at a barbecue right now and i’m a little tipsy and im thinking about how sammy bryant would fucking love you as his little housewife.
uggghhh all afternoon he would feed you fruity drinks he made especially for you to make sure you’re all tipsy and giggly. he’s at the grill smiling to himself while you make all the sides for his burgers and hot dogs.
you give him a fat kiss on the cheek every time you pass him to put a new salad or potato dish on the picnic table in the backyard. he sees you flit around the party checking on everyone’s needs. and he has to start palming himself through his jeans because he’s so turned on by your cutie apron he bought you :(
and when everyone leaves he fucks you raw in the living room cause he can’t even make it upstairs to the bed. he’s so hard after seeing you serve food to his friends like the perfect hostess and cleaning up the house he bought for you.
and he begs to come inside you while panting in your ear “p-please babygirl. fuck im gonna come- need a baby on your hip at the next party. please please i need it- oh, oh fuck.”
cw: suggestive content, mostly fluff, jack is a #wifeguy
wife!reader who is adored by night shift. when she visits, mateo literally greats her as “hey mama”
wife!reader who bakes sweet treats for jack to bring in when he works
wife!reader who jack talks about so much at work that one time you visit there’s a patient currently being discharged who greets you by name. you’re obviously very taken aback by this but the older woman noticed your shock and throws out “your husband was my doctor! he would not stop talking about you. he’s great.” because of course jack gushes about you to his patients. with pictures.
wife!reader who had to sit and listen to jack conceptualize his pre-night shift chant. “is making them say we are the weirdest and the wildest of them all with me too much?” “will they think a hoo-ah at the end is dumb?”
wife!reader who is not afraid to put anyone in their place especially robby come sabbatical time
wife!reader who slowly begins to institute self care habits into jack’s routine.
wife!reader who recognizes the signs of jack struggling even before he does
wife!reader who makes jack incredibly flustered by simply flirting with him as if you both aren’t already married and very in love
wife!reader who complains if jack doesn’t sleep shirtless
wife!reader who knows that jack is a restless man and while not a fan of his work with swat, learns the basics of medicine so she can patch him up at home where he’s most comfortable
husband!jack who comes home after a long shift and lays his head on your chest so you can run your hands through his curls
husband!jack always needs to be touching you in some way. if you’re sitting on the couch together, his hand is resting on your thigh. when you’re out, his hand is always around your waist or interlocked with yours. orrrrr his favorite place to have his hands are your hips or your ass.
husband!jack who spends one of his entire days off building a garden set-up in your backyard because you casually mentioned wanting to begin gardening.
husband!jack who knows how difficult his work schedule can be (and the toll it takes) but makes a 100% effort to plan date ‘mornings’
husband!jack who comes up behind you while you’re cooking in the kitchen and nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck
husband!jack who never lets your kitchen table not have flowers on it
husband!jack who comes home after his shift and starts your morning coffee for you before crawling in bed with you
husband!jack who has the softest tone when he speaks with you
BABY LOGIC
jack abbot x f! reader | 1.5k
fluff, suggestive themes, no use of y/n
ft baby abbot and robby
Jack had always thought your daughter would grow up to be a genius. You were an emergency medicine resident, he was an attending, the knowledge transfer was bound to happen. That’s what anyone would’ve thought. But, boy was he wrong.
His adorable little pocket sunshine of a daughter is currently nibbling on his scrub top. Jack wants to chastise her, tell her it carries the worst of the hospital in it, but she’s six months old and incapable of comprehension.
What she was trying to reach? Milk. Your little one does not understand biology. That he can let it slide, no half-year old kid would know it. But shouldn’t she know by now that only her mom will be able to feed her?
How many times in the middle of the night has Jack woken up to find her screaming her ears off, only to wake you up and deposit the bundle of sweetness into your lap with a kiss to your forehead and an apology in his mouth?
Gladly Jack would feed her if he were able to produce milk. But humans and other mammals alike, males are not genetically evolved to nourish their offspring. Because if he could, he would.
“Bug, there’s nothing here,” he tries telling her. Which does nothing good, except earn a chuckle Jack knew very personally. The voice and its owner — a perpetual pain in his butt since the first year of med school — make themselves known with another chuckle. To which Jack can only groan, “what’re you doin’ here?”
“Here to see my goddaughter.” Robby and his insane timing. Why must he choose this specific moment to display his affection? Of every low point Jack has quietly accumulated throughout his life, Robby has been there. It is impossible to figure out how Robby knows these embarrassing moments and decides to pop up, but he always does.
The statistical probability of this is insulting. Of all the rooms in this hospital, of all the moments in a day, Robby walks in for the exact one where Jack is being actively suckled at by his infant daughter. He could’ve walked in when Jack was skillfully changing her diaper — wait that’s not better. Thing is it’s unfair, with drool on his shirt and a six-month-old clamped to his pec, is when Robby decides to be a present and loving godfather.
“How did you know I was here?” Jack prods, all the while trying to keep your baby from latching onto his nipples through his shirt, it not being much of a barrier at all.
Robby completely ignores Jack’s question — like he usually does, like that one time when Jack asked him, directly, in plain English, whether he'd eaten the rest of his leftovers from the fridge, and Robby held eye contact with him for four full seconds and then asked if Jack had seen the new attending in neuro — and nods towards the baby, “she good?”
“Yeah, she’s — she’s just —” Jack cannot bring himself to say out loud that his daughter is gnawing at his muscles in hopes of quenching her thirst. Some things you just don't say. Some things you carry alone.
“God. Is she trying to — feed from you?” Robby throws his head back in a bashful laugh. Jack feels his hands itch to put him in a chokehold, the only thing keeping him away from doing that being his current object of affection, his lovely daughter. The laugh alone tells him this is a story that'll be recounted many years to come. Told at every bar they ever drink at, Christmas, at the next three people's weddings, at Jack's funeral probably, Robby having outlived the former purely out of spite. “Told you to go easy on the weights,” Robby continues, pushing past Jack’s glares. But the latter can only seem so intimidating with little sunshine on his arms, babbling with spit oozing from the corner of her mouth.
“You know what, why don’t you take her?” Jack practically shoves the baby into Robby’s arms, the latter immediately straightening up to hold her without missing a beat.
As Jack sorts out the spit situation, little bug has found residence in Robby’s chest, pawing at his scrub — worse condition than Jack's — as she tries to figure out a way to milk. So, the shape and geography of the area wasn’t the problem; your daughter is. If she’s that hungry, shouldn’t she latch onto the bottle? Apparently bottles are beneath her, as she pays them no mind, only snuggling deeper into Robby’s embrace now.
"See, it's not just me."
Like always, Robby ignores Jack's tantrums and rocks her, swaying from left to right as he eyes Jack, who now seems very victorious about establishing the fact that his daughter needs to be latched no matter the anatomy and physiology, and maybe is a little dumber than he’d thought. That is a terrible thing to think about a baby — much more, to think about his own baby — but that’s where Jacks head is at.
Thank god you decided to walk in that exact moment, confusion painting your face as you raise one eyebrow at the situation. Like a sunflower finding sun, your baby slots herself against Robby, straining her neck to find you, her own North Star. “What’s going on here?”
Jack has never felt luckier. That’s an overstatement, he knows. He’s felt lucky everyday since you came into his life, but particularly now with you glancing up at him with smile laced lips, and soft sighs from working for four hours straight without feeding.
“Our beloved daughter missed you, is all.” Missed you and your boobs, and tried to burrow into mine and Robby's, is what he doesn't say. Like she was summoned, your baby raises her arms from Robby’s hold, babbling a string of bah-bah-bah, exact to her social development, the little genius she apparently is, now that she has you in her sights.
The same child who spent twenty minutes trying to nurse from two men with no relevant equipment is now performing perfect developmental milestones on cue. Fine. She'll be fine.
Walking closer to both men, your own arms open, reaching in the air, a laugh bubbling up from your throat, the soft kind, the honest kind, the full kind. Jack sees your body sense little bug, smell, sound, and everything heightened. Coupled with the laughter, your letdown reflex makes itself known as two perfect patches of wetness coat your blouse, the warmth of it you register almost immediately, eyes darting between both Jack and Robby, a little insecure, a little flustered.
While Jack has seen you in everything and nothing, Robby hasn’t — of course, why would he? — and a redness climbs up his face, tinging his ears pink, as he tries to divert his gaze from your chest to the baby in his arms, who is now oblivious and content now that she has you within grasp.
Jack watches this unfold in real time. Robby, undone by a biological reflex. The ears going first, embarrassment creeping up from behind him, working its way forward.
Robby hands her over to you, immediately taking a step back, putting distance between you both as he rubs the nape of his neck with his hand, stuttering, “uhmm — I think— I should go.”
Not waiting for a response, Robby walks past you both, still completely red. Jack had never thought a biological response would petrify his friend, what with the countless number of bizarre things they've collectively and individually witnessed during their careers. A man who has genuinely seen everything emergency medicine has to throw at a person, walking very quickly away from a breastfeeding-adjacent situation like it might follow him into the hall.
Little bug throws her arms over your face, trying to grab your attention from her godfather.
“Poor Robby.” You mutter as you start feeding your daughter.
“He’ll live,” Jack replies instantly, though he knows the image of Robby's ears going full red while he stared intensely at the crown of the baby's head will sustain him through at least two more shifts. Maybe three.
When your baby is almost done, Jack takes that opportunity to ask you one thing that's been plaguing his mind forever. Forever would be a stretch, let's say almost six months. Six months of being in the general vicinity of a thing and very much not included in it. Watching his daughter treat this like the most obvious arrangement in the world, and Jack, who understands the oxytocin, the prolactin, the whole cascade, understanding perfectly well why, and still experiencing what he can only describe, clinically, as being left out. “You know, now that she's old enough to start complimentary feeds…” He looks at you expectantly.
“Mhmm?”
“It’s only fair I get a taste… since she's this addicted.”
A swat lands on his arm before he can close his mouth. But your face tells him a different story. And he knows exactly what it means.
Your beautiful daughter has recently discovered the ability to compare. Robby's lucky enough to be there to witness it in the living room, maybe looking too comfortable in Jack's house for Jack's liking.
He decides to forget that he invited him over for...something, then made coffee, then let you insist that he stay for lunch. Cause that implies he's contributed to his own suffering.
Okay. He usually does. He just really doesn't have the energy to admit to that today.
"Big cup. Little cup."
"I'm assuming the little cup is yours, of course."
She toddles everywhere, and you and Jack are sure she's toddler-high on the attention she's receiving from you three.
"Dada chair over there, my chair here. Mommy shoe is long, my is...not long. Not, not long. Small."
It's heart-burstingly adorable until it's not, when she pulls on Robby's arm.
"Uncle Wobby skinny."
Robby looks down at himself, then at you on the couch. You can only let out a surprised laugh.
"Beautiful, that's a little too unreserved for Mommy's liking."
And when you see Jack coming from the kitchen, Robby decides to snort rather than notice your smile flickering before you can stop it.
"It's okay. Thank you, I think? Very, uh, astute observation of me."
Maybe that's a mistake---to encourage the kid, cause she lights up when she turns to Jack.
"And Dada big."
You freeze, but only because you hear every possible wrong way Jack can take that.
She points up at him while the ways make weight, as if his thick-necked, broad-shouldered body isn't something you worship and instead tolerate. Ha. Oh no.
"Dada bigger."
Your daughter reaches both hands up toward her father's chest while standing on her tippy toes. His face doesn't change enough, but his hands flex as his head lowers.
"Dada bigger. You got big neck. Uncle Wobby neck not big."
Jack looks down at her.
She beams.
"More wide belly, Dada."
Jack takes one slow breath through his nose.
And you...can basically see him leave the room through his brain because of the toddler you share with him, holding up a mirror of honest baby words.
He gives a curt nod, and it looks like it takes everything in him to do that.
"Good observation, sweetheart. Just as astute as the one you gave Uncle Robby."
She claps at the praise she can't read the undertones of. "Dada belly---"
You come in between Jack and whatever sentence he's laid out for himself. You take the hand of his that comes up to his own neck. You squeeze. You smile down at your baby.
"Bodies are different, huh, baby? Uncle Robby's body is his, and Dada's body is Dada's. And whatever they look like is wonderful, how like how you look wonderful. You always will, no matter what you look like."
"I'm getting roasted by someone who isn't even two."
You ignore Robby's mutter as you try to stop Jack from leaving. He tries to leave too quickly. Without a word as his mouth thins out and curves into something so slight. But you know his heart well enough to find it's pulse in the lines of his face.
Only you. You're very proud of that.
"I'm just gonna check on something in the garage---"
"Dada. Up!"
You see the breath Jack can't take properly. Maybe there's logic to his battle this time, that he should leave before he bleeds his insecurity all over the floor. But how can he when you baby is reaching for him?
Robby's silent, finding the floor very interesting. Good. Good man. You squeeze Jack's shoulders.
"She wants you, Dad."
He sighs low.
Right. Okay. Don't fuck this up.
He lets his daughter want him by letting her just jump right into his arms when he crouches. It's total, greedy trust that he has to catch against his chest.
She tucks himself into the curve of his neck.
His big neck. His husky body. His old, broad, thick, embarrassing, beloved body.
You watch Jack's face change when your baby nestles in. Not enough to heal him, of course. Jackie would never be that convenient, but it's obvious that something in him falters under the weight of her comfort, and that's more than enough make your heart swell wildly.
She pokes his cheek.
"Dada big and warm."
You can hear Jack swallow. You can feel your eyes sting.
How could she ever mean anything that's cruel? How could she ever mean anything that isn't meant to eat at your and Jack's heart?
"Yeah?"
His voice is rough as she nods into him, and apparently, Robby has no self-preservation left.
"That's a five-star review, man---"
But when Jack shoots him a look, he knows to find some more. He lifts both hands.
"Sorry, sorry."
You baby pulls back enough to look at her dad's face as she grabs at both sides of his jaw, squishing his cheeks with chubby hand authority.
"No skinny Dada. Nooooo."
...And how could your baby say anything that isn't genuine and also hilarious?
"What's she saying?"
As if you can translate your toddler's language.
...You can.
"She's saying she likes that you're big, Jack."
And you must be an expert, because your babygirl nods.
"You hold me good, Dada. Uncle Wobby skinny. No hold good."
She points at Robby. He slaps a hand to his chest.
"Uh...Okay. Wow. I have been nothing but kind to you."
She shakes her head as she burrows against Jack again. He gives you a warning look as you kiss his neck, like he knows you're about to make him feel something and he'd rather die.
It's your job, as his lover and wife and mother of his child, to ignore him.
"Our daughter has spoken, she doesn't want a skinny dad. She likes you just the way you are."
"For the record, I can hold children just fine---"
"Robby, not now."
Jack laughs at your demand. It's gruff and barely there, but it's enough to let you know what's sifting in him. He will still be insecure. It all lives too deep inside him to be toddled away by one compliment. He will still compare with worse intentions that his daughter.
But she settles her cheek against his shoulder like he is the best-shaped thing in the world.
And you know you're looking at him like you agree.
"Well, baby...I try my best to hold my girls good."
"Good, Dada."
Robby stands slowly, rubbing his knee. He doesn't know how he feels like he's interrupting something that he was invited to, but he is.
"Well, I’m just gonna head out and recover from being body-shamed by a toddler."
Jack would never be the kind of boyfriend who waits outside of the store on some bench, collectively staring at his phone with a bunch of other bored guys who are waiting for their girlfriends to finish up shopping.
He's carrying your bags and purse for you so you'll have two free hands while browsing. And he actually looks out for clothes you'd like too, he's not even carrying his phone with him. He just needs his card and one of your scrunchies on his wrist because he knows you're likely to sweat inside of the changing room later.
He's silently collecting the clothes you're picking on his arm, occasionally dropping some of his choices on there too.
There's also a smol water bottle tucked into his back pocket which shouldn't even fit but somehow does and makes you stare at his ass way too often. He can't have his baby girl get thirsty and have no refreshment close.
He loves how you gasp when spotting a pretty summer dress or cute heels! You get so giddy and walk away from him fast, but he never loses sight of you, not once.
Jack's favorite thing to shop for is underwear or bikinis.
Because for that, you always need his opinion and he slips behind the curtain of the changing room, backing you up against the big mirror while dropping the bags and taking a reaaally good look at you.
"Jesus, baby...you're so fucking beautiful." while his hands roam over your waist, his thumb slipping just past your cute flimsy bottoms.
"Don't you think it's too short?" Aw, you're blushing. Jack is so fucking hard.
"Too short for what? Our private pool at the air bnb with no one except us there? No, baby, it's alright." He kisses your forehead, his hand caressing your underboob that peeks out from the bra top. "You'll gonna look fucking hot, I can barely contain myself now, do you know what you'll do to me once we're on vacation?"
oh to be sleepily riding jack abbot, tummy to tummy, chest to chest. your soft arms thrown over his strong shoulders, chin hooked over the freckled skin. your head tilts against his, your rich hair rubbing against his silver strands as your ears kiss.
he’s got you in a bear hug— actually stops your movements just to hug you. to feel you in his arms and cuddle for a second because, at the end of the day, jack loves you. tells you every single day… he even tells you now.
left arm wrapped around your torso while his right crosses over to press a hand to the back of your sweaty hair. holding you to his shoulder, you mouth at jack’s skin, sucking and kissing and rubbing your cheek against him as he pulses inside of you. a slow grind, your favorite, causes you to whine out against him.
“i love you, honey. love you so much, my comfy girl. can’ya keep takin me? hm? keep takin’ jackie’s cock? love you so much.”
his eyes are screwed shut as he lifts his hips into you, still holding your head to rest against him. “‘m always gonna take care a’you. never have to worry about anything. know why? daddy loves you, sweet, pretty girl. gimme kiss”
you whine against his mouth, a pathetic, weeping sound, and he loses it more. moving both arms back to your torso, he’s got you in the tightest bear hug, arms squeezing for a second in affection. he rests his cheek on your back, mirroring you, surrendering to all of his intrinsic need.
“say it.” “d-” “say it baby, c’mon. tell daddy.” “love you!” “yeah? you love me?” “yes daddy,” you cry out, slobbering down his back without a care as he fucks up into you. your nails scratch down his back as you hiccup, your tummy sticking together from the heat of the room, you can feel his happy trail rubbing against your lower belly. “i love you so much jack” “i love you- oh my god- i love you more. come on baby, cum for daddy, that’s it… fuck, that’s it.”
afterwards you stay seated in his lap, falling asleep as he lightly rocks you both back and forth. gently, he whispers into the moonlit room, “hey.. lemme see you.. lemme see that pretty face.” and when you pull back to look at him, swaying a bit in exhaustion, his green eyes glitter. a fondness etched into the very fabric of what it means to be a man like jack who loves a woman crosses over his face.
warm eyes, a little smirk as he holds your cheeks with both hands. “you feel how much i love you?” “yeah” you agree, blushing and keening under his attention. he smiles, laughing in the enchanting way only an older man can. “good. can i hold you a little longer? love you so much, kid, can’t get enough of you.”
despite the definite headache and backache waiting to come, you both doze off just like that. with jack’s love leaking out of you as you cuddle into his chest, his arms wrapped securely around you <3
full pairing masterlist here (not necessary to read in order)
wc: 3.3k
summary: this thing with your attending ascends to a new level
contains: mdni! implied age gap, power imbalance, ooey gooey disgusting people having lovey dovey sex
a/n: this pairing is so special to meeee! please reblog if you like it, rbs keep your fav writers alive | beautiful divider from @andromeda-graphics
Jack Abbot holds his phone a full eight inches from his face, squinting and readjusting to the font on the screen. He finally registers the contents of the text you'd sent, and a slow, surprised blink flickers over his face.
You glance up surreptitiously from a patient's chart, clear on the other end of Central. Your heart is hammering as you think of your text, at how seditious it sounded, at least by your somewhat prudent standards.
If we get out of here at the same time, I'd love an escort home.
That ember between you and Jack sparked when you switched to the night shift a couple of months ago. Flame caught last week when you kissed him in the park, and he kissed you back.
Since then, nothing but a whisper of smoke. He's been friendly at work —professional— to your increasing frustrations. When you meet him at the park after each shift, a recently established ritual, he's not so much as touched you.
You've begun to wonder if you damaged something irreparably by kissing him. But, god, the thought of his lips over yours has driven you crazy over the past week. The memory of his warm, dominant mouth over yours sneaks up on you in the middle of shifts, knocking you in the knees and turning you into a wobbly mess.
And, if you're being honest with yourself, your vibrator just isn't cutting it.
Movement from across the hub catches your eye, and you watch Abbot jab his index finger at his phone. A resounding buzz in your pocket shoots straight to your core, but you maintain your composure as best you can, and wait for him to stalk off to another patient.
Once he's disappeared behind a curtain, you fumble for your phone, chest heaving slowly when you see his response. Simple and clear. Classic Abbot.
7:30. Our spot across the street.
Your spot —yours and Abbot's, that you share, together— is a bench in the park across the street from the hospital. Enclosed in a copse of trees, sunrise filtering through the branches, it's been the perfect hideaway this past month of meeting him after each shift.
Not that there's been anything to hide. Deep conversation, inside jokes, and one tummy-turning kiss.
You're pacing the length of the bench when a familiar frame ambles ever closer.
Your ponytail is loose, the easy morning breeze catching it as Jack reaches you. His camoflauge-printed backpack is slung over one shoulder, his slight limp more prominent at the end of a twelve-hour shift. He looks tired, but not dragging, and you feel the same. You don't think you could folllw through with this if the shift had been particularly taxing.
"You're not anxious, are you, sunshine?" Abbot's lips twist in the side of his mouth in that fond manner he seems to save especially for you.
"Just restless," you lie, hoisting your own backpack up. You adjust the straps, wrapping your hands around them. "Thank you for walking me home, Dr. Abbot."
He laughs. You worry for a split-second that he's laughing at you. But then he extends a hand.
"How far's your place?" He asks as you tentatively slide your palm down to his. His hands are calloused, weathered like you thought they'd be, but surprisingly gentle. Skilled in keeping steady in moments like these.
You let him cradle your hand in his, trying not to focus too hard on the acrobatic flips in your tummy. "It's about a twenty minute walk," you explain, then give the address. The downward twitch of your eyes betrays your concern.
He doesn't balk, but uses his free hand to tug his phone out of the pocket of his cargo pants. "You alright with an Uber?"
You nod. "Yeah, but I can Venmo you for half—"
He squeezes your hand. "Not necessary, sunshine," he cuts you off as he leads you down the path. You have the fluttery realization that you've only ever walked separately through this park, never together.
When your lips flatten in a tight line, he squeezes your hand again. The feeling shoots up and down your nerve endings, mini strikes of lightning.
Jesus Christ. If holding this man's hand can get you all hot and bothered…
"You have trouble letting people take care of you," he observes. A statement, not a question. He doesn't even bother to look up from the Uber app on his phone.
"I— wh— excuse me?" A fizzy laugh of disbelief blusters through you. A psych evaluation wasn't exactly how you expected this morning to go.
"I do the same thing," Abbot shrugs as he leads you to the sidewalk. Conveniently, you realize, on the other side of the park as the hospital. "It's okay," he adds, unnecessarily.
You hum, rolling this thought around your head as the Uber lines up with the curb. Abbot opens the door for you, because of course he does.
The ten-minute ride to your building is dizzying, your heart beating in your ears the entire time. The forefront of your mind has gone completely impotent for small talk, settling instead for a buzzy silence.
Abbot rubs the back of your palm with his thumb in an intimate form of comfort you allow yourself to accept. You find yourself looking at everything in the car except for him, practically springing up when it rolls to a stop at your building.
Opting for the elevator in lieu of stairs to your third-floor apartment, you lead your senior attending to your door. Your backpack suddenly weighs as though it's packed with bricks. The hallway suddenly stretches miles long.
When you brave a glance over your shoulder, Jack trails after you, the corners of his mouth flicking up when his eyes meet yours. An unspoken question, volleyed telepathically from his brain to yours.
Are we actually doing this?
An uncharacteristic surge of confidence drives you to your door, digging your keys from the pocket. You turn the lock, tongue jutting out to wet your lips. Jack slides his hands along the straps of his backpack.
His eyes shoot to yours when the door creaks open.
A bubble of nervous energy pops somewhere in your chest.
"Are you a vampire?" You ask suddenly.
The question stuns him into a low, terse laugh. "What?"
"Do you need to be invited in?" The quirk of a smile betrays that you're merely teasing. You nod sideways to the open door. "Would you like to come in, Dr. Abbot?"
A visible grimace twists his expression. "You can't… you can't call me doctor right now, sunshine," he laughs good-naturedly, but the weight of the words tells you he really means it.
"Got it," you snatch your backpack and lug it inside, closing the door behind him when he follows. "Jack."
Jack's eyes scan your apartment contemplatively, and you're all too aware of the tightly compacted space. A kitchen and living room split in two by a granite island, a bedroom and en-suite just off to the side. Morning light spills in through the living room windows, illuminating the small space.
"It's a little small," you ramble. "But it's close to the hospital! And it's got a great view."
"It's very…" Jack sets his own backpack beside yours, stepping into the space. "You."
This makes you smile, a twinkle where the morning light catches your eye. "What's that supposed to mean?" You ask, feigning suspicion.
Jack doubles back, meeting you where you lean against the kitchen island. He takes your hand in his. Two sets of fingers fumble and tangle together. "I mean that it's warm," his voice drops an octave, flowing honey in your ears.
His eyes meet yours pointedly, and your gaze dips shyly. His other hand curls beneath your chin, coaxing you to look back at him. "And cozy," he adds, bridging the gap between you by pressing his lips to your cheek. His stubble tickles, and your legs wobble beneath you. "And inviting," he husks into your ear, lips moving to your jaw. "And disarming, in the best way possible."
Your hand breaks from his, white-knuckling a fist into his t-shirt, the other snaking up to finally answer a question that's been rattling in the back of your mind for months. Jack Abbot's hair is soft, just as hypothesized, curls melting against your palm like snow.
"That's nice," is the grand, quippy retort that spills out of you before you can think better of it. "You're nice."
"Don't tell anybody," Jack chuffs, pressing scratchy kisses into the underside of your jaw. Cradling your chin with one hand, the other presses your hip into the countertop, holding you in place, as if he anticipates your squirminess. Which he's right about, of course. "You'll spoil my reputation."
"I think you're doing that yourself," you tease back, craning your head up for him.
But his kisses come to a halt, a short breath puffing from his mouth, ticking your ear.
Jack rears his head back, fingers loosening their grip on your waist. "You're right," he slowly peels away. "This isn't… I'm breaking a lot of rules right now," his voice warbles.
You blink. The color has drained from his face.
"Jack?"
He doesn't step away from you, but his hands hover in the liminal space between your body and his. Caught, you think, between two opposing lines of thought.
You tug on the fabric over his torso. "Hey," you urge. "I'm breaking the rules, too," you say softly, even though the absence of his touch sends a shudder through you. "I invited you here, Jack," you remind him.
He loosens a little, scrunching his face up in some sort of internal war that you realize doesn't concern you. This isn't about you. It's his guilt, rattling inside of him like a jar of marbles.
"I'm taking advantage," he murmurs, refusing to look at you. "It isn't right."
"We're two consenting adults," you retort matter-of-factly. "It doesn't need to leave the walls of this apartment."
Jack shakes his head again. He's locked in some prison of moral dilemna, wracked with guilt and shouldering all the responsibilities. You should have expected it —this is exactly what he does with all his patients. He bends the rules and works the system to help his patients, but not at the potential cost of anyone's career but his own.
He won't put you in jeopardy, too.
"You have trouble letting people take care of you," you say finally, squaring your shoulders. His gaze snaps to you. As if in warning.
The morning sun through the window elucidates details of his face you've never been close enough to see. Silver fox truly is the best way to describe Jack Abbot, with the toasted hue of the stubble, jagged edges of his jaw, and the lines of skin branching from the corners of his eyes.
Yearning swirls around in your stomach.
"If I kiss you," you trace a finger over the lines around his mouth. He twitches at first, then relaxes into it. "Will you let me?"
Pouting old man, you think.
His Adam's apple bobs. "Yeah," he exhales, the word softened in relief.
You cup the back of his head, holding him steady so you can stand on your toes and do just that. He melts into it when you slide your lips over his, a soft, easy kiss.
It feels like everything you've never had, this kiss. Like he wants you just as much as you want him, like he doesn't have a specific end in mind, like he isn't pushing some sort of agenda. Every man in your past has betrayed you in varying degrees, but you feel oddly confident in placing your trust in Jack, in allowing him to hold the pieces of you that you shield from the rest of the world.
"You taste like cinnamon," Jack observes when the two of you finally come up for air.
You thread your fingers through his hair, humming contentedly. "I put it in my tea," you offer as explanation, though you're sure he wasn't asking.
Jack grabs you gently by the hips, and you give a little hop. Ass on the counter, legs opening to create space.
Your tongue dips into his mouth just as his fingers dig into your waist. Jack lets you, in a surprising moment of submission, groaning into your open mouth.
You tug at the hem of his shirt. He breaks away from you to pull it over his head and toss it aside. You have to pause for a second, drinking in the freckled skin and forearms lined with a tan that doesn't quite reach his elbows. Your eyes trail over his round, full pectorals next, then down to the rigidity of his torso.
He shyly looks away. You give a little shake of your head.
Wordlessly, he cradles your jaw, then surges forward to kiss you again. Warmth emanates from his skin, trapping you in a vacuum of airless heat. His tongue presses against your lips, and you grant him entrance, an uncontrollable whimper dissolving into his mouth.
Soon he's carrying you to the bedroom with an exaggerated limp you feel inclined to address. You scoot up on the bed, licking your lips breathlessly as he climbs over you. His stalwart frame over yours, a work rivaling that of Michelangelo, all grooves and angles and crooks.
"Is this okay?" Jack's propped up over you, slowing in a moment of tenderness, tucking an errant strand of hair behind your ear.
"Yes," you exhale, sliding your hands up and down his arms.
"B-because if it's not, I can—"
"Jack," you flatten your palms over his cheeks in a mild smack. That certainly gets his attention. The warmth of his eyes crackle, a hazel fireplace, as they look down into yours. "I'm good. I want this," you nod to emphasize your point.
And then he's kissing you again, all hungry and desperate like he needs you to breathe. All you can hear are the coalesced sounds of your breathing —yours, airy and quick, his, gravely and heavy.
"Fuck," he murmurs against you before sliding his tongue into your mouth once again. It's a homecoming as he laps into you, hands traveling under the hem of your scrub top and the t-shirt beneath. You've never felt that you're exactly where you're supposed to be.
You do now.
His fingers slide beneath the band of your sports bra, pressing firmly into the plush of your breasts. "Fuck," he says again, his thumb catching your nipple. You gasp.
His eyes snap open into yours. "Okay?"
"Perfect," you suppress your impatience. He's being responsible about it, of course he is. He's the ER cowboy, he follows the rules until the system turns out to be broken.
You slide your hand beneath the waistband of his pants. You saw the bulge straining against the seams, but you had no idea he'd feel so… solid.
His vulpine face twitches a little when your hand slides over his partial erection. "This is okay?" You ask, because you feel like you should, and he shudders a nod.
"Yes, fuck. Please, sunshine," he groans. You stroke him, a long, languid slide down his shaft, the throbbing increasing in intensity.
"Is that a crike kit in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" You joke before you can think better of it, and before you can flush with embarrassment, his thumb rolls over your nipple.
"You're ridiculous," he laughs, husky and low and warm in your ear.
Lots of kisses follow, especially when your shirt comes off. Then his pants, then your pants.
His prosthetic glints under the light of your bedroom, and you ask if needs to take it off first. He insists he's fine, thanks you for being so considerate by kissing down your stomach, to the upper plains of your thighs.
"You taste so good, sunshine," he murmurs against you. "Can't wait to be inside you."
"I can see that," you exhale, the words coming out brattier than you intend. Jack throws a wicked grin your way.
Your panties are soon tossed aside. Jack kisses the thrush of your middle before slowly extending a finger. He feels you out, opens you up. He slackens your jaw. He blurs your vision.
You whine. "Oh, my god, Jack, please."
"Let me take care of you, angel girl," he kisses your neck, then pushes his finger further in.
When you tug down his boxers a few moments later, you balk.
"I don't think—"
"It'll fit," Jack assures you with a kiss. "And if it doesn't, you tell me, okay? This is just as much for you as it is for me."
As his finger moves around inside you with skilled precision and melts every nerve ending, you beg to differ, but the words won't form.
Jack kisses your lips the same time he slides his cock into you. He swallows the moan you emit, working you slowly, carefully. When he releases your mouth from his, he asks if you're okay, again.
"Yes, yes, yes, fuck," you groan, curling your hands around his bicep. Your thighs tense and tighten around him. "Please, Jack, please. You can let go."
Jack obliges.
He carefully rolls his hips into you. Long push in, tantalizingly slow drag out. Once you're open for him, he picks up his speed, his finger working against your clit simultaneously.
"Fuck, you're taking me so well," he praises, finding exactly what you need after a moment's work.
His cock fills you, his free hand holding your hip in place because god, you're squirmy. "Stay still, angel," he pleads, kissing your nose.
His hips snap and he ruts into you, quickly, so fast. Then it's all pressure and heat and salt from tears stinging at your eyes.
Tightness clenches throughout your middle as you screw your eyes shut. "Oh my god," you cry, because it's never felt like this before. "Oh, my god, Jack, I'm gonna—"
"Go ahead, angel," Jack groans into you. "You can let go."
When you finally do, pins prick all over your arms and legs. There's this drawn-out moment of ethereal bliss that coats over you like the tail of a shooting star. A sharp moan.
Warmth. Lightning. Peace and release.
Jack's not too far behind, his face tightening in a paralleled moment as he spills into you. "Fuck," he grumbles as he does, red flooding over the freckles of his cheeks. "Fuck, angel, I'm so sorry, I—"
"It's okay," you pant, still clenched around him as his thrusts turn into slow, descending rolls. "It's okay, Jack. I'm on birth control."
He nods, lowering his forehead so it's anchored against yours. "I thought maybe I'd last longer than that, though," he chuckles, clearly sheepish about it. "It's… it's been a while."
"That's okay," is all you're able to say, apparently, as you slide your fingers against his stubble. "It was good, Jack. It was good."
The breathy, lighthearted smile on your face makes Jack inclined to believe you.
He slowly pulls out, the weight of his forehead still pressed to yours.
Your jaw drops as his cock leaves you feeling cold and ghosted. He kisses down your nose, your cheeks, your chin, then ends on your lips.
"You were so perfect," he breathes into you between kisses. "So perfect, sunshine."
"Maybe it's just been a while," your laugh is airy and deflective. Jack lands on his back beside you. His shoulders bump against yours, crammed comfortably like sardines on your queen-sized mattress.
He grabs you by the arm, lifting the inside of your wrist to his lips. His kisses are feathery light and quick, as though he's expecting you to dissolve like sand between his fingers.
"No," Jack exhales, his voice jagged and comforting, a warm, scratchy sweater. "It was perfect because it's us. Because it's you."
finally convincing Jack to take some time off so you can go on a couples vacation and going on a tropical cruise with dr sexy himself...
Jack Abbot in little aloha print swim trunks that only go down to mid thigh and show off his bubble butt. bare chested, back muscles on show, biceps out, freckles POPPING all shiny from where you've taken your sweet time slathering him in sun screen...
spends his time lounging about on deck chairs by the pool watching you splash about under the guise of reading whatever Tom Clancy novel he brought with him that he hasn't read a line of and readjusting himself so u don't notice that his chubby dick is half hard. rubbing lotion down your back and butt and thighs every other hour bc "Gotta get every inch of your pretty butt baby. Can't let my girl get toasted."
feeding u summer fruits when u inevitably crawl on his chest, more than ready to take a nap under the shade after all that swimming, thick fingers putting pineapple cubes and peach slices to your lips, "Open up baby," letting you suck them clean after, thumb swiping juice off your bottom lip while he gives you heated looks. "Mmm, good, yeah? You're all sticky, sweetheart." all condescending in ur ear like his hard-on isn't pressed right against ur butt.
looks so dreamy the entire time, hair ruffled from the sea breeze as he leans down to kiss you silly... naughty hands slipping under your bikini bottoms to squeeze at ur butt and thighs until u squeal n push him away. Thank god this cruise is adults only
getting a little too baked in the sun so dr daddy gotta take u back to ur cabin, peels your bikini off you all gentle before laying u down flat on the bed. tuts all disapproving, like he's not eating up the sight of ur itty bitty bikini tan lines, hands itching to rub aloe gel all over his pretty lil girlfriend like the dirty old man he is "Uh uh, stop whining. I told you i gotta put sunscreen on you every hour, pumpkin. now look at you,"
barely containing his grin as he looms above you in bed, watching you sigh in relief and arch into his hands as he rubs gel on your poor, sunburnt titties, thumbs shamelessly rubbing your nips stiff as he gropes u. "S'ok baby i know it stings, i'll make it allll better, yeah?"
missing my sweetie big dick fictional man right now and thinking about how pope cody would have no idea he’s good at sex.
like completely clueless.
he would be on his knees, eating you out until you’re clawing at the sheets, eyes brimming with tears, spine arching like it’s about to snap. pope doesn’t even really know what he’s doing. he just makes sure to repeat everything that makes you clench around his fingers and twitch on his tongue. and you’re so close when he curls his two thick digits and sucks you into his mouth. your legs lock up.. your belly feels tight with tingles.. pleasure starts to rise almost alllll the way to your ears and…
he pulls away with a gruff “d’ya like that?”. and it’s not a sexy taunt. his tone is questioning and he’s being completely, utterly serious. you whine in frustration “andrew!!” he looks genuinely confused. “w-what?” your hips buck towards his mouth involuntarily, body aching with the need to come. “i was so close!” popes dark brows furrow in confusion. “you were…” it takes him three slow blinks while staring at your squirming thighs and fluttering pussy to finally understand. his eyes widen “oh shit- m’ sorry sweetheart..” then dives back in. sucking you and scissoring his fingers until you cry out his name and come on his face about twenty seconds later.
or or or. he doesn’t really understand how huge his cock feels inside of you. he’s aware he’s well endowed. but he thinks you’re just being a good girlfriend when you moan so loud at his first push into your tight pussy. pope always forgets that you’re not just stroking his ego. not quite understanding that your loud whimpers that accompany his thick length are authentic. he’ll thrust in and out of you harsh at the start. you can barely speak through the painful stretch of his rapid plunges. your gasps are choked “a-andy! andy s-slow down!” and he does get a little lost in the sauce as he watches your tits bounce beneath him. you have to slap at his shoulder to snap him out of it. “fuck- sorry. feels s’good. i’ll- hhnng- i’ll go slow. promise.”
then he’ll roll over until you’re on top of him. hands bracing his chest and thighs nestled firmly at his hips. he lets you set the pace to make sure he won’t hurt you again. it’s sweet.. until he won’t move again at all unless you’re bouncing up and down fervently. begging him to thrust up into you. “p-please! andy it doesn’t hurt.. need you- please!” once he decides you’re in no pain at all, he’ll grip your hips and piston up into you until you can’t move on your own anymore. completely filled with him. drooling at the pleasure coiling in your lower stomach. and pope is more than confident that you’re not exaggerating when you collapse with a raspy moan as you orgasm on his thick cock <3
The tiniest bit of light slips through the blackout curtains, traveling across the expanse of the room. It is hazy and grey, just before dawn, before the day becomes gloomy and wet.
You stare up at the ceiling, too awake to sleep, too tired to move, lost in thought about everything you would need to get done today. Pulling the sheets up, you cover your bare body after the air kicks on, the room becoming colder in seconds.
Simon rustles beside you, startling you in the perfectly quiet, still room. Gazing over at him, he props himself up on his elbow, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He clears his throat a few times before glancing over at you, not surprised to find you awake.
“What time is it,” he asks, voice rough and low, turning over towards his nightstand.
Just before you reply, you catch sight of the raw, red scratches running down the length of his back, proof of the pleasure felt the night before between you. Your cheeks heat up as the memory floods back to you, your thighs clamping together, doing your best to prevent the ache that had already started to bloom deep inside you.
Simon rolls over, facing you now, the sheet sliding down his body until it rests low on his hips. His head rests in his hand, his elbow digging into the pillow below, and one hand wraps around your waist, pulling you closer to him.
Your eyes drag down his body. His bulging biceps, the hard muscles of his abdomen, the sharp v that leads to what you are thinking about the most right now.
“You have a staring problem. You know that right,” he teases.
Bright red blush spreads across your cheeks as you bring your gaze back up to him, embarrassed at the fact that he pointed it out.
“Can you blame me,” you reply shamelessly, biting your bottom lip as your hand wraps around his arm, letting yourself melt into his touch.
His lips press against yours, the usual soft morning kiss, but you feel needy for him. Your tongue swipes against his lips, moving past them and dancing around his tongue, exploring his mouth how you have done many times before.
Moving yourself closer towards him, you deepen the kiss, begging for more. His hand finds your hip, gripping onto the plush skin before sliding lower to cup your ass.
Simon pulls away first, laughing quietly as he catches his breath, smirking at you and how close you have moved next to him.
“So needy,” he says, barely above a whisper, half-joking, half-not.
“I need you,” you say breathlessly, too quick for your liking, but unable to pretend otherwise.
His hand slides further down your ass, rough, calloused fingers brushing past the soft skin, reaching down further until they glide across your wet entrance. He parts your folds, running a digit through your slick before bringing it back down, circling again.
You push yourself closer towards him, nipples peaking against the skin of his chest, breathing turning ragged as he teases your body. Rocking your hips along his finger, you silently beg him to fill you.
“You need it baby,” he coos, putting pressure on your entrance, but not pushing in yet.
“Please,” you beg, gazing up at him with the same doe-eyes he could never resist.
Two fingers push in, spreading you open wide for him, molding to the familiar digits. You whimper softly, your head falling against his shoulder, nails digging into the skin of his bicep.
“Simon...”
Pushing them in deep, your legs part slightly, allowing him to reach farther. He thrusts them in slowly, relishing the way your body responds to the feeling of his fingers inside of you. His chest rises and falls quicker, heart pounding against his skin, his cock hardening beneath the sheets.
He presses against your sweet spot, over and over again, pulling out every last moan and whine you have. Your mouth hangs open, whimpers mixing with his name fall from your lips, no other words coherent enough to decipher.
“A mess for me already,” he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.
You rock against him, but it wasn’t enough.
Pushing against his shoulders, his fingers slip out of you, and you pull the sheets away from his cock. Precum leaks from his red, needy tip in continuous streams, twitching every so often from his desire for you.
You straddle him, planting yourself directly on top of his cock, rubbing yourself slowly. The tip catches against your clit, stimulating your bundle of nerves just enough to send shivers down your spine.
Simon brings his hand up, his slick covered fingers ghosting over your plump lips, sliding inside of your mouth with little resistance. You suck them, tasting yourself and the salt of his skin, moaning around his digits as you grind yourself on him.
“Such a good girl,” he groans, hips bucking up into you unintentionally.
He lays down against the pillow, his hands sliding behind his head, propping himself up to get a good view of you sitting on top of him.
Your nipples peak against the cold air in the room, aching to be touched, pushed together as your hands rest of his chest to steady yourself. Soft curves line your body, faint stretch marks cover your skin just below your navel, the same ones he makes sure to kiss every night.
“Sexy lady,” he says, voice rough and low despite his attempt to keep it controlled.
His voice sounds like music to your ears.
Planting both feet on either side of his legs, you lift yourself just enough to grip the base of his rock-solid cock before lining him up with your entrance. You bite your bottom lip, gazing up at him, making sure he watches as you slide down his length.
Your walls grip him, making room for his thick, long cock, molding to him, welcoming the burn and stretch. His abdomen tenses, a quiet groan falling from him, fueling your need even more.
His cock pushes against your cervix, curving slightly at an angle so perfect he rests against your sweet spot. Sitting there for a second, you whine and grind slowly, your clit brushing against his skin.
Without breaking eye contact, you pull yourself up, leaving just the tip in before sinking back down again. Your toes curl into the sheets, body straining as you build a rhythm between the two bodies.
“Fuck baby. You’re still so tight,” he grunts, his body jerking as your hips speed up.
Each hit to your cervix sparks something deep in your lower belly, a heat pooling there, ready to release at any moment like a spring coiled tight.
“S-Simon,” you whine, needy as ever, not ashamed of it as you ride his cock as if your life depended on it.
The veins and ridges of his cock slide through your walls, leaving no space empty, filling you up until the only thing you knew was him. Your breasts move with each bounce, your ass slapping against his skin when you begin to pound him inside of you.
His hands find your hips, fingers digging into your skin, overwhelmed by the feeling of your walls wrapped tight around him. His control was slipping fast, but he could feel your core beginning to clench around him.
“You’re so close, baby. C’mon let me feel it,” he says, barely above a whisper, his words turning into pleads.
You grind against him more, sinking down and squirm slightly, chasing the feeling of his rough skin against your clit. Your nails dig into the skin of his chest leaving crescent shaped marks in their wake. He only groans from the pleasurable pain.
“C-close,” you whine, your movements growing sloppy, your body becoming weaker the closer you come to the edge.
“That’s it. Cum on my dick like a good girl.”
His words land deep in your core, encouraging you, praising you for your pleasure.
Your climax rushes through you, a feeling of ecstasy flooding your weak body, whimpers slipping past your lips. Cum gushes from your entrance down the length of his cock, creating a mess on his skin, one he would never mine.
He pounds into you slower now, riding out your high for as long as he could, grunting quietly as he tries to stop himself from cumming inside you yet.
Without letting his cock leave you, he quickly flips you over onto your back, his large frame hovering over you. His elbow sinks into the bed beside your head, caging you in as he places soft, open-mouthed kisses to your lips.
His cock slides in and out slowly, rubbing through your sensitive walls, your body trembling with overstimulation.
“Simon, I c-can’t,” you whimper, your legs closing around his waist, trying to run from his cock.
“Take it for me baby. I know you can,” he whispers.
His lips trail along your jaw, moving down your neck where he sucks, and licks the soft skin. His cock thrusting into you bleeds into pleasure once more, your moans picking up, your hips squirming around for more.
“More. M-more please,” you beg, eyes shutting tight, fingers gripping at the sheets, anything to ground yourself.
Simon brings one hand up, gripping the headboard behind you, knuckles turning white from how he was holding himself up. You can hear the wood splintering under his weight, cracking beneath the strength that ran through him. His breath turns heavy and warm, goosebumps rising along your skin.
“You feel so good,” he says breathlessly.
He pounds into you, rough and relentless, his hips snapping against your pelvis. His cock fills you, precum and slick mixing in your core, allowing him to glide through your walls easily.
Gazing up at him, sweat beads along his forehead where stubborn hair lay, his eyes shut tight, mouth hanging open ever so slightly as pleasure runs through his body.
You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling your hips up, the new angle letting him dig deeper into you. The constant drag against your sweet spot has the familiar heat pooling in your lower belly once more.
Simon’s lips find yours against, needy and rough as he drills into you from below. Kisses trail down your skin, along your jaw, down your neck, against your chest, until both elbows are digging into the bed and his head is in between your breasts.
He kisses a nipple, pulling it into his mouth, running his tongue along the sensitive peak. He hums against you, your back arches from the bed, pushing your body into his as you crave the way his skin lights your body on fire.
His other hand pulls, pinches, twists against the other nipple, cupping the breast before moving over to share the same love to it. His thrusts begin to turn frantic, chasing the high just past his edge.
“Gonna fill you up. Make you mine forever,” he whispers, his words becoming rough around the edges.
“Please S-Simon,” you plead, begging for him, begging to be filled to the brim.
Your sweet, needy begs send him over the edge.
Long, thick ropes of cum fill your core, coating your walls, the excess spilling out from your entrance and pooling onto the sheets below. His hips twitch, his cock pulsing deep inside you insistently against your sweet spot, guttural groans ripping from his chest.
“F-fuck,” he whimpers, driving himself in slow and rough all at once, his head hanging low.
Your climax hits quick, your core clenching tight around him, milking his cock dry. Cum mixes with cum, leaving a mess behind as proof of shared pleasure once more.
His hips roll against yours, drawing out the shared high, not wanting it to end as more light begins to seep in through the curtains at the window. Your hands grip his arms, steadying yourself as your body trembles under his, your legs falling from his waist.
“Stay here with me all day. Let me stay inside,” he whispers, leaning down to place a kiss to the corner of your mouth.
It doesn’t take much to convince you.
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Simon is impossibly deep inside of your warm, wet pussy, thrusting so hard you scoot up the bed as he knocks the air from the lungs while the headboard bangs against the wall. A pillow is strategically placed under your hips so every time he slams inside of you it hits your sweet spot, and your clit catches on the wet material without fail. Your nipples drag across the soft fabric beneath you, your hands clutching at the pillows in front of you, all while you’re being fucked dumb.
“Fuckin’ slut. Wish you could see the way your pussy sucks me in,” he growls, his grip on you turning punishing, his face never faltering as he continues to drill into you from behind.
His fingers are tangled in your hair, yanking on it hard and keeping your head in place so your moans aren’t muffled against the mattress. His other hand is wrapped around your throat, cutting off your airway just enough to make it more pleasurable as your choked sobs ring out around the room.
His thick, long cock slides through your walls as he molds your pussy to be perfect for him. The veins and ridges leave imprints the faster he thrusts, the deeper he reaches, the harder he grinds. Every knock to your cervix leaves you breathless, every brush against your sweet spot has pleasure shooting through your body, and the longer he abuses your poor pussy, the more you beg for it.
“P-please Si, please,” you manage to say, gripping onto the sheets for dear life, lifting your hips to meet his every thrust but trying to run from it all at the same time.
Simon fucks you harder, the sound of your sweet voice begging for him enough to bring him to the brink of his orgasm, but not until you unravel on him for the umpteenth time tonight. His hand smacks down against your ass, your skin burning raw immediately, and he yanks your hair so hard that stars burst behind your eyelids.
“Please what? Be a good girl and use your fuckin’ words,” he says through gritted teeth, biting back an obscene moan that wishes to fall from his swollen lips.
His fingers press into the delicate skin of your neck, your pulse fluttering around his thumb, and the adrenaline of knowing that you’re at his mercy makes your walls clamp down tight around him, earning you a hiss from the man behind you. When you don’t respond in what he deems as a timely manner, his hand strikes your ass again, harder this time, but somewhere in this moment he still feels guilty for it when his thumb brushes over the scorching skin to soothe you.
“More, p-please Si,” you continue to beg, completely consumed by the feeling of his cock inside you, bullying your insides with no pity.
His hand moves from your throat to the pillow in front of you as he steadies himself. Leaning over your back, his cock pressed against your cervix with the utmost amount of pressure, he positions himself to watch your face while he fucks into you like a rabid animal as if he has no compassion or love for the woman under him what-so-ever.
You know he would apologize after. Apologize for being rough, apologize for saying mean things, apologize for acting as if he has no respect for you, but it makes your pussy so fucking wet all you can do is beg for him to be meaner.
“Yeah? Beg for it. Look at me and beg me to make you cum, beg me to make you feel good slut.”
Your gaze lifts to his, and the way his pupils dilate from the sight of you so undone solely because of him has a groan rumbling out from the depths of his chest. Drool drips from your chin while your mouth hangs open ever so slightly. Your eyes are half-lidded and dazed with tears staining your cheeks, your lips swollen and pigmented, and he watches how every single time his cock thrusts until there’s no more space inside you the air from your lungs comes in short, ragged gasps that sound like music to his ears.
“Make me c-cum Si- f-fuck- make me f-feel good, p-please,” you stutter, tripping over every other word, trying your hardest to form sentences coherent enough to beg for it like he asked.
He growls, deep and low, animalist almost, and he shoves your face into the pillow while spreading your cheeks with his other hand to watch your pussy swallow him whole. He fucks you, deep and hard and fast, it is almost too much. Your juices leak out around his cock, coating his length of your arousal, and he watches how tight you get the closer your orgasm gets.
“Do it,” he says, the words coming out strained, “cum on my fucking dick then since you beg so pretty.”
Every movement of his hips is hitting a spot inside of you that bursts into pleasure. Your cervix, your sweet spot, your nipples drag against the sheets until they’re hard and sore, your clit grinding against the pillow beneath you until it all pushes you over the edge. Your body becomes rigid, your muscles draw taut, and your screaming sobs fill the room, and no other sounds can be heard.
“I’m c-cumming-“
“Who makes you feel this good? Who do you belong to,” he asks, fucking you harder, fucking you through your orgasm, fucking you into overstimulation, waiting for the words to fall from your pretty, swollen lips before he allows himself the same release.
“You! F-fuck it’s always you Si,” you whimper, your body twitching from your walls being rubbed raw, from your clit grinding against every last nerve, from your nipples peaking beyond belief.
With a few more thrusts and a guttural groan ripping from his throat, Simon buries himself to the hilt, spilling his seed into the deepest parts of you. Long, thick ropes of warm cum flood your pussy, spurting out against your cervix with every twitch of his cock, coating your walls in all he has to give as the man behind you stills while he fills you to the brim. When nothing else will fit it leaks out around him, your cum mixing with his, making a mess between your thighs and spreading against the sheets.
“Fuck,” he groans, collapsing on top of you, trying his hardest to catch his breath.
His face is buried between your shoulder blades, his warm breath hitting your skin and sending shivers down your spine, his hands moving from their previous positions to caress up your sides as if asking for forgiveness through touch before asking verbally. He kisses against your spine, all the way down to your ass where he licks the raw handprint burning against your skin, and when he reaches your pussy, he licks up the mess before flipping you over with ease.
He hovers above you, wiping a stray tear before placing a feather light kiss to your lips. Admiring you, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, watching the way you give him the softest yet brightest smile he has ever seen, and he can’t help but cover your face in the same kisses.
“You’re not a slut, and you never have to beg for me…,” he mumbles in between kisses, and before he can keep rambling on you pull him down until your forehead is pressed against his.
“If you say sorry… I swear Simon.”
He laughs softly, “I know, I know. I’m sorry- shit- sorry. Fuck. I’ll just stop talking now, yeah?”
neighbor!simon riley who can't say no to you asking him for help (and still does things without you having to).
pt.1
ever since asking simon for help on your car, it's like a floodgate has opened up. first you're asking him for help on your car, and the next thing you know, he's in your house every few days with a new repair you've roped him into. he doesn't talk much. actually, you haven't been able to get another word out of him since he was on his back, under your car.
you've tried, you really have, but the bastard won't give in. you think he's just closed off—in reality, simon's heart is beating a mile a minute, and his mind is repeating over and over again not to make himself a fool in front of his pretty neighbor.
so you figured that asked him to help around your house would do the trick, luring him into your space in order to open him up. it's not like you'd get around to these tasks yourself. they just weren't your area of expertise.
and for a decently new house, you sure had a lot to be repaired.
first, it was those squeaky hinges on some of your doors. now, in the beginning, you were still hesitant to wander over to his front door to get his help, but after his eagerness the first time, it gave you the confidence to return. simon was in your house faster than you were, already taking a guess as to which door it was—since he knew his way around from bringing in groceries and such. armed with a lubricant and a few other tools, he got to work. within a few minutes, they were good as new. you couldn't thank the man before he was out the door.
it was off-putting, but you were still determined. it was unlucky that the first thing you asked him to do took only a few minutes of his time, and even less for cleanup.
with every day that passed, you were grasping at straws. how could you get this man over here? your house was in perfect condition, and you barely saw the recluse of a man, as he remained in his house most of the time. save for the times he takes in your groceries or takes your bins out, you don't see him.
until you notice something odd.
coming home from work—this time, your car light remains off—you get out of your car and notice a bit of chopped grass that's been left behind. with furrowed brows, you took a moment to look at your lawn.
what are the chances that, after living here for a few months, the grass doesn't decide to grow?
yeah, none. the bastard has been doing it for you, and you never noticed. he never mentioned or made a big deal out of it, and somehow, it got missed on your motion activated doorbell cameras that has a perfect view of the lawn. even the hedges are trimmed.
so what do you do? take the opportunity to stop over to his doorstep, rapping your fist on his door until he opens. eyebrows raised, ready to take on the next task at your house, he steps out and shuts the door behind him. with a nod, he gestures you to lead the way.
except you don't have a repair for him. "have you been mowing my lawn?" the words spill from your lips before you have a chance to reign yourself in. the absurdity of the situation is making you loose-lipped.
his eyes widen, and you swear you see a faint blush on the pale skin behind his balaclava. he just nods, gaze softening as he stares down at you.
"thank you." you sputter out, in shock at his brazen admission. he just nods again, and you're at a loss for words. how do you keep his attention, keep his eyes on you? "well, I'm gonna need your help planting flowers."
planting flowers? that's all you could come up with? your face flushes with embarrassment, bracing yourself for his reaction. the man could easily say no because mowing the lawn and changing your lightbulb and fixing your squeaky door hinges is considered masculine. you could've insulted his masculinity by suggesting he plants flowers.
but he just stares at you some more. "let m'know when," and he shuts the door in your face.
but you turn around with the goofiest smile on your face and pump your fist with a soft "yes" before skipping back down the path and road towards your house just next door. little do you know, simon's face wears a smile just like yours as he watches the dorky display.
When you are ovulating, Simon’s cock weeps from overstimulation, but he never complains.
You’ve been riding him for who knows how long, and he’s on his… actually he can’t even remember how many times he’s cum. You’re feral, truly feral, bouncing up and down his length, sitting down fully until his tip is pressed against your cervix and leaking precum. Grinding down on him, your hands fall to his chest, digging your nails into his skin to steady yourself as he writhes beneath you.
He’s a whimpering, whining mess, cursing under his breath, with his eyes rolling to the back of his head when your pussy clenches down on his length. Every time your ass slaps against his thighs a breath of air is knocked from his lungs, leaving him gasping and clutching the bunched-up sheets around his limp body.
“C-can’t take anymore l-lovie,” he stutters, placing both hands on your hips, but instead of moving you away, his own hips buck up just to feel more of your warm, wet walls around his aching cock.
His mouth hangs open as drool drips from his chin, his eyes half-lidded while he watches your breasts bounce directly in front of his face, and he can’t help but suck one nipple into his mouth to bite down and relieve some of the unbearable pleasure. You moan out, your fingers moving to tangle in the hair at his nape, pulling harshly on the strands before pushing your chest out for him by arching your back.
“One more Si, p-please… need it, need your c-cum,” you beg, gazing down at him with fucked out eyes, obscene moans flooding his ears each time his cock knocks against your cervix.
Your knees dig into the mattress on either side of him, caging his body underneath yours while you ride him as if your life depends on it. Skin slaps against skin, the sounds sharp and loud, the headboard bangs against the wall, sure to leave a dent or scrape the paint, not that either of you care. The smell of sex hangs in the air so thick you can taste it, musky from the salty sweat beading across the two bodies that move together in tandem.
“So g-good,” you praise, bouncing harder, faster, pushing him deeper inside of you while your walls suck him in, and clench down as if your pussy never wants him to leave.
The veins and ridges of his cock slide through your walls, filling you up to the brim, leaving no parts of you empty for too long. He sucks, bites, licks on your nipple, letting it peak between his lips before moving off with a pop and focusing on the other. One of his hands slides from your hip, finding your clit with ease to rub tight, quick circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves instead.
You cry out in pleasure, sinking down fast to grind against his fingers before lifting up once more. With the added stimulation, your body grows weaker the closer and closer you reach your climax, and you beg him to help you.
“C’mon lovie… I g-got you,” he says, planting both feet on the bed behind you, and steadying you on top of him before he begins to pound into you from below.
His balls clap against your ass, sensitive and empty, and he whimpers every time. You slump against his chest, your nipples dragging across his rough skin, his fingers still working your clit, and you’re walking the edge of your orgasm faster than you would like.
“C-close… I’m so…”
He thrusts in deep and hard, knocking the air from your lungs, cutting off your words as a sharp gasp rips from your throat when his tip nudges against your sweet spot. Stars burst behind your eyelids, the sheer ecstasy rushing through your body is enough to have you cumming on his long, thick cock.
“That’s it. Cum on m-me,” he encourages, eager to feel you come undone, his cock crying out for him as it bullies your insides and bruises your cervix.
Your muscles draw taut, your body becoming rigid as pleasure consumes your entire being. Cum gushes from your entrance, leaking out around his length for the umpteenth time tonight, dripping from his skin and pooling onto the already wet sheets below. Your pussy clenches impossibly tight and pulses rhythmically around him.
He fucks you through your high, drawing it out as long as possible before giving himself the same release, his fingers only letting up on your swollen clit when your body begins to jerk and twitch from his overstimulating touch.
“Shit- gonna f-fill you up again lovie.”
With a few more thrusts he’s burying himself to the hilt and releases his seed deep inside of you. Long, thick ropes of warm cum flood your pussy, leaking out from his tip against your cervix, coating your walls and dripping out when there is no more room left inside of your raw walls. Your belly tingles from the sensation, your skin burning from his touch, your body weak on top of his as his thrusts slow and he collapses onto the pillows again.
Simon’s chest heaves against yours while he tries to catch his breath, his heart pounding in your ear as he comes down from his intense high. You do your best to recover too, your breathing coming in short, ragged gasps, the sound of your blood whooshing past your ears louder than any of the lingering whimpers and whines from stimulated sensitive body parts, your legs and arms trembling from the prolonged activity, it is all too much and not enough at the same time.
His cock continues to twitch inside of you, the mess continues to pool underneath you, and knowing you, you still would want more.
Sammy complains about putting on weight but all you do is reassure him by cooking him stuff he can’t say no to.
He’s pretty insecure about it, pulling his shirt down. Always wanting to keep a shirt on.. but how could you hate it? More for you obviously. He’s always saying ‘I think you want me to get fatter’
thinking about Simon Riley who can't sleep without you. he'd wake up breathless from a nightmare, breath uneven. his fists clenched, that familiar military instinct to grab his firearm shooting pure adrenaline through his veins.
his mind is still stuck in that post dream state, mission still fresh in his mind as he scanned around in the darkness, eyes starting around the shadows for any sign of movement.
soft breathing beside him broke through his haze and he squinted, catching sight of your figure sleeping soundly next to him, calm and breathing.
safe he thought, reassuring - forcing himself to take a breath as he tried to calm down, the sound of his heartbeat loud in his ears.
you stirred, feeling the rustling of his unrest.
"si?" you mumbled sleepily, turning towards him. his eyes softened. even half asleep you were still attentive, still worried about him.
he was quick to wrap his arms around you, warm and strong around your body as he pulled you against him. the knot in his chest loosened at the contact of your body against his, the tension in his shoulders fading as he buried his face in your neck - breathing in your scent.
still here he thought, closing his eyes in relief.
"shh lovie, go back to sleep" he replied huskily, settling against you.
you relaxed back into his arms, resting your cheek against his broad chest as sleep took over you again.
other nights when he'd wake up without you, he'd panic. dread settling in as he grasped the sheets next to him, seeking out your presence only to find it empty. he'd sit up wide awake, alert only to exhale when he heard you moving around in the bathroom, light shining beneath the door.
when you'd come out and see his expression, the left over anxiety in his eyes you'd rush over, cupping his face and smiling when he melted in your hold.
"still here" you'd whisper, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
his eyes would close at the contact of your lips, shoulders dropping and he'd wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you down onto the bed. you'd giggle at the abrupt action to which he smiled, the sound erasing whatever post nightmare plagued him and grounding him in the sound.
with you in his embrace, right where you belonged, he'd drift slowly back into slumber. peacefully.
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