in front of the fireplace, his legs spread out before him. His feet were blisteringly close to the flames. You hoped his stupid socks caught on fire.
“How is this my fault? I didn’t tell you to drive off the main road in the middle of a snowstorm. This is your fault,” begrudgingly, you made your way towards him. You sat down 3 feet away from him, relishing the wave of heat that greeted you once you were close to the fire. The rest of the space was slowly warming up, but the cold still seeped in through the fogged over windows and wooden walls.
“Well I wouldn’t be stuck out here if I didn’t have to drive you to this stupid convention,” Jack leaned back on his palms. He looked calm and relaxed, and that made you even more irritated.
“Oh, so you only took this backroad because of me,” you stretched out your hands to warm your frigid fingers. “Glad you admitted this was attempted murder.”
“‘Attempted murder’ my ass,” he shook his head, narrowing his eyes. His gaze scanned you from head to toe. You told yourself the shiver that ran through your body was from the cold. “I would be nice and cosy in my apartment if it wasn’t for you.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I only agreed to go to the conference because you needed a ride.”
“Bullshit,” you scoffed. That didn’t make any sense. Why the hell would Jack do that? He’d been a massive dick since you met him. Every group project or hospital rotation you ended up on with him was hell. He pushed your buttons, poking and prodding at you with sharp little quips until you snapped.
Jack didn’t say anything. He turned his face back towards the fire, focusing on the flickering flames.
“Jack…?”
He stayed silent.
You didn’t know what to say. You were confused. He hates you, so why would he agree to be locked in a car with you for an extended amount of time. Maybe he truly did want to lure you out into the woods and kill you.
But why? Sure, you were classmates, both competing for residency spots in a technical sense, but that wasn’t strictly true. It pained you to admit it, but Jack was in a league of his own. He was smart. Annoyingly so. He was constantly at the top of your class, leading test scores by a mile. You weren’t stupid, not at all, but Jack was something else. You weren’t competition for him.
“Did you…” How do you ask a classmate if he planned to kill you? You swallowed hard, suddenly very nervous. “Did you bring me out here to - to get rid - ”
“Jesus Christ, [name],” he finally looked at you again, sitting up and resting his elbows on his outstretched legs. He looked horrified. “You think I agreed to drive you, took a shortcut, and sabotaged my truck to - to what? Kill you?”
“Then why did you agree to drive me?” You couldn’t wrap your head around it.
“Just drop it, ok?” He scrubbed a hand down his face, rubbing at his jaw and looking away.
“Just doesn’t make sense,” you were mumbling. You scanned him, reading the tension in his shoulders.
“Drop. It.” This was the most emotion you’d seen him exhibit in all four years you’d been in school together. His jaw was clenched.
In the flickering light, it was hard to tell if his cheeks were flushed from the rising heat of the fire or if he was actually blushing.
“No, I’m not going to drop it,” you finally had a chance to push his buttons, but you also wanted to know why he’d go out of his way to drive 12+ hours round trip if he wasn’t presenting or trying to network at the conference. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“I like you, alright?” He buried his face in his hands. “I’ve liked you for years. I wanted to do something nice for you. I wanted to spend time with you. I like being near you, I like talking to you when you’re not being a bitch - ”
“Don’t you fucking dare call me a bitch, Jack Abbot,” you were still trying to process his confession, the wheels in your brain turning at a snails pace.
“Fuck, fuck, you’re right. I’m so sorry, I’m fucking this up,” Jack took a deep breath, lifting his head to look at you. His expression was pained. “I like talking to you when you’re not trying to piss me off, and even when you are, I still enjoy it. You’re smart, you’re gorgeous - incredibly gorgeous. And we’re about to graduate soon, we’re both leaving for residency in a few months and I couldn’t - I couldn’t not say anything.”
You didn’t know how to respond. Jack paused for a moment at your silence, but then he carried on like he couldn’t stop.
“I practiced this whole little speech for the gala at the end of the weekend,” he laughed sardonically, running a hand through his curls. “I was gonna pull you to the side, somewhere pretty and romantic and tell you how amazing I thought you were, how beautiful you looked in whatever dress you brought. I was gonna ask you out on a date when we got back to Pittsburgh. And then I fucked it up. I swear, I didn’t know my truck was going to die.”
He was definitely blushing now. “And I didn’t take a shortcut. I went the long way around to get more time with you since I knew you’d ignore me as soon as we got to the hotel. But I really was trying to avoid traffic on the interstate! I just didn’t expect it to start snowing so hard.”
For a second, you were quiet. You still didn’t know how to respond, but words fell from your lips before you could stop them.
“The car ride back would have been awkward as fuck if I said no.”
Jack laughed, eyes crinkling as he shook his head.
“Yeah, it would have been,” he sobered up, hope sparking in his eyes. “But I was willing to risk the humiliation if there was a chance you’d give me a shot.”
Would you have given him a shot? You didn’t know. For years you’d been so insistent that you hated him, but you couldn’t deny that you’d been attracted to him since day 1. You’d noticed him immediately at orientation, but you hadn’t gotten a chance to speak to him until the first randomly assigned group project in your cadaver lab. He’d been a know-it-all, correcting your technique with a scalpel, raising one of those condescending eyebrows and judging every move you’d made. It rubbed you the wrong way, and clouded your perception of him.
You’d written him off after that, but the two of you kept being forced together. Same professor assigned group projects, similar friend circles, same hospital rotations. Every interaction just reinforced your view of him. It pissed you off every time you caught him staring at you, every time he sat next to you in lectures, asked to share your notes, when he poked and prodded and teased you.
But everything looked very different with the knowledge that he’d been into you since the beginning. Now, he looked less like a piece of shit that wanted to torment you and more like a lovesick puppy that wanted your attention. Either way, it wasn’t a flattering look for him, but the latter option was much more forgivable than the former.
“So?”
You jumped, ripped out of your thoughts to find Jack staring at you again.
“So…?”
“Do I get a chance?” He looked terrified of what your response would be.
“I - ” you didn’t know. Your mind was spinning, trying to parse out your feelings and figure out exactly how you were feeling about the situation.
“It’s ok if you don’t feel the same way,” his hand ran through his hair again, tugging at his curls as he went. “I get it, I’ve been a dick - ”
“No - I mean, yes you have been, but,” you took a deep breath. “I - I don’t know. I had no clue you felt this way. I’m just… trying to process this.”
“Ok, yeah, yeah that’s ok,” Jack was nodding, his eyes fixed on the floor. “Yeah, I mean, you don’t owe me an answer. And you can say no.”
He laughed again, but it was gruff and self deprecating.
“I swear I’m not going to kill you if you say no.”
“Gee, that makes me feel so much better.”
Both of you were quiet for a moment, and then you burst out laughing. A real laugh, not the sad imitation Jack had let out previously. You felt hysterical, the situation did not call for the intensity of the laughter spilling from you, but it did help to diffuse the tension that had been rising in the confined space.
When you were able to calm yourself, both of you gasping for breath and staring into the flames, your thoughts turned back to everything. You were hesitant to just accept, still struggling to reframe the last 3 ½ years now that you had more context. But you were curious.
“If we live,” you broke the silence that had fallen over the room. “If we make it out of this fucking murder cabin, I’ll give you a chance.”
Jack snorted, a smile tugging at his lips.
“Then we better survive.”
The two of you sat there in front of the fire for a few more hours, passing bags of chips and candies back and forth, trying to make the time go by and conserve the batteries of your phones. You drifted in and out of conversation and silence. Surprisingly, you found yourself enjoying talking to him. For the first time since you’d been introduced, you had a pleasant conversation. Neither of you brought up his confession or your tentative acceptance.
Instead, you asked about him. And you learned a lot, shockingly. You knew the basics; he was a few months older than you, he was too smart for his own good, and he’d sold his soul to the Army and would be doing his residency at a military hospital. You almost envied the fact that he got to skip the stress of match day. Almost. You would absolutely not trade that stress in exchange for the next 10 years of your life.
Jack was from Maryland, and he was getting to go back to do his residency at Walter Reed. You saw his eyes light up with hope when you told him your first choice for residency was John Hopkins, but he didn’t say anything. You’d be pretty damn close to each other if you got lucky, but you didn’t dwell on that.
His first name was actually John, and he looked disgusted by it, but his expression softened when you laughed after he revealed he was actually John Andrew Abbot III. You pretended not to notice that, too.
You shared information of your own, also. Jack smiled when you told him about your childhood pets. He laughed when you told him silly stories from undergrad. He stayed quiet, letting you speak when you shared about struggling to make ends meet while still in school.
It endeared you but also pissed you off that he knew just how to react. He was empathetic and sweet when he wasn’t pushing your buttons.
You liked talking to Jack, you realized. You liked getting to know him.
The two of you had started yawning about an hour ago, but neither of you were ready to stop talking. It was only when the conversation finally lulled and you found yourself fighting against your increasingly heavy eyelids.
“We should get some sleep,” Jack was pushing himself up from the floor, dusting off his hands and sweats as he went. He extended a hand to you, and you found yourself not hesitating to take it, allowing him to pull you to your feet. His hand was warm and steady, and you found yourself fighting off a twinge of disappointment when he let go. “You can take the bed.”
“What? No,” there was only one bed in the one room cabin. It was so small, there wasn’t even room for a couch. The only other furniture in the space was a small kitchen table and two chairs, and a beaten up armchair covered by a thin white sheet. “Where are you going to sleep?”
He shrugged, shifting his duffel closer and moving the clothes in it around until he seemed satisfied with the shape. “Here, in front of the fire. I can make sure it keeps going all night.”
“No,” you grabbed his arm, stopping him from moving towards a small linen closet neither of you had bothered to peek into so far. “No, you’re not sleeping on the floor. We…”
He raised an eyebrow, gaze flicking between your face and your hand still holding onto his bicep. You let go, taking a step back.
“We can share the bed,” you glanced over your shoulder. The bed was small, probably full sized. Just barely big enough to fit the two of you, although you’d have to scoot pretty close to the edge to avoid touching.
“I’m not complaining about sharing a bed with you,” Jack looked at the bed too. “I think I’ve made myself clear about that - ”
You swallowed hard. You hadn’t let yourself think about that aspect of his confession. In fact, you’d beaten it back into the shadowy corners of your mind as aggressively as you could. You wouldn’t survive however long your confinement was going to be if you let yourself think about the more physical implications of Jack being into you.
He looked down at you. The light from the fire was dancing across the planes of his face, knocking the breath out of your lungs with how ethereal he looked. He was handsome everyday, but he looked unreal in this lighting.
“ - but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. You haven’t told me how you feel, and you haven’t agreed to go out with me - not that that means you have to… y’know…” he seemed to be struggling to find the words. He was blushing again. “Be… be that close to me.”
“I - ” you paused, searching for the right words. You really were starting to be willing to give him a chance, especially with how well your conversations had gone. And yes, fine, maybe you’d been physically attracted to him from the beginning, but when you’d found yourself in moments of weakness before, you’d imagined any sort of physical or intimate encounter being… well, not nearly so emotionally charged. In those late night fantasies, it was rough, aggressive, something born out of hate and frustration. But now, he looked nervous, his eyes soft and apprehensive. You once again didn’t know how to handle this type of interaction with him.
So, you decided to be an adult about it. For fucks sake, you were 26. You could share a bed with a man who just confessed he’d been in love with you for years and who you’d been fantasizing about for just as long.
You cleared your throat, taking your hand off his arm. “We can share a bed without… without it being anything more.”
“Right, right, of course,” Jack let out a breath. “As long as you’re ok, then yeah.”
“Yeah,” you were a big fat liar. “It’ll be fine.”
So the two of you got ready for your doom. You gathered your toiletries as Jack threw a few more logs on the fire to hopefully keep it going all night.
The bathroom thankfully had running water, even if the rest of the cabin had no electricity, so you were able to take turns brushing your teeth. You went first, taking many deep breaths and giving yourself a silent pep talk in the small, dark room.
“All yours!” Your smile and chipper attitude felt forced when you let him have his turn. You sat on the side of the bed with your bag, digging through it, searching for nothing to give your anxious hands something to do.
“You ready for bed?”
Jack came out of the bathroom, crossing to the other side of the bed and starting to pull back the covers. You stook, giving him a nod and pulling back the ones on your side. Both of you slipped in silently.
“Good night,” Jack rolled over, his back to you, facing the front door.
You followed his lead, turning your back to him and trying to snuggle in underneath the thin blankets. “Good night.”
Jack’s pants and the residual warmth in your clothes from sitting in front of the fire for so long helped lull you to sleep, and quickly, you found yourself falling under.
When you woke, it was to a warm presence at your back and freezing air nipping at the exposed skin of your face. It was completely dark in the room, no light coming in through the windows or from the now extinguished fireplace.
You pushed back, chasing the heat behind you. That’s when you became aware of several things at once.
That warmth behind you was Jack. The entire length of his body was pressed against yours and his arms were wrapped tightly around your waist, one above and one below, keeping you firmly in place. Those arms were underneath your sweatshirt, one palm resting just below your breasts and the other right above the waistband of your borrowed pants. His face was nuzzled in the crook of your neck, breath hot against the sensitive skin.
You tried to shift, to move out of his hold and restart the fire so that you didn’t have to confront exactly how hot the skin on skin contact was making you deep inside.
Jack didn’t let you move, though. His arm tightened around you, tugging you back against him even more firmly. That was when you really felt him. The hard length of his cock was pressed against your ass.
He was still asleep, but that didn’t stop his hips from grinding forward. You gasped, clenching your thighs together. Involuntarily, you pressed back against him again. His hand shifted up, sliding over your breast and loosely squeezing the flesh.
“Jack,” your voice was quiet and broken around another gasp as he pushed his length against your ass again.
He mumbled something incoherent, before squeezing your breast again. The hand on your stomach dipped lower, his fingers just beginning to slide underneath your bottoms.
You were existing between sleep and waking, half convinced this was some sort of extremely vivid dream.Your pulse was racing, hips pushing back to meet his at every sleepy movement. Both of you were breathing harder, the cold seemingly beaten back by the rising heat between you.
“[Name],” you could just barely make out the slurred groan of your name breathed against your neck. It sparked even more heat in your core to hear him say your name.
“Jack?”
God, you sounded fucked out already. Jack’s hand was pushing even farther into your pants and under the shorts you wore beneath.
The first brush of his fingers over your folds had you whining, and that was when Jack finally woke up.
You felt him freeze behind you, his hands tightening on reflex, dragging his fingers through your folds and against your clit. It ripped an embarrassing moan out of you, your hips pushing back against his cock in response to the jolt of pleasure.
“[Name]?” Jack’s voice was sleepy and confused.
“Jack,” you whined in response.
“Oh fuck,” he pulled back, hands leaving you. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”
“Wait - ” but Jack wasn’t listening
“Fuck, I told you I wouldn’t try anything, I’m so fucking sorry. That - I can’t believe I did that. Fuck.”
“Jack, stop,” he was sitting up, elbows on his knees and hands in his hair. The heat in you died when you saw him so upset. “Jack, look at me.”
“I’m sorry - ”
“Stop apologizing,” you pushed him flat onto his back, swinging a leg over his hips and leaning over him. Your hair created a curtain, closing the two of you into a little bubble.
“But I - ”
“Shut up!”
And then you kissed him. He froze for a moment, but he quickly melted into you, his hands coming up to grab your waist. He let you lead for a moment, his lips following the slow, languid rhythm you set.
Until your tongue swiped over the seam of his lips. Then, his hold on you tightened and with a firm buck of his hips, he was rolling you onto your back. He settled between your legs, grinding his length against you as his tongue stroked against yours, licking into your mouth and swallowing the noises that leaked out of you. Your hands tangled in his hair, holding him to you.
“Fuck,” Jack pulled back, gasping for air. His forehead rested against yours. “Are you sure - ”
“Yes, I’m fucking sure,” you bucked your hips up against his, tugging on his hair as you did. He groaned, meeting your thrust. “Wanted this for a long time.”
“I thought you hated me,” Jack’s hand was slipping back underneath your sweatshirt to push it up. His thumb dragged over your newly exposed pebbled nipple.
“Yeah, I did,” your back arched, pushing your chest even further into his hand. “Doesn’t mean you’re not hot, though.”
“Yeah?” He was smirking, his lips ghosting over yours. “I’m just that irresistible?”
“Shut the fuck up,” you pressed your lips against his, drawing him into a filthy kiss. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him back down so you could chase your own pleasure with his body. One of your hands slipped under his shirt, dragging your nails down over his chest and abs.
He moaned, grabbing your hand on his chest and pinning it to the mattress beside your head. He broke the kiss, nipping at your lower lip as he went.
“Unless you want this to end way too soon, you better fucking stop that,” his voice was low and ragged, fingers flexing against your wrist.
“Stop what?” You wanted to both know exactly what was driving him crazy, and to play dumb and rile him up.
“Touching me,” he ducked his head, nipping and sucking at the skin of your neck. “Looking so fucking good underneath me, all of it.”
“See,” you bit back a whimper. “I don’t think you really want me to stop.”
Your back arched and your hips bucked up again as he sucked a dark mark into the skin below your jaw.
“I don’t, but I don’t want to cum in my pants, either,” he moved lower, to a new, unblemished patch of skin. “So either take your pants off or tell me to go take a cold shower.”
“Gotta let go of my hand first,” your teeth dug into your lower lip as he licked a stripe up your neck.
“Are you gonna keep it to yourself?” Jack pulled back to look down at you. You grinned back up at him and he rolled his eyes.
“No.”
He laughed, releasing you and sitting back on his knees between your spread thighs. His hands came down to the drawstring, undoing the bow at lightning speed, pushing the pants down your hips. Jack groaned as your shorts came back into view.
“These little fucking shorts,” he stripped the pants off you, lifting your legs into the air as he did. “Made me hard earlier.”
His hand trailed over your hip, brushing across the fabric until he was stroking a finger over your covered slit. Your teeth bit into your lip even harder to smother the whine that he was drawing out of you.
“You’re fucking soaked,” that little smile tugging at his lips was smug and self satisfied. He pressed into you a little harder, circling your covered clit through the spandex. “Is this all for me?”
“You’re an ass,” your teeth were gritted. Every circle he made had your hips twitching up, little sparks shooting from the light touch.
“I think you like that about me,” Jack’s hand left you for just a minute, long enough for it to slip beneath the waistband of your shorts. For the second time tonight, the first with both of you fully aware, his fingers dipped below your soaking folds.
Jack leaned forward, his unoccupied hand braced against the bed by your head. His eyes fixed on yours, chest heaving as he watched every shift of your face while his hand moved. He was exploring, teasing, fingers wandering through every soaked inch of you, the tips just barely dipping into your entrance and then moving back up to circle your clit.
“Fuck,” you were panting, trying to move your hips against his hand, guiding him to the right spot. But every time his fingers found where you needed him, he’d move them away, smiling as he worked you up.
“Jack, I swear to god, I’ll - ”
“You’ll what? Hmm?” He slowed to a stop, his index and middle finger sandwiching your clit between them, pressing down to keep you from rocking into them and chasing your pleasure. “C’mon, tell me what you’ll do.”
“If you don’t make me cum in the next 2 minutes,” his cocky demeanor made you want to simultaneously punch him and kiss him. You hated it, but it fueled the heat and desire curling low in your stomach. Judging from the hard length of him you can just barely make out through his sweats, he was enjoying it, too. “I’ll never let you touch me again.”
His face fell, hardening into determination. “Is that so?”
“Yes - ”
Jack’s fingers pressed directly against your clit, rapidly drawing tight circles around your clit. It was like an electric shock to your body after so much of his teasing. Your back arched, eyes falling shut as your moans filled the air.
“How’s that? Is that what you wanted?”
“Shut - fuck - shut up!”
You were impossibly close, already wound so tightly that you were dangerously close to snapping beneath him.
“I thought you liked it when I was a dick?” Jack leaned even farther over you, his lips closing around your nipple, flicking the bud with his tongue and scraping over it with his teeth.
“Stop fucking talking, Jack!” You felt him laugh against your skin, sending vibrations through your breast.
Your hand tangled in his hair, yanking at the strands. He groaned, switching to your other breast and sucking hard.
You cracked, thighs trying to snap closed around his hand and hips. He didn’t let you, pushing his body even farther into yours to keep them open as he worked you through it. Your legs shook and your hips jerked against his fingers that were still going, drawing even more tremors and cries out of your lips.
You writhed beneath him, forced to let each wave crash over you as Jack held you through it.
“Fuck - no more,” it was nearly impossible to get air into your lungs, but as the sensations died down and overstimulation, Jack backed off.
He pushed back up, easing his hand out of your shorts. He let you breath for a moment, his hands rubbing over your thighs until their trembling slowed to a stop.
“You good?”
“Yeah,” your voice was breathy.
“Can I fuck you now?”
You cracked your eyes open to look at Jack. There was a small wet patch on his sweats, right over the head of his cock. Fuck, he looked long and thick.
“Yes, please,” your hands found the waistband of your shorts, pushing them down.
Jack laughed, his hands joining yours to help remove the shorts from your legs.
“I should have made you cum 3 years ago,” he threw the shorts over his shoulder once he got them free from your ankles. “So nice and polite.”
“Shut up and get naked, asshole,” you sat up, reaching for his sweats, tugging them down his hips.
Suddenly, you were face to face with his cock. He was bigger than you though. The flushed length of his cock slapped against his stomach when it was freed, the leaking head smearing clear fluid against his abs.
You couldn’t help yourself. You leaned forward, licking a stripe up the length from base to tip. The skin was smooth and soft, his cock twitching beneath your touch.
“Fuck!” Jack’s hand grabbed your hair, pulled your head back and away from him as he hissed. “Don’t do that. You’re gonna make me cum.”
“Isn’t that the goal of sex?” You smiled up at him, straining against the hold he had on you to try and get your tongue back on him.
“Yeah, but I’m trying not to embarrass myself and end this way too soon,” Jack guided you by your hair, easing you down onto your back again. “You can blow me later, right now, I think I might die if I don’t get inside you.”
“Then hurry up,” you lifted your legs, hooking them around his waist and pulling him down onto you.
“Alright, alright,” Jack slipped a hand between your bodies, grabbing himself by the base. You forced yourself to breathe as his tip swiped through your folds, coating his cock in your fluids before he was lining himself up. He pressed in slowly. You felt yourself part around him, your walls stretching around the crown of his head. You were impossibly full, and he was barely in you.
He kept pushing in, both of you panting and looking down, eyes locked on where you were joined. You didn’t think you could take anymore, but he kept going, your walls sucking him in and pulling him into your depths.
“Fuck,” your head dropped back when he bottomed out. He ground forward, staying fully seated inside you and letting you adjust.
“Oh shit,” Jack sat up between your legs, hands gripping your hips, keeping them pressed fully against his. The shift in angle had you keening. “Look at that.”
Your eyes cracked open, trying to figure out what he was talking about.
“Can fucking see myself, holy shit,” one of his hands left your hips, tracing around the very visible sight of his cock outlined in your lower stomach. You were transfixed, watching with bated breath as his fingertips brushed against your skin. Goosebumps broke out across your body at the sensation.
“I wonder…” Jack trailed off, eyes still focused on your stomach. His hand moved, gently laying over the outline of his cock. He let it sit there for just a moment, palming his length through your skin.
And then he pushed down.
Both of you cried out at once. You’d already felt full, but the added pressure of his hand made his length feel even bigger. He was everywhere, completely consuming you from the inside out.
“Holy fuck!” His hips jerked into you, snapping against a spot deep inside you that had you arching in his hold.
“Oh fuck, Jack!”
“Yeah? You feel that?” Jack started moving, his hips withdrawing and punching back into you, rapidly working his way up to a punishing pace. You couldn’t answer with words. He was pushing the breath out of your lungs with every thrust. “God, you’re so full of me, baby.”
And then Jack hiked your legs up over his shoulders, releasing the pressure on your stomach in exchange for keeping your thighs pressed tight to his chest. It opened you up even more to him.
“Oh my god,” Jack bent forward, burying his face back in your neck, pushing your legs into your chest, folding you in half. He was rutting into you, groaning as he chased his pleasure.
You were getting close again, too. Every thrust had the neatly trimmed hairs at the base of his cock grinding over your clit as his tip slammed home against your g-spot. Your eyes were closed, lost in the pleasure. You couldn’t move, completely pinned beneath him and forced to take the overwhelming pleasure.
“Jack! Please!” Your hand tangled in his hair again, holding the strands tightly. It was your only lifeline and you used it to tether yourself to reality.
“Oh fuck,” Jack was panting into the skin of your shoulder. “Fuck, I’m close. C’mon, cum for me. Please, need to feel you.”
You were so close, only a hair's breadth from your peak.
When Jack bit down on your shoulder and his hips stuttered, you came again. You clamped around him, walls spasming and squeezing while he rutted even deeper into you. Jack was groaning your name while he spilled deep inside of you. The hot pusles of his release propelled your own, the two of you pushing each other even higher.
He finally let go of your legs, helping to ease them down until they were resting on the mattress on either side of his hips. He didn’t move to pull out, though. The two of you stayed wrapped around each other, his softening length buried inside you, until the cold was too much to bear.
“So,” Jack gingerly climbed off of you, the cold air rushing in. “Can I take you on a real date now?”
“If you get me a washcloth to clean up with and get the fire started, I’ll marry you as soon as we get out of here,” you were shivering now.
Jack grinned, leaning back down to press a quick kiss to your lips. “Promise?”
another little note: I'm trying out a new reader insert format. usually, I just keep it vague and don't use any form of y/n, but we're gonna do something a little different. my dear friend @fangirl-dot-com asked her followers how they felt about y/n and y/l/n, and someone in the comments said they prefer [name] and [surname] and I like that. its not really used here very much, but I wanted to give it a try. lmk if you hate it but, like, I like it so ill probably keep using it. unless all of you hate it
Jax Teller, who finds himself truly obsessed with a girl for the first time. He loved Tara, loved Wendy. They gave him his babies, pieces of himself he thought he’d lost along the way, temporary homes in hearts that never really fit. But you?
You’re different.
You get under his skin in a way that makes him restless, pacing, chain smoking outside until the filter burns. He’s never had to watch a girl before—never had to bite his tongue to keep from reaching out, never had to convince himself to play it cool.
But he does watch. He can’t help it.
He watches the way your curtains never quite close all the way, the way you leave your window cracked at night, the way you walk barefoot into the kitchen for water in the middle of the night—you don’t know how much he’s memorized. How many times he’s parked his bike at the end of the street and just sat there, helmet off, cigarette dangling from his lips, staring up at your light like some fucked up prayer.
Sometimes he thinks about how easy it would be to slip inside, how you’d look sleeping innocently, unaware of his gaze. The thought alone is enough to drive him crazy—palming himself raw in the dark, whispering your name against his knuckles because nothing else works anymore.
He’s never been patient with anything in his life, but with you? He waits. He watches. Because you’re not just another warm body to get him through the night—you’re the only thing that feels like destiny in a town full of smoke and blood and dead wives. 
And you don’t even know it.
To you, it’s casual—teasing him over a beer at the clubhouse, brushing his arm when you slip past, letting him corner you in the garage and kiss you until your lips are swollen. Sometimes you let him take you home, sometimes you end up in the back of his truck and sometimes you leave him half-hard and aching just for the thrill of it.
You think it’s a game. He lets you.
But every laugh you give him, every roll of your eyes, every time you open your legs and let him inside you—it digs deeper. He memorizes the sound you make when you come, the taste of your skin, the way your perfume lingers on his kutte long after you’ve left. And when you slip out in the morning, when you kiss his cheek and call it fun, he just lights another cigarette and stares at the empty space where you were, restless all over again.
You don’t notice how often he shows up where you are, leaning against his bike like fate brought him there. You don’t see the way he stiffens when another man gets too close, how quick his smile fades the second someone else touches what’s his.
Because that’s what you are. His.
Maybe you think it’s nothing serious. Maybe you think Jax Teller is just another bad habit you’ll kick when you’re bored. But he’s already made up his mind. He’ll watch, he’ll wait, he’ll let you keep pretending it’s casual.
jax tells you you’re too young for him. he tells the guys he’s just messing around. tells his mom not to worry. he tells himself it’s just the young, tight and pretty about you that has him so stuck. reminds himself daily that you’re closer in age with his son than himself. but that doesn’t stop him from showing up at your house every night, sometimes with bloody knuckles and tired eyes, sometimes drunk, always relieved to see you. jax tells you you’re too young for him, but he still fucks you like you’re old enough. he tells the guys he’s just messing around, but he’s already memorized the sounds you make when you come. he tells his mom not to worry, but he’s starting to see you every time he closes his eyes.
Hi!! I was wondering if you could write something for pope, but could the reader be really quiet and shy? Like he literally follows her around and stuff and she’s the sweetest thing ever
hiiiiii !!!! thank you for this request bc i fear this would be me sometimes and i love some self-indulgent writing >:3
minors do not interact - 18+
✮ a lot of people genuinely wondered how you and pope met because neither of you like to talk very much. it was like you two communicated with everything but actual words. you'd be sitting around the house snuggled up with another, and all it would take was you standing up, and pope is right there with you. everyone else would look at you two in mild confusion because it was as if your brains were somehow just synced up.
✮ wherever you go, he's always right there behind you. as if he was constantly standing guard to make sure no one bothers you. he knows that you really hate leaving the house by yourself, so he always drops whatever he's doing when you need to go run errands so he can be with you. he even offers to order food for you if you're feeling extra anxious that day, already knowing your favorite orders by heart.
✮ what most people don't know is that you aren't so shy when it's just the two of you. you can actually become quite talkative, especially at night before the two of you fall asleep. he'll respond to every little thing you say, just so you know that he's really listening. he really loves to hear your voice, how soft and gentle it is. it makes him feel at peace, like everything in his mind can be quiet and just exist for once.
✮ naturally, you two aren't very noisy in bed. your noises usually comprise of soft whimpers and whines, his deep grunts and pants. the only word he's ever really heard you say during sex is his name, andrew. not that he was complaining about that, because he learned to love his name again thanks to you. he didn't need to hear much praise from you because he could feel the way you clung to him and never let him pull too far away. you two really never need words to prove how close and intimate your relationship is.
Pope who’s so so so big and strong. Thick forearms straining while he presses his big hand against the backs of your thighs to pin them to your chest, ankles dangling up helplessly in the air while he has his fingers plunging into your messy cunt. Wiggling in his hold on you, pathetic whines humming in your throat with the ease he restrains you with, sinking two fingers in and out of your cunt slow and languid, watching the way your puffy pussy sucks him in. The heel of his palm bumps against your sensitive cunt that gushes with each curl of his fingers, thighs tensing to be let down, tits smushed against your knees. You babble his name helplessly, fingers pawing at whatever part of him you can reach, thick fingers fucking into you like a cock, he’s giving you so much already but you’re so desperate for the real thing. He’s swatting your hands away and pushing your thighs apart to slot himself between your dangling legs, pulling your ankles up onto his shoulders to keep you from clamping your knees together when his palm starts smacking against your clit, “Say it,” he rasps, your pitchy cries overshadowing the debauched sounds of your eager pussy soaking him down to the knuckle, “Use your words, come on. Big girls ask for cock when they want it. Gotta spit it out.”
this just turned into jack abbot bush propaganda bc of @ovaryacted's post (here) you fueled this 3am horny fic writing and ive never felt more seen, ts is for you. i cant handle it, im a bush girlie i cant i just need.. ok lock in, aspen
cw: nsfw, gross - you can't get enough of his musk, literally shoving nose first into his crotch, what else can i say to get the point across. age gap and y'all are both into it, use of 'old man, daddy.' use of 'bunny.' gender neutral reader. divider by @/suupersonic
After a long shift at PTMC, there are three things Jack Abbot needs to do to feel normal again.
One, drive home in silence - the absolute calm of the silent journey back to his safe space grounds the man. Two, brew a cup of that tea his equally as stressed firefighter friend recommended - and three (most importantly) you.
"Gooood morning, old man." You greet him at the door of your shared bedroom, you must have just woken up. He eyes your silk pajamas and smiles, you're untouched and without a bother in the world. With the stress of the ER behind him, maybe your lover could be, too?
Jack looks rough, he doesn't even hesitate before plopping down on the living room couch. You do a quick stretch and join him, nuzzling into his side.
"M'dirty.." Your older lover protests but doesn't stop you from pressing a kiss right behind his ear - you inhale his scent, humming with satisfaction. Jack immediately relaxes, tension dissipating as he gives in to the plush of the couch and the love of your touch.
God, everything about your boyfriend did it for you. You could go on and on about how kind, supportive, sexy, fucking gentlemanly he was - but if you were really carnal about it, you'd say his scent, his musk got you in that perfect headspace. The hints behind his ears, the spot where his neck meets his jaw, oh - and your favorite of all?
"Bunny, y'don't have to do that." Jack places a hand over yours, you're already pawing at his scrub pants. "I should be the one taking care of you."
Fucking hell, even after a full shift (and then some more, ugh.) Jack still wanted you to lie back and let him take care of it. No, no no. As heavenly as your lover's mouth was, you couldn't let his handsome brain do another thing - let alone think. You whine and shove his pants down, freeing his soft cock.
"Jack." You press a chaste kiss to his lips before sliding down to the floor. On your knees, you pull his scrubs the rest of the way off - his briefs along with them get thrown literally anywhere else but in your way.
Jack's breath hitches, he sees your eyes dilate in real time. Just the sight of his dick framed by that lovely bush? He meant to trim it down days ago, but he couldn't find his shaver. (You hid that fucker, by the way. Perv.) It was full, greys and whites - the occasional dark auburn that reminds you he used to be ginger back in his youth. You could feel the heat radiate from his crotch after being contained under the layers of his clothes. The sensory experience made your head spin.
"I know, I meant to shave I just couldn-" Jack stops mid-sentence as you shove your nose straight past his dick and riiiiight into his pubic hair.
"Where are my manners, daddy? I didn't even ask about your day - would rather smell how it was." Your eyes are rolling back, tip of your nose barely visible under the curls you can't help but sniff. Your words were muffled, he could feel the vibration of your words against his core.
"God-" Jack can't believe what he's hearing. "Dirty bunny, I can't keep up with you."
You press harder onto his pelvis, dazed by the musk you fucking crave. You look like a sated animal, high on some vulgar drug you can only source from Jack. His younger lover, his babydoll was so perverse - but was he any better? The answer isn't too difficult to find, it's fully hard now - his cock standing at attention by your cheek.
"Smells soooo good." You take his dick and repeatedly slap it against your face, not moving from his bush. "M'daddy is enjoying his doll huff his private place.."
Enjoy is an understatement. Let's be clear, Jack Abbot is a huge pervert, but even he gets one-upped by you at times. In a single motion, you back up, kiss the tip of his erection - then take the full length down your throat. Your older lover groans and throws his head back onto the cushions. You let your tongue dart out under his shaft, swiping back and forth at that sweet spot where Jack's dick meets his balls.
You're not gonna neglect his cock, no way. You just needed a position where you can keep your nose where it belongs as you please daddy.
Also, shoutout to @wooceanic becuase she requested, and i got inspired ;P
The first time you realized Simon was actually making love to you was after your first big fight, when you had given him the silent treatment for almost two days.
You didn't live with him then, so you tried to ingore his texts and calls, simply choosing to rot at work until the dead of night just to keep your brain from obsessing over him.
Oh, but how naive you were to think you could escape him, or that he could last a day without seeing you.
He still had a key to your place just in case, a fact you totally forgot about until you walked in and found him waiting on your couch like a lovesick puppy, with an order from your favorite Chinese restaurant.
You really had him completely wrapped around your finger, you realized, smiling to yourself.
By the time he actually started begging for forgiveness, you were too far gone to remember why you were even pissed.
He had you down bad, too. So dumb of you to think otherwise.
Your bodies moved in sync and with the way his hips rolled with every drive, sinking deeper with every movement he gave you, you simply forgot your own name.
He had your legs spread wide, bent almost to your shoulders, creating that sharp, sweet tingle in your belly every time he slammed into your sweet spot. And oh god, that fucker knew exactly how to hit it perfectly.
Every. Damn. Time.
He did that thing where he would curve his hips up and hold there for a moment, whispering into your ear, "It's right there, huh? I found it again." His head was buried in your neck, and the pathetic, desperate whimpers he let out after he felt how wet and warm you were, filled with his cum, made you clench your pussy around him even more, turning him into an animal obsessed with dragging every last orgasm out of you.
Then it hit you. That this time was different.
Usually, sex with him was hard and rushed. It wasn't bad, but this? Yeah, it was something else.
He never whimpered like that. He was taking his time, watching every twitch of your body, caressing you slowly until you fell apart again and again, and it was so fucking hot seeing him like that.
He practically begged for your forgiveness by fucking you slow and deep into the mattress.
"Si, look at me," you managed to gasp between moans, yanking at his messy blonde hair until his eyes met yours.
"You feel so good, love," he whimpered while looking into your half opened, glazed eyes, his pace growing slower. His hand was on your breast, squeezing and rubbing your nipple between his fingers. "Will you forgive me, and let me cum inside again?"
"If you keep fucking me like this I might."
His hips stilled, but his cock remained buried deep inside while he started grinding slowly, so you could feel every inch, every vein, and that delicious curve of his cock pulsing inside you. Almost as if he wanted to prove how good he was for you.
"Please, love, forgive me." He hooked your thigh around his shoulder, fingers digging into your skin and already leaving red marks.
"Fuck, let me just fill you up, pretty girl," he groaned into your ear while gently nibbling your lobe.
You gasped, eyes rolling back, but you could not care less because you felt so incredible. You dug your nails into his bare back, tracing lines along his muscles and scars. They moved along with him, and you smiled, feeling the goosebumps erupt on his skin.
"God, you're going to make me cum if you don't stop, Si." You bit into his swollen from kissing lips drawing a little bit of blood, the pleasure forced its way down your body. You tugged harder seeing how he wanted to hide in your neck already, his eyes were completely lost, and it made you clench around him. Usually, you were the one who struggled with eye contact.
"Yeah? - thrust - You're gonna cum again? - another thrust, this time he reached for your puffy clit. You felt his thumb rubbing delicate circles, not to overstimulate you - You can cum - thrust that pulled the filthiest and loudest moan out of you - as much as you need, baby. I've got you."
"Oh god, Simon, I'm..."
"I know. Fuck yeah, cum on my cock, sweet thing. Please, cum on me, I'm begging you." He whimpered.
Since then, everything changed. He would make love to you on every occasion, simply because being that close and intimate with you became addictive in a way. Fuck it, he just loved it. After all, he felt like your relationship was turning into something serious, so it was only fair to care for your needs in every possible way. God, he loved giving it to you. Just looking at you in the bathroom brushing your teeth wearing nothing but his shirt made his cock go rock hard, and hearing your pretty moans and sighs was a different story entirely.
Yeah, he was obsessed with making love with you.
Well, and shame on you it took such a small effort for him to bribe you...
A blurb since Joel Miller and dumbification have been simultaneously on my mind for a few days;
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apprx. 500 wrds.
mdni; dumbification, pet names, degradation, sloppy!joel miller
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"C'mon, baby, you ain't got a thang to say?"
Shit, you wish you did. The only things roaming through your voided head were pleasure, Joel's name, and the slow drag of his cock which made its mark among your bruised cervix.
Joel purrs out with his languid tongue, his breaths heavy along the back on your sweaty neck. He continues to tortuously lick and slobber along your shoulders like a dog. His cock dragged in and out of your cunt like you were his own fleshlight.
You, idiotically, only were able to form your words in a moan of broken cries, nodding so softly it could be mistaken for a twitch of the neck.
Though, he knew your body better than you did at this point.
His teeth had pierced their mark on you to later remind you of this moment, the purple blooms of blood under skin surfacing up for him to admire, just as he admired your bouncing skin—hip meeting hip.
He'd been fucking you slowly for perhaps an hour now. Starting off strong, just with the purpose of making you cum—feel your muscles spasm around his cock. Joel, somehow, has ended up forcing 5 sugary orgasms out of you with his deft fingers and thick cock alone.
Your cunt was dripping along his bare thighs, down onto the white sheets. Impossibly warm, and impossibly messy. He liked your longer fuck sessions to be sloppy and moisture-filled.
With another messy kiss to the back of your neck, his palm moved up to grip the bottom half of your jaw from behind. With an adjustment of his strong hips, he forces you to arch your back via his grip.
He forced your lips to the ceiling, purposefully ensuring you couldn't hide a single cry. He coiled his words around your brain again, "D'ya go stupid on me, baby? Huh? My cock drill all ya' thoughts out ya'?"
A lengthy whine left you as your hips robotically drove back to meet his. Like syrup, his words dripped into one ear and out the other, all warm between the journey.
Within this blissful state, you tried to speak back to him, and only ended up with your words leaving as a slew of cries and sobs, palming the sheets beneath you desperately. Like it'd make you think anything proper.
"Yeah..." he growls out as you do. He mocks you with a chest-bursting chuckle, almost proud of himself. Finally, he decides to pick up the snap of his relentless hips with one final addition of his rude words;
"All fuckin' stupid now, ain't you? Ain't got shit left to say to me, ain't got shit to complain about," he breathlessly notes as his sweaty chest meets your trembling shoulder blades, "So much more pretty when you shut up."
Summary: You get hurt after working on the farm all day. Joel fixes your injury and your mood.
Tags: Fingering (F receiving), kisses over underwear, blood in many capacities; ingestion of blood from wounds, ingestion of menstrual blood (brief), description of dead animal, reader is moody, implied large age gap—I imagine reader to be early twenties or something, unsanitary wound cleaning practices, Joel calls reader ‘Kiddo’ once.
Note: It’s been a while since I’ve written anything, and I suddenly remembered how much I love it after putting it off. With this one, I was thinking of sweet and fluffy—which it is—but I had to go and add blood as a major element, it’s not that bad. Pretty tame. I imagine this takes place on a little farm not unlike Ellie and Dina’s. Post outbreak.
“Ace! Come back, boy!”
You’d never loved an animal more, but the dog was a menace. A disobedient menace, and the horse could have been fed and brushed already in the time you’d spent trying to lure Ace back to the house.
The fence around the house was short and minimal, but the dog knew never to cross it unless accompanied by either you or Joel for hunting. So as it came closer in your view, you figure that you might get a break from the chasing.
“Ace, slow… slow down, boy,” you call breathlessly, pace quickening and boots trampling over the tall grass. Your walk turns to a jog, which turns to a run. “Do you want some food, Ace? Just come… back. Come back.”
A bark sounds from the Canine’s mouth, and you wonder if he’s punishing you. Joel had asked you to get Ace inside fifteen minutes ago, and it looked like it’d take fifteen more. Maybe you just needed to tire him out.
The dog is still running, but you’re gaining on him. You must look silly running in circles around the backyard, but you figure that once he stops, you’ll convince Ace to follow you back in.
“Ace… baby, come… shit!” When your ankle twists, it only causes a few throbs that jolt up your leg. However, when you hit the ground, it’s your knee that erupts with pain. “Damn you, dog!” Your yell is lost on him, and you watch his tail as he dashes through the grass.
Joel had always told you to wear pants while working outside, but you always much preferred your dresses in the sun. You pull back the hemline, now dusted lightly with dirt, revealing a knee skinned and cut, trickling with little drips of blood. It doesn’t look nice, and you look down at the ground around the wound for a moment, your eyes spacing out on the red rock perpetrator that did this to you as your knee aches like it’d been shot.
You can’t get up yet, so you stare out onto the field, a hot tear of both frustration and pain threatening and conquering your eye, dripping down your face—to your dismay. In your head, you curse that hell raising dog and wish it was dinner time. You are hungry and angry and hurting. The free hand that doesn’t hug your leg to your chest comes down in an aggravated slap against the dry earth underneath you, as if to make it suffer as much as you are, right now. You wipe away the frustrated tear with your wrist, careful not to touch your eyes with your dirty fingers.
Slowly, you lift yourself from the grass, your white dress now tainted by the earth. You set your eyes on the house and begin the walk back to it, your steps a little shaky and slow as your knee slowly drips. The house comes closer and you think that maybe your slight limp is making the trek even more painful. You hope that Joel won’t call you dramatic, and despite the only mild pain, you want to cry.
You swat a fly from your eyes, continuing your walk as you near the old wooden steps to the porch. The house was quaint, and its old, peeling paint felt like home in a way nothing else had. You could cry here if you wanted to, and you make a face at Ace, who sits comfortably by the decrepit mailbox as your boots step up onto the planks. The dog lounges comfortably and it pisses you off further, another wave of hot tears threatening your eyes as you slump down onto the bench on the deck.
Immediately, your elbows find your knees and your chin finds your hands, and you bury your face in them as you let out a frustrated sob. It’s a rather trivial thing, and you don’t think you ought to be crying, which upsets you further.
Through the gaps in your fingers, you see Ace stand up with a lighthearted growl, trotting up the wooden steps and over to the screen door, which is now opening on its rusty hinges.
You see Joel’s shadow on the deck through the mesh as the metal frame is pushed open, and he clicks his tongue at the eager dog.
“There y’are,” he mutters. Looking up you see that his gaze is focused on Ace, a dish of food in his hands. There’s a smell of meat and blood wafting from it—certainly not appetizing, but it reminds you of your hunger.
The dog gives a quiet bark, moving jumpily as Joel sets the bowl down on the bottom steps. He hadn’t seen you yet, you don’t think, so you wipe your face as you watch him.
Joel Looks out for a moment on the grass field outside, his eyes scanning the yard for your figure. You hadn’t brought the dog in, and you hadn’t been back when he asked you to be. He surveys the field for a moment before turning back toward the door, now finally laying eyes on your sitting and slouched figure.
When he sees the tear streaks on your face, he says your name softly, yet exasperatedly. You meet his eyes, a little embarrassed, feeling petulant yet dignified.
His eyes wander down to your knee, red and cut, stinging and exposed, and then to your dress, a little dirty and stained with a bit of dirt and grass. He inhales and rubs his forehead. “Angel, what happened?”
You look over at Ace, your anger having subsided into a moody melancholy. The dog is happily lapping up rabbit guts as you rest your chin in your hands, annoyed. “I fell.”
“Okay…” Joel coaxes. He’s unsure whether the source of your sadness is the pain of your injury, or if you’re just feeling gloomy. He tries to be patient with you; he really does, but it’s hard. You don’t answer for a moment.
“You said I could make Ace’s food,” you state, your voice almost whiny. You didn’t even want to make it—it grossed you out—but still, you complained. You brush a few strands from your face, looking back down at the cracking and dull wood beneath your feet.
Joel exhales again, running a weathered hand through his graying hair. He still had to feed the horse, water the plants. He should probably cut the grass, too… “Baby, you didn’t finish gettin’ Ace. He needs t’a eat.” You don’t answer, so he adds, “And I know you don’t like dealin’ with the meat. Don’t play like you do.”
His voice was getting more stern, impatience creeping into it.
“Well… I fell,” you repeat. You want his help. You want some kind of attention, some affirmation of your feelings. You don’t know why you’re being so pettish, but right now, you’re hurt and you want your way—without being made to feel bad. Joel tried to keep you comfortable, but he couldn’t always feed into your moods. It was difficult, but he would do his best.
Joel takes another glance at your knee, now more bloodied than before. He exhales again. “I’ll patch you up, angel. Just… hang tight.” He turns back toward the screen, and you watch it open, then shut with a clank behind him.
You watch Ace lap up the rest of the food and run off. You stick your tongue out at him as he goes.
It takes a few minutes for Joel to get back, and you listen to the rustling of the wind in the trees, the blue sky momentarily lightening your mood. You watch the barn, still and quiet, and gaze out on the yard as the dog runs in broad circles. Your anger has lifted, but your leg still hurts.
When Joel comes back out, he has a little box of first aid, a small collection that remains hidden under the bathroom sink. “Alright…” he stands in front of you for a moment before kneeling down, slowly, the quiet air disturbed with the pop of a hip and the scuffling of his boots on the deck.
Your hard gaze softens at Joel’s large body kneeled in front of you. It felt nice, now, having him there. You could see, on the treeline, the sun beginning to slink away and out of view, to soon be replaced by the moon, but not before the sky would turn a vibrant yellow that you felt in your soul like honey.
“Alright,” Joel tugs one of your legs lightly, urging you to uncross them as he takes the strings of your left muddy boot. The thing was heavy, a bit loose, and perhaps contributed to your fall. “What happened, baby?”
“I was trying to get Ace, and he wouldn’t come, and I tripped. And there was a rock that I… I kinda hit, and so, now it hurts…” you rattle. The memory causes another hot wall of tears to threaten your eyes, even though the moment is long gone. Joel’s fingers move nimbly at your laces, and when he hears the shake of your voice, he glances up and his gaze softens. There was something about your teary eyes that never let him rest until they were dry again.
“You’re okay. M’sorry.” Joel kisses lightly on your knee, a bit of blood tainting his dry lip and he licks it away, pulling off your boot and moving to the next. When he removes the other shoe, he sets them both aside, and his fingers are light as they rub the area around the cut on your knee. “M’sure he didn’t mean it.”
Your response is almost snappy. “Yeah, of course he didn’t mean it. He’s a dog.”
Joel gives you a warning look. “Watch it.” He grabs an alcohol wipe from the box, tearing open the paper packet. “Don’t give me that, kiddo.”
He sometimes wonders if your petulance is a punishment from God for choosing someone so much younger. He loves you to death, but god, he’s getting too old to run around after you. It’s gotten better, lately, as you’ve settled in on the farm, but… you are so much.
“Gonna sting,” Joel warns, placing his free hand, big and warm on your unharmed knee. You brace yourself, readying yourself for the burn in your open wound. He dabs the gash lightly with the wipe, the material turning a light pink with blood, and a little more leaks from the cut. You hiss, drawing in a breath through your teeth.
“Ow…” you murmur as he draws away the wipe, dropping the sheet into the first aid box, discarding it and focusing his gaze back on you.
Joel’s thumb rubs over the untouched skin once again. “There y’go, baby. All clean…” he presses a slightly sluggish kiss to the wound and you tense, before relaxing into the feeling. It stings slightly every time his lips touch your knee, but it feels nice to have him here. Joel’s eyes watch as another dribble of bright red blood emerges, and his head dips as he licks it away. Soon enough, the drop has disappeared, replaced by the glassy shine of his saliva.
“Thanks,” you whisper, the sound almost lost to the wind. You were no longer teary-eyed.
He nods almost imperceptibly, a soft smile showing on his face as he rubs your thigh through your smudged dress. “We’re gonna clean this one. We’ll get it out,” he lightly pushes up the dress, your thighs becoming visible and his hand continues to rub.
“I like this dress,” you say almost mindlessly, looking out on the grass. The sky is darkening into a deep orange, and you feel both a contented warmth and a hungry growl in your stomach. Joel’s hand consolingly rubs your upper thigh as he gently raises your dress a little more, making your white panties visible.
You look down at Joel, eyes meeting his as his fingers move on to caress your hips under your dress. Your legs spread a little bit as he gets closer, leaning his head on your thigh, warm breath hitting your skin. “You wanna go back out and help me with the work?”
After a few moments of thought, you shake your head. “No,” you tuck some wandering hair behind your ear. “But I’m a little hungry.”
“M’kay, baby…” he tiredly grumbles, kissing up your thigh again. He reaches the lacy trim of your underwear, nuzzling gently into it. “‘M hungry, too.” A kiss to the fabric.
That elicits a laugh from you—the first one of the evening. Joel smiles into your panties, a huff of a laugh leaving his mouth. He breathes in, pressing a kiss to the cotton.
A thick thumb comes between your legs, pressing that sensitive spot through the fabric, and you both hum. The air is a perfect kind of warm, and you hear the first crickets begin to chirp.
“I’ll make you sumthin’…” Joel’s tone is noncommittal as he continues rubbing you. The sensation overpowers the still present, light throbbing of your knee, the pain slowly easing away.
You mumble an ‘okay’ when you feel his fingers slip under the fabric, sliding gently through your folds and eventually sinking into you once he finds the spot. Another raspy exhale leaves you, and you look down at Joel’s face, half hidden in the shadows of your lap as his fingers gently move in and out, curling softly.
“Mm, yeah…” Joel always seems to enjoy this just as much as you do—if not more, and you can tell by the way he murmurs under his breath; he must be hard, but he pays it no mind. None at all. “You still hurtin’?”
“Not very much,” you reply, your words low, now, matching the sun as it makes way for moonlight, darkness creeping into the sky. In response, Joel kisses your upper thigh, inner thigh, hip, as his fingers continue to move. They go a little deeper now, curve a little harder, plunge a little quicker.
Joel’s fingers quicken with a newfound slickness, his digits feeling wetter yet. He wonders if you’d missed him extra while working outside today—he wouldn’t blame you.
Your little grunts are the only sounds overlapping with the chirping of bugs and the buzz of the porch light, and Joel picks back up on the rubbing of your thigh with his free hand, his other dedicating itself to your pussy. One shoeless foot taps on the deck, harder each time Joel touches that spot, and more frequently with the closer you become.
Joel repeats your name a few times, breathily, as he feel your muscles tighten.
You tap your feet quicker, just barely able to make out the wet sound of his ministrations. He kisses your thigh once more, and when you cum, he kisses again, open mouthed and sucking.
He lets out a light chuckle, taking in your pacified expression as opposed to your previous state. “Needed that, huh…?” If you do answer, he doesn’t catch it as he withdraws his sloppy fingers from inside of you.
At first, in the dimness of evening, he doesn’t notice anything amiss, but it soon aware of the red liquid blending with and bleeding into the wetness on his fingertips. Blood mixes with spit as he examines it, and you look down, too.
“Oh, angel,” Joel mutters, looking down at his fingers once more before pressing them to his tongue, running them down its length and removing the excess liquid on your dress. “We’ll get this off… shit.”
You grumble when you see the pop of color, and again when Joel notices the steady trickle of blood into your underwear. The red is rich and overbearing, creating a deep patch of the color in your panties.
Joel stands reluctantly, kicking your boots off to the edge of the porch, forgetting them. “Get up, baby. I’ll get ‘ya somethin’ to eat… clean ‘ya up.”
Thanks for reading, I encourage comments and asks, all that
