your older boyfriend jack teaches you how to suck him off...
you could feel your jaw getting wet from the saliva that was lazily trickling down your chin, and slowly coating your fingers that were wrapped around the thick shaft of jack’s cock. your tongue massaged his tip, while your tear-filled, doe eyes watched his reactions, unknowingly forcing jack to physically restrain himself from thrusting his hips upward, repeating to himself like a mantra that this was your first time, and that he had to do everything he could not to scare you away.
but how could he have resisted when you tested him so much?
your face was the very image of sin—sin wrapped in sweet innocence, which you radiated from head to toe, giving him the impression that what he was letting you do was wrong, immoral. yet how could he say no to you when you were so eager to learn, so eager to please him?
his hand found its place on your flushed cheek. his thumb caressed your soft skin, giving you a sense of praise, when in reality it was a sick urge to feel his cock filling your sweet mouth.
“take your time, okay?” he hoarsely whispered, his voice vibrating through your body, leaving your nerves on edge and trembling “you’re doing so good for me, sweetheart. daddy’s proud of you.”
that singular compliment had an embarrassingly quick effect on you; your thighs clenched, a quiet, muffled moan escaped your throat, and your gaze filled with a need that was impossible to miss.
although you were still unsure of what you were doing, you took him deeper into your mouth, choking almost immediately, but you stubbornly kept going, even as your jaw grew sore and your eyes began to water. yet you didn’t stop, wanting—no, needing—to hear once more how good you were for jack.
and he knew just how hard you were pushing yourself, how desperately you were trying to please him, and that’s why the only thing that came out of his mouth were groans of pleasure, which only served to fuel a fire that was already burning inside you.
after all, he was your teacher—how could he not appreciate your effort?
your older boyfriend jack teaches you how to suck him off...
you could feel your jaw getting wet from the saliva that was lazily trickling down your chin, and slowly coating your fingers that were wrapped around the thick shaft of jack’s cock. your tongue massaged his tip, while your tear-filled, doe eyes watched his reactions, unknowingly forcing jack to physically restrain himself from thrusting his hips upward, repeating to himself like a mantra that this was your first time, and that he had to do everything he could not to scare you away.
but how could he have resisted when you tested him so much?
your face was the very image of sin—sin wrapped in sweet innocence, which you radiated from head to toe, giving him the impression that what he was letting you do was wrong, immoral. yet how could he say no to you when you were so eager to learn, so eager to please him?
his hand found its place on your flushed cheek. his thumb caressed your soft skin, giving you a sense of praise, when in reality it was a sick urge to feel his cock filling your sweet mouth.
“take your time, okay?” he hoarsely whispered, his voice vibrating through your body, leaving your nerves on edge and trembling “you’re doing so good for me, sweetheart. daddy’s proud of you.”
that singular compliment had an embarrassingly quick effect on you; your thighs clenched, a quiet, muffled moan escaped your throat, and your gaze filled with a need that was impossible to miss.
although you were still unsure of what you were doing, you took him deeper into your mouth, choking almost immediately, but you stubbornly kept going, even as your jaw grew sore and your eyes began to water. yet you didn’t stop, wanting—no, needing—to hear once more how good you were for jack.
and he knew just how hard you were pushing yourself, how desperately you were trying to please him, and that’s why the only thing that came out of his mouth were groans of pleasure, which only served to fuel a fire that was already burning inside you.
after all, he was your teacher—how could he not appreciate your effort?
SUMMARY ➩ Jack Abbot is the perfect neighbor who is always willing to offer you a helping hand. Until you ask him to take your virginity.
WARNINGS ➩ age gap (reader is early 20s and jack is 50), they have sex and all the things that sex brings along, jack might be ooc
AUTHORS NOTE ➩ Well for once I tried to deliver real smut for you guys so buckle up and leave me some feedback on this one if you like it! NOT PROOFREAD AT ALL and it’s probably obvious so be kind about mistakes lol I wanted to get this to you guys asap!
“I need a favor.”
Jack was used to you asking him for help, had been for the two years since you moved into the apartment directly across from his.
He didn’t mind offering you a lending hand when he saw you struggling to carry your boxes from your small run down car, it wasn’t an inconvenience to collect your mail if you ever had to leave town for a few days, and he really couldn’t complain about having to remind you to get your laundry from the unit down below because it held him accountable too.
It was such a common occurrence, you asking him for a favor, that he wasn’t too surprised to find you at his door. He only gave a soft sigh as you pushed past him to enter his apartment, offering you a lot more patience than he did the newbies at the hospital.
You were always sweet, maybe a little bossy at times, but it gave him some amusement in his otherwise strict routine.
Plus it was admittedly nice to feel needed.
You came to him when your apartment had a leak or your air conditioning went out, knocked on his door whenever it was raining and you’d forgotten an umbrella after locking yourself out, and you even sometimes popped over just to get his opinion on what you should wear out on a random night.
Everybody was always telling Jack he needed a hobby that didn’t involve putting his life on the line, so he rarely told you no and tried his best to brush off Robby whenever he asked what was keeping him so busy lately.
It would be hard enough to explain the dynamic he had with his much younger neighbor but even more so considering you were now standing in the middle of his apartment with a frustrated look on your face, hands on your hips as you tapped your bunny slipper covered foot.
“What is it now?” His voice was gruff and disinterested but you knew well enough that he would do whatever you asked and he was well aware of that too. Still, it helped him just a little to pretend to contemplate it for a second or two first.
“I need you to have sex with me.”
You said it like it was as simple as asking him to come over and check your water pressure, falling out of your mouth casually and landing heavily in the quiet room.
There was no need to pretend this time as he fell into a bewildered silence, raising an eyebrow in your direction and letting his eyes track you as you dramatically sighed and went to flop down on his couch. You’d demanded about a year ago that he got some pillows for it, along with a few other interior design suggestions.
He’d picked up four after his shift that night.
“Please say something.” You were turned around on the couch so you could face him over the back of it, arms crossed as you rested your chin ontop of them.
“I have nothing to say to that.” He shook his head immediately, that stern expression he used on an unruly patient or Robby when he got a little too pushy.
This just made you sigh again, loud and exaggerated as you turned back around to fully lay flat on his couch.
“Why are you even asking me that?” He didn’t want to pry because he knew you well enough by now to know you’d just be encouraged by that but his curiosity got the best of him, circling around to sit across from you on one of the living room chairs.
You didn’t sit up but you turned your head to the side to look at him, a slight frown on your face that he didn’t think was particularly genuine. Your personality was always something Jack admired, not getting a lot of time in his own life to be so bold with his emotions and carefree in the way he spoke and behaved.
He was serious and guarded where you were a walking billboard for spontaneity, coming to him crying about random problems after only half a week of living in the building.
It was mostly endearing but there was the more critical part of him that wondered how lonely you must be to be making friends and finding comfort with some random guy across the hallway, a much older one at that.
Jack knew he had a bit of a hero complex but it typically manifested in a more extreme way, quite literally jumping into battle to save lives or operating on them in their lowest moments. This dynamic with you was a new form of care taking and there’d been a handful of times he’d doubted his own motives.
“Because I have a date next week and I am a complete lost cause when it comes to all things intimacy.” You still had a theatrical flare to your voice, not facing him anymore and instead rambling straight up to his ceiling with your hands gesturing wildly.
He tensed up for two reasons now, one being the mention of a date and the other was your implication you didn’t have any experience.
“But you’ve had sex before.” It came out slowly and half like a question, half like an assumption.
There wasn’t any real reason for him to think that other than his own social expectations. You were gorgeous, one of the prettiest women he’d seen in a very long time, and had a naturally magnetic energy to you that even he couldn’t resist most of the time, platonically but also selfishly deep down, a little more than that.
He’d seen you go on a handful of dates in the last year or two, all guys your age that didn’t seem to know how to pick up a check let alone please you properly.
That’s where Jack’s problem stemmed from.
There had been almost no ulterior motive the first year he had known you, genuinely trying to be helpful and to be a good neighbor. He would get upset when his coworkers would call him anti social or make digs at how unfriendly he was because he hadn’t always been like that and he figured helping out the girl next door was a good first step to getting that part of himself back.
You’d told him after a few months that you had no family on this side of the country, completely starting fresh at a new company you’d applied to on a whim.
It was completely innocent.
Yes, you were undoubtedly beautiful in a way that made his head spin for a second when he first saw you. You had been standing near your car and fighting with a box, both by tugging at it and saying less than kind words in its direction like it could understand you.
Jack had hesitated for a handful of seconds before making his way over and offering to help, feeling this weird pull in his chest when you blinked up at him in surprise and eagerly thanked him.
Once you were in his life, you never left. And he made space for you effortlessly because, quite frankly, he had plenty of it to offer up.
About seven months ago was the first time he had ever seen you with a guy.
He’d been coming home from a long and rare day shift (covering for Robby so he could attend Jake’s graduation), dragging his leg behind him and praying nobody stopped him on the way to his apartment so he could crawl into bed for a few short hours before he had to do it all over again for his own shift.
The only distraction he would have allowed was you but you were clearly busy, standing in the hallway as he got off the elevator and touching the rather small bicep of a guy your age.
Jack hesitated, considered getting right back on the elevator before it could close on him, and then slowly walked to his door.
He had hoped you wouldn’t acknowledge him because his throat was already weirdly tight as he eyed you and the way you stared up at the man (boy, if Jack had to really label it) with that soft and curious expression you always had.
“Jack.” Your voice was full of excitement and he faltered, his key left in his doors lock as he turned to give you an attempt at a polite smile. “Covering somebody again?”
If this had been any other day then Jack would have invited you into his apartment to talk instead of lingering in the hallway. He would have ignored his exhaustion to pair his black coffee with the hot chocolate flavor you liked that he kept in his bottom drawer, complained to you about being tired and listened to you scold him for working too much when he didn’t need to.
But you were in a pretty dress that was clearly on its way to dinner and your date was giving Jack that possessive stare that guys fresh out of college thought was intimidating.
So instead he simply nodded his head and continued to unlock his door.
“This is Asher.” You continued abruptly as he turned his door handled, leaving it cracked as he stopped to look at you again.
He gave you a once over to make sure everything was okay, wondering why you were still insisting on talking to him when you were so clearly meant to be going somewhere else. You didn’t look too uncomfortable but you were watching him back just as intensely so he mentally stored the name and face of the guy anyways, just in case something happened.
“Ashton.” Your date finally spoke and his voice was annoyed and laced with immature bitterness, although slightly valid considering you had forgotten his name.
Your eyes widened, still boring into Jacks, and he smiled a little before giving you a small wave and heading inside.
Jack realized quickly after that encounter that his intentions were a lot less innocent than he had initially thought they were. He’d closed his door before immediately pressing his back against it, listening to the sound of your small heels leaving the hallway as you apologized to your date with a clenched jaw and a pain in his stomach.
The next few dates after that just confirmed what he had already realized from the first one.
He was attracted to you.
Maybe even liked you.
You talked to Jack about almost everything going on in your life, even things he definitely would not have cared about if it came from anybody else, but you never once brought up the dates. At first he had worried you had somehow noticed his weird demeanor that day in the hallway but Jack wasn’t very expressive in general so he figured you must keep that part of your life private for other reasons.
The attraction part was easy to accept mostly, he was only a man and you were clearly gorgeous. Although the age gap was something Jack couldn’t get himself to look past.
You were barely in your early twenties, over half his age younger and overly obviously so. You radiated youth, from your appearance and the way you spoke down to your hobbies and interests.
You were clearly a very young girl and he had felt like a pervert from the moment he saw you outside of that car for the way his body warmed. Jack hadn’t felt much attraction to anybody at all since his wife died, at first out of a lingering loyalty to her that barely faded and then just due to his busyness and his own mental blocks.
That was not a problem when it came to you and he had to give a genuine effort when he was around you to act normal.
You’d come over in tiny sleep shorts or a tight tank top that showed your hardened nipples through the thin fabric, join him for morning yoga in downright sinful leggings and he even was attracted to the stupid bunny slippers you wore.
But you were a young girl and he was a disciplined old man so he barely looked twice in your direction when you were bending over to get mail and he never once touched you, setting boundaries for himself and keeping them.
Which was why it was so hard for him when you slowly shook your head to his question about having sex before.
“What about those guys?” His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you and you sighed like you were embarrassed, a rare emotion to see from you.
“We barely kissed.” You shrugged and finally sat up from your dramatic position on the couch. “Please Jack, I don’t have anyone else to ask.”
“I’m not sleeping with you.” He said immediately, slightly offended you were seemingly only asking him because you had no other options.
You looked completely dejected now but Jack knew there was no way he could possibly accept this request, for too many reasons but especially because of his own moral code. He also didn’t want to ruin what you’d had going on, enjoying your company on his hard nights and finding himself finally letting somebody in after so many years alone.
“Okay so no sex.” You say softly and you stand up when he does, following him as he walks into the kitchen and leaning against the counter to watch him set the coffee machine settings. “But can’t you show me little things.”
He sends you a sharp look that you return with a gentle pleading smile, bouncing in place a little like you think your cuteness is the answer to everything.
And it just might be because Jack sighs softly and turns his full attention back to you.
“Like what?” He knows him asking for specifics will give you hope and he can see it immediately on your face, brightening and taking a step closer to him that makes him tense.
“Maybe just telling me what guys like?” You suggest softly and the words coming from your mouth make him almost groan, keeping his face flat and emotionless as you speak. “And some kissing lessons.”
“You know how to kiss.” He shook his head at you and went to turn back to his coffee but your hand wrapped around his wrist to stop him, successfully keeping his attention on you. He realized that it might be the first time you’d ever actually touched him, skin against skin. “I’ve seen it.”
His posture tightens as he reminds himself of that fact, easily recalling the vivid memory of leaving his apartment to head to work and finding you coming home from a date and making out with a guy against your door.
You hadn’t noticed him at first but he had slammed his door harder than normal, shamefully intentional.
There’d been a pang of guilt when you jumped in surprise and separated from the guy who looked the douchiest out of all of them but it was hard to feel it when you have him a slightly grateful look on his way to the elevator.
You were blinking at him now, almost like you were realizing something, and he looked away in favor of glancing at the clock on the wall.
“Not a kiss that feels good.” Your voice was more serious now, sounding genuinely disheartened by the conversation and the slow unveiling of your inexperience.
He sighed again, just trying to get rid of the tightness in his chest, before shaking his head firmly and fully turning away from you to fill up his coffee mug.
“I’m not doing it.”
—
Jack thought about your offer for the next two weeks. Obsessively.
He waited to hear you bringing somebody else over, someone who had jumped on the golden opportunity to touch you for the first time when he hesitated. You didn’t seem to go on any dates but he supposed you wouldn’t have told him anyways.
The thought of you experiencing sex with some asshole you met off a dating app, nervous and unsure on what to do without guidance, was eating away at him.
Jack was a fixer, he liked to help you, and he had already accepted the fact that he was extremely attracted to you. It wasn’t like he didn’t recognize the jealously in his stomach everytime he saw you with somebody else, a type of anger he hadn’t felt since he was preparing to go into a real life war.
Subdued by age and a calmer reality now but it was still fresh hot anger that he couldn’t shake no matter how much he tried.
You came to him with this problem, not just for pointers and tips but you had actually asked him to be the one to take your virginity.
Virginity.
Jack couldn’t get the concept out of his head and while he hadn’t necessarily considered himself somebody who would care about that type of thing, especially not as he entered his fifties, it did bring a wave of heat over him whenever he thought about it.
You’d never been touched before outside of a few unsatisfactory make out sessions. You, the pretty girl with downright sinful choices of pajamas that consumed his day to day life so easily after he spent such a long time alone.
He thought about it endlessly until it led to him knocking on your door, a rare switch of the usual dynamic that left him feeling a little awkward before you answered.
The sensation went away when you looked up at him, eyes a little wide with confusion as you silently stepped back to let him inside. It was rare for you to be so quiet but maybe you could tell what he was thinking by the look on his face, maybe you were thinking about the same exact thing.
“I’ll help you.” His voice was gruff and flat, waiting until your door closed behind him before he spoke. Your face immediately lit up but he silenced anything you were going to say with a raised hand, your parted lips closing as you waited for him to finish. “But I’m not sleeping with you.”
You pouted a little at the condition but stepped forward after a few seconds, far too close to him for his sanity but he figured you’d be getting a lot closer soon so he forced his breathing to stay level.
Jack used to consider himself quite smooth, still a natural flirt when he joked around with older patients or teased Robby.
But he was completely thrown off of any existing game when it came to you. He didn’t even know he could still feel this way about somebody, the yearning and lustful feeling having been dormant for a long time before you moved in.
“I’ll take whatever you give me.” Your voice was soft now and he’d never heard you like that, maybe a bit of a whine when you impatiently asked him to help you with something, but never so pleading.
You’d shifted even closer as you spoke and he couldn’t help himself now that he practically had permission, his large and rough hand sliding over your waist to rest on the small of your back.
You sucked in a sharp breath at the feeling and he was suddenly aware of how much fun this was going to be if you were that sensitive.
“Not tonight okay?” He replied and his low tone made your eyes soften, nodding eagerly and hesitantly letting your hands land on his chest in balled up fist. “We can talk about it more later and work out some conditions.”
“You’re giving me rules?” You’d collected yourself enough to finally give him some of that familiar attitude, smiling slightly as you stared up at him. He rolled his eyes but let his hand tighten against your back, moving you forward and just trying to test your reaction to the touch.
You lost your smile immediately, shuffling closer until you were pressed against him as your eyes darted all around his face with surprise. It was clear you didn’t expect him to accept at all let alone this easily, despite his two weeks of contemplation, he wasn’t at all hesitate now.
“You need them.” He retorted and his free hand brushed some of your hair behind your ear, the first time you were ever really touching each other being this intimate was sending another wave of affection through him.
A few years ago, Jack couldn’t even get himself to look at another woman, let alone hold one so gently. Even with the slightly out of the ordinary circumstances, he cared for you and you trusted him and that was all that really mattered in his eyes.
“You’re mean.” You’re whispering it and his head tilts at the sound it, overly fond and curious how you can affect him so much just by changing the tone of your voice. “Kiss me atleast.”
It comes out a demand and his eyebrows naturally furrow at the sound of it, knowing immediately that will have to be one of the rules he gives you when you talk them over.
Manners.
He doesn’t respond for a second but you seem to understand before he even needs to scold you, lips parting in realization before they form a small pout and you unclench your fist so your palm is flat on his chest now instead.
“Please give me a kiss Jack.” You sound sweeter now and he would think it was an act, making fun of him for his sudden silent sternness, if it wasn’t for the genuinely pleading look on your face.
The knowledge that you listen so easily, even when he doesn’t actually say it, overrides his senses so much that he actually does bend down to kiss you.
It’s soft at first which you don’t seem to understand, immediately trying to eagerly make out with him like that’s all you really know. He moves one of his hands from your side to hold under your jaw, applying a little bit of pressure near your throat to indicate he wants you to slow down.
You melt against him at the touch but do as he silently communicates and relax a little bit, still moving your mouth a bit sloppily against his but learning to adapt to his slow and easy pace.
Eventually you get the rhythm down perfectly, lips moving together without anything extra added. You asked Jack to teach you so he was going to do exactly that, starting from the basics.
Your face was completely dazed when he pulled back, instinctively shifting forward to try and kiss him again and making a small disappointment noise when his hold near your throat tightened in warning.
“You asked for a kiss.” He said in a low voice, still close to your face so he could perfectly see the way your widened eyes shifted around his features.
He was a bit mesmerized by the way you looked now, so unlike yourself on any other day. It both made his guilt over being perverse grow and also solidified that he didn’t care how wrong it was as long as you kept looking at him like that.
“Get some sleep.” He waited a few seconds before taking the necessary steps away from you, taking a sharp breath as he turned and left your apartment.
His own door had barely closed behind him before there was insistent knocks on it, his head immediately hanging since he knew exactly who it was.
Your eyebrows were furrowed when he pulled the handle to reveal you in the hallway, standing stiffly and glaring up at him but not making any move to come inside. You shifted in place and let out a huff of annoyance as you seemed to search for the right words to convey what you wanted.
“Can you kiss me one more time?” You eventually settled on the blunt question, shifting closer so you were both halfway in his doorway.
While he had a foot inside his apartment still, you had one in the hallway. It left you standing too close for his sanity, feeling it slip almost entirely again when your small hand landed on his forearm and rubbed softly.
“What’s wrong?” He asked softly, sensing your frustration but not knowing where it was stemming from.
He cupped your face with one of his hands, letting the other rest back on your side. You stared up at him as he took a few slow steps forward, backing you up with each one until your back hit the doorframe and took a soft near gasp from your lips.
“Nothing I just…” You trail off as you pout, scanning over his face and then down his chest until you can’t bend your head anymore to look. “I want one more. Please.”
You added it as an afterthought but it was enough for him, pressing his mouth back against yours.
This time, apparently a very quick learner, you were able to meet his pace right away and your mouths moved softly together. Your arms went around his neck so you could fully cling to him as you kissed deeply, heads tilting and quiet pleased noises rumbling in your throat.
You only got louder when his tongue pressed lightly into your mouth, mostly just to test your reaction but unable to stop himself when you were eagerly matching the actions.
It was sloppy and a little too wet, sounds of your tongues tangling together filling the silent hallway and sending a sharp heat down to his gut. He liked how clumsy you were, growing addicted to the way you seemed to have no idea what you were doing but too desperate to stop yourself and ask him for his help.
Jack knew he liked feeling needed but this was a whole different beast, one that came paired with some light shame.
You weren’t innocent and you knew exactly what you needed to about sex but your body was inexperienced and it was getting clearer by the second, your little gasp when he kissed you deeper and the way you tightened your hold on him everytime he went to pull back and attempt to slow down.
You’re red in the face by the time he manages to get you to stop eagerly kissing him, still instinctively shifting closer when he moves back. He gives you a lighthearted sigh, occupied by the softest smile he can manage so he doesn’t actually hurt your feelings when he presses you back against the doorway with the hand that’s still on your hip.
“Time for bed.” He tries to keep his tone light but it comes out more authoritative than he had meant for it to, most likely driven by the way you automatically started to frown as soon as he held you away from him. “We can talk tomorrow.”
You clearly weren’t happy about that but you surprisingly gave him a soft nod, shifting your body until you were out of his entrance and closer to your own.
He watched you and your dazed face, slightly wobbly on your feet, as you disappeared behind your apartment door with a small wave.
-
Jack had started off his day rough the following morning, barely able to sleep after what had happened.
It was a completely split mixture of wanting you so bad it was driving him to literal insanity and feeling disgustingly guilty for even looking in your direction.
He almost considered calling Robby about it but he really didn’t need to hear the lecture that would undoubtedly come his way about the situation. Plus he figured that whatever Robby knew, Dana knew, and if Dana knew then it was only a matter of time before the entire emergency department was gossiping about Jack Abbot and his young neighbor.
The dilemma was so strong that he had almost completely forgotten about the fact he had told you that you’d talk today, although almost intentional.
He was halfway avoiding having to actually sit down and make this arrangement a reality, still having a hard time believing what had happened last night was even real.
He had just started to get changed for work when the knocking on his door started and he knew it was you immediately, standing still and hanging his head for a few seconds like he figured he could just wait you out.
It didn’t take long for his senses to kick back in and he was pulling on a plain black shirt before making his way over to the door, raising his eyebrows at you when he saw how irritated you looked.
You brushed past him immediately and he lingered with his hand on the door knob for a moment before closing it and preparing himself to face whatever wrath you were about to send his direction.
“You didn’t come over.” You immediately accused, finger pointing in his direction as you stood in the middle of his living room with an angry expression. “You didn’t even text me.”
He was already walking closer to you as you spoke and your defenses naturally crumbled at the proximity, especially when his hands were sliding over your ribs to both hold you steady and let him feel your breathing as subtly as possible.
“You can’t just kiss me like that and then ignore me.” You continue on but your tone is a lot softer now that he’s touching you, already getting that dazed edge to it he had heard last night.
“I didn’t mean to ignore you.” He shakes his head and frees a hand to tuck some hair behind your ear, your features have completely softened now at the movement.
Jack wonders for the first time if you might have feelings for him beyond trust and attraction.
For some reason, he hadn’t really considered the possibility before. You were practically his polar opposite and he had nothing in common with any of the boys you went on dates with.
But now, with you blinking up at him like you were hanging on to his every word, he let himself think it might just be likely.
“I figured you changed your mind.” Your words are a little slurred from the insistent pout you have on your face and he sighs again, gently leading you over to sit on his couch.
Your knees brush together as you scoot closer to him the second he’s settled on top of the cushion, your hand wrapping around three of his fingers and squeezing lightly as you wait for him to respond to your fear of being rejected.
“I didn’t but I want to make sure you understand what you’re asking.” His voice is low and nearing stern, the same tone he uses on the new med students who seem a little more cocky than they are willing to learn. He knows that’s not the case with you, knows you’re desperate for any expertise he can offer you, but he still wants you to pay attention and properly understand him. “There’s other ways for you to do this.”
“What, like other guys?” Your eyebrows furrow like the thought confuses you.
His stomach tightens immediately, sick at the thought of it, but he stiffly nods his head.
You’re shifting even closer immediately and he lets out a breath when you’re leaning over his knee nearly, closer to his face than before and scanning over it again.
“I don’t want another guy Jack. I just want it to be you.” You’re whispering now and he can’t stop himself from pressing a light kiss to your mouth, brief but necessary when his brain processes the lack of distance between you. That makes you smile finally and he suddenly feels very stupid for ever questioning you when you’re making a request like this.
“Tell me why.” He mumbles, easily sliding his hands around your middle so he can tug you over more and into his lap. You kiss him again once you’re settled in his lap, still quick like you’re both using it as punctuation during your conversation. “Why me?”
He wants to hear you give a legitimate reason, to undo the hesitance you gave him when you said it was only because you didn’t have anybody else to ask. That’d been weighing on him more than anything else, the thought that you had just settled for your older lonely neighbor who was clearly willing to help you with anything in spite of himself.
Your next kiss was much longer, deeper as you fully sink down in his lap and move your mouth against his desperately. He’d accept that alone as an answer, big palms rubbing over your back and sides so he can keep pulling you impossibly closer.
Your nose is rubbing against his when you pull back, the sounds of your breathing being heavier now making his head spin with the necessary impulsivity to keep making terrible decisions with you.
“You’d make me feel good.” The answer you’d landed on was much more devastating than he was prepared for, his eyes darkening at how confident you sounded in that fact. “I know you would.”
His hands tightened around your soft skin for a second, needing to take a deep breath to ground himself.
It takes a second for him to reply, tucking his face into your neck and inhaling sharply. You smell as sweet as you always do but it’s intoxicating to have it this close after so long, skin soft under his lips as he kisses you softly.
Your breathing gets shaky, arms looping around his neck so you’re practically hugging him. You’re warm on top of him and making the sweetest noises when he moves along your jaw, shifting in his lap to try and get his attention back on your conversation.
“You’ll do it right?” You ask softly, running your hand through his hair and tugging just enough to make him finally look back at your face. His eyes are dark and unfocused as he stares at your pretty features. “Jack?”
“Yeah honey.” He says back after another long silence, voice deeper than he’d ever heard it as he leans in to kiss you again.
You kiss for a long time, wiggling around in his lap when your tongues tangle together and you get to taste him properly again. It’s addicting for both of you, both of your hands running all over the other’s body like you’re trying to learn every part of it you can reach.
Eventually you’re fully rocking against him from your neediness and it takes a second for him to process it, snapped back to focus when he hears the way your whines are getting higher pitched. A near growl leaves his throat as he grabs your hips firmly, thumbs pressing into the bone so he can stop you from moving on top of him like that.
“Jackie.” You whine desperately, kissing him again and successfully distracting him long enough that you can start humping again.
“Stop baby I have work soon.” He scolds in between the sloppy kisses, lips and chin slightly wet from how uncoordinated you still are.
You make another soft noise and he’s confused for half a second before he realizes it’s because of the pet name, smiling softly from his fondness for you as you hide down in his neck for a second.
“You’re hard now, I can feel it.” You’re whispering right against his skin and a shiver runs over him at the lewd words falling from such a pretty mouth, high pitched and almost innocent voice making the sentence sound so much dirtier than it needed to be.
At first Jack doesn’t think you’re right, knowing himself and his body enough to expect he’s not stirring down there even if he wants you so bad it makes him feel insane.
He’s had issues with it for years now, a deadly combination of his age, his traumas, and the carousel of medications he has to be on for a variety of things he wouldn’t disclose to you out of his own pride. That was the reason Jack had stopped trying to hook up with people years ago, giving up on porn entirely when he’d have to spend an hour trying to get hard before he could even attempt to actually get himself off.
It was in the back of his mind when you’d asked him to help you with this but he figured this was about your pleasure, he wouldn’t need to be hard to get you off especially if he stuck to his guns about not actually having sex with you.
He was sucking in a deep breath to explain this to you in less detail, make sure you understood that he wasn’t hard but it had nothing to do with you or his attraction to you, when you gave a particularly deep and slow roll of your hips.
And the effect was completely undeniable.
A shudder ran over him, eyes dropping to his lap that you were still rocking on top of. Your tiny little shorts were so clearly pressing against the tent in his scrub pants, catching on it whenever you lost the energy to move properly as you let out another needy whine and hid back in his neck.
You were completely unaware of his current mental situation, baffled at how easily you’d gotten him to this state from just some sloppy kissing.
You must’ve thought he was ignoring you because you picked up your head to glare at him, a pout on your swollen lips.
“Sorry sweetheart.” He sighed and kissed you gently, rubbing your sides up to your ribs and coming back down right when he felt the swell of your breast against his fingertips. “I really have to go.”
“Let me suck you off.” You requested easily and his breath caught, nearly choking at how simple you made it sound. “I wanna learn and you’re so hard right now Jackie. Please let me do it.”
“That’s not the point of this.” He shook his head immediately and moved you by your hips so you were sat next to him and no longer settled in his lap, clearly upsetting you as you scrambled up on your knees and gripped his bicep so he couldn’t get off the couch yet.
“The point is to teach me things about sex and I’ll need to know this.” You counter, eyebrows furrowing in confusion at why he’s rejecting you.
He finds it a little amusing that you’re so used to him accepting your requests for things that you’re genuinely lost when he doesn’t immediately fold for you. It’s a bratty habit he should have corrected months ago but he can’t find himself caring too much, liking how dependent you’d become on him.
Jack has to contemplate this because he knows you’re right, stomach turning a little at the reminder that you’re going to use whatever he shows you on somebody else down the line.
That selfishly makes him want to cancel this whole thing and leave you completely clueless, hopefully to the point you decide to swear off sex with other men entirely. But he knows how stubborn you are and how stuck you get on something once it catches your attention, figuring you’d get on a dating app and find some idiot in finance to take your virginity as soon as he put an end to this arrangement.
So he lets you slip to your knees off the couch, taking his hesitance to decline again as a positive sign.
“Wait.” He interjects and you freeze, sighing in annoyance as you prepare for him to give another reason you can’t do it. Instead he pulls one of the pillows off the couch and slides in near his feet, your eyes softening as you shift so you’re kneeling on the plush cushion instead of the floor.
“How do I start?” You ask softly, eyeing the bunched up fabric in front of you with interest. He has to stare at the ceiling for a second, slightly losing it at the sight of you kneeling on his floor between his legs. “Do I have to get you ready?”
“No.” He says it gruffly and you tense again, his tone way sharper than he’d meant for it to be. “It’s… I’m ready baby trust me. Just give me a second.”
That calms you down immediately, enough that you rest your head on his knee as you try your best to be patient. His eyes go back to you at the touch and he watches the way you squirm against the pillow, clearly still riled up from the kissing and maybe even the thought of taking him in your mouth.
“Has it been awhile Jack?” Your voice is ridiculous now, clearly teasing him and developing this soft purr that almost irritates him.
His hand goes into your hair at the sound of it, tightening enough that you lift your cheek off his knee and stare up at him with wide eyes.
“Watch it.” He says lowly, using his free hand to untie his scrub pants as you eye the movement with fascination. Your lips part as you stare at his hand and the way his fingers twist the strings, he has half the thought to make you choke on the digits before you try and take anything bigger but your attitude has left him feeling just as impatient. “We’ve got to work on your manners if you want me to teach you.”
That makes you snap back into focus, frowning at his words and shaking your head as you straighten up on your knees.
“I have manners Jack.” You’re clearly trying to convince him, small hands smoothing over his thighs.
He starts to deny it but he’s cut off when you lean forward to nuzzle against him, face pressing right where he’s currently aching under two layers of fabric. His breath catches in his throat and he instinctively tightens the hand that’s in your hair, mumbling out an apology when you make a pained noise but barely loosening it after.
He feels like he needs to keep it there to have any sort of control in this situation, especially given the way you’re almost desperately rubbing your face on his lap.
“Should’ve told me you were this needy.” He half scolds as he shifts his waistband down lower, waiting for you to notice and pick yourself up just long enough to get his pants down.
You don’t give him long at all before you’re back to obsessing over the sight in front of you, eyes fully dazed now that it’s just his boxers separating you from putting your mouth on his hard length.
You’re clearly trying to be patient in an attempt to prove you have any sort of manners, a little pride rippling through him similar to the feeling he got when you had corrected yourself the other night to politely ask him for a kiss.
“You wouldn’t have done anything about it.” You say softly, not accusatory but confident in it like you know it’s true. You lean forward and kiss against the covered bulge, a groan leaving him. “You’re too good of a guy.”
“Clearly not.” He rasped just as you start to lose that faux patience you’re trying so hard to pretend you have, tugging at the waistband of his underwear and smiling softly when he lifts his hips off the couch without arguing. “And you know I never tell you no sweetheart.”
“Yeah?” You’re still trying to talk to him but now you’re completely lost in the sight of him half naked and sitting there with his legs spread in front of you, too desperate to even be intimidated by the size of him. “You would’ve let me do this months ago Jackie?”
He sighs and tightens his hold in your hair again, bringing you forward until he can feel your breath where he’s most sensitive.
Your eyes flicker up to him and the sight is devastating for how deprived he’s been, a pretty young girl like you sitting so nicely on your knees for the first time ever. He can barely even feel that guilt and slightly sick sensation, knowing how perverted it is that he could probably get off just looking at your face and thinking about the way he’s about to corrupt you.
“Stop talking.” He instructs gruffly and you nod eagerly, eyes back on his length and only now looking a little nervous as you swallow before your lips part in anticipation. “You sure you want to do this?”
“Want it so bad.” You don’t hesitate to answer and your voice is a little whinier, swaying forward like you don’t even realize you’re doing it.
Jack lets you move until you’re right there, eyes locked on your face as you give him a nervous look and try to take him in your mouth.
It’s awkward and you’re tense, expression full of hesitation like you’re waiting for him to tell you how to do it properly but he lets himself bask in this for a few seconds.
He knows it’s sick but he finds you the most beautiful like this, confused and desperate to please him without knowing how to. You go between sucking and licking at the tip of his length and while it feels good, no doubt about that especially after how long it’s been, it’s nothing compared to how clearly inexperienced you are.
Finally, he snaps out of his sick fantasies of watching you embarrass yourself trying to please him, and he decides to actually do what you’d asked and teach you something.
“Relax your jaw baby. Just take what you can okay?” His voice is low and gentle, hand loose in your hair but clenching into a tight fist whenever you brush against his sensitive skin with your teeth on accident or try to overachieve and take him deeper.
You do seem to calm down a little now that he’s finally speaking, shoulders slumping and your eyes fluttering shut as you get used to the feeling of him on your tongue.
You’ve barely taken him at all but he’s transfixed by the sight, perfectly content to sit here and cock warm your mouth until you were ready to move him down your throat.
He watches you closely as you pull back to take a few deep breaths, pouting a little at his length and hesitating before you’re touching him with your hand. It’s all experimental, tugging and feeling the skin against your palm while he grunts above you and tries to control himself.
It’s barely sexual on your end considering how fascinated you are by the new experience but he’s halfway losing his mind knowing this is the first time you’re touching somebody like this.
“I gotta go soon sweetheart.” He says and your eyes finally snap back up to him, turning a little red considering you’d been caught just staring at his length as you touched him. “You can play with me all you want after my shift.”
Now you’re full on blushing but you nod your head obediently and lean back in to take him in your mouth again, a little more confident now as you lick around the head and repeat movements whenever it draws a sound out from him.
Jack can barely stand it and he has to put both hands in your hair to keep himself from fucking up into your warm mouth, groaning from the effort it’s taking and considering telling you to get back on the couch before he goes too far with you too early.
You’re clearly just as impatient because you try to take more of him finally and immediately gag at the sensation, pulling back and frowning up at him.
“Help Jackie.” Your voice is whiny and has a little rasp to it now and he kisses his teeth at the sound, petting your hair back out of your face.
“I can’t help with that baby, you’ve just got to practice.” He tries his best to soothe you but you’re clearly frustrated.
“Can’t you just force my head down?” You’re rubbing his thighs as you speak in that ridiculously bratty voice, wiggling around on the pillow like the thought alone is exciting you.
He wants to say no, wants to tell you why it’s such a terrible idea for him to forcefully fuck your throat right before he has to go to work. There’s a million reasons he should be rejecting you right now but that sick voice in the back of his head is struggling to get the words out, especially when you go back to softly kitten licking at his length to keep him hard.
“Fuck you’re nasty.” He gruffs out and your eyes light up at the words, nodding your head and taking him back in your mouth as you keep trying your best to fit him deeper. “You want me in your throat that bad?”
You can’t talk now but your desires are obvious.
He eyes the way you’re shifting on the cushion below you, adjusting his foot the best he can so it’s between your thighs as you kneel. That seems to make you even more desperate, rubbing against him almost feverishly now as you try to focus on having him in your mouth.
There’s no option to do so when he brings his hands back to your hair, silently showing you he accepts your request when he moves his hips off the couch and keeps your face firmly in place so he can push deeper down your throat.
He feels you gag slightly around him but your eyes roll to the back of your head at the same time and you hump against his foot even faster so he can’t find it in himself to stop, thrusting slowly to make sure you don’t end up getting sick or feeling too sore by the time he’s finished.
Jack knows this is far beyond teaching, he’s not even speaking anymore and instead just using your throat to get himself off but you’re even more eager for it than him and he’d never deny you anything you asked for.
“This tiny little throat.” His voice is nearing a growl as he helps move your head up and down his length, reveling in the way you gag and drool around him. “You’re doing so good baby.”
The praise seems to do it for you more than anything else, rubbing your core against his foot so eagerly that you can barely focus on sucking him off. You’re getting too messy to control yourself, mouth slipping off every few thrust before you whine at the loss and immediately take him back in your throat.
Jack takes pity on both of you, both for his own sanity and because he can’t stop thinking about the fact he’ll need to leave as soon as this is done.
You’re clearly upset when he pulls you off, making a loud noise of disagreement that barely sounds like an actual word and frowning at him when he sends you a stern look and wraps his hand around himself instead.
You seem to forget your anger pretty quickly as you watch him touch himself, hips slowed down to a slow rock against his foot as you stare at his length and the way he’s making himself feel good above you.
Jack has to look away when he comes because he feels pretty close to forcing your head back down and making you swallow it, although half positive you’d actually enjoy that more than him judging by how eager you are to try things.
You’re laying your head back on his thigh while he grunts and curses, tightening his fist and going back to staring at your face just for a brief moment so he has a clearer picture to think about.
It’s quiet in the living room afterwards and he feels an odd sense of embarrassment, a rare vulnerability considering you’re still fully clothed and kneeling on the floor. He fixes one of those problems by effortlessly pulling you up by your arms, settling you back against the cushions.
He stands and pulls his pants up while he does so, knowing he’ll have to shower off before he can go to work and get a new pair of scrubs anyways.
There’s a second of hesitation before he goes to get you some water, leaning over your dazed frame and kissing you softly.
“Was it good?” You ask quietly against his mouth, hand tangling in his hair like you don’t want him to go anywhere without answering you first. “You stopped me.”
“You were perfect.” He answers simply and he means it, would probably feel the same if you had accidentally bit him though.
“I wanted to taste you.” You’re pouting again and every time he thinks he gets used to you, you prove him beyond wrong. He sighs and leans further against you on the couch so you’re fully sinking into the cushion below you.
“Next time.”
It comes out before he can stop it and he fully plans to backtrack but your eyes light up at the idea of him letting you do that again so he doesn’t, letting it linger for a few seconds.
“Not when I have to leave you right after. You won’t like it and I don’t want to hurt you.” He’s talking in the stern and no nonsense way he does at work, trying to make sure you understand even though you’re slowly starting to smile as he speaks and he realizes you’re probably not paying any attention.
“You won’t hurt me Jack.” You whisper and it’s so sweet he almost considers calling in so he can stay with you a little longer. “Not in a way I won’t like.”
That makes him scoff out a laugh, a rare sound from him and you look even more pleased at the noise.
“You don’t even know what you like sweetheart.” He says softly and brushes your hair out of your face, letting both his fingertips and eyes trail down your neck until he reaches your collarbones. “But I’ll show you.”
“You’ll show me?” You’re teasing him now, biting your bottom lip to try and hide your smile to no avail.
“Yeah I will.” He smiles too and kisses you again, a little too soft considering what you actually are to each other.
He eventually manages to get off of you long enough to get you some water, watching carefully as you take a few sips and rubbing your knee when you wince at first. He wants to feel guilty for making your throat sore but he can’t, sick enough to admit he just feels the urge to make you take him deeper next time to see if you’ll really let him.
You’re still laying on his couch when he gets out of his brief shower, having changed his pants and taken a few deep breaths while staring in the mirror to try and get ahold of himself. He needs to switch back to reality for atleast a few hours, become the weathered doctor who doesn’t lose his mind over a pretty girl asking for favors.
You set your phone down on your chest, giving him your full attention as he moves towards the door to tug his shoes on.
There’s no indication you plan to leave before he does but he can’t find it in himself to mind the intrusion, going back over to the couch to give you a kiss on the forehead.
“Staying here?” He says in a low voice and you nod eagerly, eyes locked on his.
He lets himself think about his entire way to work, the image of you being there when he gets home from a hard shift. It had been a long time since he had someone to come home to and having you across the hall was already a gift within itself.
Now you’d crossed a line and if he let himself forget the terms and conditions, the fact you were loosely using him just to end up with somebody else as the actual end goal, then he could pretend for a moment that you were the person he got to crawl into bed with when work was tough.
Despite how much he thought about you during his shift, every moment he wasn’t being bombarded with questions or saving somebody’s life on autopilot, you weren’t actually there when he came back.
He knew it before he even opened the door, confirmed by how neatly the pillows on the couch were placed again and the fact your glass of water was rinsed and put away in the dishwasher.
You’d made it look like you were never even there and he knew you still enjoyed his company, maybe enjoyed the newly added sexual dynamic even more, but that didn’t mean you wanted to comfort him after he lost a patient or help soothe him when his leg was bothering him from standing all day.
Jack had to remind himself of the part he was playing in your life currently and try his best to not be disappointed.
It’s two days until he sees you again and he thinks it’s one of the longest spans you’ve gone without talking in almost a year.
He’s just about to start really acting out of character by banging at your front door and asking if you’re avoiding him when he runs into you downstairs, freezing as soon as he enters the lowly lit laundry room to find you leaning against one of the washers and looking extremely bored.
You’re as beautiful as always, casually dressed in nothing but an old band shirt that hangs off your shoulder and a pair of shorts so small he’s pretty sure it’s just boxy underwear.
You don’t look up when he comes in until his leg slightly catches on the step, accustomed enough to the sound of the light dragging he sometimes can’t stop from happening when he’s extra tired.
It’s a relief to find that you don’t have any awkwardness on your face, no sign of being uncomfortable or upset with him.
Then he figures that might just be worse.
He would just about die if he had done anything that made you want to avoid him but the alternative seems to be that you just didn’t want to speak to him and that makes his chest sting.
There’s nothing but silence and the rattling of the old washer as it rocks back and forth on the cement floor, both of you seemingly having decided to not speak to each other first.
(sorry for the brief awkward spacing tumblr says this is too long)
It’s another five minutes of the now awkward stretch of quiet before you clear your throat, turning to face him where he’s fidgeting with his laundry baskets broken handle just to have something to focus on.
“So I went on a date last night.” You say softly, eyebrows raised like you’re genuinely interested in his reaction.
His stomach turns but it’s a relief to have you looking at him again so he takes it, swallowing hard and racking his brain for a response that’s appropriate.
“How’d it go?” He’s asking out of politeness but he’s silently praying you suddenly decide you don’t want to tell him about it. It wouldn’t even make him feel better to hear it had ended terribly, not wanting you to feel any type of negative emotions even if it technically was in his benefit.
He definitely can’t take any sort of mention of you being with another guy physically. He knows it’s coming eventually, it’s the sole purpose behind why he even gets to touch you, but he’s not ready just yet.
You’re quiet again and he really looks at you now, takes in the silent contemplation on your face and the way you tap your fingers on the metal of the washer for a second before pushing off of it entirely.
Then you’re in his space again and it’s like an instinctive move to cup your face, hand on your waist so he can lightly push you back against the machine he’d been in front of. You touch his chest, lightly rubbing in soft circles, and he wants to sigh in relief if that wouldn’t be so painfully obvious.
“Wasn’t a great time.” You whisper and your eyes are on his lips as you speak.
His eyebrows raise and his hand on your body tightens slightly at the same time he uses his thumb to press under your chin and make you tilt your jaw back.
“Why not?” He hates the thought of getting details but he needs to know some idiot from a dating app hadn’t done anything to hurt you.
You don’t answer right away, just standing there and letting your eyes scan over his features on rotation. You finally let out a small breath like you’re about to speak but it never comes, small hands moving to grip his biceps.
“Did he touch you?” He can’t stop himself from asking even though the question makes his voice come out low enough that your eyes flash with surprise for a second, snapping away from his mouth to meet his stare again like you’re looking for something in it.
You shake your head immediately, squeezing his arms and shifting against the vibrating machine.
He’s kissing you then and he tells himself it’s out of relief, the knowledge that you’re still untouched by anybody except for him instantly making this conversation easier.
You’re returning it right away and he’s pleasantly surprised by how quickly you caught on to the type of kissing he likes, his personal preference. He figures he should eventually tell you that not ever guy was going to like your constant licking into his mouth but for now he lets it be, wants you to be trying to please him specifically and not whoever you’d use these lessons with.
It’s ridiculously cute how desperate you get, only needing a few seconds of your tongue inside his mouth before you’re arching off the machine and making soft noises against his lips.
His hands are all over you as soon as he notices the state of you, sliding down to cup your ass with both palms and tug you tighter to his frame.
That makes you out rightly whimper, clumsily trying to hitch a leg around his waist and sighing in relief when he holds your thigh to keep it there. The wet sounds of your mouths fill the small room, body slightly shaking both from need and from the way the washer is vibrating against your back.
“Missed you.” You whimper it out when he pulls back to let you breathe, kissing down your jaw and tightening his grip on the soft curve hidden under your underwear. “Didn’t call me.”
“Were you waiting for me to call baby?” He asks softly, despite how much it had been bothering him, he would never want to make you feel guilty for not reaching out to him after what you’d done.
You don’t answer so he pulls his head out of your neck to look at your face, seeing the soft frown and the hesitation in your eyes.
“Hey.” He breaths out and pushes your hair back to get your attention fully on him, your body softening and completely leaning against his to the point you’d definitely fall if he took a step backwards. “I wanted to give you space. Let you decide when you wanted to continue this, if you did.”
“I don’t want space.” You counter and it’s a little past bratty but he’s so beyond fond of you that he can’t help but let the corners of his mouth turn up at the sound of it. “You’re supposed to take care of me.”
He’s not sure when your dynamic became this way but he feels it as much as you apparently do, knows it’s his duty to make sure you’re always fine and not needing anything he can’t fix. Now there’s the added element of making you feel good, touching you in ways you’re not used to and showing you what pleasure can be like, and he’s not taking it lightly.
“Then I’ll call.” He say softly and your eyes lock on his as you nod in agreement, his hand cupping your cheek so he can keep you still enough to kiss you briefly. “You want me to chase you and I’ll chase you.”
“Right now I just want you to kiss me.” You whisper and he doesn’t need to hear anything else.
You’re back to kissing and it’s feverish now, more tongue than anything and your hands groping each other anywhere you can touch.
He’s lifting you up off the ground just so he can press himself between your legs and swallow the soft needy noises you let out at the feeling, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist so he can’t pull away at all. You’re pressed back against the metal with his hands under your shirt and wrapped around your frame to make sure you don’t fall, thick fingers splayed out against your ribs.
It’s getting hotter in the room and it’s mostly due to the way you’re whining and trying to roll your hips into him, unsuccessful considering how hard he’s got you pinned back to the washer.
“Jack please.” You pant and pull away from his mouth, tucking into his neck and rubbing your soft cheek against his stubble like a needy cat. “Please touch me. Do anything.”
He’s grunting at the request and gently setting you back down on your feet so he can free up a hand, using it to push your shirt up to your neck. He’s not too surprised to find that you’re not wearing anything underneath and your surprised gasp swallows the sound of his low groan.
You’re whining lewdly when he leans down to press kisses against your skin, middle of your breast first to avoid putting his mouth where you really want it. You’re panting, chest rising and falling under his mouth, and tangling a hand in his ash colored curls to try and steer him where you need him.
He wants to smack your hand away and warn you to be patient but he wants you too bad to try and discipline you right now, letting his mouth latch onto to one of your hard nipples so he can hear whatever noise that brings out of you.
It’s loud and intoxicating, his head spinning a little as he keeps sucking and licking your skin, letting your shirt rest on the top of his head so he can use his other hand to roughly grope your other breast and make sure you’re getting equal attention.
“Oh fuck Jack.” You’re whimpering and trying to hump against nothing, back arching as you whine and hold him to your body like he has any plans of getting away from you. “T-that feels so good.”
“Come upstairs.” His voice is so rough it surprises himself, picking his head off your chest and letting your shirt drop so he can kiss you swiftly.
You frown at the loss of contact, rubbing your nose against his and still lightly petting his hair.
“Why not here?” You ask softly and he gives you a disapproving look that makes you sigh and rest your forehead down against his shoulder for a few seconds while you catch your breath. “It’s too far.”
He thinks for a moment before he’s adjusting his stance to pick you up off the ground, abandoning your laundry and his that both likely need to be switched out soon. He’d gladly let it sit and wash it again later if it means getting you up to his apartment as fast as possible.
You make a small surprised noise and cling to him, arms behind his neck and legs wrapped around his middle and he makes his way up the few stairs towards the elevators.
“Jack your leg.” The sight of the steps seems to remind you of his disability and he’d be more irritated by your worry if it didn’t sound so genuine.
You clearly don’t ever think too much about his leg restricting him, never shying away from asking him to lift heavy things or walk with you down to the store. You don’t treat him like he’s fragile or any less of a man for having limitations and he’s always liked that about you, same way he somehow likes your gentle concern even though it would have bothered him if it was anybody else.
“Think I can’t throw you around because of my leg?” He mumbles and you tense in his hold as he walks like you think he might be serious before you’re breathing out a laugh and hiding in his neck.
Jack finally gets back to his apartment, going crazy from the way you’d started to kiss his jaw and whine impatiently in the elevator. Your hands run up and down his arms like you’re marveling at the strength it takes to carry you for as long as he was, making soft needy noises and squirming around.
He can’t even care about the possibility somebody could see him with you, one of the neighbor he’d lived next to for years watching as Jack Abbot carries the much younger girl next door through his entry way as she whines for him to touch her more.
“Calm down baby.” His voice is soft once he gets to his room, setting you down on his bed and taking a few seconds to stare at you as you lay there and pout up at him.
You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and his gut twists a little at the observation, a mixture of desperate unfamiliar need and the same guilt from before accompanied by a new layer of it.
He thinks of his wife for the first time in a while. He used to spend every waking second with her on his mind but she had naturally started to fade from his mind once he met you, something he hadn’t even noticed until you’d already been living across the hall for a few months.
You’d came over for the first time and asked him to borrow some ingredients, strolling around his living room and eyeballing the photos on his walls while he poured some sugar into a small tupperware bowl for you to take back to your place. You had turned to him with a curious face and asked him where his wife was, obviously confused considering you’d never heard of her before despite how frequently you and him small talked.
That was the first time Jack noticed how little he’d been thinking of her lately, not just in the painful mourning way he’d been suffering through since she passed but in general too.
Now he was waking up in the morning and anticipating the next time you’d knock on his door, focusing on his health again so he could occupy you on your walks and not picking up too many extra shifts at work just incase you needed something and he wasn’t there.
Jack was thinking about her again now as you laid on his bed but only because he couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted something this bad, trying to compare the feeling of you to how he felt in his marriage and still thinking it fell short.
He had loved his wife, undoubtedly, but he craved you in a way that almost felt inhumane.
“You’re being mean to me.” You say softly to break him out of his trance, having zoned out just staring down at you and the way your chest was rising and falling with every deep breath.
“I’m never mean to you honey.” He whispers back and finally moves to lay down with you, hovering over your frame and running a hand from your waist to your ribs as he kisses you softly. “I take good care of you, don’t I?”
It’s a bit mean to throw your words from earlier back in your face, especially as he lets his mouth trail down your neck. You make a whiny noise and grip his shoulders, nodding your head and shifting under him so your legs are spread further.
“Yes Jack yes, you take care of me.” You’re practically whimpering and he feels almost drunk from how easily you get this needy, pausing his soft kisses to shift up on his knees and tug your shirt over your head.
You’re the prettiest sight he’s ever seen and he can’t help himself from bringing his mouth right back to your chest, drinking in the way you gasp and moan while he’s licking and sucking on your nipples. His other hand is softly groping whichever breast he doesn’t have his mouth on at the moment and your backs arching off his bed, scratching his shoulders through his shirt.
“Please touch me.” You’re begging after only a few minutes of the slow torture and he lets out a sharp breath, shifting so he’s more to the side of you than on top.
You’re quiet when he rubs his hand down your chest and over your stomach, rubbing at the waistband of your underwear for a few seconds just to hear the way you pant before he’s smoothing over your thighs.
Your back is basically against his chest as he hooks your leg over his to make sure yours are nice and spread for him, kissing your neck softly when he rubs your hips above your underwear.
You bare your neck for him easily and he’s selfish in the way he marks you, sucking any part of your warm skin he can reach so you’re left purple and red all over. He wants anybody you see for the next week or two to know you’ve been with somebody else, to see the claim he laid to your body even if he doesn’t let things go as far as you want him to take it.
Jack doesn’t need to be asked twice to touch you, big hand leaving your hip so he can fully palm your core.
Your reaction is just the way he had hoped it would be, sharp gasp leaving your lips as you instantly buck up against his touch. You whine desperately when he goes back to rubbing your thigh instead, giving you a second to work yourself up to the point he wants you to be at.
“Jack.” You don’t even sound like yourself now and it’s intoxicating, so pleading and broken. “Please.”
“Please what?” He’s practically whispering, perfectly calm and the direct opposite of how broken you sound just from him lightly touching you.
He moves you so you’re fully between his legs, back against his chest as he cages himself around you to keep you from moving.
You’re practically shaking, whimpering and moving your hips against nothing with the hopes he’ll cave and end up touching you again. You’re distracting to look at, body bare except for the pathetic excuse of underwear shorts you’d been wearing under your shirt, like you’d just been hoping he would be the one to find you in the laundry mat.
He has half the thought to make fun of you for that, make you tell him exactly what you were thinking when you left your apartment wearing so little, but he doesn’t think you could handle him saying much at all right now especially not something so demeaning.
“I’m going to touch you.” He says gently instead and kisses the side of your head, letting his hand go back to groping your chest just to make sure you stay worked up.
Even though he doubts at this point he even needs to touch you for that to happen.
“Yeah yeah.” You’re nodding in agreement, seemingly pleased at his decision as you relax back against him and let him touch you freely.
His other hands back between your legs now, letting you get used to the feeling of somebody touching you where you’re most sensitive. He’s just rubbing back and forth, listening to the way you pant and pulling back whenever you start to try and shift against his hand on your own.
“You’re wet just from that?” His voice is a little mean now but you don’t seem to mind, trying to clamp your thighs around his hand but being stopped by the sharp swat he sends to your skin. You wince but move your foot back to the other side of his leg so yours stay open, pouting softly at the silent punishment. “Answer me when I ask you something.”
“I’m always wet around you.” You admit with an embarrassed tone lacing your words, squirming like you wish you could hide yourself from the way he’s staring down at your body. “Want you so bad.”
“I want you too.” He kisses the side of your head, still rubbing you with just enough pressure to make you feel the friction but not to actually get off. “Gonna make you feel so good, you’ve just got to be patient.”
“Stop being scared to hurt me.” Your voice is shaky but as firm as possible, trying to show him you’re a big girl and can handle a little bit of the roughness he’s so clearly holding back.
It’s obvious in the way he was grabbing your throat your first kiss, moving your body around easily whenever he needed to, and scolding you just enough for you to be able to catch the mean tone seeping in accidentally.
Jack clearly has a darker side to him that he’s not letting you see and it’s obviously frustrating you, wanting to be taken seriously.
“I’ll hurt you if that’s what you want sweetheart but not for your first time.” His words don’t leave any room for argument so you don’t even try, sinking back against his firm chest and letting out a deep breath when he shifts behind you and presses himself forward.
It’s not long before you’re not able to wait anymore and he lets you scramble to tug down your underwear, keeping his fingers lightly rubbing between your folds and watching as you struggle to get the fabric past his insistent hand.
Eventually he lets you pull them off and then he’s right back to touching you, bare this time. You both suck in a breath at the contact and you’re practically laying down from how far you’d slid down his chest, spreading your legs as wide as they can go and whimpering while he touches you.
“Do you touch yourself like this baby?” He can’t help the curiosity, the image of you in your bed trying to get yourself off stuck in his mind now.
You shake your head and frown, trying to twist your neck to look at him but being stopped when he uses his free hand to roughly grip your chin and make you keep your eyes on the way he’s touching you, thumb on your sensitive clit now while you roll your hips the best you can.
“No I…” You can barely think let alone speak, clearly struggling as you make a pained and desperate noise. “I get nervous.”
Jack sighs and collects some of your wetness on his middle finger before finally pressing it against the tightness of your hole, not pushing in just yet but teasing it with light pressure and letting you get used to the feeling.
“When you’re with somebody, they should always be this gentle with you at first.” He’s saying softly, remembering that he’s supposed to be actually teaching you something and not just getting you off because he desperately wants to.
You frown deeply as he starts to talk and he doesn’t really understand why, thinks maybe you’re still being pouty that he won’t get rougher with you.
He tries to distract you by finally pressing a finger inside of you and it seems to work for a second, another gasp leaving you as you instinctively clench around the intrusion. He groans, his length throbbing against your back at the thought of being fully inside you instead of just a finger.
“Fuck you’re tight.” He rasps and buries his face in your hair for a few seconds to try and collect himself enough to keep teaching you something, anything at all so he doesn’t keep letting himself think this is something it isn’t. “They’ll have to really get you stretched before anything okay? You need to remember that baby.”
It bothers him so much he can barely focus, the thought of somebody not taking their time with you. He doesn’t want to picture you with another man in general but especially not in a way that hurts you, leaves you too sore the next morning with nobody to take care of you.
He’s so distracted by his own thoughts that he doesn’t notice your face stiffening at first, body a little tenser against him even though you’re still softly squirming to try and get him to put his finger deeper inside you.
“Jack stop.”
He does so immediately and goes to pull out of you before you’re making a panicked noise and closing your thighs around his hand. He lets you this time, pauses all movements just to wait for whatever it is that you need.
“N-no don’t stop that, god please don’t stop that.” Your voice is breathier now like the thought of him taking his hand away from you makes your chest tighten. “Just… stop talking about anyone else.”
It takes him a few seconds to register that and then his hands moving again, enough for you to relax and spread your legs back open.
You’re both quiet now as he adds another finger, lingering in the weight of your request and what it could mean if anything. He’s half sure you only asked because it was pulling you out of the moment, maybe making you nervous to think about doing this again with actual stakes, but the way you desperately tried to stop him from pulling away lets him pretend it was for another reason.
He’s selfish in the way he touches you now, thick fingers moving in and out of you while you cry and whine, gripping at his forearm whenever it feels like too much. He likes the way your nails dig into his arm when you think you might be close, thighs clenching and shifting when his thumb gently circles your swollen clit and how your lips part in breathy cries of his name.
He especially likes that.
You come with moans of his name filling the room and nobody else’s after you’d specifically asked him to stop mentioning other guys. Jack knows it’s selfish, even a little sick and perverted, but he could probably finish just from hearing that.
He’s throbbing against your back and he’s sure you’d be able to feel it if you were able to focus on anything after coming, body shaking a little as you pant endlessly and fall limb in his hold.
There’s a lot of softness that comes after, kissing the side of your head and being gentle in the way he cleans you up. It’s torture to be between your legs and getting to fully appreciate the sight of you for the first time without be able to touch you more but he doesn’t want to overstimulate you so early on.
He does let himself think about that vividly though, kissing against your thighs and picturing when he’s going to be able to put his mouth on you.
You’re quiet above him, eyes a little tired but still overly soft as you run your fingers through his hair and watch him wipe you down.
Then he’s back ontop of you and kissing you softly, shifting your back so you’re laying back against the pillows and not sitting up. It’s soft and bordering on romantic which makes his chest tighten, hoping you have no plans to leave his bed anytime soon.
“You okay?” He asks quietly against your mouth and he can feel you smiling, still touching his hair with one hand and letting the other drift down to the back of his neck.
“Felt so good.” You whisper back and your voice is a little hoarse from all the whining you’d been doing, nose bumping against his and then rubbing on his stubble for a few seconds. “Can I take a nap here?”
“You can do anything you want.” He says immediately, no hesitation as he gets up to get you one of his shirts and help you get comfortable, jumping at the opportunity to keep you with him just like he wanted.
Jack typically has a hard time sleeping through the night in general so he definitely never naps, needing to be truly past the brink of exhaustion to ever rest.
Yet he finds it to be the most simple thing in the world to crawl into his bed with you after taking off his leg, kissing you for a few more minutes before he’s wrapping you in his arms and tugging you back against his chest. He’s rubbing your stomach softly, hand under the shirt he’s given you, listening intently until he hears your breathing even out and then drifting to sleep right after you.
—
It’s one of the highlights of his decade to get to wake up with you still there, warm and making soft tired noises when you feel him start to stir.
His room is dark now other than the slight illumination coming from the moon outside of his window, casting just enough light for him to be able to watch your eyes flutter open.
You give him a soft sleepy smile and instinctively lean in to give him a kiss.
It’s easy to pretend that you are more than whatever this is when you act like this, mouths moving together sensually as if you have nowhere else you’d want to be.
Jack groans softly when your tongue pushes into his mouth, meeting it eagerly with his own and moving so hes hovering over you. Your hands are on his back, spreading your legs below him to let him slot between them.
He feels like a teenager again from how quickly he gets hard, your soft body under his putting him under some sort of spell. His hips shift and you let out a needy whine, scratching his shoulders lightly like you’re trying to encourage him.
You’re still making out slowly when he starts to thrust down against you, slow rolls of his hips to give you just enough friction to start to get desperate.
You’re tugging at his shirt fabric and he takes only a second to sit up and pull it over his head, back on you immediately and kissing you even more frantically. He’s moving your own shirt up towards your ribs but neither one of you wants to stop long enough to take it off, only able to when you need a quick second to take a breath.
It’s the first time you’ve both been nearly undressed together and he feels the effects of it instantly, your chest pressing against his when he lays back over you. Your skin is soft and hot to the touch, those now familiar soft whines leaving you when he lets his hand knead at your chest again.
“Jack please.” You’re whimpering and he finally stops kissing you in favor of sucking at your neck, bringing those marks from earlier back to the surface. “Can’t you just fuck me?”
He groans at the words and has to tuck his face in your shoulder, still rocking his hips against you even though they stuttered when you said that in that whiny voice of yours.
“Trust me, I want to fuck you so bad I can’t even think.” It leaves his mouth before he can stop it, not wanting to reject you again without making sure you know how badly he wants you.
“Then do it.” You’re begging now and he picks his head up to look at you, eyes wide and a little frustrated like you know he’s going to say no. You gasp when he thrusts down even harder, biting your lip as you stare at each other desperately. “Please Jack? Want you inside me.”
“I can’t baby.” He growls and kisses you to give himself a second to think without you arguing.
You’re quick to forget you were trying to convince him of something because you’re kissing him back deeply, angling your head so his tongue can get further and further inside your mouth.
He has that sick and perverted thought again that he’s coincidentally training you to be the perfect girl for him, kissing in a way he likes and not knowing how else to do it. Jack is selfish and wants everything you do to be for him, wants your body to instinctively move and react how he taught you regardless of who gets you next.
The thought of somebody else makes him want to forget his morals and fuck you like you’re begging him, be the one to take your virginity and fill you up for the first time.
He starts to reason with himself that it would actually be a good thing because Jack would never let himself hurt you in a way you didn’t like, he’d make sure you felt good around him and came so hard you weren’t able to see straight.
There’s nobody else who could fuck you like he could so he’s almost convinced himself that it’s a good idea when your phone rings on the nightstand.
You both stop, you’re completely tense under him and he sighs as he kisses you one more time and rolls off of you.
He lays there on his back as you sit up to grab your phone, screen a little too bright in the dark room and causing you to wince. He stares at your pretty face under the light as you open it up and answer it, not thinking much about the interruption despite the small disappointment he feels.
His hand is on your bare knee and rubbing your skin is soft circles, soothing both you and himself by keeping the contact.
“Hello?” Your voice is as soft and sweet as always, a little confused sounding which makes his eyebrows raise. “Oh Carter.”
Jack tenses up at the sound of a males name leaving your lips, his hand freezing and falling still on your knee. You’re avoiding looking at him as you listen to whoever it is speak on the other line, a deep voice bleeding through the speakers just enough for him to hear but not enough to make out the words.
“Tonight?” Your eyes go to the small digital clock on Jacks side of the bed, having to glance over his body in the process. You meet his eyes just for a second before they’re darting away again and it makes the pit in his stomach grow in understanding. “Of course I didn’t forget. I’ll be ready by nine.”
You’re hanging up after a quiet goodbye and now it’s suffocatingly silent in the room.
You’re still sitting up with your legs crossed under you, avoiding looking at him like you’re not still wearing his shirt and covered in marks he’d given to you. He waits for a minute before he’s sitting up and running a hand over his face, on the opposite side of the bed from you and facing the wall so you can’t see his expression when he finally gets himself to speak.
“You’ve got a date tonight?” He rasps out, trying his best to sound unaffected even though it comes out low and tight.
“I forgot.” You whisper back and you sound further away now, a glance over his shoulder confirms that you’d stood up off the bed and are searching for the shirt you’d shown up in so you can swap out of his. “He’s taking me to some art show downtown.”
Jack stares at you as you move around the room, eyes scanning over your body when you pull his shirt over your head and neatly fold it before putting it on his dresser. It feels really final to watch you change back into your own clothes, turning to meet his eyes and letting out a soft sigh when you see he’s already watching you closely.
He hopes it doesn’t show on his face, doesn’t want to be too obvious that he’s probably about two seconds away from throwing up.
“Carter.” He says simply and now you really stiffen.
You stand there for a few seconds like you’re waiting for something, eyes a little expectant and then full on disappointed when he scoffs and moves to put his leg back on so he can stand up and get out of the room that’s suddenly suffocating.
You leave his apartment and all the warmth goes with you.
He stands in his dark kitchen with regret sitting heavy on his chest, wishing he had stopped you and asked you to stay with him instead.
He isn’t sure if it’s the fear of rejection or his own guilt that stopped him but he knew he couldn’t ask you to do that. You deserved better than him and his baggage, his late hours at work and his dangerous hobbies that he needed to keep himself busy with to not think about the things that sent him spiraling.
He couldn’t imagine forcing you into a life where you had to explain him to your friends and family, ignore the curious and judging looks from his own when they realized just how young you were.
Jack knew you were lonely, it was obvious considering how much time you willingly spent with him and it was bad enough he’d taken advantage of your desperation for connection and nearly slept with you.
He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he stopped you from enjoying your youth, having a fun late night in the city surrounded by artsy people your age and not stuck on his couch watching old reruns because he’s too tired after work to properly take you out.
Jack hates himself for thinking all this and then still obsessively wanting you.
So much so that he purposely lingers near his truck right around the time you’d told your date you’d be ready. In his defense, he did actually need a few things from the corner store, so he sat in the parking lot and waited until he saw you come down.
Your date met you at the entrance of the lobby but didn’t take your purse from you or the jacket you were holding, smiled at you politely but couldn’t be bothered to open the door of his car or even wait for you to get in before he did.
It made Jack sick to his stomach all over again, jaw clenched as he sat in the dark interior of his truck and watched you drive off with some asshole only an hour after he’d had you sleeping next to him, panting under him and begging him to fuck you.
Jack decides right then that it all needs to stop, not just the sex lessons but helping you in general. He can’t be that person for you without wanting more, he’s selfish and possessive over somebody that was never supposed to be his and he knows it’s not fair to you.
So he doesn’t answer any of your texts that night, stays quiet in his living room whenever you knock on his door and waits until he hears you leave for work before he goes to check the mail.
He feels terrible for avoiding you but keeps trying to convince himself it’s in your best interest.
Jack is half asleep when the silent treatment finally breaks.
He’d fallen asleep on his couch accidentally, a beer can too many on the table in front of him and the same movie he’d been watching beforehand starting to roll credits. He should have been in bed sleeping after pulling a double at work but he couldn’t stand being in there lately, tossing and turning and trying to catch the faint scent of you lingering on his pillows.
There was a second of confusion, not sure why he had waken up in the first place, until the sharp knocks on his door made him flinch.
He was standing up on autopilot to open it, wincing at how stiff and sore his leg felt from falling asleep with it still on.
Any thought of his pain was gone the second he opened his door and saw your face, tears on your cheeks and your eyebrows furrowed in frustration.
“I need to talk to you.” You said immediately and he ushered you into his apartment, not necessarily wanting to be in an enclosed space with you but recognizing your tearful voice was far too loud to have a conversation in the hallway.
“What’s wrong?” He said softly and takes a few steps towards you on instinct, cradling your cheek and staring down at you when you nuzzle against his touch. “Why are you crying?”
“Because you’re an asshole.” You seem to remember that you’re mad at him because you step away from his touch, pushing his arm back down to his side and storming further into his apartment.
He stands there completely frozen as you toss your purse onto the chair near the couch, your eyes scanning over the beer cans and the obvious indent of where he’d been sleeping.
Then you’re back to looking at him and he knows what he probably looks like to you. The exhaustion is obvious on his face, clothes a little baggier than normal from a lack of taking care of himself and a constant awkward shifting on his leg to keep pressure off of it.
“Why aren’t you talking to me?” Your voice cracks a little and he deflates, taking a few steps closer again even though he doesn’t think you want him to touch you. “Did I do something wrong?”
“What?” His face faces in disbelief at the idea you could ever do anything wrong in general, especially to him. “Of course you didn’t sweetheart.”
“Then why?” Your words are louder now and they linger in the tense air, face pained as you wait for him to answer.
He sighs and runs a hand over his stubble that desperately needs some maintenance, wishes he had the time to plan out everything he wanted to say to you so he doesn’t accidentally fuck it up more than he already had.
“I just… I can’t do it anymore.” He lets his hands fall to his sides with a loud defeated clap and shrugs his shoulders. “I can’t watch you go out with these idiots knowing they can’t take care of you.”
He hopes what he’s trying to say is an obvious to you as it is to him, not able to bring himself to actually voice the fact that he has feelings for you beyond helping out a neighbor.
“You didn’t stop me.” You sound devastated, head shaking like you don’t believe anything he’s saying to you.
You’re not crying anymore thankfully but you look so hurt and disappointed that it makes him physically ache, moving to grab your arm softly and guide you to sit down on the couch with him.
“I waited for you to stop me and you didn’t.” You continue once you’re sitting beside him, legs pressed together in a small amount of addicting content. “Isn’t it obvious by now that I only want to be with you?”
The words hit him so hard that he doesn’t even have time to process them, eyebrows furrowing as the need for more information pushes him to speak.
“Why would that be obvious? The entire point of this was for you to be ready for other people.”
You look a little embarrassed at his sound logic, staring down at your lap where your hands are fiddling with your fingers. He sighs and takes one of them in his, squeezing it softly until you let your gaze drift back up to his.
“I don’t want other people.” You whisper, staring at him with a small amount of hope in your eyes like you’re just waiting for him to understand. “And I don’t want you to be with anyone else either. I just figured… you wouldn’t cross that line without a good reason.”
Jack thinks it’s a little juvenile of a plan but he also knows you’re not wrong. He would have never touched you without the feeling of helping you out with something, no matter how much he had wanted you since the second you moved in.
That little lie was all he needed to get himself through the shame and guilt, the ability to pretend it was for a greater cause and not because he was sick and desperate for a girl half his age.
“Jack.” You sigh when he doesn’t respond for a few seconds, turning so you can face him better and press a soft kiss to the side of his jaw. “Stop thinking.”
“That’s a big ask.” He mumbles back but he gladly turns to give you a real kiss, holding your face in his hand and keeping your mouth against his.
You kiss until you run out of breath, pulling back from him but rubbing your nose against his and letting your small hands grip his forearm desperately.
“Then just be with me for tonight.” You try to reason with him in any way you can, rubbing his arm softly and blinking at him with those big pretty eyes that drive him so crazy.
He stares at you for a moment before he’s standing up off the couch and tugging you along with him, ignoring the little surprised noise you make in favor of lifting you up with his hands on the back of your thighs. You gasp and then giggle softly once he’s got you in the air, arms behind his neck and legs around his middle as he starts to walk you to his room.
“You’re crazy if you think you’re going anywhere after tonight.” He tells you once he gets you settled on his bed, kissing the smile off your face as he climbs over you.
It’s a direct mirror of the other night as you get each other undressed fully this time, kissing the entire time and tasting his tongue deep in your mouth when it starts to get more heated.
“You’re going to be mine.” He says firmly once he’s got you in nothing but your panties, making sure your eyes are locked on his when you hear it. His free hand is all over your body, rubbing from your smooth thigh up to your chest and cupping around your neck for a brief moment while he waits for you to respond. “If I fuck you then you’re mine.”
“I’ve been yours.” You whisper easily, like you didn’t have to put any thought into it.
He falters, hand tightening around your throat on instinct and then releasing the pressure when he sees the way your eyes light up with interest.
“Don’t be nasty baby.” He’s teasing, kissing the corner of your mouth and bringing your leg up so it’s around his waist and he can press himself against you. “Gonna be gentle with you for your first time. You deserve it.”
“I want you to fuck me.” You’re pouting and gripping at him impatiently, running your hand between your bodies to touch his stomach and fidget with the waistband of his boxers. “That’s what I want Jackie.”
“Didn’t ask what you wanted.” He grumbles back, not caring that it comes off a little mean because you whine at the sound of how rough his voice had gotten and he knows you like it.
He’s back to kissing you and it’s filthier than normal, more tongue and spit than anything else.
You’re as vocal as always, whining and begging impatiently when he gets your underwear off and starts to touch you again.
Jack can barely think straight when he’s back inside of you, fingers pushing in easier this time now that you’ve felt the intrusion before and know what to expect. You’re gasping and crying out immediately, unintelligible words that he blocks out in favor of focusing on how you feel when he’s stretches you out.
“Want it so bad.” Your near sob gets through to him and he hisses through clenched teeth at how wrecked you sound already, shushing you softly and kissing your cheeks to try and calm you down.
“I know baby I know.” He’s whispering but you don’t seem to be hearing him, spreading your legs further to try and make space for him to slot back between them instead of using his fingers.
Jack is just as impatient as you but he’s terrified of hurting you too early, although throbbing so hard in his boxers that it’s painful to shift around.
It’s not long before it’s too much prep for both of you and you’re watching him with your chest heaving as he gets himself undressed the rest of the way, leg going on the floor right alongside your underwear that he had slowly pulled down your body before climbing back over you.
Your eyes go down between your bodies where his leg is and he tenses for a second despite knowing you mean well with the concern you have on your face.
“Let me ride you.” You say softly and his chest tightens with that old familiar shame he was still actively working on ridding himself of.
“I can fuck you.” He says gruffly and your eyes flash with regret, pouting a little like you’re worried you’ve hurt his feelings with your thoughtful suggestion. He kisses the expression off your face, a long deep one followed by a few quick pecks to try and ease your mind. “Next time baby.”
He says it both because he knows realistically he has limitations, there will be plenty of nights he’s not able to rail you into his mattress like he wants to, but also because he knows he would die a happy man the second he got to see you bouncing on top of him and desperately trying to get yourself off.
You look like you want to argue but you’re stopped when he’s pushing your legs apart and moving between them, sharp gasp leaving you when you feel his hard length pressing against you finally.
“Fuck Jack.” Your voice is sharp and already a little pained just from the dull sensation of him lining up with your hole, a growl leaving him at the sound of your distress.
“Just relax baby.” He says as softly as he can even though his throat feels tight and raw, kissing you gently to try and get you to calm down enough for him to push in. “You’re too tight sweetheart.”
“I… I can’t.” You let out another sharp cry when he shifts forward, nails digging into his shoulders so deep it makes him wince and lower his head down on your shoulder.
Jack has to use every ounce of self control he can muster to not just fully push himself into you and feel that tight heat he’s getting a taste of, that same sick and selfish part of him that wants you in the first place begging him to just take you already.
Instead he takes a few deep breaths before he’s kissing you with more focus, going back and forth between softly rubbing your side and massaging your inner thigh to try and urge your body to relax and accommodate him.
It’s a torturous ten minutes, especially due to your soft whimpers and the way you cry his name whenever he accidentally moves himself deeper.
Then you’re finally calm enough, bare chest rising and falling with the deep breaths he’d instructed you to take.
“Want you inside Jack.” You’re whining in his ear, clinging to him tightly and almost suffocating him when he immediately takes your queue and pushes in. You tense up again at the brief surge of pain and then let out a satisfied cry when you feel how full you are, clenching around him so ridiculously that he almost needs to pull out to give himself a break despite barely starting.
You’re both too overwhelmed to speak much more once he starts to actually fuck you, deep thrust accompanied by filthy kisses to keep you from waking up the neighbors with how desperately you’re whining for him to keep giving you more.
It’s pure need on both ends, your hips eagerly rocking upwards to try and meet his thrust sloppily while he uses his free hand to roughly push down on your stomach and keep you in place.
“Jackie.” It’s nearly a sob from you now and he can tell you’re close from how much tighter you’d gotten, almost an impossible squeeze for him to keep fucking you through.
He’s grateful you’re so inexperienced because he doesn’t think he’d last long either, not with the way you look as you stare up at him with teary and trusting eyes.
“I know baby you’re doing so good for me.” It’s more of a growl than anything else but he can barely think let alone speak enough to keep encouraging you. “Taking me so well sweetheart.”
“I’m so full Jack.” You whimper and cling to him tighter, nearly pulling him fully down on top of you and knocking him off his balance. “Feels so good.”
You’re stuttering through your sentences and slurring each word, eyes a little dazed in a way that makes him need to squeeze his shut to avoid coming inside you just from that fucked out look you have.
It’s more sweet than heated when you actually do finally reach your peak, holding onto him still and kissing the side of his jaw softly with your face buried in his neck as you squirm and shake your way through your orgasm.
He stays inside of you for as long as he can so you’re not shocked from the sudden feeling of emptiness but you’re squeezing him too tight and he has to pull out as soon as you’re starting to relax. You whimper immediately at the lose and pick your head up to pout at him, eyes panicked like you’re genuinely distressed he didn’t finish inside you.
He shushes you gently and kisses your face over and over, rubbing your side as he lets you fully come back to reality before attempting to clean either of you up or get you dressed.
“Jack.” You’ve got the needy and frustrated tone he loves so much and he knows you’re not dropping it, meeting your eyes with a fond sigh as you glance down at where he’d came instead of inside you.
“Next time.” He promises again and he means it, fully intending to have that conversation with you ahead of time now that he’s got you like this.
Jack isn’t too opposed to the idea of getting you pregnant, not even sure he’s able to with the amount of pills he takes, but he has to push down that thought along with the rest of the sick ones he gets when he looks at your needy eyes.
You smile a little at the loose promise and tuck yourself back into his shoulder, soothing any concern he has about what just happened or how you’re supposed to operate going forward.
He’s undoubtedly the luckiest guy in the world to have you wanting him like this, feeling safe in his arms and desperate for him in the way he’d been for you since the second he laid eyes on you.
Jack was never the type of person to take the duty of taking care of somebody lightly and he doesn’t plan to let you down for even a second, kissing the top of your head softly and letting himself forget about any shame or insecurity just to hold you for awhile longer.
PAIRING ➩ jack abbot x inexperienced younger reader
WC ➩ 6.6k
SUMMARY ➩ navigating your budding relationship with your attending is hard enough especially without the added disaster the summer holiday brings
WARNINGS ➩ mentions of ptsd and fourth of july related chaos, prosthetic conversations, smut (they’re so soft for each other)
AUTHORS NOTE ➩ here’s my confession that i absolutely hate writing smut and have to force myself through it for you guys 😭 so if it flows awkwardly or end abruptly that’s why
part one
Nothing actually monumental happened after Jack Abbot had you gently pinned to his truck, nothing other than him wrecking your entire world with one quick half makeout session before sweetly opening the door for you.
It starts a cycle that leaves you so depraved and embarrassingly desperate that you don’t even recognize yourself by the time two weeks have passed. You’re not the type to get sucked into a crush and especially not the type to be losing sleep over when the next time your boss is going to kiss you.
Jack doesn’t do much differently in his defense, he stays professional at work other than that heavy gaze of his and he starts to bring you home without the arrangement ever really being spoken out loud. You walk out of the hospital together, only shifting close enough that your arms brush together when you’re in the parking ramp and relatively out of sight.
You’re not sure if the kissing (outside his truck, inside his truck, in the hallway outside your shitty apartment) is the only thing he’ll do because he thinks it’s the only thing you can handle but you’re humiliated to admit he might be right.
It’s as hot out today as it feels inside your chest when he finally walks in, eyes a little more tired than usual but his pace is steady and your gaze stays on him until he’s standing at the main desk with Robby beside him.
They’re talking about something in low murmurs and you’re trying to pretend you’re busy even though you imagine the way your pen flies out of your hand as soon as he scans the room and lands on you, really sells you out.
You give him a sheepish smile before you’re bending down out of sight to grab the traitorous object, staying squatted for a few extra seconds with your eyes squeezed shut to try and manifest yourself out of existence. By the time you stand back up, he’s crossed the room and is now standing directly in front of you on the other side of the desk.
“Dr Abbot.” You imagine your face only looks half as startled as you actually feel and his amused look seems to prove that. “How are you?”
“How am I?” His head cocks to the side a little like he’s trying to figure out if you’re asking him something else under the guise of small talk. You purse your lips awkwardly, getting that familiar stuck feeling that itches to life whenever he watches you a little too long.
You know you are an intelligent woman, a doctor above her peers who dedicated an entire lifetime to knowledge and earned a position to be proud of.
That being said..
Jack Abbot had the ability to make you feel absolutely clueless and you found yourself actually enjoying the feeling, maybe even a little addicted at times. You blamed the addiction for being the reason your eyes suddenly darted down to his mouth, only shooting away when you saw his lips quirk up in that infuriating smirk of his.
“Fine don’t answer.” You forced out tightly, nearly turning your body fully away from him in preparation to wander off and bury your head in a hot holiday case load until you couldn’t remember your own name let alone his.
Even though you were beginning to think you’d hold onto his name far longer than your own at this point.
“Hey don’t do that.” His voice was so soft and teasing you almost felt your knees weaken, slightly turning back in his direction when his hand lightly gripped your arm but letting the annoyance linger on your face for emphasis. “I’m alright sweetheart. I’m good, okay?”
You both knew exactly why you were asking him that, why you were extra curious about his state when you were surrounded by American flags and loud pops sounding across the city with the sun still shining brightly enough to mask the real effects of the fireworks.
The night would only get more intense from here on out now that the festivities were really going to start and if you worried about him on a typical day, then you worried about him tonight.
Jack didn’t seem too keen on talking about that time of his life with you and you tried not to take any offense to it. You’d started to chat on your rides home, sometimes sitting outside your building for an extra hour until he noticed your gaze getting a little too low and tired. Most of the conversations were about you and your life, gently being steered away from his own personal matters whenever you gave it an attempt.
You didn’t blame him necessarily despite how much it bothered you for naive reasons. He probably would spend the rest of his life being misunderstood by people with decades more experience and wisdom than you under their belts so you figured he didn’t want to even attempt to find properly placed empathy with you.
You could care and listen but you could never understand.
But that didn’t stop you from noticing the way he would lightly flinch at loud car horns or the barely visible winces when you were kissing against his truck after a long shift, his leg starting to bother him from standing all day.
“Yeah.” You breathed out in response to his question although you knew he only answered to make you feel better, not because he actually wanted to. “You know where to find me.”
It wasn’t a question but a silent offer, as non pushy as you could be. You’d outstretched your shoulder to him and it was up to him to want to use it or not if it came down to that.
The beginning of your shift went as decent as any holiday could, a constant swarm of heat related injuries being immediately followed by the typical round of firework burns and then the drunken partygoers stumbling (or being carried) in not much later. It was a rotation of the usual traumas mixed with some festively dressed flair that made your head spin.
You barely passed by Jack but you tried not to focus on it too much, you were at work and you didn’t need to constantly be pining after your boss who happened to be a very very very good kisser.
It was nearing the harder part of the shift, that climb into the very earlier morning that always seemed to get steeper and steeper each time. You’d start to feel the exhaustion of the late hours but without the adrenaline boost the final few brought along, the ascent before the roller coaster dropped.
You heard it as you passed by one of the rooms, nurses whispering about a patient that had came in. Normally you didn’t listen in on gossips, especially knowing how quickly it got twisted between the more bored nurses, but the keywords stuck into your skin and made your footsteps slow.
A veteran that had came in with wounds he gained during a PTSD episode, mostly self inflicted.
Your stomach churned at the news although you had expected a few patients coming in from the old folks home nearby, elevated heart rates and other symptoms caused by the extreme stress. The sick feeling only got worse when you made a few quick rounds in quickening laps only to come to the conclusion that Jack wasn’t around anywhere you could see him.
You didn’t hesitate before your body was turning, barely choking out a quick excuse to Ellis that you needed to take a call before you were heading up the staircase and pushing out onto the roof.
It was instinctive and you felt a little bit of regret, the shame of intruding on a private moment even though you knew you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself if something happened and you hadn’t risked embarrassing yourself to try and help. You felt a little bit of relief to see him standing there, not much considering he was on the opposite side of the railing and his back was so tense it looked painful.
Now it was your turn to flinch at the fireworks surrounding you, almost non stop as they came from different parts of the city in waves. It was nothing like a suburban neighborhood where you might here a family lighting off a few small shooters, instead it was almost like you were in the middle of a competition on who could make the most noise.
“Jack.” You called softly, wondering if he could even hear you over the fizzling that was starting to bleed under your skin.
You sighed and opted for stepping closer, not wanting to startle him but still letting your hand slide over his bicep from behind. He stiffened even more and turned his head to the side, possibly seeing you out of his peripheral vision or maybe knowing you by touch at this point.
Maybe he figured you were the only one naive enough to grab him from behind while he was standing pretty close to the edge of the building.
He didn’t say anything and neither did you, letting your arms snake around his middle now that he knew it was you. You laid one of your hands across his stomach, the other resting against his heart and feeling the way it was racing slightly. The railing pressed coldly against your stomach but it was a welcome break from the heat that you hoped he could feel on his back too as you tugged him a little closer to you.
It felt like hours passed, probably ten minutes if you were correctly timing it in your head before he was sighing and gently taking your hands to remove them from his frame. You frowned instinctively and it stayed on your face as he turned around and ducked under the bar so he was back on the safer side of it with you.
His own hands immediately went to your waist and you shifted closer to him, cupping his face gently in a bold move of affection you wouldn’t have dared do under normal circumstances. You were barely getting used to kissing him occasionally let alone sharing such an intimate touch after a hard night, his dark and tired eyes peering down at you with unmistakable affection.
“They need me down there?” He rasped it out slow and more steady than you were expecting.
You let your thumb rub against the stubble on his cheek before shaking your head firmly in denial.
“They’re fine for a second.” You still answer verbally, figuring he would need the double reassure that he could take a breath. “You need me up here?”
There it was again, that offer for him to let you in and solidify whatever this was you were doing was more than flirty banter and stolen kisses.
You were shocked enough for it to show on your face when he nodded his head in agreement, fully expecting him to tell you he was okay and that you needed to go help downstairs. He would’ve said it gently in a way that reminded you of your importance to the crew but it still would have landed like a rejection.
Instead he was letting his head nod continue up until his mouth pressed against yours.
It was sweeter than your usual kisses, lacking the heat and desperation that seemed to naturally creep up whenever you got a moment alone.
Other than his big hands burning your body, one of them still on your waist and doing that pulsing move he seemed to do absentmindedly now and the other pushing through the restraints of your loose ponytail to halfway tangle in your hair.
You could almost feel it when the need took over him, his frame bending over yours in a way that made you shrink back to accommodate it. His breathing got heavier and the pace picked up too fast to be natural, his hands gripping you like he was worried you could be taken.
You were just about to pull yourself back to get him to stop but there was no need, a loud pop freezing him in his tracks immediately. It was closer than the other ones, maybe even set off in the parking lot of the hospital right beside you.
The worry settled over you in a cold wave and you sighed as you shifted even closer if that was possible, making sure he felt you in every point you could mold against him.
“Hey.” You whispered and his gaze was a little unfocused as it tried to meet yours. “I’m right here, do you want me to be?”
It was more of a grounding technique than an actual question, you weren’t going anywhere at this point regardless of how he answered but you still felt the relief when he nodded automatically.
“Come back inside Jack.” You said quietly, rubbing his face in soothing circles and trying to ignore the heat in your gut when his hand tightened in your hair again.
He was silent in his agreement again but a win was a win no matter how wordless and you took both of his hands in yours so you could walk backwards until you got him into the stairwell.
It was nearly impossible to let go of him once you were nearing the chaotic crowded hallways of the ER but he seemed visibly calmer surrounded by the familiar loud voices and beeping machines.
You watched as he fell right back into the routine as soon as another trauma was being rushed in, giving you one last squeeze to your side before he was speeding off to go and help.
—
You hadn’t expected Jack to forget to take you home because he was still himself despite the hard night, a gentleman who had set an expectation that he planned to continue to fill.
But you were a little thrown off by how normal he seemed now, like your moment on the roof hadn’t happened at all. You didn’t want to press him any further, especially since it was possible his good mood was genuine and not just him avoiding his real emotions, but the concern was growing heavier and heavier as his familiar hand on your lower back led you to his truck.
He didn’t seem to notice the look on your face when he gently backed you up against his truck, mouth on yours as you eagerly kissed him back.
You might have been worried but very little could stop you from kissing Jack Abbot back.
Your mouths moved together hotly, leaving the sweetness of the rooftop behind completely as that familiar tension simmered between you. The same kind of band snapping that you felt after a long day of eyes met across the room and light touches whenever you passed by each other.
Jack made a low noise from his chest when your tongue was gliding across his bottom lip, your own sound of impatience making him chuckle against your mouth before he was opening up and letting you in.
You didn’t need him to tell you that you kissed like somebody who was inexperienced but he didn’t seem to mind, in fact it felt like he liked you best when you got a little sloppy and eager.
His grip was tight on your hips to keep you pinned against the truck even though you weren’t planning on going anywhere at all, too busy tasting his mouth and tangling his tongue with yours in a way that was borderline filthy.
“Alright baby c’mon.” He spoke gruffly into the kiss as he pulled off, pecking your lips a few more times on his way to ending it. “Get in the truck.”
You frowned but knew you couldn’t stand in the parking lot forever, momentarily forgetting all the things to be concerned about and feeling that familiar frustration from the beginning of your shift.
There was a childish lack of understanding on your side of things. Why didn’t he want to do more than kiss you?
It was easy to forget about your own selfish desires again as soon as you got into the car and began the drive to your apartment, the smoke in the air and abandoned piles of firework scraps and ashes making your nose scrunch up in distaste.
You were once again washed with concern for him even though the festivities would be mostly over with now, still stuck with the image of him up on the roof with his mind elsewhere even when he was staring at you.
He parked in front of your building and cleared his throat in a way that let you know he didn’t plan to stick around and talk tonight.
Maybe it was the frustration from his slow pace and confusing signals or maybe it was out of sheer worry for him but regardless if it was selfishly motivated or not, your hand was sliding over his knee.
“Will you come up?” You said it quietly, an offer you’d never made before sounding foreign coming from your mouth.
He stared at you for a long few seconds that sucked any of the confidence you had a moment ago right out from you, retracting your hand and already preparing to apologize for assuming something like that just because he had kissed you a few dozen times.
You were cool and casual, you could do casual kissing even if it was done by somebody like Jack Abbot.
Thankfully he didn’t give you too much time to spiral, turning off the truck and pocketing the keys before he was silently getting out. He took advantage of your stunned frozen frame, circling around the front so he could open your door.
He kissed his teeth and took a step back to emphasize it was time to get out, the noise a little degrading like he was calling a dog. You should have been annoyed by the sound but shamefully you felt a heat rush over you and you eagerly followed the wordless order.
You followed him up to your floor like it was his apartment building and not yours, standing stupidly outside your door for a second like you were waiting for him to let you in. He leaned against the wall and raised an expectant eyebrow at you that made you jump into movement in realization, digging out your keys and flushing bright as you fumbled with the lock.
It had seemed like a grand thing to have him in your apartment, a monumental colliding of worlds you had been semi building up in your mind since the first time he slipped his hand under your unzipped jacket.
Any of your thoughts on what it would be like were immediately thrown out the window considering there wasn’t a moment to process him standing in your entryway before he was kissing you again.
It was somehow even more feverish than it had been in the parking lot, your mouths moving together in practiced clumsiness as you wrapped your arms around his neck to keep him as close as possible.
His sturdy palms pressed hard into your lower back and you whined in protest at the sensation, met with his fingers pressing in that now familiar pulsing motion in response. He didn’t seem at all ashamed to be reduced to a frantic state with you, easily mirroring your inexperienced desperation despite the opposite being true for him.
“Jack.” You panted it against his open mouth but you forgot what you were asking for as soon as you said it, maybe just longing to say his name and feel it on your tongue.
The syllables felt completely unnecessary considering he was back to rubbing his over yours, such an unexpectedly messy move from somebody as calm and collected as he typically was. It was almost boyish, nearing amateur and you felt like you could die from the feeling of it.
“You drive me crazy.” He whispered it and it felt like a different type of confession, both of his rough hands coming up to cup your cheeks.
He applied enough force that you felt them squish just enough to jut your lips out in a fishlike pout, annoyance flickering over your face that he immediately kissed away as he loosened his grip but kept the hold.
You stopped the urge to almost giggle, thankfully saving yourself the embarrassment in favor of rubbing your hands over his on either side of your face until you could wrap them in yours and bring them back down between you.
“Will you stay here?” You didn’t realize that’s what you wanted until you offered it, at the same time hit with the knowledge of how devastated you’d be if he said no.
“I’d never deny you anything.” He said it softly and despite how common it was becoming, especially in your stolen moments, you still weren’t used to it.
Occasionally you missed the sarcasm and easy banter, finding it a lot easier to navigate than those genuine whispers he was using more and more frequently.
“So I should be careful what I ask for?” You hummed in faux deep thought as you started to walk backwards again like you had on the rooftop, this time leading him down the dimly lit hallway towards your bedroom.
“Doesn’t matter.” He said back easily in a way that made you believe him, signed and sealed when he stopped in your doorway to press you against the wood and kiss you again.
You smiled into it, letting go of one of his hands in favor of running your palm through his greying curls. He made a noise of approval that felt like you’d won the lottery, curling your fingers just enough to be felt before you were sighing and pulling off fully.
“Do you want a shower?” You asked and he wagged an eyebrow at you, making you laugh softly but shake your head so he understood you were being genuine.
“Can’t here.” He said back shortly, gaze flickering downwards before meeting yours again with a lot less comfortability than his face had held a second ago.
“There’s a stool in the closet.” You responded back as casually as possible, hand rubbing over his chest almost soothingly on instinct even though you figured he’d been a little defensive if he realized that’s why you were doing it. His eyebrows furrowed like he was trying to figure out if you had any different intentions than just letting him clean up. “I can’t reach the smoke alarm.”
You shrugged at the end of the statement and he huffed out a surprised laugh, like how easily you’d come to a solution for his leg shocked him. Truthfully you hadn’t made any adjustments because you didn’t plan for this to happen, for him to be here and for you to be so afraid he’d leave.
You wished he’d let you make space for him and his disability without feeling like you were pitying him but the day was tough enough without that conversation added on.
So instead you shifted closer and pressed light kisses against his jaw, feeling his breath hitch at the rare first move from you. You waited until you felt his body relax, his hands back on your body and his neck slightly bared for you to continue your exploration.
“I want you to stay Jack.” You said against his warm skin, voice a low whisper that made him visibly shudder. “I know what that means so take a shower and get into bed with me.”
He moved a hand up to your hair, tightening enough that you got the idea he wanted you to look at him. You pulled your face from his neck and peered up patiently, feeling pleased when he pressed into another deep kiss.
His tongue was back in your mouth instantly and you gasped at the immediate fast pace, only granting him more access to you. You clung to him tightly when his hands went lower than your hips, smoothing over the back pockets of your pants before he was cupping your ass and pulling you tight against him.
Your own were desperately smoothing over his back and shoulders, grasping any strong part of him you could.
“You’re so good to me.” He muttered against your mouth but you were a little too dazed to process what he was saying and the reasoning behind it, why your simple gesture of treating him like he was normal might affect him like this. “Good for me. You know that, right sweetheart?”
You nodded dumbly and tried to kiss him again, making a noise of protest when he dodged it with a smile and a quick peck to the top of your head.
“Showers.” He reminded you and you sighed but nodded in agreement, fully aware you both were still disgusting after a long hot shift.
“Be quick.” You meant it to be a teasing jab but it was breathy and tight, his eyes darkening a little at the sound of it before he was nodding.
Luckily you had a guest bathroom so you didn’t have to wait for each other to finish, showing him where everything was before you were washing up as quickly as you could with the overt awareness he was only across the hallway fully undressed.
You had more embarrassment than self control so you waited for him patiently on your bed once you were finished, sitting on the edge of it like it wasn’t your own. Your wet hair was soaking through the straps on your tank top but you definitely weren’t patient enough to let it dry and he clearly wasn’t either considering he was stepping out with damp curls that made your stomach clench.
Thankfully you had some clothes from your brothers last visit still in your dresser so he had a fresh outfit but you almost wished he had been forced to stay in his scrubs, a little dizzy from the black shirt that was a little too tight on him and the sweatpants.
He was a little too domestic, a little too casual and a lot of Jack Abbot in your bedroom with that longing look in his eyes.
You didn’t even need to say anything before he was on you, pressing you flat on your back against the bed as he settled above you, holding himself up with a forearm next to your head as he kissed you deeply.
He tasted like toothpaste and smelled like your shampoo, so deliciously a combination of the two of you that you almost felt drunk. Your hands tugged at his curls as you fell into the dozenth makeout session of the night, the heat steadily rising again as he pressed against you.
A light wince made you pause, turning your head to stop him from kissing you further and distracting you from the obvious discomfort in his lower half.
“Take it off.” You said it softly but there was no room for argument.
He had put his leg back on to make the walk from your bathroom back to the bedroom, not having his crutches on hand clearly considering how short notice of a sleep over this was, but you frowned at the way he was awkwardly hovering on the opposite side to keep himself above you.
“No it’s fine.” He mumbled, kissing wetly against your neck and almost successfully getting you to forget what you were talking about.
“Jack stop.” You continued firmly, feeling a tinge of guilt when he sighed and tucked his face down into the curve of your shoulder. “Please?”
He groaned at the interference but thankfully listened to you, shifting over onto his side beside you so he could sit up enough to maneuver his leg off. You watched him curiously although you could feel his lighthearted glare pointed at your face when he noticed you observing
“Sorry.” You say sheepishly, voice soft as you rub a hand over his chest and guide him back until he’s the one laying flat instead of you.
There’s no protest or reply to your apology due to your mouth pressing against his again, resting your full weight on his chest and letting one of your legs slot between his. You try to ignore the fact this position means your thigh is pressed into his crotch but your body naturally heats up with interest as you kiss.
It feels like an eternity of your mouths moving together, the soft noises he’s drawing out of you so easily sounding so unlike yourself it makes you dizzy.
“You drive me crazy.” He half groans with a fistful of your hair and you can’t help but laugh, a little bit delirious from it all. “I didn’t know I could feel like this again.”
“Yeah?” You practically whisper it, not able to stay smug for long considering he’s playfully growling at your response and flipping you back over so you’re underneath him again.
You sigh in relief when he kisses across your neck and collarbones, thick fingers moving to pull the straps of your tank top down your arms so he can bunch it around your ribs. The constriction of the fabric only adds to the breathlessness you feel when he starts to kiss lower and lower, a sharp gaps ripping from your throat when he lets his tongue smooth over your hardened nipple.
His free hand comes up to the other side of your chest, almost rough in the way he gropes and pulls. You’re half sitting up to try and watch him, mouth parted in a constant steam of high pitched sounds that you can’t focus enough to be embarrassed by.
“So pretty sweetheart.” He finally takes a second to actually take you in, helping you pull the tank top over your head in between kisses on your skin. “There we go baby, let me see.”
“You too Jack.” You don’t even recognize your voice, the whine and high pitch so unlike your usual cadence that you almost went to laugh at yourself if you weren’t so busy trying to tug his shirt off. He smiles down at you in that crooked weathered way that makes you feel insane, clearly amused by how desperate you are.
Your eyes raked over his torso once it’s bare in front of you, a low sound coming from your throat as your breathing picks up. You could tell Jack was fit from the way his shirts fit a little too tight around the arms and chest but he’s so solid and thick, so much more of a man than you ever expected to be hovering above you with a gentle wanting gaze.
He’s back down against you and kissing you hotter now, tongues sliding together as your hands roam wherever you can reach. You rub his biceps and back muscles, shuddering out a harsh breath when his own go back down to cup your ass and adjust you underneath him so he can slot between your legs comfortably.
You nearly whimper when he finally settles and you can feel the whole heat of him on top of you, pressing against your core that had been aching since you first left the hospital.
He chuckles into your mouth in that low addicting way, shifting his hips far enough forward to really apply some pressure just to test your reaction. It’s a whine of his name that follows, half annoyance and half mindless pleading for something more.
“I don’t know if you can handle it baby.” He says in a sugary sweet tone like he’s genuinely concerned for your well being, moving his hands around the waistband of your shorts. You feel him press down lightly on your stomach and you sigh in frustration, lifting your hips to try and get him to continue undressing you.
“You’re supposed to teach me.” You say back, half delirious.
His eyes darkened at that, at the obvious implication and reminder of not only your inexperience but of his position of authority above you. Your words seemed to spur him into action and it wasn’t long before you were both undressed, taking your time to take in each other’s bodies in a way that almost felt too romantic.
You felt like lovers on your honeymoon, not at all the energy of a scandalous and impulsive hookup with your boss.
He kissed down your body gently, letting his hands touch every part of your skin like he was committing it to memory as he praised you in soft murmurs that felt more exhilarating than any thing you could have imagined before this. You could probably get off just from his low voice telling you how beautiful you were for him, for him.
Then there was the way he let you scan over him too, a hint of insecurity on his face when it came to his lower half and the blank space where his limb used to be. You didn’t hesitate, didn’t treat it like a foreign alien in the bed with you and you could visibly see the relief in the way he sighed and slumped back against the pillows.
You kissed against the wrinkles on his face, practically obsessed over the grey hair on his stomach leading down to his length that you could barely look at without turning bright red in the face.
The heat was still undeniable beneath the softness of the moment, the way his breath stuttered as he took your hand in his and placed it between his legs.
Your voice was needy and high as you asked him, begged him, for his approval with your wrist moving the best you could. He kept his hand over yours and the size difference made you a little faint, barely able to see the fact you were the one wrapped around him and stroking him tightly.
He’d stopped you after a short amount of time, muttering into your mouth that it had been a long time for him and he didn’t want to finish without being inside of you.
“Can you take it baby?” He asked sweetly once he had you back under him, thick fingers rubbing between your legs in a slow way that was bringing tears to your eyes. “Look at you, getting so worked up.”
“Please Jack.” You gasped and shook your head, trying to keep your thighs open so you didn’t bury his hand between them. He was barely touching you yet but that was both the problem and a relief. “Please touch me already, I want it so bad.”
“I know you want it babygirl but you need to let me take care of you.” He kissed his teeth in disapproval to your begging and now you full out sobbed, being comforted by his finger finally pressing into you.
It was a slow stretch and already a bit much for you, far more than anything you could do with your own hands or a pillow especially when attached to a face and voice like his. He tried to kiss you through the second one but you could barely stop your whines long enough to respond, opting for sucking across your neck instead.
“Fuck you’re so tight.” It was a low growl right in your ear once the third finger was pressed in, your own wetness so loud in the quiet room you could feel your face heating up. “Don’t know if I’ll fit kid.”
“Make it fit please please.” You were helplessly begging now despite knowing he was just mocking you, struck hard by the mere suggestion he might not give you what you needed tonight. “No more Jack, can’t take it anymore.”
He practically cooed as he finally got you to focus enough to kiss him back, waiting until you were relaxed enough again before he was pulling his fingers out. You whined in protest but he shushed you immediately, so firm and authoritative that you immediately pressed your lips closed tightly.
“Just shut up for me baby.” His tone was still as sweet as it had been the entire night but there was an edge to it that made you inhale shakily. “You wanted to take it so you’ll take it.”
You nod eagerly at his words, entire body stiffening when you actually feel him pressing against you below, already clenching before he could even move forward. He sighed at the resistance and kissed you again, rubbing your sides and clearly trying his best to get your body to the point it needed to be.
“You’re so good sweetheart.” He whispered into your mouth and you felt your heart inflate at the praise. “Know you’ll take cock so perfectly.”
You audibly whimpered at the lewd word which was a bit ridiculous considering the state you were currently in, distracted enough by the things he was saying that he was able to slide deeper into you.
He groaned and tucked his head into your neck at the same time you winced in pain from the stretch, no amount of preparation with his thick fingers could prepare for the new sensation and you started to really doubt your ability to handle it for the first time.
“Don’t do that babygirl.” He grunted and it took you a second to realized you were getting even tighter around him from the pain. “Gotta relax for me okay?”
You nodded and did your best to listen to what he was saying, knowing that regardless it was your instinct by now to follow his orders. It had been engrained in you, a desperate need to please him and make him feel proud of you that clearly carried over to the bedroom just as smoothly.
It took a few minutes of kissing before he was able to move, room falling into a heated silence other than his low grunts and your constant stream of his name and whatever else you were able to babble out.
“This what you needed?” His voice was tight and strained and the sound of it alone was enough for you to know you weren’t going to last long with him over you like this. “Just some cock baby? Now you’re all better?”
You kissed against his mouth both from pure need and because you couldn’t take hearing him talk anymore, the filth coming from his mouth the most intoxicating things you’ve ever heard.
It was easy to forget about everything other than him, easy to forget your responsibilities and the heavy burden to always be better than you were the day before because he didn’t expect anything from you, especially right now. Jack was holding you like you couldn’t do a single thing wrong in his eyes and you felt like you’d finally found the impossible ceiling to your need to succeed.
You didn’t need to worry about a thing when he was kissing you and telling you how good you were doing for him all the way through your release, reminding you how good you made him feel and how beautiful you were as he cleaned you up and gently tucked you into bed after.
There was a half second where you panicked as you watched him step near the hallway door, sitting up halfway in bed covered in the shirt he had been wearing earlier and nothing else.
You didn’t need to say anything, the look on your face explaining enough for him to soften and shift back over to you, holding your face and kissing you gently.
“Just getting you some water.” He mumbled against your lips and you felt another wave of warmth run through you.
Jack didn’t leave and it was scarily natural to mesh together in a tight embrace, making low conversation in the dark room while he played with your fingers until you finally dozed off.
PAIRING ➩ jack abbot x inexperienced younger reader
WC ➩ 8.9k
SUMMARY ➩ striving for perfection and running off nothing but study books and bitter coffee, you’re struck by your new night shift attending and his gentle praise that gets under your skin
AUTHORS NOTE ➩ torn between letting this be a stand alone fic or writing a part 2 with the smut i know you’ll all be begging for lol so let me know what you like about this part and ill work on that!
NOT PROOFREAD
part two
You weren’t exactly sure where the need for perfection even came from. It might have been something you were innately born with or maybe it was nurtured by the indifference on your parent’s faces whenever you came home with your report cards.
At first you had tried rebellion but that didn’t even get an eye blinked in your direction so you figured you had to switch it up, go as hard as you could for as long as you were able to handle and then maybe you’d be able to satisfy the itch to be something better than whatever you were.
Eventually the need to prove yourself to your parents went away but the lack of tolerance for mistakes didn’t, growing heavier and heavier until your back was aching over your desk and your migraines were almost constant from lack of sleep.
You made it through school with barely a single conversation held that was beyond surface level, your entire being obsessed with studying and what your talents could bring to the table even if nobody knew or cared enough about you to even be sitting at it.
Emergency medicine wasn’t your first choice, it was actually pretty close to the last but you realized quickly that a large amount of med students were just as anal as you about being perfect and your studying habits didn’t seem as outrageous when surrounded by your actual peers. There was no more casualness and the sudden feeling of genuine competition was almost beyond what you were able to push through.
It didn’t take long for your first round picks to be taken by somebody who worked harder, came from a better family, or just had more natural talent. And then your second and third were filled too and before you knew it you were three years deep into your time at the PTMC.
You didn’t dislike it and you figured the long grueling hours were just par for the course in this career, you even felt a sense of relief when you got home and felt the ache in your body and saw the bruises coloring your skin.
To you it felt like a small victory, visible proof that you had worked harder than anybody might have assumed you were capable of if they had bothered to assume anything about you at all.
You weren’t really sure why it hurt you so bad when you were suddenly moved to a different shift last week. You didn’t have any real friends in the department, not even somebody you’d feel comfortable enough to borrow a protein bar from but the routine was something you’d become used to and you’d just started to perfect your way around any avoidable social situations.
The scowl on your face must’ve been more prominent than you realized when you walked in on your first day on the night shift, hand curled tightly around the single backpack strap were wearing.
You saw all of the same faces you had seen each morning for the last three years but now they looked weathered and tired in the way they did when you typically bid them a quick goodnight nod. Finishing their shifts as you began yours, a new normal that didn’t seem to disturb the flow of things at all for anybody minus you.
Robby gave you a nearly sympathetic look when he passed by you in a hurry and you didn’t meet his gaze out of anger, not necessarily at him since you knew the lack of staffing for the night shift wasn’t his fault but you felt a weird sense of betrayal.
“He feels bad you know.” The low voice to your left would have made you jump if you weren’t so exhausted already, failing to properly flip your schedule in the two days you’d had to prepare for such a drastic change.
“Yeah I bet.” You replied back to Ellis, barely giving her a once over as she leaned on the desk next to where you were currently frozen in place.
Your voice was flat and laced with irritation that you almost felt bad about. You knew these people well enough, been through shift change talk throughs hundreds of times and even sat around for a few awkward drinks on the nights out you were forced to go to by the newer student doctors.
There was an uncomfortable feeling when her face fell and she sighed softly, hating the fact you were being so standoffish and ruining any chance of making a friend before you even really started. You tried to loosen your posture a little to look more approachable and even half planned to tell her you were just tired before she was walking off with a pitying smile pointed your way.
You groaned inaudibly as you kept walking and made your way to the locker room, instinctively trying your old one with your code before remembering halfway that they’d moved you. One of the night shift doctors already had yours and had you beat in seniority by nearly a decade.
The deep breath left you shakier than you intended and you rested your forehead against the cold metal for a few more, letting the grates press hard into your skin to try and wake yourself up.
“Heard coffee is effective.”
You knew who the low drawl belonged to without turning around so you didn’t bother, eyes opening and another louder sigh leaving you with intention.
“Really? You should patent that.” You only responded after a few seconds went by without the sound of departing footsteps, turning around at the end of your sentence to raise an eyebrow at the man who was standing leaned against the door with his arm crossed.
Jack Abbot was one of the only faces on the night shift that wasn’t a near stranger. He spent enough time picking up unnecessary hours and lingering around the desk long after his shift ended to talk to Robby so you’d had your fair share of encounters with the older man.
He gave you a barely noticeable smile at your quick comment back, his ankles crossing over each other as he relaxed in the doorway.
“You used to smile more when I first met you.” He said in return and you fully rolled your eyes at this, ignoring the lack of professionalism considering you knew he didn’t care for it much anyways.
You turned again to open your new locker, trying not to fumble with the code under his watchful eye from behind you. Abbot was a direct opposite of Robby who felt like such a natural leader in every decision he made down to the tone of his voice, that cadence that some people were just born with.
Abbot seemed like he was always trying to leave a room as unnoticed as possible and despite being charming and as personable as anyone working the graveyard shift could be, he was more prone to quick nods of approval and silent pats on the back when someone was in desperate need of encouragement.
Sarcastic quips replaced the inspirational speeches Robby would give after a hard day and you didn’t need to work a full shift with him to understand that his methods were something you’d clash with.
You were self admittedly very sensitive, slow to understand a joke especially when you were the butt of it and unable to hide the insecurity in your chest that seemed to be clawing its way out almost constantly.
“No I didn’t.” You replied back and you finished putting your things away, closing your locker softly and walking past him in the doorway.
There was no surprise when he followed behind you, both because he was your new first in charge and also because he was never really one to let a conversation end so briefly when you were in a sour mood.
“He really does feel like shit about this whole thing.” He continued on and you kept your gaze forward as you slid into one of the rolling chairs behind the main desk and scanned your badge. He leaned forward onto the counter in front of you, the hair on his arms just barely visible out of the top of your eyes as he folded them together. “Robby.”
“He doesn’t have to.” You said smoothly with a light shrug like it wasn’t something that had been keeping you up for the last two nights wondering what you had done wrong to get booted at the first chance.
“He said you’re his best.” Abbot continued on and now you finally stopped the fast paced typing you’d barely been paying any attention to, eyes flickering up to him as he watched you with a sense of knowing that made you feel nauseous suddenly.
“He also said not to listen to anything you said about him.” You said flatly once you finally had your light dinner back down your throat, looking at him beneath your lashes to catch his reaction and feeling a bit smug when he snorted a small laugh and nodded as he looked off towards the entrance.
“Fair.” He replied in a softer tone as he pushed himself up off the counter and took a few steps back, pointing in your direction until your eyes rolled again.
You figured you saw Abbot a few dozen times during your shift but it was such a blur of red and stark white that you barely registered him, your medical vocabulary rolling off in autopilot and your hands moving through procedures before your brain could catch up.
It wasn’t until the fourth hour in, nonstop damage control from the shift change off and post dinner rush in the waiting room leaving you feeling dizzy when you stood still, that you actually got a chance to focus on his presence again.
Robby had a sort of nervous energy to him that followed him around the room like a static, catching the attention of his staff and keeping you in your toes.
Abbot was nearly the polar opposite in this way too.
He felt like a solid force in your corner, there enough to remind you that you were supported but letting you do the leg work as much as possible. The night shift certainly had a different level of darkness and chaos to it but the staff themselves seemed to be operating in a way that left you a little awed.
They almost seemed to be finding downtime in the endless stream of injuries and traumas, including Abbot who was currently leaning back on the counter and fidgeting with the corner of a file cover.
You were a similar position as you were before when he was giving you a half assed attempt at helping you understand Robby, but now you were on the other side of the counter.
It had to have been the delirium that left you leaning on the space next to him, enough distance between you for two people to fit but still more comfortable than you probably would have been after a power nap. He sent you a glance from the side of his eye that made a sigh leave you.
“You know…” He started slowly and his voice graveled in a way that made the traitorous hair on your arms stand up. “It’s okay if you take a breath, nobody is going to sue you.”
“Don’t jinx it.” You say back and your gaze lands on him, staying there until he meets it and then looking away with the new feeling of his eyes on the side of your head.
“We are happy to have you here.” He adds suddenly and you feel your eyebrows furrow at the sincerity of it, feeling like it’s misplaced considering you hadn’t exactly been a delight the entire night. “Hey.”
It’s a call for attention and you give it to him, picking up your gaze to lock with his and trying not to sink into yourself at the intensity of it. He gives you a firm nod like you’d passed some invisible test you didn’t understand and yet you still feel a surge of pride blossoming deep in your chest.
“Really?” You had really meant to quip something smart back at him but instead you croaked out the single desperate word and clenched the counter in a tight fist.
“I mean it.” He says back and it’s nearly soft now, halfway to a whisper and your head starts to buzz beneath the sleep deprivation. He doesn’t even slightly shy away from the eye contact, not that you expected him to considering you had definitely noticed it was a habit of his. “Hope you stick around.”
He was gone before you could let out another breath and you let your head sink down against the chilled counter top, pressing your forehead down until it turned red and you felt a dull ache.
Then you were picking yourself up and getting back to work.
—
The first three weeks flew by and you felt yourself adjusting to the changed shift way faster than you had anticipated. You’d picked up one or two day shifts when needed and your rhythm there was now awkward, fumbling around more than you ever had and finding yourself longing for the nights instead.
You felt beyond relieved that your brain and body seemingly decided they were okay with your new assignment and it was a breeze to sleep through the daylight now.
You knew part of it was because the staff and their demeanor, another half dedicated to your own hard work and your determination to make the most out of it. But there was a large portion that was reserved for the man currently standing in front of the room and talking calmly.
Abbot was leaned back against the desk, somewhere he apparently frequented considering it always seemed to be where you found him. He was talking with his hands outstretched and his posture as straight and military as it had been since the day you met him, favoring the side without his prosthetic leg.
To his left was Robby, nodding along with a drained expression that made you think he was barely listening to the brief. You couldn’t necessarily judge him considering you were pretty sure you hadn’t heard a single word that was said in the last five minutes but you figured you could ask Ellis later since the two of you actually managed to become sort of friends after your interaction on your first day.
It wasn’t like you to get distracted so easily and you had spent the better part of the last few weeks beating yourself up over whatever the actual fuck was happening to you whenever your attending looked proudly in your direction.
You’d sought after Robby’s approval yes, beamed under his praise and blossomed when you felt like he was truly trusting you to save lives, but whatever it was that you felt deep in your chest when his other half merely gave you an approving nod was nearly dangerous for your career.
Crushes were not something you had any experience with considering how study focused you were your entire teenage years, you’d felt a flutter here and there but you had never let your eyes linger too long and it was almost criminal to have your thoughts entertained by any fairytale fantasies.
So the fact the entire staff was dispersing without your awareness, leaving you standing in place staring at Jack Abbot like a lovesick puppy, was a serious problem.
You shook your head to try and get yourself together, hurrying away to busy your hands and mind with low risk patient cases. You spent the first half of the night talking to sick old ladies and stitching up simple knife wounds that any student doctor could do with ease.
It was a little after midnight when you were stopped by a firm hand on your shoulder, freezing you in place with a sharp breath as you turned around to see Abbot looking down at you with furrowed eyebrows.
“Could’ve used you in trauma two.” He said lowly and you felt shame immediately rush over you like cold water. “Where were you hiding out at?”
“I…” You trailed off in an automatic lie that got caught in your throat, sighing and letting your shoulders deflate under his palm. He removed it but only to slide down your arm and briefly cup your elbow before letting it hang back at his side. “I’m sorry I wasn’t trying to hide. I just… needed to slow the pace down a little.”
“No you don’t.” He replied immediately and now it was your turn to furrow your brows as you watched him crossed his arms and adjust his posture. “You can handle it and I need you by my side when the hard cases come in because I know you can.”
You looked down at your feet as he half scolded and half praised you, not sure if you were touched by your own apparent importance or embarrassed that he had realized what you were trying to do so easily.
The embarrassment must’ve shown clearer on your face because his gaze softened and he exhaled, rubbing a palm over his stubble and looking towards the busy hub where some student doctors were currently fussing over the ever growing patient chart.
“Pass off your easy patients to the newbies.” He said and his voice dropped down into a whisper, leaning in just enough for your cheeks to momentarily inflate from the way you suddenly held your breath. “Let them learn something, you know plenty.”
“Isn’t this a teaching hospital?” You finally managed to get your voice back and you glanced upwards at him just in time to see the amusement pass over his face. “Technically I could always learn more.”
It was silent for a few seconds long enough for you to regret making a sarcastic joke when he was clearly trying to make you understand a legitimate point about your abilities. You almost started to apologize, already internally beating yourself up for thinking his usual dry humor was appropriate at any time when his low chuckle stopped you short.
“Yeah I guess you’re right.” He nodded slowly as he spoke, lips curling into a small smile and your eyes stayed locked on the movement. His gaze drifted back to you and you hoped the way your eyes widened was minuscule enough he wouldn’t notice. “But let me teach you. Deal?”
You didn’t even notice his hand had extended inbetween your bodies until the tips of his fingers lightly brushed your scrub top, head turning down to identify the feeling and laughing a little at the ridiculousness of it all.
Your hand wrapped around his much larger one, trying not to flush at the roughness of his palm against your soft skin. You squeezed around it and he returned the action before you shook them between you. Yours was retracted and stuffed into your pocket after barely three seconds of touching but it was enough for you to press your nails deep into your skin once it was out of sight.
“Deal.” You gave him a firm nod that you hoped looked more professional than that little moment felt.
The rest of the shift consisted of following behind Abbot from trauma to trauma and trying to act like his steady voice and calm demeanor wasn’t still somehow sending you into a state of nerves despite it having the completely opposite intentions.
—
You didn’t spend as much time in the ambulance bay as some of the others did on a hard night, from the nurses with smoking habits they couldn’t kick to the students who felt like they couldn’t breathe around their eight hour.
But now you were on your fifth minute of standing outside the automatic doors with tense shoulders nearly up to your ears, breathing in and out so audibly you would have felt self conscious if there was anybody else around.
It really wasn’t that grand of an offense considering your shift was ending in less than ten, the sun already peeking around the cement pillars and making your headache sting even sharper than you thought was possible. Plus it had actually been a relatively slow night when it came to the flow of foot traffic but that hadn’t made it any easier.
You’d lost somebody young before it had even hit midnight and the entire ER felt the typical shift that came along with something like that for the rest of your time there.
Then there’d been a drunk man getting rough on his way in that had sent you and two nurses flying against one of the environmental carts, insisting you were fine and rushing to glove up to attempt to assist him with the beer bottle currently sticking into his thigh.
You’d been stopped by a sharp glare from Abbot that you knew wasn’t necessarily directed towards you but it still made your throat tighten with the urge to cry.
He didn’t even need to say a word to dismiss you, head hanging low as you ripped off the glove you’d gotten on halfway and threw it roughly into the trash can on your way out.
After that you spent the next few hours taking patient after patient as the ache in your ribs built steadily. You hadn’t even noticed it at first in the chaos but a trip to the bathroom around five alerted you to the large bruise forming under your chest, wincing as you tugged your undershirt back down and splashed some water on your face.
So you didn’t feel too awful for standing outside and taking a nearly meditative amount of breaths while the shift change happened somewhere in the building behind you.
The doors sliding open didn’t alarm you nearly as much as the slow measured footsteps did, the slight drag of one of them making you stop your breathing entirely. You knew Abbot by his stride on a regular day and even more-so when he had been on his feet beyond comfortability and his leg started to bother him, the slight limp he adopted nearly unnoticeable if you weren’t paying as much attention as you always seemed to be.
Next was the smell of him as he stood shoulder to shoulder with you, the fabric of his shirt barely brushing your hoodie sleeve. He carried the same sterile scent you all did after a long night but there was the unmistakeable musk and light cologne hidden underneath it.
“You know what that was about right?” He said lowly and you pursed your lips at the sound of his voice, not realizing how close you’d been to crying until the silence was broken.
“You don’t need to explain to me.” You replied as smoothly as possible but your voice was tight and lacking any air.
“But I’m going to.” He shook his head and stepped forward so he could turn and be in front of you, giving you no choice but to stare at some part of him as he blocked the sun coming up behind his solid frame. “It wasn’t about your ability as a doctor but your safety as a member of my team.”
You didn’t want to talk because you knew you were tired enough to try and argue with him that you had been fine, that you didn’t need to be wordlessly booted out of the trauma room in front of half a dozen people like you were an intern. You almost wished he had yelled at you for a mistake rather than that disapproving look he gave you when he saw you gloving up.
Your silence must have bothered him into boldness because suddenly his hand was moving between you, sliding under the undone zipper track of your hoodie and pressing lightly around your rib cage. You immediately hissed in pain and shrunk away from his touch, nearly taking a full step backwards from the sensation.
“That’s what it was about. Do you understand that?” He asked quietly and you kept your mouth closed shut tightly as the scratchy sob like feeling continued to build. He pressed on the area a few more times in a wider range like he was trying to examine how far the bruise stretched out under your clothes.
You stayed quiet and let him do the same routine you’d done hundreds of times in your career, heart racing only a few inches above where his fingers were softly pressing.
“How bad was it?” He continued to whisper in that low tone as you avoided looking at him.
“It’s fine.” You said back because you knew the silence was pointless and you were partially paranoid he was concerned enough to look himself if you didn’t answer soon. “I looked at it a few hours ago and it wasn’t anything to worry about, just tender.”
“You of all people know how misleading a bruise can be.” He shook his head and you sighed again at the light show of disappointment even if it was as light hearted and casual as a comment could be from your boss. “I filed a report. For the two nurses too.”
Your back tightened up and you reached down to grab his wrist loosely, just enough to get him to stop touching you so you could focus on the conversation. His arm tensed and his gaze left your midsection to watch your expressions closely at the touch.
“You didn’t have to do that, he was drunk and probably confused. It wasn’t that big of a deal and I really would rather not deal with the paperwork.” You were nearly rambling but you couldn’t handle the thought of this becoming a larger issue than it already was.
You felt a sudden sense of humiliation despite the fact you hadn’t done anything wrong, it was almost a selfish feeling considering there had been other people affected to but you wanted the situation to be left behind with the rest of the shitty shift.
“Then I’ll handle the paperwork.” He said firmly and his voice took on that stern tone you hated so much. “Drunk or not, he hurt you.”
You knew his words and actions were coming from his place as a concerned boss, protecting you and the nurses as a mass collective being his only determination to carry out a consequence for what had happened, but you still felt almost touched by his want to handle this.
It was much easier to finish off the final few minutes of your shift after that conversation with the single delusional thought stuck in your head and the phantom feeling of his fingertips pressing against your clothing sending shivers down your spine.
—
You had the terrible habit of spending any day off you had in your bed scrolling on your phone until your eyes stung, possibly making up for the years in school you spent solely studying before you fell asleep.
It wasn’t something you had felt the need to break your first few years considering you thought friends were a distraction but you’d drastically changed your tune lately when it came to your social interactions. You felt nice when Ellis greeted you comfortably and a buzz of optimism when Shen remembered your coffee order three weeks in, the sudden desire to have friends hitting you.
So this time around, when you were invited to get drinks with some of the team, you actually accepted.
It had become a formality to just invite you regardless of the knowledge you’d decline so they all seemed thrown when you actually arrived.
The bar was smaller than it looked when you investigated it on google reviews before leaving and the music was a little too loud for it to be as casual as Ellis had suggested. She similarly had a day off and was sitting with a few of the day shift students you recognized more than the others.
Santos and Whitaker were in a quiet debate about something you couldn’t pick up, pushing a nearly full glass back and forth between each other like it was moderating their argument.
You’d expected to look at the other half of the circular booth seat to see Ellis by herself and ready to greet you but you froze halfway across the room when you saw who was currently occupying the spot.
Jack Abbot was not included in the list of names Ellis had casually said might be here tonight so you’d fully lowered your defenses that typically needed to be enabled to withstand being in a room with him.
You considered turning around and leaving before they spotted you, well aware that they wouldn’t be too shocked or disappointed to learn you weren’t coming. It was already too late considering Santos was glancing upwards and waving you over as soon as she saw you, mouth moving rapidly like she was trying to call you over.
You sucked in a breath, gathering as much air as you could manage to stuff into your lungs before heading over to them. Your greetings were stiff and awkward but they seemed to be buzzed enough to not notice, other than the older man who was watching you with a careful eye.
Abbot didn’t look much different outside of the hospital, black t-shirt pulled tightly around his biceps and the jeans worn out in a way you knew was from actual use and not design. You could see the shine of a belt buckle if you looked too hard under the table but you decided not to when you landed on his boots.
There was no where else to sit other than beside him but you perched nearly halfway off the booth seats to avoid touching him in any way.
“I never thought I’d see the day you actually spoke to us outside work hours.” Santos was quick to start her comments as soon as you settled down and got mildly comfortable. She was smiling as she spoke and you retuned it tensely even though it gave you a similar feeling to cruel comments you’d heard in high school.
“Don’t take it personally, I’m just boring.” You said back with a bashful laugh, glancing downwards as you picked at the loose wood under the tabletop.
Whitaker, who’d insisted you called him Dennis after you’d greeted him by his last name, was already shaking his head before you could finish your self deprecating statement.
“We think you’re cool.” He said simply and you gave him a disbelieving look. “Seriously, even Santos.”
You sent the same look her way and she shrugged her shoulders with a buzzed grin that made you laugh a little. You felt yourself growing comfortable with the small group which you were extremely thankful for, not sure you’d feel the same ease if anybody else had been there instead.
Although you hadn’t even begun addressing the quiet presence beside you, staying silent even when you all dove into conversation after conversation. You listened and added on occasionally, genuinely interested in their lives outside of work and fascinated by their dynamics, but he barely spoke a word at all.
You’d almost forgotten he was there by the time you slipped out of the booth to go to the bar and order a drink for yourself, barely sliding into the stool before his arm was in your line of vision.
He had it resting on the counter beside you, slightly caging you in unless you wanted to squeeze out the other direction past the large man who already was rocking drunkenly back and forth.
“I thought you worked tonight.” You said softly, feeling a wave of shyness you had never felt before in your entire career.
Being in the ER with Abbot came with clear guidelines on how to interact and a long list of boundaries that didn’t give you many opportunities to embarrass yourself. However, being in a dingy bar with him smelling too much like that rich cologne was a whole different playing field you had no idea how to navigate.
You figured talking first would soften the damage on whatever he was planning to say but you didn’t think it would matter anyways.
“Scheduling error.” He replied back simply, eyes on the side of your face as you desperately and silently willed the bartender to head in your direction so you could get back to the booth. “Disappointed?”
You sent him a confused glance, shifting on the circular seat. “No, of course not. Why would I be?”
“Not everyone wants to hang out with their boss.” He said and tilted his head down enough to try and catch your eye again.
You turned a little in your seat so you could actually give him a clear view of your face, enough so he could hopefully tell your next comment was meant to be a joke.
“Isn’t Robby technically my boss?” Your voice was mockingly curious and you felt a surge of pride when he laughed lowly. “No offense Dr. Abbot.”
His nose scrunched up at the sound of the title falling from your lips, something he’d asked you to avoid on your first day and you hadn’t missed the lack of it coming from the other residents.
“Jack works fine.” He said softly and his fingers tapped against the wood as the bartender passed.
You followed the movement as you listened to him order another drink, mumbling your own preferred one when he casually asked you what you wanted. You barely processed he had added your drink to his tab before it was placed in front of you.
You looked back at him to find him already watching you closely, hand curled around his glass but not taking a sip yet. You felt awkward drinking from yours under his gaze but you also craved the extroverted feeling alcohol gave you so you took a bigger sip than you probably should have, keeping eye contact as you slightly tipped your head back.
The glass touched the wood with a soft clink when you set it down and his hand move his own towards yours, lightly dragging it by the rim closer to him. It wasn’t out of your reach but enough so you’d have to lean your arm into his space to grab it.
You gave him a curious look but didn’t outwardly question it, like it made perfect sense to you that he would control where your drink was.
“You look different with your hair down.” He said suddenly and you watched his eyes track over your head and down past your shoulders.
It took you a second to respond and by the time you were starting to his hand was already lifted and softly touching the ends of your hair, not pulling or even really grasping but just letting it tickle his fingertips. You laughed at the way he stared, making his hand freeze in the air and his eyes go back up to you.
“How much have you had to drink?” You asked him with a smile you definitely had never showcased in the walls of the hospital before, a bit looser knowing he must be drunker than he seemed to be touching you so casually.
His hand on your ribs was a different story, the way it snuck under your hoodie may have felt historic but it was simply his doctor brain taking the lead in his decision making. Even the lingering hand shake had been sourced from a legitimate professional interaction, at worst just a bit too friendly.
This however, was completely unnecessary and out of character.
“I’ve been drinking since before you were born.” He rasped back and you felt a shiver run over your entire body, gaze narrowing a bit when his fingers started to move again just to twirl a strand of your hair. “I’m fine.”
The reminder of your age gap, not that you really needed one considering it was absolutely impossible to ignore, made you feel drunker than any amount of drinks could have even attempted.
You tensed up when the man next to you was attempting to get off of his stool, tipping sloppily in your direction and leaning against your side. You hissed in pain at the pressure and waved him off when he started to slur out an incoherent apology.
Jack went similarly rigid, standing to his full height from where he’d been leaning until the man stumbled away and then shrinking down a little to get a better look at you. Suddenly his hand was back on your ribs, large and encompassing almost the entire injured side of your midsection.
It felt different now than it had outside in the ambulance bay, the professional aura of the hospital surrounding you and layers of scrub and undershirt blocking out the warmth from his skin. Now you were in an intimately sized bar with a thin long sleeve pulled tight on your body, already feeling heated from the quick chug of your drink you’d done without the added effects of his touch.
“Still bothering you?” He said lowly and his eyes were locked on where he was touching, pressing lightly with his fingers tips and not backing off when you squirmed uncontrollably.
“It’s really not that bad it’s just sore when you touch it.” You breathed back, wincing again when he pressed down on the center of your large bruise. “That hurts you know.”
“Does it?” He hummed in response, his eyes meeting yours despite the fact his hand didn’t stop its light pulsing against your side.
You felt your throat tighten up and you knew you wouldn’t be able to speak even if you wanted to, not sure what words you could even say in this moment. This was clearly not appropriate for about a dozen reasons but the hidden school girl in you was ecstatic that a man like Jack Abbot was actually possibly flirting with you in a bar right now.
His fingers stopped pressing down on your bruise but he didn’t move his hand right away, letting the warmth of his palm cover your ribs until you squirmed on the stool.
“I’ve noticed something.” He hummed out and your eyebrows furrowed at him, gaze darting around to escape his intense staring.
“Yeah?” You hated that you sounded a little breathy and you halfway considered ripping his hand away from you just so you could focus for a second or two. “What’s your observation Dr. Abbot?”
His eyes darkened just enough to be noticeable and not for the first time, you wondered if you were making a mistake. You couldn’t tell enough to figure out if he had drank a lot before you came, his gaze seemed as steady as anyone’s could be but the way he shifted closer made you search for any sign of intoxication.
“You perform better when you’re told so.” He said it slowly like it was an indisputable fact and you watched him closely, trying to think of a way to deny what he was saying. “You like it.”
“Who doesn’t like it?” You whisper back, the only tone you could take without letting your shaky voice show.
“Everyone likes it but you need it.” He continued on easily and you inhaled sharply as his fingers started to lightly press on your bruise again. His lips curled up in a slight smile when your face contorted in a pained wince. “That okay sweetheart?”
You should have felt embarrassed for the near gasp that left you in response, head nodding rapidly the only translation to what the noise might have meant.
The pet name was spinning on a loop in your head and you were sure you looked completely ridiculous by now, seconds from falling off the stool if it meant being any closer to him. You could smell his cologne now under the faint scent of the whiskey he’d been sipping on since you got there and it was a nice change from the typical sterile smell you all carried at work.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea.” You found yourself whispering and you regretted it as soon as it left your lips and his hand was retracting back down to his side.
He cleared his throat, stood up straighter and you knew right away that you had messed it up.
Jack Abbot may be a flirt and he clearly had some sort of interest in you, you’d be stupid to try and deny that after how he was just looking at you a few second ago, but he was a good man above that all. You had signaled wanting to stop and he had done so right away without any hesitation.
He was a gentleman and that much was clear but more importantly, he was your boss.
You’d given him shit about it actually being Robby but you knew the specifics wouldn’t matter to HR and all they would see is the indisputable fact that he was your superior, both in rank and in age. You wanted to protest and take the words right back from where they sat awkwardly in the air but you didn’t know how to.
“You’re right.” He said gruffly and he didn’t look at all upset with you, just mildly disappointed and maybe even a little sheepish like he hadn’t realized just how far he’d taken it until you said something. “It’s not.”
—
The effects of that night out were carried with you to your next shift, sitting heavy in your chest and making it nearly impossible to get anything right.
Jack hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary to you but it was the absence of his usual banter and quick check ins that made your stomach turn. He wasn’t being cold, wasn’t even giving you any weird looks that would indicate he was ever in a bar with his hand on your ribs, but something was missing and you knew it was your own fault.
You were slow with your response time, fumbling around when you needed to quickly grab tools or make space for another set of hands in an operation. You were acting like a complete idiot and although you were still preforming above the average quality for any other doctor around, it was below your usual standards and obvious to anybody used to you and how you normally carried yourself.
At first you had been attempting to avoid Jack but you realized that was pointless considering he was removing himself from any room you were in anyways before you got the chance.
You knew him well enough to know he wasn’t upset with you but rather himself, he believed he had made you uncomfortable and you were the reason he thought that.
The trauma one room was heated with loud frustrated voices, overlapping commands and hypothesis about what could be wrong with the little boy currently seizing on the table below you. Your brain completely blanked out, something that almost never happened to you and you barely registered one of the nurses yelling for another attending to help.
You moved over on autopilot out of the way of whoever had arrived, lightly bumping into Shen on the other side and only coming back down to earth when you felt a hand brush against your back.
“C’mon kid.” The low rasp from next to you sent you spiraling right back down to reality and your head snapped up and over to lock eyes with Jack. He had worry all over his face from the way you’d seemingly gone absent for a few long seconds at a crucial moment. “You know what to do.”
It wasn’t a question but a solid and trusted statement.
You hesitated for a breath before nodding firmly at him and turning back to face the room, your brain finally catching up with your mouth as you easily spout out the steps to take to help the boy settle down enough to continue his care safely.
There isn’t another moment to breathe until he’s sent up to the ICU and you’re able to leave the room, barely able to get your gloves off before you’re slumping against one of the hallway walls.
You don’t need to open your tightly shut eyes to know who the approaching footsteps belong to, reluctantly opening them again to meet with Jacks concerned face. He looks hesitant to even be in a slightly private space with you, looking over his shoulder like he needs an exit plan.
“You did good.” He says it softly and your shoulders deflate a little in a large breath followed by a scoff.
“I could have killed him.” You say back in denial, voice painfully tight as you run a shaky hand over your messy hair to try and smooth the flyaways.
“You couldn’t have.” He denies as he takes a step closer and you want to correct him, to tell him all the ways it was possible and remind him of the times it had happened before regardless if it was directly your fault or not. Instead you just fall silent and give him a long pitiful look. “And I wouldn’t have let you. But you did good on your own, you pulled it together.”
Now it’s your turn to take a step closer even though you immediately miss the support of the wall against your back. He peers down at you and your chest tightens.
“I’m sorry.” You say it so softly it’s barely audible under the chaos of the night and the beeping of machines, his eyebrows furrowing just enough to be noticeable but the rest of his face impossible to read. “For the other night.”
“Don’t.” He says immediately once he understands what you’re referring to. “That was my fault. I should be the one apologizing for making you uncomfortable.”
You shake your head and somehow gather enough courage to let your hand raise and land on his bicep, squeezing softly to try and communicate with him through some sort of physical touch morse code. Thankfully he softens a little at the feeling and you can brave yourself through an actual audible sentence.
“I wasn’t uncomfortable Jack.” You reassure as sincerely as you can even though you see the contemplation passing over his features, like he’s not sure if you’re just trying to save face or if you actually mean it. “I was nervous. I just… I haven’t really done that.”
“Flirted with your boss in a shitty bar?” He rasps as he steps closer and you know he’s joking, especially considering the way his lips curl up in a soft smile, but you feel a little sick knowing you’ll have to explain yourself further.
“Jack.” You sigh out, eyes locked on his before glancing away nervously and squeezing his arm a few more times.
You’re not sure if it’s just something about you that leads him to understand what you mean, an inexperienced nature that you’re sure could be relatively obvious to anybody interested in you, or if he had just came to the conclusion on his own but his lips part in realization as he slowly nods.
Your face flushes and you drop your hand from his arm, not losing contact for long considering he’s immediately bringing his own much large palm back up to your ribs, his thumb rubbing back and forth right under where your bras underwire starts.
“That’s alright sweetheart.” He says in a soft whisper and you suddenly feel like you want to cry.
Both from the adrenaline of everything that’s happened in the last few hours, the way he avoided you throughout the day, and especially from how embarrassing it feels to get such an automatic relief just at the sound of the pet name coming from his mouth.
You hope you don’t look as visibly torn up as you feel but you’re sure he can see it on your face, his eyes softening even more if that was possible.
“Yeah?” You find yourself whispering back in desperate need for reassurance and he’s quick to give it, nodding his head and shifting close enough that your chest could brush if he moved his hand and leaned forward. “That doesn’t… freak you out?”
“Are you kidding me?” He laughs a little but it’s lacking any real humor, like he finds you genuinely ridiculous for ever thinking along those lines. “Nobody’s ever touched you right sweetheart?”
It takes a few seconds before you’re nodding your head and biting at your bottom lip from nerves, face undoubtedly bright red from the blunt way he put it.
“I promise that does the opposite of freak me out.” He rasped back and your eyes reluctantly met his again just to make sure he was being honest with you, finding whatever you were searching for in his gaze almost immediately.
His eyes are actually a little darker than you expected and you feel your cheeks flush immediately at the mere idea of him being the first one to touch you like that. Not some drunk hookup with a guy who can barely pay his taxes, not a stiff and awkward first time with a boy your age who isn’t focused on your pleasure at all.
Instead you finally let yourself imagine what it would be like with Jack.
Jack and his rough weathered hands and low rasp, his decades of experience that started before you were even a thought in your mother’s mind. His never ending attentiveness and easy dominance that he carried through the ED without ever needing to raise his voice or assert himself, the thought out and specific praise he gifted you whenever he could sense you needed it.
You knew the direction your mind had gone was probably written all over your face, his amusement leaving his own as soon as he registered what it was you were so quiet about.
“Sweetheart.” It was low, the lowest you’d heard from him and your slightly watery eyes immediately darted back up this face despite you not even realizing they’d been drifting down his broad chest. “You have a few more hours to go.”
He kissed his teeth like he was disapproving and you felt a little sick at how eager you were to fix that.
Who knew Jack Abbot could so easily slip into the role of a complete menace the second he realized you were interested in him that way?
You nodded your head and visibly gulped, straightening out your scrubs and doing your best to avoid contact with him in any way as you turned to leave the hallway.
—
There was almost a sense of fear as the end of your shift approached although you still had your doubts Jack would ever cross that professional line with you.
You knew he wanted to, he wasn’t being very subtle anymore with the very hungry gaze he kept fixated on you whenever you were in a room together for the rest of the night, but wanting and doing were two very different things.
A large part of you hoped you’d just be able to leave the hospital and head home to obsess over him in your own bed like any good doctor with a raging crush should do, stuff it down and keep living your life solely for the medicine and the job. You didn’t have time for this, you didn’t have the ability to make the time for it either.
But Jack Abbot was somebody who walked around like they had all the time in the world, shoulders relaxed after a brutal shift and humor dry and witty as ever behind you as he said goodbye to the day shift.
You’d expected him to walk past you, maybe give you a light parting statement possibly accompanied by another knowing half smile in your direction.
Instead you felt his warm hand on your lower back, wordlessly guiding you with him out the doors. You didn’t bother telling him that you hadn’t even grabbed your backpack yet, absolutely no protest coming from your lips as you walked with him.
You wondered what you might look like to any other staff members, maybe just like a mentor giving you a ride home and guiding your exhausted body to keep you upright. A caring boss who was providing comfort after a long night.
His truck was parked further back than necessary, high up on the parking ramp and in one of the corners you’d only use on a really full staff day. You didn’t have time to fixate on the minuscule details of what this meant about his character, willingly walking extra minutes uphill just to be parked in solitude on the highest point of the ramp.
You barely even had the time to gasp when he was turning you around, suddenly in front of you with his hand on your hip as he gently backed you up against the driver side door of his truck.
Your eyes must have been wide and unfocused because he made sure to take his time, gaze raking over you and your messy hair that he was brushing behind your ear. He let his calloused hand cup your cheek after the hair was tucked neatly and you instinctively leaned against it.
“You sure baby?” He asked softly, croaked out in a gentle way you didn’t even know his voice could produce.
You didn’t even really know what he was referring to but you could definitely make a few guess and after running through a handful, you realized there was very little you would deny Jack Abbot of.
Your head moved into a half nod before he was surging forward and pressing his lips against yours.
SYNOPSIS: You crave to feel your lover differently, and Jack is happy to satisfy your needs.
CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUT. Age gap implied [Jack is late 40s, reader is late 20s/early 30s]. Power imbalance mention [Attending/Resident]. Established "secret" relationship. Creampie. Unprotected sex (p in v). Mentions of oral (f! receiving) & fingering. Multiple orgasms. Overstimulation. Dirty talk. Brief mentions of birth control & safe sex practices. They fuck nasty and are down bad for each other. Reader is described to have hair. Jack Abbot is a really good partner. Brief mentions of Jack’s scars & allusions to a vasectomy he had in the past.
A/N: This all came to me in a dream lmao. I just had a certain itch I needed to scratch and I wanted to talk about getting creampied by a fine ass old man, so this was the product of that thought. I hope you all enjoy this and join me in feening for this man. Proofread by moi. Reblogs, comments, and likes are always greatly appreciated! <3
NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3
You’d never really consider yourself a greedy or selfish person, but when it came to Jack Abbot, you just couldn’t help yourself.
On your first day of residency at the Pitt, your attention instantly gravitated to him. He carried himself so confidently at times, never crossing the line of stepping into arrogance like some of the surgeons he complained about. He kept his head high, back straight, and shoulders flared as he maneuvered around patients and rooms alike, commanding every space with a calm confidence you almost envied.
Coffee and light teasing exchanged in the emergency department turned into cold beers and tipsy laughter at the local bar everyone frequented after long shifts or on their off-days. One drink too many resulted in a not-so-accidental one-night stand with the enigma of a man that was Dr. Abbot. You wondered if he regretted it by the time you woke up in the morning, hair a mess over your head, going in different directions; doing your best to bury the disappointment tugging at your chest when the other side of the bed was found empty.
Much to your surprise, light clanking from your kitchen forced you back on your feet, spotting Jack working over the stove, the smell of eggs and fresh toast wafting through your apartment. His jeans hung low on his hips, unbuttoned, with his black briefs hiding the rest of him. He turns when he senses your presence, the corner of his lips tugging upwards in a small grin at the sight of you, slightly disheveled and wearing nothing but his shirt from the night before.
“Morning. Stole some of your coffee; hope you don’t mind.”
You were doomed from the start.
It never stopped after that; a one-night stand turned into several over the course of one month, and one month turned into two. You found yourself in the consistent presence of Dr. Abbot, who was always there to satisfy your needs, whatever they may be. He learned how to read you, your likes and dislikes, your quirks, and the things that made you happy and tick in agitation. The few weeks you spent with him in secret amounted to the moment Jack popped the question of exclusivity one night, and you were more than happy to say yes.
Now here you were, Dr. Abbot’s favorite night-shift resident at work and his girl when you two were alone. You already had him wrapped around your finger, hitting close to five months of being with him and selfishly enjoying his company in this bubble you’ve created for yourselves away from prying eyes.
And yet you still wanted more.
You couldn’t quite explain what happened along the way, why you simply couldn’t stop finding any little moment to touch him, to kiss him, to taste him. You just knew you wanted every part of him to yourself, and he was ready to give it.
All but one.
Your sex life with Jack was already more than satisfactory, and even using a word as simple as that was a disservice in describing your experiences with him. Hell, you’re pretty sure he’s ruined you for anyone else, and you don’t plan on finding another to take his place any time soon. But there was this one pesky thing that still kept you separated from him.
The damn rubber.
Jack was almost too good for you—a softie despite his take-no-shit attitude, always sweet and considerate when it came to you. Of course, that translated to when he fucked you, prioritizing your safety and pleasure above all else, including maintaining recommended sexual habits. You can’t blame him; he’s not an idiot, and neither are you, but at times it irks you to still have something getting in the way of feeling him the way you wanted.
It almost pissed you off how badly you craved him, desperately holding on to him and pulling him closer when he was too busy fucking you into the mattress. His face dug into the crook of your neck, grunting as your walls fluttered around his length, your arousal covering the thin non-latex material that separated your bodies. Just the thought of it made you whine, clawing at his shoulders and wrapping your legs tighter around his waist.
You knew he was getting close from the way his breathing rumbled deep within his chest, his grip on your hips tightening as his thrusts picked up in force. The words that had been swirling in your head for the past 30 minutes slipped out of your mouth and into his ear before you could stop them.
“Fill me up, baby.”
He groans when he hears you, slamming his hips hard against yours, a curse tumbling from his mouth as he fills up the condom. He draws a final sigh from you before pulling out to dispose of the wretched thing while you remain occupied with taking a peek at his ass as he heads to the bathroom.
Having sex without protection was something Jack didn’t think to bring up or mention. The last thing he wanted was to make you assume all you were to him was a toy to be used when it's convenient and discarded when he grew bored of you. He already had the displeasure of approaching sex that way when he was younger and reckless; he vowed to never do that again, especially with you. And of course, you didn’t want to potentially ruin the relationship you’ve worked so hard to build with your attending.
As much as he wanted to deny it, your words tormented him, playing in his mind on loop so frequently he started dreaming about feeling you with no barriers, claiming you properly. He knows once you hit that stage in your fairly new relationship, there’s no going back. From the way you struggled to hide the slightest tinge of disappointment whenever he ripped open the foil wrapper in front of you, he knew the conversation would happen eventually.
“What if next time, we just don’t use anything? Protection, I mean.” You blurt out to him in the kitchen, wringing your hands together as Jack busied himself washing the dishes after dinner. He finished up and dried his hands, pivoting to face where you leaned against the island.
“Is that what you want?” He asks carefully, his eyes boring into yours gently, the way he always did when speaking to those he cared about. “Surprises aren’t exactly what I’m worried about; we’re good on that end, but, it’s whatever you want to do, sweetheart.”
“Yes, I want to try it out.” You feel his hands coming towards your waist, a comforting gap of space between as you mess with the collar of his t-shirt. “It’s not that our sex life isn’t fun or anything; I very much enjoy sleeping with you.”
“I sure hope so considering how much I risk pulling my back doing all the work.” You playfully slap his chest, rolling your eyes at his teasing smirk.
“I just…I want to feel you, all of you. It’s like an itch I can’t scratch sort of thing, and it feels stupid explaining it, but it’s a thing, okay. Don’t fucking laugh at me.”
Jack couldn’t help but chuckle dryly at your mild panic, shaking his head as he stepped closer to you, planting a kiss on your cheek and squeezing your hips in reassurance.
“Not laughing at you, I just think it’s cute how flustered you’re getting when you’re begging me to fuck you raw.”
“Now why are you saying it like that? It sounds raunchy coming from you.” He only laughs harder.
“I think we’re way past the point of calling what we do raunchy in our relationship, don’t you think?” There’s a faint glint in his hazel eyes when he takes in your features again, his fingers pinch your chin, holding your gaze. “Besides, you aren’t the only one who’s been thinking about it. I was just waiting for you to crack first.”
That’s how you found yourself in this position now.
Your cunt pulsed from the lavish attention bestowed by the older man above, who already made you cum once using his mouth and again in combination with his thick fingers. Even with the two orgasms you gladly took, your body clenched around nothing as you watched Jack lazily jerk himself off, dark eyes raking over your bare body. By now, he’d be tearing open another one of those flimsy foil packets and slipping inside you. Instead, your legs subconsciously widened even more, beckoning him closer to you in an attempt to take you.
Notching the tip of his length at your entrance, he groaned at the feel of you, shifting his hips to grind against your heat as more of your wetness coated the underside of his cock.
“Last chance to take it back, sweetheart.” He quirked, meeting your hazy eyes—glossed over and feral as you admired his broad silhouette and tempting movements.
“Shut up and fuck me already.” You only seemed to be thinking with your downstairs brain, your thirst for more overriding common sense, not that he was complaining.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He angled himself over you, keeping his observant eyes on your face as he started pushing into you, slowly sinking deeper into your welcoming body. Jack didn’t expect you to feel so damn hot, your walls surrounding his cock like a vice, like you were made for it. Your hands flew to grasp his bicep, gasping at the bare feel of him for the first time. Eyes fluttering closed, a whimper lurched out of your mouth when he was down to the hilt, the trimmed hairs by his pubic bone rubbing against your sensitive nub, causing you to twitch around him on instinct.
As he sat inside you and let you adjust to him, you could feel everything—every ridge, every vein, every swell and throb his body gave you, even his damn pulse. It was bringing you closer to the deep end.
“Jack…” You mumbled his name, blinking slowly as his nostrils flared.
“Hold on, hold on, don’t move.” Large hands clutched your hips, keeping you pinned to the mattress with his strength. “Fuck, you feel so good.”
“Yeah?” The compliment took the rest of the empty space in your head, your thighs taking their rightful place around his waist, knees bracketing over his sharp hips.
“So damn warm and wet…God.” It sounded like Jack wasn’t talking to you anymore but reiterating his own innermost thoughts, filter gone. His attention trailed down to where your bodies were joined together, shifting his hips back to watch your lower set of lips part for him, your slick covering his skin. You moved towards him, already missing the stretch of him inside you, and Jack was just as eager to give you what you needed.
“Look at her. Taking me so well, like she always does.” Thrusting forward, he didn’t spare you an inch, drawing back just to pound into you again and again.
The friction of his hips intensifies the more he gets to feel you, and soon enough the four walls of your shared bedroom are filled with the audible slapping of skin as you lose yourselves in each other. Jack’s hips pummeled into you with a force you weren’t completely unfamiliar with, but this carnal need to have more of him creeps onto the surface. Your nails raked down his freckled arms and the planes of his shoulders, encouraging Jack to buck into you harder with your sweet cries.
It all felt too fucking good, like a dream.
You didn’t want him to stop, your legs winding tighter around his torso, mewling when he hit that textured spot tucked inside you with practiced accuracy, head thrown back against the pillow as you focused on catching each one of his harsh lunges. A hand sneaked to the back of your head, grasping the nape of your neck and angling your face to look up at Jack, the smallest bit of sweat lining up on his forehead.
“Keep those eyes on me, baby. Want to see your pretty face when you come for me.” He practically snarled over you, leaning down to roughly plant a kiss, his tongue swirling around yours, swallowing all of the petulant sounds he brought out of you. “Perfect fucking pussy, and all mine.”
“All yours, Jack.” You parroted, nodding dumbly from the impact of his movements against you. “I’m all yours, sir.”
His grin turned predatory at your needy words, both hands curling around your thighs to angle them higher up, your knees now pinned to your chest, allowing him to dig just a bit deeper into you. You jolted from the change in position, one hand rushing to press against his lower stomach, fingertips skimming the raised scars along his side, long faded and meshed with the rest of him.
He was unfazed by your movements, holding you steady, and upped his efforts against you. Your arousal practically seeped out of you, pooling at the base of him and dripping down his balls. Another whimper echoed in the room, your clouded gaze glanced down to watch Jack fuck you, mesmerized at the shine you left over him. You didn’t need to warn him that another release was swirling in your gut; your body language did all the talking for you.
“Know you’re close, honey. Can feel you getting tighter around me, damn near choking me.” He grunts, adding a swivel to his precise advances into you. “C’mon, need you to drench me. Let me feel you.”
Three more drives into you, and your third orgasm hit you so ardently your whole body trembled, a silent cry flying out of your mouth. Jack observed your reaction with hungry eyes, cooing at your cock-drunk expression, drool starting to spill out the corner of your lip.
He knew it was only a matter of time before he hit his peak, the tension in his body building in his core, and with the way you haven’t stopped convulsing around him, it will catch him off guard sooner than later. Through the haze of ecstasy, you found your voice and mumbled at him, the lust-filled mania that started this whole ordeal possessing you.
“Jack,” his attention was drawn to your face, plump lips and warm cheeks mirroring his ravenous stare, “I need you to come inside me.”
“You want it that bad, huh?” He was struggling to keep it together, his mind already hyper-focused on finishing inside until you took every damn drop. “So desperate to have your old man fill up your greedy pussy, hm?”
“Yes! Yes!” Tears streaked down your face at the mere thought of getting to feel him like this; the promise of getting what you wanted after so long was enough to overwhelm you. “Please, Jack. I need it; need to feel it. Want to feel you tomorrow, baby.”
That fired him up; the sight of your watery eyes motivated him to flex his forearms and force you to take all of him as he chased his prolonged release. A few more jabs and he was done for, digging his face into the crook of your neck and biting your shoulder to suppress the loud growl that buzzed through him. His hips were flush with yours, giving you everything he had to give, his thighs trembling and stomach almost cramping from his violent climax.
His orgasm felt never-ending; he just couldn’t stop, your body melting from the inside out as you held him above you until he plopped on top of you, pelvis subconsciously grinding into you more, never wanting to leave your warmth.
“Jesus.” You heard Jack murmur against you, placing light kisses over the indents of his teeth on your shoulder. His mouth followed a path up to the column of your throat, your jaw, and to your lips, offering you sweet pecks. “You alright?”
“Mhm,” you hummed at his affections, the rest of your limbs becoming one with the mattress under you. “Didn’t break me yet, though I don’t think I can feel my legs.”
“Means I did my job well.” Both ends of his mouth curl upwards, mimicking his expression as he gently wipes your tears away.
Carefully, he took hold of your legs, bringing them back down to the bed, rubbing them with an apologetic smile as you quivered. With ease, Jack maneuvers himself to pull out of you, his eyes going to your pussy and the mess he made of you. He catches the way his spend drips out of your opening and stains the sheets below you, a sight he was committing to memory for the first time.
A carnal urge flares within him, his curiosity getting the best of him as he brings a hand to the most sensitive part of you, his thumb spreading you out to get a better look at you. More of his seed dribbled out of you, tainting the thick digit as he smeared more of himself over the rest of your cunt. You gasped at the sensation, his thumb circling over your slick pearl, squirming under his touch from the overstimulation.
“I get the appeal now,” he says to himself again, swiftly bringing two of his fingers to scoop the rest of him and sink them back into your hole, serving as a plug to keep his release inside you. You keened at him, clutching his thick wrist as he breached your body with his hand, your breath hitching in your throat.
“Jack…”
“So pretty when you’re so full of me.” You clench around him, the sensation sending a current of pleasure coursing through him, his cock twitching again at the thought of having you again. “You can take a little more, right?”
Who were you to say no to that? You couldn’t get enough of him, and when it came to Jack Abbot, you always made room for seconds and more.
summary: One glitchy tablet, one HR email, and suddenly you’re married to your attending, Jack Abbot. HR thinks it was intentional and has already started merging your records. Claim it was a mistake, and your residency could be delayed. With only three months left until you're an attending, Jack agrees to play along. Pretending to be married might save your career—but can your heart survive the side effects?
tags: accidental marriage, slow burn romance, HR involvement, nosy coworkers, reader is a PGY-4 resident, jack is not a widow in this fic, possible medical/legal inaccuracies, mutual pining, angst, 18+ smut, fluff
word count: 7.6k
a/n: thank you for waiting so patiently!! i hope you enjoy! and as always, since this is an ongoing process, your ideas and thoughts for future scenes are more than welcome! big kisses to everyone who has sent in ideas already<33
i'm not keeping a tag list for this series!
Diagnosis: Married | Masterlist
The Pitt | Masterlist
Main | Masterlist
Previous part | Next part
The drive from Pittsburgh to Cleveland takes just over two hours. Two hours trapped in a car with Jack in awkward silence. The radio had murmured softly in the background, but the tension between you was almost palpable, thick enough to cut.
Neither of you talked. Neither of you hummed along when a good song came on. You both just stayed silent—your body angled toward the passenger window, where you were still able to catch glimpses of Jack's fingers tightening periodically around the steering wheel.
The only words he managed to squeeze out during the entire ride were when you bent back to grab your bag from the backseat.
"Don't."
You'd frozen mid-motion.
"Sit up straight—you're gonna hurt yourself." His eyes had flickered to yours in the rearview mirror briefly, and you'd been so flustered that you hadn't even argued that your ribs barely hurt anymore. And when he'd stopped at the next red light and reached back for it himself, you'd only muttered a soft "thanks".
That marked the extent of your exchanges—practical concerns that felt so distant they barely registered.
But you're fine now—mostly. Enough to have moved back to your own room after Robby dropped this on you. Enough that you’ve decided it’s time to set Jack free. After this conference wraps up, you plan to present him with the divorce papers sitting neatly on your desk, just waiting for his signature.
One pen stroke and then he'd be free. Free to stop pretending. Free from this cage you've trapped him in.
The parking lot is already bustling with people when you pull in. Jack is out of the car before you can get your seatbelt off, popping open the trunk and grabbing both of your bags with ease.
"I can carry—" you start to say.
"I've got it," he cuts in, already walking toward the entrance.
You press your lips together, then follow him.
The conference is held at a hotel, the kind with huge glass doors, marble floors and chandeliers swinging above. Just another reminder of how the administration pours money into superficial perks rather than addressing the hospitals' actual needs.
Jack jerks his head toward a cosy seating area near the entrance, where plush couches surround coffee tables stacked with books. "Sit."
You don’t get the chance to protest or even offer to take the bags before he strides off to reception, both bags shifted comfortably into one hand. You can’t help but admire the flex of his forearm before shaking yourself back to reality.
With a quiet sigh, you sink into one of the cushions. You'd expected this weekend to hurt, but seeing just how annoyed he is that he has to be here with you hurts worse than you thought. Flicking through one of the coffee table books, you try to distract yourself while Olivia’s words echo in your mind: You’re reading this all wrong. I promise, just tell him how you feel.
Promises feel meaningless when faced with cold, hard facts.
"Let's go." Jack stops in front of you, watchful as you rise. You try to hide the slight wince when you do, but judging by the way his brows furrow, he notices. His hand reaches out, but he draws it back immediately.
He trails behind you to the elevators, and you step in with a few other people. He pushes the button for your floor, and then the silence continues. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch sight of his tensed shoulders and the rigidity in his jaw.
It's the longest elevator ride of your life.
Jack sets off the second the doors open, leading you to a door where he swipes the key card hard. He steps inside, placing it in the power slot and the light flickers on.
You linger hesitantly by the door, confused as to why he hasn’t handed you your bag or the key card. "Is this mine or yours?" you ask.
Jack sighs, his back turned to you. "It's...ours."
"Oh." You're glad he isn't looking at you, or he would have seen your face fall. Yet another way you've made this weekend hell for him.
Robby had said to just show up to the reception and tell them your names—that the hospital had taken care of it—but something must have gone wrong. You know better than anyone how their systems can't be trusted.
Jack exhales sharply, dropping your bags onto the desk before turning to face you. "We're still married in the system, so they must've auto-booked us together," he explains, his voice tight.
"Oh." That’s all you manage to say again as you step fully into the room, closing the door behind you and taking in the surroundings: a desk, a closet, a bathroom, and a single bed. Great.
"I tried changing it," he says quickly, "but they're fully booked."
You nod, trying not to show him just how much that hurts to hear. Of course, he tried to change it. Of course, he doesn’t want to share a room with you.
Two more days and he's free.
Your gaze drifts helplessly back to the bed.
"I can sleep on the floor," he offers, clearing his throat.
"What?"
He shrugs stiffly.
"You don’t have to sleep on the floor." You frown. Were another few nights really that horrible that he'd prefer sleeping there? You bite your lip, stepping into the bathroom pretending to inspect it, but mostly to not see his face as you say, "It's fine. What's two more nights?"
Jack's silent for a moment, and you almost don't hear his "okay" over the sound of your heart cracking.
The first day at the conference passes by faster than Jack expects. A good thing, even if it does feel slightly bittersweet. Time alone with you is all he's wanted for months, but now that he has it, he doesn't know what to do with it.
Not when you've made it clear this past week that you want nothing to do with him. You've moved back to your own bed, and the hospital had forced you right back into sharing again—just like it had forced you into this whole thing in the first place.
Jack knows the end is near, and he's trying to give you space. But he can't help being pulled in by you—watching as you listen carefully to demonstrations, his hands hovering near you to keep the crowd from jostling your ribs.
Normally, he’s not a fan of this part of the conferences: the chaos, the noise, the sales reps tripping over each other to pitch their latest gadgets.
Today, he leans into it. He lets himself get trapped in twenty-minute demonstrations he doesn't care about. He asks unnecessary questions, picks up brochures he knows he won’t read, and lingers at displays his hospital would never consider—anything to keep his mind occupied and avoid fixating on you. Your sweet perfume still wraps around him, your accidental brushes against him still make his skin flush, and his heart still races whenever you glance his way.
And despite this distance between you, you're still looking out for him. You still notice how he subtly shifts to put more weight on his good leg, and even when he'd told you he was fine, intending to soldier on, it had only taken a stern glare from you for him to relent.
The foolish part of his heart can't help but hope that it means something more—that the way you look at him means more than it probably does. He's probably just seeing the reflection of his own hurt in your eyes because he knows you've been searching for a way out—bringing up getting a divorce, looking at apartments and distancing yourself again.
The way you'd reacted when he told you that you had to share a bed again only solidified it. So, even if it's the last thing he wants to do, he does his best to keep his distance like you want him to.
By dinner, though, the distance is harder to maintain when walking into the stupid hotel restaurant feels dangerously close to a date. The lighting is low and warm, reflections dancing off polished glasses as the waiter leads you to a four-person table.
He's trying not to stare at you or the lipstick you'd put on before leaving, but he's failing. His gaze keeps drifting to the soft curve of your cupid's bow and the way you nibble on your lower lip. When he forces himself to look away, it's only to trace the marks you left on your glass.
You both attempt awkward small talk about the conference, which feels like the safest topic, and his heart lifts a little when you laugh at his reminder of the sales rep who actually fell over in his eagerness to speak with you.
You twirl the stem of your glass, and he traces condensation around the rim of his glass when silence falls over the table again. Now and then, your eyes meet before darting away again.
It hurts that this is what it's come to. Jack still remembers the first time you went to dinner, back when this whole thing had just begun, and how gorgeous you had looked that night. The way you had smiled when he'd brought your flowers, how you had teased him all night—how much fun the two of you had had.
This couldn't be farther from that.
Just as he’s about to say something—anything—to reach out to you again, a shadow falls over the table.
"Excuse me, sir? Ma’am?" The waiter stands there looking at you both apologetically. "I'm sorry to ask, but would you mind sharing your table? We're fully booked, and I was told you know each other—"
Jack is prepared to say no, doesn't want people he supposedly knows to witness this, or to ruin his attempt at salvaging it, but before he can speak, a bright and jarring voice cuts in.
"Jack!"
His stomach drops as he recognises the voice, and he has to stop himself from grimacing. "Dr. Warren," he responds with a forced smile.
"Oh, Jack won’t mind," she chimes in cheerfully to the waiter before he can protest. Then her tone turns sugary sweet as she looks at him again. "Right?"
She's set him up perfectly, making it impossible to refuse her without causing a scene. He glances over at you, noticing how you're staring down at your plate, and with a resigned shake of his head, he replies, "Of course not."
Warren breezes past the waiter and pulls out the chair next to Jack. "Sit down, Turner."
Jack hadn’t even noticed the man until now. He’s tall with dark hair, young, and looking vaguely uncomfortable as he flashes Jack an apologetic smile before taking a seat next to you.
"Sorry to intrude on your dinner. I'm Jeremy," Turner says. Jack watches as you look up to greet him and sees both of your faces shift from confusion to recognition. "Wait—"
"Jeremy?"
"Is that you, Sleepy?" His face breaks into a stupid grin. Jack hates him instantly—mostly for the nickname but also for the way he manages to make you smile.
"Oh my god, don't call me that!" you groan, covering your face briefly.
Warren leans back into her chair, watching the exchange with curious eyes. Meanwhile, Jack feels a wave of nausea wash over him.
Turner leans in, bumping his shoulder against yours, and Jack has to grip his glass tighter to prevent himself from commenting on it. Why is he sitting that close? Why are you letting him?
"Wow, you look exactly the same! How long has it been—five, six years?"
"Something like that," you nod, then huff softly. "But I think my eye bags have definitely worsened since then."
"Ah," Turner chuckles. "Still living up to your nickname then, I see."
You glare at him, and he only smiles wider. And Jack—
He wants this man dead. Not literally—or well, not mostly. But when was the last time you'd laughed like that with him? When was the last time you looked at him like that? He'd thought Warren was going to be the worst part of this dinner, but Turner is quickly taking first place.
"So, how have you been—" Warren starts, turning her body toward Jack, attempting to start a conversation between just the two of them.
But Jack doesn't care. He cuts her off, "You two know each other?" He tries to sound casual as he looks at you, but he can feel his jaw tense up.
Warren frowns as Jack speaks over her, but all he sees is Turner, glowing at you.
"Yeah, we met in med school."
"Oh, how fun!" Warren chimes in. She turns to Jack again. "Jeremy just started at Presby—he's our newest attending."
Jack still isn't looking at her, only seeing the way you smile warmly at Turner as you congratulate him.
"Did you manage to keep that attending offer at PTMC?" Warren asks you with a pointed smile, and Jack notices your brow furrow slightly before you answer.
"I did."
"She's doing amazing," Jack offers, finally looking at Warren. "Still the best-performing doctor we have."
"Oh wow!" Turner says, and Jack can see you flush, tucking a hair behind your ear.
You deftly steer the conversation into general hospital topics, easily falling back into a rhythm with Turner. You share stories from med school and let inside jokes slip, leaving Jack to simmer quietly.
And while that's going on, Warren keeps shifting her chair closer to him. Her knee brushes against his, her hands keep squeezing his arm as she tries to sequester him into a separate conversation. He's pushed his chair as far away as he can to try and avoid her touch.
"I never thought I'd see you at one of these things again," she says lightly, taking a bite of her salad.
"No," he replies, taking a sip of his wine.
Warren's silent for a second, watching him. She's definitely clocked the weirdness between you. "You're more than welcome to come to Presby anytime you want," she says, then adds, "I’d love to show you around." The implication is clear as daylight, and Jack is stunned by her audacity.
Even if she feels the weirdness, the fact that she feels it appropriate to come onto him in front of you—his wife—is astonishing. He notices your shoulders tense slightly, but he convinces himself he’s imagining it because you’re still laughing with Turner.
"Oh, I've already been there."
Warren just shrugs, spearing another piece of salad with her fork, smiling at him with a knowing look. "Things might have changed."
Evidently satisfied with that, she turns to Turner and you. "So, how close were you two back in med school?"
Jack stills, his attention honing in on you and the way your eyes widen slightly.
"Uh—"
"We dated," Turner says.
Jack's vision blurs and the noise of the restaurant dulls as blood rushes in his ears.
"Briefly," you add immediately, glancing over at Jack before dropping your gaze again. "For like two weeks."
"Still broke my heart," Turner says dramatically.
You roll your eyes. "You dated Tiffany literally less than a week after."
Turner shrugs with a grin, and Jack can't decide which is worse—knowing he once dated you, that he didn’t value you enough to keep you, or that he so easily replaced you.
You laugh, and it doesn't look like you care that much about it, but Jack can't help the ugly feeling that curls in his stomach.
"You still out there breaking hearts?" Turner asks.
"She's my wife." Jack doesn't hesitate, wanting to lay his claim even if he doesn't have the right to.
Turner's expression shifts to one of surprise, followed by a wide smile. "Oh wow. Congrats!"
He sounds genuine, which somehow only makes Jack hate him even more.
"You must be real special if Sleepy decided to settle down."
You offer a tight smile, taking a long sip of your drink as Jack follows suit. Unable to stop himself, he asks, "So, what's up with the nickname?"
Turner bursts into laughter, while you groan and point a finger at him, "Don't."
"She fell asleep in a lecture once," he says, clearly enjoying the moment.
Warren laughs loudly and mutters with a smile, "That's not very professional."
Your expression tightens, but Turner either didn't hear or just chose to ignore it, as he continues, "Our professor actually stopped class to call her out."
"I was exhausted," you defend yourself.
"You also used to fall asleep during study sessions."
"It's not my fault that you guys insisted on studying until like three in the morning," you retort.
"Good thing that's over then," Jack comments.
You look over at him, surprised. "...Yeah," you say softly.
For the first time all night, it feels like it's just the two of you again.
Until Warren smiles cloyingly at you. "A good doctor never stops studying."
"Of course," you smile, letting your gaze drop down to your plate again.
Later, after awkward goodbyes and forced smiles, you and Jack retreat back to your hotel room. There's a sharp bitterness settling in your mouth, your stomach churning after having to watch Warren flirt—blatantly, in your eyes—with Jack, and him not doing anything about it.
He could at least have some decency to wait until you're not there. You're not even going to comment on her and how disrespectful she was. All you can focus on is the anger that simmers under your skin as you brush your teeth. The rush of frustration drowns out everything else as you wash your face, your breath uneven as you change into your pyjamas.
The only thing that had gotten you through that dinner was seeing Jeremy again—he'd been the perfect distraction, keeping your attention on him with tales from med school. But you'd still noticed how Warren kept touching Jack and how pointed her comments were when she did speak to you.
When you step out of the bathroom again, after taking a few deep breaths, you find Jack sitting on the edge of the bed in sweats and a t-shirt, glasses low on his nose as he scrolls through his phone.
You look away before it can stir something in your chest. "I'm done," you tell him as you slip under the covers, turning your back on him.
By the time he comes back, you've dimmed the lights except for the lamp on his side. You listen as he removes his prosthetic, the soft sound of cream squishing as he gently massages his leg. Part of you wants to help him, but you hesitate, unsure if he would welcome it.
You stay still as he slides under the covers and turns off the lamp. You wonder what he's thinking of—if he's relieved the first day is over or if he wishes he were here with Lily instead.
A minute passes, then another, only the sounds of your breathing filling the room. Out in the hallway, you can hear muted footsteps, quiet laughter and then—
A loud sound tears through the wall. A moan, to be more specific. Long, dramatic and almost definitely fake.
Your eyes widen as another sound permeates the wall, somehow even louder the second time. It continues in a flurry of noises.
"Oh my god," you whisper.
Jack lets out a short laugh through his nose. A smile tugs at your lips at that sound. You haven't heard him laugh in forever when it was just the two of you. Without thinking, you ask, "Do you think he knows?"
Another moan echoes, and Jack snorts. "No."
You laugh quietly into your pillow. "Poor man."
Jack huffs another soft laugh. "Poor woman, more like."
You glance at him, turning around without really meaning to. "What?"
He shifts, too, his body turning toward you. "If she feels the need to fake it like that," he nods toward the wall, "then she clearly hasn't been with men who know how to make a woman feel good."
"Oh, and you do?" Your voice is light, teasing him like these past weeks haven't happened. You freeze the second you register it.
Jack stills next to you.
Heat floods your face immediately. "Oh my god, forget I said that." You turn around quickly, pulling the blanket up to your chin as if it can cool the flush that's travelling upwards. It sounded like you were challenging him, like you were asking him to—
You squeeze your eyes shut.
The mattress shifts slightly behind you as Jack exhales softly. "You know," he says after a moment, "I'd like to think I'd figure it out."
"You do not have to answer that," you squeak. "I shouldn't have—I'm sorry."
He chuckles quietly, and after a moment of silence, he replies, "Goodnight, Trouble."
He doesn't like you crossed a line or like you've annoyed him—he sounds...gentle. You pretend not to notice the way he puts pressure on your nickname.
"...Goodnight, Jack."
Nothing from the second day really sticks in your memory. You sit through lectures, take notes, nod at the appropriate moments, but your brain keeps snagging on the same thing—over and over again.
How you woke up wrapped in Jack's arms. How warm he was, the weight of his arms, the steady rise and fall of his breathing against your neck, and—
God.
The feel of his cock against your ass. How, when you'd shifted, still half asleep, it had twitched against you.
You'd tried to ignore it all day. It wasn't on purpose—just biology—but your mind keeps trying to spin it. The cold shower you took was not enough to keep the flush away throughout the day.
Jack's acting like it didn't happen. Like he hadn't nearly jumped off the bed when he woke up and noticed it. That still hurts to think about.
The warm feeling immediately turns sour when you remember that—a feeling that only worsens when Warren and Jeremy run into you after the celebratory dinner is over and the room has been turned into a dance floor.
Warren barely even acknowledges you as she sidles up to Jack. You hate how she speaks to him, hate how you can't help noticing how she stands close to him, how she laughs when he jokes, how she keeps touching him.
Jack doesn't seem to mind, and it makes you wonder briefly if you've been wrong about Lily—that it wasn't necessarily her, it was just anyone but you.
Jeremy tries to keep a conversation going with you, but even he sees it. His eyes keep glancing from the way you glare down at your champagne flute to the way Warren is laughing. He places a gentle hand on your shoulder, offering a sympathetic smile that asks if you're okay. You nod your head and force a smile back. You don’t need him to intervene; if Jack wanted to, he would.
He doesn't.
A sudden squeal from the microphone interrupts the chatter. "If there are any couples here tonight—or anyone hoping to be in one—head to the dance floor!"
Laughter ripples through the room as soft music begins playing.
You press your lips together, staring down at your drink. You plan to stay where you are.
"Wanna go—" Warren begins, and your chest aches. You can't stay here if he dances with her.
But Jack stays still, too, only to then reach his outstretched hand into your field of vision. "May I?"
You look up at him, surprised, but then realise it's just for show. Married couples dance. He can't exactly go off with Warren when there are people here whom you know. One last time pretending can't hurt, so you place your hand in his.
He leads you out onto the crowded dance floor and places a hand at your waist. The two of you step awkwardly, but somewhere between the music and the closeness, it stops. Your body remembers the shape of him, the rhythm, the ease of existing near him.
Your arms wrap around his neck, and the two of you sway gently. For the first time during this trip, you actually look at him. The lighting catches the green flecks in his eyes, his gaze locked on yours.
Your mouth goes dry, and you nervously bite your lip, almost willing to swear that his gaze drops down to it. Heat rushes up your neck.
You lean in closer, and he mirrors your movement.
"Can I—" he begins, and for a foolish second, you think he might kiss you. Then the room erupts into loud claps as the song ends, and your eyes snap open. You take a quick step back.
"I—I'll be right back," you stammer.
Jack frowns. "You okay?"
"Yeah," you nod quickly. "Just need to...pee!" You rush off before he can say anything else.
The bathroom is too bright and too quiet, though you're thankful no one is here to watch your spiral. You grip the sink tightly, exhaling harshly.
You need to get your shit together. Remember that this doesn't mean anything. It's a performance—he doesn't want you. No matter how much you can't help but keep hoping, even after the hallway, that he does.
You stay in there longer than you should. Splash water on your wrists, fix your lipstick, and try not to feel like you're sixteen years old again—stupid and foolish when it comes to love.
When you finally head back, you're not sure what you expected, but it wasn't seeing Jack and Warren laughing together. Her hand on his bicep, her head tilted backwards. You watch as she leans in, whispering something to him before heading over to the bar.
The hurt turns into anger as humiliation washes over you. He really doesn't care about your reputation or the fact that you'll forever be known for him straying.
You stride over to him.
"There you are—" he begins with a relieved smile.
You don't let him finish, leaning in to murmur to him. "I'm gonna go."
Jack blinks at you. "Why? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," you huff, but he seems unconvinced, searching your face for answers.
He sets his glass down. "Okay, let's go."
Your brows knit together. "No, you stay." Your gaze shifts to Warren. "It looks like you're doing just fine without me anyway."
"What—"
You step back, sending him a forced smile that hurts. "Have fun." You begin to turn around, but then remember— "Oh, just text me if you need the room."
Before he can ask anything else, before you can embarrass yourself further and before he can notice the angry tears glistening in your eyes, you turn and walk away.
Jack stands frozen for several seconds after you leave, staring at the spot you just occupied, trying—yet failing—to wrap his head around what just happened. He’d been trying to shake off Warren ever since you went to the bathroom, and just when she finally decided to head to the bar, you appeared with that piercing glare.
It looks like you're doing fine without me anyway.
Your words replay in his head.
Text me if you need the room.
Said as if you expected him not to come back, or like you expected him to—
His stomach sinks. He pushes through the crowd, ignoring Warren’s calls, impatiently tapping his fingers against his arms as he waits for the elevator. When it finally reaches your floor, he rushes out, swiping his key card haphazardly.
As the door swings open, he immediately sees you pacing, making sharp turns from the bed to the desk and back again. Your heels are thrown off to the side carelessly.
He closes the door behind him softly. "What's going on?"
You stop at the desk, your back turned to him, and he notices your shoulders rising and falling with quick breaths. "Nothing. You can go back," you dismiss him with a wave of your hand. There's an anger in your tone he’s never heard before.
"Go back?" He doesn't understand why you think he would—you're clearly upset.
"To Warren. Or whoever."
"Why on earth would I do that?"
You huff a laugh, bitter and low. "Don't play dumb."
Jack takes a cautious step closer. "Tell me what's going on."
"I told you. Nothing."
"Well, it's clearly not nothing," he says, frustration creeping into his voice. He doesn't understand why you won't look at him or why you're pushing him away like this—like you can't stand him.
"Jack—" you sigh, glancing back for barely a second. It's enough for him to spot the frustration carved deep in your features.
"Sweetheart," he says softly. You remain silent, but he feels like he’s making progress. "Why did you say that? About the room?"
Whatever hope he had quickly dissipates as you rip your earrings out and fling them onto the desk. "You know."
"No," he says. "I really don't."
You let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh, turning to face him, your eyes blazing with fury. "Oh, please." You cross your arms defiantly. "She was all over you. And you just let her."
Jack doesn't pretend not to know who you're talking about. It's clear that it's Warren. He wants to make it clear that he has no interest in her, but in his surprise, all he can manage to say is, "She knows we're married."
You scoff, rolling your eyes. "Well...you're not. Not really. Not in the way that matters." Taking a step closer, you add, "And she clearly doesn’t care anyway, but if it matters to you, you can just tell her we’re in an open relationship."
Jack stares at you. "Is that what you want?"
Your expression twists instantly. "What?"
"Is that what you want?" he repeats, slower, taking a step forward, too.
Your laugh this time sounds bitter. "Who cares what I want? If you want this, go for it," you say, gesturing vaguely toward the hallway. "Seriously. Have fun. I’ll leave."
Jack watches as you begin messily shoving things into your bag. Why is it that you keep saying things like this when you know what he feels for you? Are you just looking for a fight so you can leave?
Jack tightens his jaw. "And where exactly are you staying?"
You shrug.
"At Jeremy's?" he says, mocking the way you said it all evening. Soft and sweet and nauseating.
"Maybe...yeah," you snap, glaring at him. "He wouldn't flirt in front of the person he’s supposed to be married to."
Jack shakes his head in frustration. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Why did you keep saying that?"
You throw a shirt down and spin toward him. "Because it's true and you know it." You step closer, and he mirrors your movement. "Just stop pretending."
You’re close enough now for him to see your hands shaking with anger.
"I know you regret this," you say, voice cracking as it rises in volume. "And it’s okay."
"What?"
"The least you can do," you continue, "is be honest about it."
"I don’t—" His pulse races, the blood rushing in his ears as he tries to catch up.
"Come on," you scoff. "You don’t have to pretend anymore."
"Pretend what?" He steps closer.
"That you didn't hate every second of this. That saying yes to me wasn’t the biggest mistake of your life."
"What are you talking about?"
"That you regret getting stuck in this marriage!"
"That's not true!"
You close your eyes briefly, looking utterly worn out. "Can we not do this? Please?"
There’s barely any space between you now. He can feel your uneven breaths, just as clearly as he can see them.
"I've got a viewing in a few days. If it looks good, then I'll be out of your hair soon." The words pummel into him, stealing his breath.
You continue like you haven't just broken his heart, "We can sign the divorce papers when we get back. It's been long enough now."
The pieces of his heart shatter into even finer shards. "What?"
You avoid his gaze. "You can finally be with the person you actually want to be with."
His brows pinch together. "Who?"
"Lily."
Jack stares at you, confused. "...Lily?"
You huff, anger bubbling back up. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Don't pretend you don’t know."
"I genuinely don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!"
"I've seen the way you talk about her," you tell him. "The way your face changes."
His brain feels like it’s malfunctioning. "You think I’m in love with Lily?"
"You seriously expect me to believe otherwise?"
"Yes, because that's insane."
"I’m not blind, Jack!" you snap, your voice cracking. "I love you, and you don't love me, and that's fine."
"You—" His voice comes out rough. "What?"
Your eyes widen, and you quickly look away. "...Let's just stop."
Jack's hand shoots out, grabbing hold of your wrist before you can turn away. "No." The word comes out fast. "That's not what I want."
His mind is spinning. You love him.
"Well, we can't always get what we want," you say quietly, sounding incredibly sad. You try to tug your wrist free, but he keeps his grip firm.
"Trouble—" Jack begins, running a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots. "You love me?" he asks quietly.
You love him.
"Jack," you interject.
He takes a step closer. "I don't understand why you’re still pulling away. Not when you know—“
"That’s exactly why!" you cut him off.
His laugh comes out strained. "Is it that horrible to be with me? To let me love you?"
You stare at him with wide eyes, but then you shake your head. "You don't love me."
"What?" he asks. But you knew? Didn't you?
"No, you’re upset," you say quickly. "Or you feel guilty, or—or you're trying to fix this because I said something embarrassing."
"You think this is pity? After everything?"
"I think you're a good person," you say quietly. "And I think you're trying not to hurt me."
"No."
"Jack—"
"You really think I'd do that?" he asks quietly.
You hesitate.
His laugh comes out sharp. He turns away for a moment, pressing both hands against his mouth, as if trying to hold it together. Because somehow this feels more devastating than everything else: worse than thinking you didn’t want him, worse than the apartment viewings, worse than the divorce papers.
You think he pitied you. That every moment between you had been an obligation.
"You think I stayed because I felt bad for you?" he asks.
"I...yeah," you murmur, and the words nearly take him out at the knees.
"Sweetheart," he says softly, and there’s something wrecked in the word now. "I don’t know how I fucked this up so badly."
"You think I wanted out?" he asks. "All this time?" He shakes his head hard before you can answer. "I have spent months trying not to love you."
Your breath hitches in your throat.
"I tried," he admits helplessly. "I tried so hard. And I failed."
Doubt still flickers across your face.
"Sweetheart. Please. I don't know how else to tell you."
You look down. "I just don't want you to say something you'll regret tomorrow."
"Regret?" he repeats quietly. That damn word haunts him.
You shrug helplessly, eyes glassy. "When this all settles," you say softly, "I don't want you to wake up and feel trapped again."
"Oh sweetheart," he murmurs, "I have done a lot of stupid shit that I regret, but loving you has never been one of them."
You still look doubtful.
Jack feels something hot and frantic curl in his chest. He doesn't know what to say to make you believe him, so he does the next best thing. He closes the gap between you, his hand cradling your jaw as he tilts your head back and kisses you. It isn't a soft or careful kiss like he'd imagined you'd share after he'd told you that—no, this is angry, frustration bleeding into every part of it.
You shove weakly at his chest, and he's ready to step back, but then your fingers close into a fist, tugging at his shirt and pulling him closer.
His lips press against yours again, devouring you as he crowds you into the desk. He loses himself in the feeling, barely noticing how he's lifted you onto the desk, how your legs have parted around him or how he's grinding into you.
All he can focus on is the way you breathe his name softly, the sweet sounds you make as he trails kisses down your neck, and how your fingers claw at his hair, his shoulders, his arms, urging him to come closer.
You love him.
It's an euphoric feeling—he almost feels like he's floating outside his body. The thought keeps hitting him over and over again, dizzying and intoxicating.
Jack pulls back to look you in the eye. "I love you." His thumb brushes your jaw gently and across your kiss-swollen lips. You kiss it softly, leaning your face into his touch.
"Do you understand? Not Lily. Not anyone else." He searches your eyes, desperate for you to grasp the depth of his feelings. You’re the only one who’s ever mattered. "I love you."
Your eyes start glistening again, but you nod. Relief fills his chest. "I thought you didn't—" Before he can say anything to reassure you again, you move forward, capturing his lips in another heated kiss. The force of it nearly tilts him backwards, and the way you giggle against his lips sends his heart fluttering.
Your legs pull him closer, and he finally notices how your dress has bunched up around your waist. He curses at the sight of your underwear, the sweet little bow that starkly contradicts the naughty way you're moving against him and the wetness that's slowly soaking his slacks.
"Fuck me," he groans, his fingers gripping onto your waist, helping you move. He's never been this hard before. He moves slowly, trailing his fingers down to your thighs, watching you carefully.
His chest rumbles lowly when he finally feels just how wet you are. He can't count on one—or even two—hands how much he's thought about doing this and reality is so much better.
"You really love me?" he asks quietly, still not quite able to believe it.
"Yeah," you whisper. "I always have."
He leans his forehead against yours, pieces of his heart mending with each kiss. He pushes the fabric aside, brushes his fingers softly through your wetness, circling your clit and listening as you moan sweetly for him. He swears he could cum from just this.
You're so soft. So sweet. So tight around his fingers. "You're gorgeous," he breathes, and he feels you squeeze around him. He catches on to that quickly, leaning in close so he can whisper to you. "You're doing so well, sweetheart. You're so wet. So perfect." He pulls his fingers in and out, relishing in the sounds he manages to pull from both your cunt and your mouth.
"Ja-ack," you gasp, and he can tell you're close.
"Be a good girl and cum for me," he says, pressing his other hand against your clit. The combined stimulation and his words push you over the edge, your legs shaking against him, your nails pressing hard into his arms. He doesn't mind, welcoming it and staying close until you begin pulling back.
He's never seen anyone as stunning as you. He watches as the glazed look in your eyes slowly subsides, and you come back to earth.
He still can't believe this is real. His thumb brushes softly against your jaw. "Hi, sweetheart."
"Hi," you murmur, a shy smile on your face. "That was—that was incredible."
It's like you know he'll tease you because you pull his face close, kissing him again. He could do this all the time. He hopes you'll let him.
He's so caught up in your kisses and making you feel good that he's forgotten about himself. It's only when your hands travel down his chest to his slacks and begin to palm him that he remembers.
You grin into the kiss at the groans he makes.
"Stop teasing," he begs, but doesn't move to change anything. He stands still as you find the zipper and begin pulling his slacks and boxer briefs down. He lets you take the lead, won't force you to do anything you don't want to—even if he's aching to feel your heat around him.
You pull him out, and then you stare down at his cock with a wide-eyed look. He can't help but tease you. "Don't tell me you've never seen one of these before?"
"Ha," you huff, slapping his chest. "It's just...big."
"You flatter me," he says, pride rushing through him. He's about to make another silly comment, but it evaporates the second you twist your hand.
"Fuck," he gasps when you pull him close, letting the head swipe through your wetness.
"I don't—" It takes all his strength to think clearly. "I don't have a condom."
"It's okay." You continue grinding against him.
"You sure?"
"Yes," you confirm, looking him deeply in the eye. Then you position him against your entrance and pull at his hips. He pushes forward slowly. Fuck. You're so tight. So warm.
He watches you carefully, ready to stop at the slightest hint of discomfort.
"Move, Jack," you beg him once the full length of him is inside. "Please."
Who is he to deny you? His hips snap forward, setting a steady pace. "I won't last long," he warns you.
You kiss him again, pulling him closer. Your gasps and moans are more than enough to send him over the edge, but he gathers all the strength he has. He reaches a hand down and finds your clit and waits until your eyes begin to glaze over and your legs shake again.
Only then does he let go of all restraint. His hips snap into you in a furious pace before he pulls away with a loud groan, spilling onto your cunt. He watches it drip down your thighs, his chest rising unevenly as he comes down from his high.
"That was—" he breathes out, locking eyes with you again. You nod, equally speechless. The two of you share a moment of silence before Jack springs into action, grabbing a towel to wipe you down.
He sends you away to pee and slips out of his clothes, leaving only his underwear on. His prosthetic lands next to the bed as he crawls under the covers, a wave of nervousness washing over him.
What if you regretted it? What if you didn't feel like that anyway?
You emerge from the bathroom, barely meeting his gaze, and Jack's stomach drops at the sight. His t-shirt from yesterday hangs on the chair, and he watches breathlessly as you put it on along with a fresh pair of panties. Then you settle in beside him, leaning into the crook of his neck with a smile, and he finally feels himself relax.
You don't regret it.
"I'm sorry," he says softly after a moment of breathing in your calming scent.
"For what?"
"For not telling you sooner." He exhales, tracing gentle patterns on your skin with his fingers. "I thought you knew. I thought you were pulling away because of that."
You pause to process his words, your head shaking firmly. "I'm sorry, too. I should've asked you instead of just assuming." You take his hand, intertwining your fingers. "I overheard you saying you regretted this, and that sent me spiralling. It didn't help that I thought you loved Lily."
Jack frowns. "When did I say that?"
"In the hallway. With Robby..."
He thinks back and realises, "Oh, sweetheart. That's not what I meant—I said I regretted it because I fell in love with you during it, and I couldn't stop it from happening despite knowing you didn't want me like that."
"I do—"
"I know," he interrupts gently. "I know that now." He squeezes your fingers and leans down to plant a soft kiss on your head. "And just to be clear—if you need to hear it again—I don’t love Lily. I love you."
He can feel the smile spreading across your face. "I love you, too."
He's grateful you're not looking at him because he must look silly grinning this widely. You press a kiss to his neck and then sigh contentedly.
"Guess I should've trusted Olivia," you murmur after a moment.
He chuckles, making a mental note to send her a thank-you gift for having his back without him knowing. "Robby, too."
You groan. "They're gonna be insufferable once they find out they were right."
Jack hums, his fingers dancing along your back. "We don't have to tell them right away."
"No?" You lean back slightly to look at him.
"We can keep this between us for a little bit, don't you think?" he says, his gaze dropping down your lips.
"Yeah," you breathe, your eyes darkening as your fingers gently tug at the hair at the nape of his neck to bring him close. Jack kisses you again. And again. And again.
He isn't sure how long he kisses you for, not that it really matters. All he knows is that it won't ever get better than this. He finally has his girl.
a/n: aaahhhh!! they finally confessed!!! it's been a long (and painful) journey but we're finally here <33333
pairing: Jack Abbot x surgical resident!reader
summary: your work’s been leaving you exhausted, but you’re struggling to fall asleep, you barely can relax. Javadi recommends you an audio erotica app. and it does help you unwind. until you realize that the orgasmic raspy voice in your headphones belongs to one of your attendings — none other than Jack Abbot.
warnings: implied age gap (that you can ignore); mutual pining, Jack isn’t that good at flirting when he catches feelings. he compensates for it with his other talents 😏 smut {dirty talk, masturbation, praise kink, teasing, fingering (with two hands, idk if that’s a thing?), piv, aftercare}; Park is an unintentional wingman, Javadi is the bestest of friends / words: 13K / author’s note: this was suuuper unplanned, I wrote the whole thing in a couple of days. is the smut too detailed? maybe. idc ♡ READ ON AO3 / MASTERLIST
Late in the evening, the cafeteria makes for a perfect place for naps.
With day and night shifts overlapping, everyone’s busy with the paperwork and greetings, and that’s when you prefer to slip away. You aren’t alone at this uncommon hiding spot — Santos already dozed off at a table further off, earbuds in, hood up. She can sleep anywhere and anytime. But you aren’t that lucky.
You spent ten minutes genuinely trying — deep breaths, and meditation, and counting sheep. Now you’re just sulking, helpless against your permanent exhaustion. You catch the footsteps first — quick, quiet, a woman on a mission. The door creaks just a little when it opens.
Closes.
You know the quiet won’t last long.
“I can feel you staring. You’d suck as a spy,” you say, grudgingly opening one eye to see Javadi leaning on the fridge door.
She shakes her head — half disapproval, half concern. “You know, each time I see you here, I’m not sure if you’re asleep or dead.”
“And they let you talk to suicidal people like that? Maybe I plan on walking out of the nearest window.”
“You won’t make it that far,” she chuckles and hands it to you — her peace offering: a frozen Butter Pecan Swirl, topped with whipped cream and sprinkled with crushed nuts. It’s like an orgasm in a cup (a huge one), which you are happy to accept.
Javadi sits right next to you, concern still very present in her deer-like dark eyes. “I think even the patients on a psych hold look better than you do.”
“Wow, that comparison really cheered me up. You should be thankful, by the way,” you’re savouring the icy, jarringly sweet drink. “If I didn’t look like death, you’d still be dreaming about getting into surgical residency. My eyebags changed the course of your life. You’re welcome.”
“I am forever in your debt. I’ll pay it off with coffee,” she smiles and leans back on the wall, stretching her legs out — black scrubs pants, grey sneakers, a sigh of relief.
And you think — suddenly and stupidly, because that’s how your brain’s now wired — of that one time Jack brought you the same drink. Sat with you on this same spot. Looked at you with his eyes crinkled at the corners, his usual smirk turned into a softer smile. You don’t even remember what he talked about, but the feeling stayed: of just how calm his presence made you. How comforting it was.
For a good minute, your coffee loses taste.
You blink. Take another sip. Look up — and see him walking through the door. And then it feels like you’re losing it in general. You pinch yourself. He doesn’t disappear.
“Long time no see,” Jack says, very much real. Casual. He goes to look for something in the fridge, a crumb of time for you to get yourself together. Then he looks back at you. “Tough shift?”
Tough week. Or month. Actually, life’s been pretty tough since you stopped working by his side. But you remind yourself that it was your decision.
“Bearable,” you say, pretending to take interest in the thick swirls of syrup on the inside of your cup. Hoping he’d take a hint. And yet, despite him being good at many things, Jack is perpetually bad at leaving you alone.
You left him first. You thought he’d hate you.
Instead, you hear his voice tinged with warmth:
“Didn’t you just patch up the guy with a ruptured aorta? That was badass.”
His compliment feels like a glass of water, and you’ve been parched with thirst.
“Yeah,” you meet his gaze, because you’ve missed him terribly. He’s looking at you like he hoped you would. And you can’t help the smile. “I guess it was.”
He doesn’t stop there. He comes a step closer, crossing his arms over his chest — unreasonably, sinfully buff arms — and stares straight at you:
“Remind me where’d you learned that clamping trick?”
He’s being smug now, and you have missed this too. Slowly, the room is narrowing to the small space he takes. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I might have more tricks up my sleeve. Can teach you somethin' else.”
He holds your gaze. Pins you to the spot with his. And just as always, he makes you feel like no one in the world exists except you two —
But you aren’t really alone.
You catch movement out of the corner of your eye. No doubt, it’s Javadi wishing she could blend in with the wall. And when you snap back to reality, Jack follows.
He clears his throat, taking a step back. “Teach you in the ER, I mean. If you want to or—or if you ever decide to come back, you know. But no pressure or anything.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Dr. Abbot,” you tell him, in the politest tone that you can master. Already grieving that small moment you knew could never last.
Javadi can barely wait for him to leave — before her face breaks into a smile. “Aw, he has a crush on you.”
“Which you have told me a dozen times, and I’ll continue to reply that no, he doesn’t,” although your own face treacherously heats up.
“He flirted with you just now.”
“He flirts with everyone. He’s like an energy vampire, that’s why he doesn’t look his age.”
Trinity groans somewhere behind you. She takes her earbuds out and sits up, stretching her shoulders. “To be fair, his flirting isn’t that impressive.”
“I think half of the ER would disagree,” Javadi eagerly retorts. If there’s one thing these two don’t ever get tired of, it’s bickering.
“Oh no, he is charming. With everyone but her,” Trinity turns to you with a shit-eating grin. “With you, he’s awkward. Which, don’t get me wrong, is hilarious to witness. But Crash does have a point — he’s totally into you.”
“Did you two just agree on something? I must be hallucinating.”
Javadi rolls her eyes. Santos just huffs a laugh. She grabs her backpack, smartphone and an already opened silvery-blue can.
“He’s also been very moody since you moved to the upper floor. Just saying,” she winks at you and walks out, loudly gulping her Red Bull.
Your mood hasn’t been good either. It gets a little worse once you realise you reached the bottom of your frothy drink. And somehow, your second wind didn’t kick in.
“Can you develop a high tolerance to coffee? I feel like I should be way more awake. This cup is literally the size of a newborn.”
“Babe, you know there’s barely any coffee in it,” Javadi says, no judgment, just a little bit of pity. “You just crave sugar because your body needs some fuel to continue functioning.”
“But what if coffee isn’t working anymore... What’s the next best option? Cocaine?”
“You can’t afford cocaine.”
“I’ll sell a kidney.”
“Can’t do that either, you need them both.”
“I didn’t say I would sell mine.”
The laugh she gives you sounds half-hearted. Her face looks serious when she notes. “I know that humour is your defensive mechanism, but sometimes it’s okay to actually talk about what’s bothering you.”
“I’m very bothered by the amount of unsolicited therapy you keep bringing into our friendship,” you quip. And your regret is instant. “Sorry, I genuinely don’t remember the last time I slept for more than five hours.”
“Has Park been riding you too much? You know you are allowed to take breaks, even if he doesn’t think so.”
“No, it’s not that I don’t have free time, I just— I can’t fall asleep. I drag my feet and doze off ten times a day, but the second my head hits the pillow — nothing. My body is not... bodying or whatever the fuck it’s called.”
And then you watch her worry bleed into a different expression. She looks at you, a little coy, a little bit excited.
“I might have an idea. But I need you not to laugh at me.”
“Vic, I am physically closer to a zombie than to a human being. If there’s any way to help me fall asleep faster, I’ll try it.”
“Okay, there’s this app... With a collection of audios. Recorded by men and women, you can pick. They sort of play out different imaginary scenarios, like meeting you for the first time and getting to know each other. And maybe, like, kissing or —”
“Just to clarify, you recommend that I listen to some porn?” you’re trying to drag out some of the whipped cream with a straw.
“It’s not porn!” she hisses, adorably ashamed. “I mean, not always. They aren’t all explicit. The ones I’ve listened to, they were... Really immersive. And it just feels nice. Helps to take your mind off things. I don’t know, I kinda thought you’d be into it.”
“Masturbation? I feel like I should be offended.”
“No, the whole... Talking thing.”
With your mouth full, you raise a brow at her, somewhat confused.
“I mean, isn’t that why you liked working with Abbot? He was explaining everything to you, always talked you through the procedures and stuff. And now you are super annoyed because Park barely speaks. Just glares at people.”
“I assure you, I’m not at all annoyed that my attending does not turn me on.”
Javadi giggles, leaning toward you. “So what you’re saying is that... Abbot turned you on?”
“You know what, now I actually want to kill myself.”
“No, you still have an hour of your shift left. And then,” she rubs your arm with small, comforting circles, back to her serious self. “You will come home, take a scalding shower, just as you like it, pop in a couple of melatonin gummies, and get some sleep.”
“Those gummies don’t do shit. I ate four last time and then stared at the ceiling for two hours.”
She playfully nudges your shoulder with hers. “Well, there’s always another option,” Javadi laughs at your grimace and gets up. “I need to go back to other unstable people. Text me when you get home. I’m serious.”
“Will do, mom.”
She flips you off on her way out.
Whatever little caffeine’s been in your drink, it helps you look less dead and more like a person who can be trusted with a scalpel. The OR floor is quiet and cool, and from afar, Park can be mistaken for a statue: a tall body made of sharp lines and muscles, staying completely still as he looks through a patient’s file.
He waits for you to reach the nursing station. Gives you one quick look, his eyes deep blue, cold like ice.
“Got enough coffee to keep you standing? Don’t want to scrape you off the floor.”
You give him a dry chuckle. “When have you ever scraped me off the floor?”
One corner of his mouth moves up, merely an inch. “Fair,” he says, his gaze back to the tablet. “I’d like for it to stay that way.”
“So who’s the last one for today? Anything exciting?”
“Male, 63, a proximal humerus fracture. It’s all in his file. I’ll see you in ten.”
Big fucking thanks for the detailed reply.
“They say that brevity is the soul of wit, but no one tells you it’s also such a mood killer,” you mutter, not bothering to keep your voice down.
Park makes a sound that’s more of a long hum than a real laugh. He throws the words over his shoulder: “I’ll let you do the CRPP.”
“Thanks, I’m smiling on the inside.”
He never really smiles. Or says more than he needs to. And sometimes you’re thankful that he doesn’t: it unironically makes him almost the perfect mentor for you.
Unlike the previous one.
You may never admit it out loud, but you’ve come to enjoy working with Park. He’s harsh at times, yes, but he is also quick and talented and not that bad at teaching. The problem isn’t that he doesn’t talk much. You don’t mind doing your own research, and you’re actually okay with him being closed off.
The real problem is Jack Abbot. Who has been driving you insane.
At first, there were no signs of trouble.
You picked the night shift for your rotation because you’ve always been more of a night owl, and you enjoyed the challenge that comes with the variety of traumas. You two clicked from day one — Jack carried just the right amount of confidence to seem trustworthy, but his male ego didn’t get offended by someone else’s talent. He smiled at you and made small talk and always offered answers to your questions. He also smiled and talked to literally everybody else, so you didn’t think much of it. At least, you tried not to. You told yourself that you came to the ER to learn, that you wouldn’t allow your feelings to interrupt your job.
Even when said feelings turned into a crush. That felt like an addiction.
It started with you waiting. Wanting. More of his words, his gaze, his flattering attention. Jack always knew exactly how to land a compliment — his words were short, sure. Accompanied by that hint of a smile. He’d stand close, just on the edge of inappropriately close, his steady voice providing guidance. He’d push you when he knew that you could handle it. He’d tell you all the necessary steps and walk you through them and somehow make you feel like you succeeded on your own. “Yes, that’s the move.” “Look at you taking risks, kid.” “Good” —
— “girl”, you wanted Jack to add.
So good for him, you wanted him to think.
You wanted him. God knows, you wanted him so badly.
It didn’t help that Shen soon started calling you “Jack’s favorite”. Sometimes in front of Abbot, who hasn’t denied it once. Ellis discreetly (so she thought) tried leaving you alone with him more often. And even Crus once told you that you were the only resident Jack paid so much attention to.
It could’ve been a picture-perfect start of a love story, if only not for one crucial piece missing: Jack never crossed the line.
Even after you’ve caught his gaze lingering, his hands reaching for you, his warmth grazing your shoulder or your spine. On more than one occasion. And still, it led nowhere. There were no accidental touches, no flirting outside of the ER, he didn’t even try to get your number.
Inevitably, it made you feel self-conscious. Stupid. Pathetic even. What’s worse, his presence was distracting, and losing focus was the one thing you absolutely couldn’t do.
So you looked for a way out that’d let you save your dignity and your career. Switching to surgery helped you with both. Despite the fact that you had to restart your year. Despite seeing the very obviously hurt expression on Jack’s face when you informed him. He didn’t try to stop you, though. You didn’t tell him why exactly you were leaving. Instead, you dived right into work: from dealing with small fractures and arthritis to sports injuries, torn muscles, spinal disorders and crushed bones. It was in no way easy, but it felt empowering — knowing that you could fix something so strong and weighty, the living tissues made of minerals and collagen, the bony structure that allows people to move.
And on the rare occasions your paths crossed, Abbot kept being friendly. But you kept your distance.
Even if deep down, you still missed him.
His gaze, his guidance. Most of all, his voice.
It takes you two more days to finally give up and ask Javadi about the app.
Hey, so that app that’s totally not audio porn... Can you please give me the name. And then forget I asked.
Actually, forgetting might not be enough. Next time you come over, I’ll need you to swear on the Bible.
There’s no way you have a Bible at home.
Well, another option is a blood oath.
I’m this 🤏 close to admitting you into our psych ward.
Just say you miss me and want to see me more often. There’s no shame in it!
Please, get fucked (literally 😛).
You click the App Store link she sent, then press on the newly downloaded icon on the screen.
The layout is pretty simple — pale colors, normal-sized fonts, a short video guide. You don’t waste time and tap on the male voices' section to look through their audio titles. They aren’t at all exhilarating. A Trip to the G-spot (thanks, been there), Hold on to my nuts! (yikes), Your Daddy’s Home (double yikes), The Song of Praise and Cum (this calls for a lobotomy). You spend another minute on it, already battling frustration — and you’re about to log off, when finally a title catches your attention:
A Helping Hand.
“Okay, a little on the nose,” you mumble to yourself.
It is a series of recordings, about half an hour each. It seems that he is relatively new, but he’s got great reviews. His nickname is Nightcrawler. He has no profile photo. His bio says: “I guess, this is my new hobby.”
You’re positive that it won’t work on you.
You take a shower, put on your pajamas and your noise-cancelling headphones. You sit in bed, your back against the pillows. With zero expectations (except maybe to find it all ridiculous and cringe).
You press play.
At first, there’s just silence.
And then he starts, his voice unhurried like a rustle of the wind:
“Hi, baby. You look so tired,” he murmurs. “You’ve had a hard day, I can tell.”
You pause immediately. But not because you hate it. It startles you — how much you like him from the get-go, how just a sentence of this stranger’s voice made heat flash in your stomach.
You try to sit a little straighter. Then press play again.
“All that tension in your body, that slight soreness of your muscles... We really need to do something about it, honey. I can’t have you going to sleep so tense.”
Yeah, you don’t want that either.
His every quiet word strikes home: your limbs are heavy with exhaustion, your mind is clouded with it. You let out a breath you didn’t realize that you were holding. And you don’t think that him saying all that is a hell of a coincidence. Instead, it actually feels nice: for someone else to talk about your struggles. For it to sound like understanding.
“Don’t worry, I can fix that. You just lie down and listen to my voice.”
So you slide lower in your bed, the pillows now behind your head and shoulders. And when he asks to close your eyes, you do.
You follow every single one of his instructions. His raspy, gently voiced commands: he’s telling you to take deep breaths, to slowly stretch out your arms and legs, to draw small circles over your temples, to put your hands lower and massage your neck. He’s telling you he wishes he was there to help you. That he would know exactly where to rub and press. And that his fingers would’ve felt much better.
Then he’s instructing you to put hands on your chest, to run them up and down your body to get your blood flowing. You do just that. And soon you feel your skin prickle with warmth.
“Need you to relax, to shut off that beautiful brain of yours,” he says, with a controlled and hushed insistence. “Don’t think about anything. It’s just you and me, sweetheart.”
Your thoughts are light; there’s nothing on your mind but him. Your muscles pliantly unravel as he continues speaking. About how warm your skin must feel, how pretty you are looking — laid out for him on your bedcovers. And there’s another feeling that feeds off his voice: a spark of fire that grows and spreads and makes you ache for more.
You hear him telling you to move your hands down to your stomach. He says he wishes he could touch you there, to slowly drag his fingers down to your navel —
“Wish I could feel how wet you are right now.”
Your eyelids flutter open.
You probably should’ve predicted this turn of events. And truthfully, you aren’t as opposed to it as you thought you would be. You’re just not sure it will work. But when you slide your hand beneath the waistband of your panties —
you find the fabric in between your legs already soaked.
All that from someone talking to you nicely?
There must be something in his voice.
That same voice whispers:
“Touch yourself.”
Barely a second passes before you do.
This isn’t your first time, but somehow, it feels very different. More satisfying. Way more intimate. Pads of your fingers move against your clit, exactly how he tells you:
“want you to go slow for me, baby. rub it in circles, ju-ust like that,”
“apply more pressure with your index finger — feels good, yeah? c’mon, don’t stop,”
“now move a little lower, feel what a mess you’re making. I know you must be dripping”.
He’s right, you are. And then your eyes fall shut again, a whimper tumbling from your lips.
“I bet you’d feel so tight around my fingers,” he says hoarsely, making you clench around nothing.
If he was here, in your room, you’d shamelessly beg for more. A long-forgotten pleasure starts coiling in your stomach.
“Want you to put a finger in,” he orders. “Imagine that it’s mine.”
You start with one. Just one, and yet, it’s getting difficult to focus on his words. And fleetingly, with your chest heaving, you wonder what his fingers would feel like. As if he reads — or guesses — where your thoughts are wandering, he tells you, a smirk heard in his voice:
“But mine would be a lot thicker, so I need you to add another one,” — you slip the second finger in, and he lets out a hum, like he can see you, — “There you go. Don’t rush it, we’ve got time. I’d never rush it with you, honey.”
Despite you trying to move slowly, you’re getting dangerously close to cumming. You want to drag it out, you do, but he is making it too hard. When he is whispering to spread your legs wider. To set a rhythm, to start moving your hips a little. When he is telling you that you’re doing so good.
When he wants you to use your free hand to touch your nipples. When he says, teasingly, how much he wishes he could put his lips on you.
When you can hear him sigh, like all this also turns him on.
“Want you to go faster,” his words come out in low grunts. “Yes, keep going, don’t stop. Keep fucking yourself. Need to get you loosened up and ready for me. Fuck, your cunt would feel so perfect wrapped around my cock —”
Your orgasm crashes over you, sudden and shuddering.
You’re gasping, too loudly to hear what he is saying, your body floating in the waves of bliss. It takes a moment for you to catch your breath.
The audio ends abruptly on his own heavy breathing.
You are left stupefied and sweaty. And satisfied beyond description. Your headphones end up thrown across the bed, but you’re too tired to move an inch. It is a very pleasant kind of tired.
Before you know it, you are fast asleep.
What’s meant to be just a one-off soon turns into a habit. And you don’t really feel ashamed about it.
There is a certain thrill to it — having a secret you don’t want to share, the one thing you can’t wait to get home to. It does help you to take the edge off, yes: with just his words, he makes your tension melt away, makes all the worries disappear. Leaving you dazed and gasping at the thought of how good he’d fuck you.
But sometimes, as you come down from your high, your thighs wet and hands trembling, and he is soothing you back into consciousness — the stranger’s voice reminds you of Jack’s.
It can’t be him, of course.
You wish it was.
You also wish you could move on. Unstitch him from your memories that he’s been woven into, his face and arms and words seemingly always on your mind. They shouldn’t be, not when your feelings are so obviously one-sided.
So, since you’re able to wake up well-rested, you start to pile on more work.
You take your time to learn about non-invasive treatments: you get to know the PTMC’s physician and psychiatrist, you print out studies about injections and post-operative care, you spend your breaks leafing through the countless pages. You learn fast. You grab at every chance to practice. You ask to scrub in on some of Garcia’s cases, you’re lucky to assist Javadi’s mother a few times. And even though you feel that Park’s a little bit suspicious of your ardor, he asks no questions.
You don’t see Jack. He’s still on nights, and you are mostly up in the OR, and even when you do come down, you do your best to stay away. You hope that a tight schedule and your daily orgasms will be enough of a distraction. That at some point, your crush will quietly die down.
It’s no surprise that you’re working on the 4th.
And it’s predictably a shitshow: the waiting room is packed with patients, swamped with the summer heat, every new injury is worse — and way more gruesome — than the other. You deal with fractured, broken bones, you get to help with torn-off fingers, bashed-in skulls and penetrating wounds. You rush from one OR into the other. You barely get time to take a breath. And once you finally do, you get called down to the ER.
“Look who it is. Since when does surgery send its best residents to us poor mortals?” Robby puts on a smile to greet you.
“Garcia is still operating on Howard, Park’s dealing with your water slide case. I’m just happy to treat someone with intact bones for a change.”
“Can’t promise it will be a pretty sight.”
“Didn’t count on it.”
He cackles, his gloved hand pointing toward the sliding doors the gurneys come through. “Here’s the reason we called for a consult. Yours is the one with Old Glory jammed in his chest.”
And in the next second, your own chest tightens, anxiety bruising your ribcage like a seatbelt in a crash. Because the aforementioned patient is rolled in by Jack.
He doesn’t see you yet. You can’t help but notice — the tension roped around his back, the sheen of sweat around his forehead, faint sleepless shadows spilled under his eyes. Reflexively, you step out of the way so he can move down the hall without bumping into you. So you can stay unnoticed.
The injured man is in the middle of a screaming match with some guy whose cheek is slashed in half.
“I’m gonna take that thing out of my chest and shove it down your ass!”
“You hit me with a fucking Rolling Rock, man!”
“Because you are a cheater! And now my chest fucking hurts!”
“You’re the one who broke the rules! You know every detail must be —”
“Take yours into trauma 2 before I go deaf on one ear,” Abbot mumbles to Ellis, then tries to shush his patient. It isn’t working.
And you can tell that Jack is low on patience.
He grips the gurney with both hands and pushes it into the room, his voice coming out low and clipped:
“Sir, we are gonna get you more pain meds, but you need to shut your fucking mouth.”
It is a quick remark, maybe a little out of his character — too blunt, too rude; although acceptable under the current circumstances. And in the never-ending noise and busyness of the ER no one would ever waste their time on lecturing him. You aren’t even sure they heard.
But you freeze. As if a bomb just went off. The world around you is momentarily devoid of all the other sounds.
It isn’t the specific words, but the emotions you could hear behind them — intensity Jack usually reigns in, the punctuated heat of anger that slipped through his “shut” and “fucking”. You aren’t surprised he said those words. Or used that tone. Or lost his self-restraint for a few seconds.
You’re struck by the realization that you have heard him talk like that before.
“If his heart was damaged, he surely wouldn’t be yelling,” Robby comes up to you, eyeing the rowdy patient. “But the stabbing’s definitely within the cardiac box. What do you think?”
“Cardiac box it is. I’d bet on a pneumothorax,” you say, on some miraculous autopilot. But you aren’t looking at the patient.
Jack grabs the scissors to remove the man’s clothes, his hands working around the wooden stick he is impaled on; his gaze grazes you. On accident or maybe out of habit Jack hasn’t managed to unlearn. He turns to throw away the ruined, blood-stained fabric — then stops. And then his eyes come back to you, this time with purpose. He meets your gaze, his own confused a little, one of his brows crawling up. Because you’re staring at him, and he has no idea why.
It’s almost funny to imagine how you’d explain to him your stupor. Hey, Jack, is there a chance you like recording steamy audios? 'Cause I believe that I’ve been getting off to the sound of your voice.
But at the moment, you aren’t laughing.
You make an effort to drag your gaze away, your heartbeat loud in your ears. This can’t be happening. It cannot actually be him.
“Do an ultrasound to get a confirmation, I’ll go up to prep the OR,” you say to Robby flatly, eager to leave the room, to have a minute to yourself.
You take the stairwell, thoughts rushing as your feet are. And very quickly, your shock gives way to irritation. Surely, Jack is allowed to do whatever in his free time. But now that you suspect it’s him — his low voice that is so masterful at saying all those dirty things — you don’t think you’ll be able to relax. It would also be kinda inappropriate to continue listening to that.
But then you spend another seven hours on your feet. Three surgeries, two breaks (about ten minutes in total), a lot of blood and bones, a few of Park’s dry words. You miss the fireworks, the get-together with your former colleagues, the friendly chatter that maybe could’ve helped you to unwind. And by the time you cross the hall of your apartment, you find it hard to care about propriety.
You put the headphones on, fully aware that you’re about to hear Jack.
It doesn’t ruin things for you. It only turns you on instead.
Because it’s not some random guy — it’s Jack who puts you on all fours. Jack who tells you to put your fingers in your mouth. To suck them, to then take them deeper, to gag on them, just like he could’ve made you gag around his cock.
“Ass up for me, baby,” he instructs, his every word now carrying more weight — you cannot stop imagining him being here, whispering it all into your ear. “Bet your pussy is wet enough to take two fingers right away. C’mon, be a good girl. Show me.”
You never even think about reaching for your toys. You don’t need to: not when his voice alone makes waves of heat roll through your body, makes you pulsate with want, moan with longing.
“Want you to think of my cock slowly stretching you,” Jack rasps, “Because it’s all I think about,” and you’re imagining his chest pressed to your back, the sounds he would make while thrusting deep, deeper, relentless movement of his hips, his lips grazing your neck, “I know you’ll take my cock so well. Like it was made for fucking you.”
His big hands roaming over your body. His hot breath on your skin. Him, him, it has always been him.
“I’d make you feel so good. Until you drip all over my cock. Until you’re sobbing for me to fill you up,” he whispers heatedly. “I will. Just so I can fuck my cum back into you when we go for round two. I know my girl is always greedy for more.”
And he is right, you would be.
“Like you were made for it. For me.”
You cum as hard as always, breathless and shaking. And this time, with his name helplessly gasped against your pillow. A few long seconds after that, in your sweet postorgasmic haze, you get a very clear thought: you still want Jack, now more than ever.
And you two really need to talk.
You press Call before you can come up with yet another argument for why this is a bad idea. She picks up in four seconds, but you don’t let her say a word.
“Hey, so do remember when you guys went out last time, and I couldn’t go because of that leg amputation thing, and you told me you ended up in some new bar, with those big plants or whatever, and Abbot was there too?”
“Wow, are you already on cocaine?” Javadi laughs.
“No, I just had a good night of sleep, so please keep up. You’re coming to the same bar this Friday, right?”
“Yep, that’s the plan. You decided to join us?”
“I’m thinking about it. But I’m gonna be at least an hour late, cause I’d have to get home to change and then —”
“Or you can just come right after work. The place isn’t that fancy. You can do casual.”
“I don’t want casual. I wear jeans 360 days a year, it’d be nice to actually feel pretty for once.”
“Oh, cut the crap, I know you’d look great in anything!”
“That’s very kind of you to say, but I’m not calling to discuss my wardrobe. I was wondering if you can... If by any chance Jack shows up again —”
“O-ooh.”
“No, don’t oh at me. You don’t even know what I’m about to ask.”
“If Abbot shows up, I’m gonna tell him that you are coming too, so he’ll stay and wait for you.”
“Okay, you can add mind-reading to your resume, you witch.”
“You’re both kinda predictable,” Javadi notes with a chuckle. “When he came last time, he left immediately after he found out you weren’t there.”
“Or he just remembered he left the stove on and didn’t want his flat to burn down. It’s not like he explicitly told you why he was leaving.”
“He didn’t need to,” she argues. “He came in, went straight to the bar where we were hanging out, ordered a beer and managed the small talk for barely a minute before he flat-out asked if you were there. Looked like a kicked puppy when I told him you didn’t come. Wished us a good night and took off, didn’t even take his beer.”
That does sound like he came to see you. You find it cute. But only for a moment — until you get a stinging thought: if he wanted to see you outside of work, why has he never asked you out?
“I’ll text you when I’m done,” you say, trying to sound unconcerned, unruffled by the possibility of your months-long feelings being reciprocated. “The spinal fusion should take about three hours.”
“Ugh, it sounds so cool when you say it, but then I remember what that process actually is like.”
“It is pretty cool.”
“And I am very glad you think that,” she’s quick to reassure. “Go fuse some vertebrae, so we’ll have something to drink to!”
The surgery takes four hours.
It is a slow, meticulous procedure accompanied by Park’s curt advice and your own strategic guesses — and usually, something like that would leave you drained. Hardly in the mood for socializing. But this evening, you step out of the OR with a wide grin.
“Good call about rotating the metal plates,” Park says, his voice emotionless. Like he’s not sure himself that it’s a compliment.
Still, you take it.
“Thank you, I did some reading beforehand,” you tell him, throwing away your dirty gloves and gown. “Should help with healing, too. But knock on wood, we’ll see what his post-op scans show.”
And you’re already doing some non-work-related calculations in your head. 10 minutes on filling out the patient’s file, 10 more for ordering a cab and waiting for it, then if you’re lucky, you’ll be home in 20 —
“Abbot was right about you.”
That makes you stop. Makes an uncomfortable feeling settle in your stomach. You haven’t seen Brendon and Jack talk once. And you cannot imagine them talking about you.
You turn to Park, not smiling anymore:
“Care to explain?”
“He wrote you a recommendation letter. Didn’t he tell you?” he casually clarifies. “Not that I asked for it. But he delivered it himself, four pages in Times New Roman,” the straight line of his mouth curves a little. Almost a smirk, but not unkind. And he does seem sincere when he adds, “Abbot was right, you are great. Glad to have you on our team.”
“Hold on. I just want to get a few facts straight,” and your tone is astonishingly calm, despite it feeling like your blood is simmering. “So he came to you. With a printed-out letter. And then what, you guys talked?”
“Yes. About the letter.”
“About me, you mean.”
“The letter was about your competence and skills. What else was there to discuss,” he deadpans. “Is this interrogation over?”
“Oh, come on, that was only two questions. Don’t act like I am waterboarding you,” you huff, hands on your hips.
Park breathes out through his nose, then shakes his head. You’re half expecting him to grouse about it some more. But he does what you expect the least.
“He talks about you, you talk about him,” Park muses coolly. “You guys just need to fuck it out.”
He shoves his own gown in the trash, turns on his heels and leaves.
And under other circumstances, you would’ve been so glad to hear it. Jack talked about you! Jack seems to care!
Except, he had a perfect chance to actually show you that. But on your final day in the ER, he barely said a word. It stayed stuck in your memory, the last nail in the coffin where your hopes were buried: Jack’s weird avoidance, no jokes, no flirting, none of his usual penchant for eye contact. He spent the whole shift painfully indifferent to your departure. Only once you started saying your goodbyes, he came by to wish you luck. To say that he was sure you’d do great. Two sentences was all he managed.
And yet, he had no trouble talking about you with Park?!
You’d really like to get a fucking explanation.
You don’t go home to change. You come straight to the noisy bar, in your plain jeans and baggy shirt. And wrapped up in anger. You scan the crowd for familiar faces and spot Victoria from afar: some tipsy guy is cornering her, wildly gesticulating with his hands. She doesn’t really seem scared, mostly annoyed. But you are in no mood for being civil.
You unceremoniously walk up to them and grab the stranger by the shoulder to pull him back.
“Her face clearly suggests she’s not interested. Get lost.”
“Hello to you too,” he whistles, leering at you. “You wanna be our third, babygirl? I’m always down for... some new experiences.”
“I can help you with that. You ever heard about a comminuted fracture? It’s when a bone is broken in two or more places. Which you are about to experience if you don’t leave in 10 seconds.”
“You’re into human anatomy? That’s hot,” the man grins drunkenly, but his flirting sounds less sure.
“I’m an orthopedic surgeon. There are 3 long bones in your arm, 27 in your hand. Which one would hurt more when broken, how do you think? You’ve got seven seconds. Six —”
“Geez, fucking chill, girl,” he mutters and steps back to hastily retreat.
Javadi snorts a laugh. “Thank you, he was so annoying, I just didn’t want to make a scene. You’d think the "Let’s go, lesbians!" t-shirt would help him get a hint but —” and then she takes you in — your searching gaze and furrowed brows and pursed lips. “What’s wrong?”
“Where’s Abbot?”
“It depends. Am I gonna be an accomplice to murder if I tell you?”
“You may be a witness.”
“I don’t think that’s any better,” but luckily, she knows you well enough to figure out that there’s no point in questions. Javadi holds both hands up in surrender. “Okay-okay, last time I saw him, he was at the bar.”
You go for it, barrelling through the crowd like an icebreaker through the frozen water. You notice Trinity, Dennis, Mel, Frank and Jesse nearby. You only have eyes for one man in particular. But at the long table where the drinks are being poured and paid for, there is no sign of Jack. You stop and wait; one minute, two, three pass by. And just as quickly, your determination crumbles.
You wanted him to tell you that he needed you to stay, all these days back, in person. You wanted him to wait for you today. Both times, he didn’t.
It makes you feel self-conscious again. Stupid. Even more pathetic.
You turn around, suddenly too overwhelmed by your own feelings.
The music is too loud now, the smell of alcohol mixing with sweat and perfume, and making your head hurt. You faintly hear someone call out your name, but you don’t stop, too desperate to get back to the exit. Too tired of waiting for the one thing that clearly isn’t meant to be.
The street is quiet, and the air is cold; it doesn’t help to cool you down. You’re walking a thin line between infuriated and upset. It gnaws away at you — that you spent so much time delusionally sure that Jack felt something for you. Cared for you. You think about his watchful gaze on you, the tension hung between you two, his hands he kept a little bit too close, his words that guided you through surgeries and orgasms, his goddamn voice —
You are so deep in your frustrations, you miss the sound of the door opening, the footsteps rushing toward you.
“Hey,” he says it carefully, and yet, you flinch. You turn around to find Jack standing at arm’s length already. Black jeans, grey t-shirt and black denim jacket; he looks unfairly handsome. He also looks concerned. “Is everything alright? The way you left got me worried.”
“Yeah, everything’s just peachy.”
But Jack ignores your sarcasm — or rather looks right past it, reading the very clear displeasure on your face. “Is it Park? Did something happen?”
And his concern doesn’t sound feigned.
It all comes to your mind at once — the unsaid words, unresolved tension, the longing gazes thrown at each other, the shamefully short distance your bodies never crossed. It roars your emotions to a boil.
“Why does everyone assume— You know what? Park is actually perfect,” you snap at him. “He barely speaks to me in the OR, he hates small talk, he is allergic to long sentences and, I suspect, to any sign of real human emotion. So I just clock in every shift to spend 15 hours trying to help people with very little to no guidance. And turns out, I still rock! Even when my mentor is as emotionally evolved as a toothpick!”
“Ok-kay,” Jack draws, “I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing?”
“It’s freaking amazing. Especially compared to the alternative,” and then you step to him, your palms angrily pushing against his chest. “Because you made me feel like I couldn’t breathe!”
Your hands don’t hurt him. But your words do. His eyes go wide, he’s speechless for a moment. Then slowly, very quietly, Jack says:
“Wait, what?”
“You wrote me a recommendation letter, but you couldn’t say a word when I was leaving? After the months we worked together, all you could manage was good luck? The hell is wrong with you?!” and his shell-shocked expression only spurs you on. “You act all nicely, you’re glued to me in the ER, with your advice and your attention and your— your smirking! And what’s with the intense eye contact? How was I supposed to work with you looking at me like that? You know how hard it was for me to focus?! It’s not like I was holding scalpels half of the time!” you huff angrily.
Still, he isn’t moving.
“Sure, it didn’t mean anything to you, you don’t like me like that. And I love surgery, I’m glad I transferred, I wouldn’t want to waste my time on someone who is emotionally mute. But then I find out — oh, you’re actually very talkative! And it’s not like I wanted to find out, I just needed something to help me unwind, anything, because it’s been so damn exhausting — not just the job, but also you and your mood swings and your stupid voice and—” you cross your arms over your chest and add, with an unbridled boldness, “And honestly? After everything, I should be the one you lend a helping hand to.”
The dim streetlights can offer some discreteness — but not enough to cover the flush of color that spreads over Jack’s cheeks. You don’t back off — instead, you take your phone out and click the app’s icon to show it to him on the screen. His gaze flicks down to it. Then back to your face.
You stare at each other.
And then you think: he is about to tell you you’re an idiot. A sleep-deprived one, because it wasn’t really his voice. He has no clue what you just talked about, he obviously isn’t on any apps nor is he —
Jack breathes out a laugh.
He clasps his hands behind his back, the muscles of his chest pulling his t-shirt tight. His gaze is locked on yours. Then it falls lower — to your lips, then your neck, your chest and stomach, leaving a hot trail down your body.
“It got that bad, huh?” a corner of his mouth twitches up. Not condescending but amused. And then his voice drops — to that exact honeyed murmur that dragged so many orgasms out of you. “F’course, I can help you out. Should’ve asked me sooner, sweetheart.”
The sound knocks the anger out of you. The air, too.
You knew he sounded good on audio, when his words reached you through the headphones, when he so charitably helped you reach your high.
But in reality, he’s lethal.
When this same voice is paired with his gaze, with the intensity and confidence that you’re disarmed by. Entranced by. When Jack comes closer, you stay frozen.
“Mine or yours?” he asks calmly.
“W-what?”
“My place or yours?”
You catch small specks of golden light lost in his hazel eyes. You blink twice to stop staring. “Mine is about 40 minutes away.”
Emotion flashes across his face — surprise that’s borderline on worry. He lets it slide. He takes your hand in his, firmly, putting his fingers between yours.
“I live much closer. My car is parked around the corner,” Jack notes and leads the way, carefully pulling you along.
You let him.
You know it’s impolite to gawk, but you can’t help it — you’re pretty sure his hallway alone can fit half of your flat. It is a spacious, very minimalistic place: tall walls, a lot of lights and very little furniture. You guess that he hand-picked each piece — from wooden shelves and cupboards to small colourful pouffes. You also don’t think he spends too much time in here.
“So how many roommates do you have?” you ask cautiously as you get out of your shoes.
“None,” Jack chuckles. “It’s my apartment.”
“You live here by yourself? This place could fit a football team,” your own chuckle is nervous. As is your involuntary blabbing. “I’m serious, 11 full-grown men could stay here, and half of them won’t even see each other. Is there a bowling alley somewhere? A golf course? Ten jacuzzis? —”
He wraps his arm around your waist, pressing your back into his chest. Solid and warm, and rendering you silent.
“How about I do the talking,” his breath scatters against the side of your neck. Both of his hands find your hips, and very slowly, he turns you to face him. His eyes look a shade darker when he says, “I’ll walk you to the bedroom.”
And then his mouth is on yours.
There is no build-up and no hesitation — he kisses you so hungrily and deeply, like he’s been starving this whole time. Just like you were. Your shuddering breath turns into a moan. His lips move seamlessly, matching his insatiability to yours, in a deliberately slow pace that leaves you dizzy, heated, panting. Your memory is wiped clean of every other man you’ve kissed before him.
You can only crave more.
Jack starts walking without breaking the kiss. He gently pushes you forward, his hands maneuvering your body around the furniture and into doorways — you’re blindly following his lead. Until he stops you.
He tsks against your lips. “Careful, you almost ran into a wall.”
“Well, it’s not like I can really see —”
Jack silences your protests with another kiss, one of his palms laid flat over your spine to steady you. Not once do you take a peek at your surroundings, entirely too focused on the movement of his mouth, and with his every touch, your heart grows louder.
All of a sudden, your legs bump into something — and in a second, your back hits layers of bedcovers, the fabric silky to the touch. You exhale shakily, taking a couple of seconds to collect yourself. The task proved to be impossible under his heavy stare.
The room is dim, drowned in the colors of the sunset that sinks in through the big uncovered windows. He took the jacket off somewhere along the way, and you watch as the coppery light sneaks into his curls, contours the lines of veins and muscles of his arms, his body standing right next to the bed, legs almost touching yours.
You guess that he is stalling in case you want to stop.
“Aren’t you gonna tell me what to do?” you want your words to sound like a challenge — instead, they come out as a plea.
You don’t mind. There’s nothing on your mind but him.
Jack gives you just a ghost of a smile, a low hum coming from deep in his chest.
“Ask me nicely,” he says, in that gravelly voice that makes desire spark up in your bloodstream.
And he already knows that he won’t meet resistance — Jack leans over the bed, palms firmly gliding up your thighs until he finds the zipper of your jeans. He takes the slider between two fingers but doesn’t pull it down. And you’re glad that you aren’t standing, because the way he’s staring at you makes your whole body weak, your bones and muscles turning liquid.
“Please, I’ll do anything,” you whisper.
You do not need to ask him twice.
Jack yanks the slider down and pulls your jeans — down to your knees, then fully off. He parts your thighs with his leg, his gaze drawn to your panties, to where the fabric is already dampened with your arousal. You watch him slowly wet his lips, your body shivering in anticipation of his touch. And then he’s climbing on the bed, his body propped up on his arms, his weight between your thighs. He doesn’t hover over you — because he’s equally impatient: instead, he leans down to eagerly capture your mouth with his.
His lips trap you in place — while his hands undress you: his fingers are unbuttoning your shirt to take it off, then sliding beneath your cotton tanktop, dragging it up over your ribcage —
then Jack sucks in a breath.
His words are muffled, his lips brushing yours:
“No bra?”
“I don’t— don’t like the feeling of it,” you explain bashfully.
That earns you a pleased smirk. He actually pulls back to take a look, to hastily pull your last piece of clothing off. Then Jack ducks his head.
“And how’d you like this?” he asks before catching your nipple into his mouth.
You cry out at the sensation, and Jack uses one hand to pin you to the bed. He pulls more sounds out of you, swirling his tongue around your nipples, biting and sucking at them, his hunger mixed with admiration. Your heartbeat’s pounding in your ears, the pleasure surging through you like a heat wave —
But unexpectedly, Jack pulls away.
He reaches out to click the lamp on the nightstand. The light is faint, warm, draping your shadows over the silk. Jack lies down on his side, keeping his face close to yours.
“Show me how you do it.”
“You— Um. You want me to show you how—”
“Touch yourself for me,” he orders.
Blood rushes to your cheeks. But you comply, too eager for his praise. For all of his recorded promises to finally come true.
Jack watches raptly as your hand moves lower, slowly, just like he taught you the first time — until your fingers dip under the fabric of your underwear. You bite your lower lip, stifling a whimper, feeling the arousal leaking out of you. You spread your legs wider, the thin cotton not leaving much to the imagination as you start toying with your clit.
Jack swallows noisily, his breath uneven. But his voice stays measured. “I want these off. Need to see you, baby.”
You hook your thumbs under your panties and tug them off, a bit too hastily, but Jack makes no attempts to slow you down. Although unvoiced, his own desire is so palpable, it sets your nerves on fire. And when the cool air grazes your wetness, you can’t help but moan.
You do not wait for his command — you spread your legs further apart, your fingers drawn to rub your aching clit. You feel Jack’s cheek pressed to your shoulder, his gaze glued to your hand.
“So what’s the preference? Do you like circling it or just the up-and-down motion?” he muses with a grin. “I see, I have some room for improvisation,” and then his breath skates up your throat, the words mouthed against your pulse point, “You’re doing so good for me. You can pick up the pace.”
You do immediately, your movements quick and frantic, and Jack’s not keeping his hands to himself. He cups your breast, pinching your nipple into a peak, rolling it expertly between his fingers, his lips wrapped tightly around the other one. Your back is arching into his touch, heat pooling in your lower belly, your fingers gliding faster up and down your slit — and then one slips inside.
Jack pulls his mouth off with a pop. “Would you look at that,” his voice is low, teasing, “Your pussy’s drooling all over the bed.” And then he smiles, hungrily baring his teeth, grazing your collarbone with them as his palm lies flat on the inside of your thigh. “Go ahead, make yourself cum.”
He is still clothed, and the material of his t-shirt rubs constantly against your naked skin as he continues his arousing, agonizing torture. You feel him everywhere — Jack’s warm breath on your neck, your cheek, his mouth placing kisses along your jaw. His hands are steadying your body as your two fingers plunge into your cunt, as you’re so diligently coaxing yourself into an orgasm. But something’s missing.
“What’s wrong? Your fingers aren’t enough?” Jack taunts. “Does my girl want me to help her?”
You nod desperately, rocking your hips into your hand, trying to get some extra friction, trying and failing to reach that sweet high on your own. He easily catches your wrist, forcing you to halt all movement, your moans reduced to needy cries.
“Tell me what you want,” Jack whispers, lips to your ear.
“I w-want your fingers. Need your fingers inside me, please —”
But just as you’re about to pull your hand away, he covers it with his.
His wide palm firmly cups your mound, pushing your fingers back into your clenching hole. Jack drags his index and middle fingers through your folds, collecting your creamy arousal. And then he eases his slicked digits into you.
He watches as your lips part in a silent moan, your thighs twitching involuntarily as you’re adjusting to the fullness. With two of your fingers already in, it is a very tight fit.
“Relax for me. I know you can take all four,” Jack coos, although his voice gets a bit strained as he feels your walls clamp down around him.
Your hand stays limp, so he pulls his thick fingers out — then ramms them back in, knuckles-deep. A choked cry leaves your mouth; but you don’t try to crawl away from the intrusion. He puts your fingers between his and starts moving them all together, unhurriedly, carefully stretching your wet cunt, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit, your juices trickling down on the bedcovers.
Before you even realize you’re doing it, you push your hips back against his palm.
“Yes, just like that,” Jack murmurs. “Feels good, doesn’t it? About to get even better.”
This time, only his hand is moving while he’s staying still, drinking you up — your body quivering, skin bathed in a sheen of perspiration, your pussy slurping around the unrelenting fingers. The sounds you’re making are downright obscene, loud moans mixed with incoherent pleas as you’re getting lost in the pleasure he gives you so freely.
Jack’s other hand comes up to turn your face to him:
“Eyes on me.”
And as you look at him through lidded eyes, he curls your own fingers inside you, pushing them up against your G-spot. The sudden pressure drags you into a climax, so powerful, you’re blinded for a second, your lungs emptied with a long-drawn exhale as you keep soundlessly mouthing his name.
Jack pulls out his fingers first, then yours. Your hand is drenched and numb, and you barely register as Abbot brings it to his mouth. He licks your fingers clean, one by one, and you are coming to your senses at the sight: his mouth sucking in your digits, your wetness smeared across his lips, his gaze piercing as he keeps eye contact. And just like that, it threads through your veins and bones: your craving for him you’re yet to satisfy.
Before you can even ask him for a kiss, he leans in to give it to you.
It’s hot, it’s messy, his tongue darting between your lips, your hands tugging at his t-shirt, then sneaking under it to feel him tense under your touch. One of his hands grips your hip, the other moving back between your legs, where you’re still sensitive, making you whimper into his mouth.
“Wanna get a proper taste,” he mumbles, his lips already trailing lower.
But you have something else in mind. You close your legs and clutch his t-shirt, your fingers roughly crumpling the fabric, making him meet your gaze again.
“Jack, I’m very grateful for the offer, but I need you to fuck me,” you don’t bother hiding your impatience. “And please, take your damn clothes off.”
He grins, and this is a command he is willing to follow. Jack brings a hand behind his neck to grab the collar of his t-shirt and pulls it up over his head in one swift motion. Your eyes rake over the broad planes of his chest, his toned arms, his freckled skin flushed pink. Before he can think of his next move, you straddle him, leaning to nibble at his neck, your fingers tracing his flexing muscles.
“Someone’s very eager,” he notes with a chuckle.
And yet, the gravel in his voice is thinned out by his own keenness. When your gaze drops down, you see his cock straining against the coarse fabric of his jeans.
“Makes two of us,” you note cheekily and palm him through the denim.
His chuckle turns into a low, long groan. Like he is breaking character, like it is not as easy for him to keep his feelings under control.
You hide your smile, taking his jeans off to throw them on the floor, barely half a minute before you’re climbing back onto his lap. The bulge is now even more prominent beneath his boxer briefs: he’s thick and big, way bigger than you thought, than you imagined, than you’ve ever had. Your mouth parts on the inhale; you are dazed just from the look of it. You feel yourself already getting wet again.
Your words are stumbling out, while your brain is still somewhat functioning:
“I have an IUD, I’m clean. Haven’t been with anyone for a while.”
“Me neither. For way longer than you probably,” Abbot admits in a half-whisper, watching you attentively. Getting as drunk on the anticipation as you are.
Your fingers go for the waistband at his hips when you catch faint light glinting off the metal. Your palm briefly lies under his scarred knee.
“This okay?”
Him leaving the prosthesis on, you mean. But it is getting harder to put words into coherent sentences.
Jack gets it. “Yeah, m’fine. You want me to...?”
Remove it, is what he wants to say.
For just a moment, it comes up to the surface: his lack of confidence, not necessarily in himself but maybe in how he can be perceived, in what he looks like in your eyes. Being so close, so open, naked.
But this has always been exactly what you wanted.
“I couldn’t care less,” you whisper and tug down his briefs to free his cock.
Then you look down, and your breath hitches.
He is thick, fully hard, the tip red and already weeping. And instantly, you wonder how he tastes. How warm, how heavy he’d feel in your hand. When you reach it impulsively to wrap around him, Jack stops you, his voice a low warning:
“We both know I don’t need that.”
You almost want to whine. But you smother your discontent and move your hands up to his shoulders, holding your hips up, hovering just above his girthy length. A sigh spills from your mouth when his cock brushes your slick entrance —
And right then, Jack’s hands clamp around your thighs. His grip not bruising, but it is firm enough that you can’t move. Can’t lower yourself on him.
“Now, where are your manners, sweetheart?” he asks, playfully cruel.
He knows you’re trapped. You know it too. To prove his point, he rubs his tip against your clit, more slickness gushing out of you at the mere contact. You do let out a miserable whine, your thighs are shaking. But he stays unmoving.
And so you beg. Just like you thought you would.
“I want you, please, I want you so fucking much,” your words pour out rushed and heated, all in one breath, “Want you to fuck me, Jack, please, been thinking about it for months. Before the app, when we were still working together, each time you— you stood next to me or leaned closer during surgeries or talked me through them or— fuck, it was anything, everything, I could barely focus, only kept thinking how much I wanted you to touch me, please-please-please—”
Jack hums. His hands relent. He repositions them so he can guide you instead of stopping you.
“Months, huh? I know the feeling,” he murmurs, with unexpectedly raw honesty.
It lingers. It almost sounds like a confession. But you do not get time to catch the meaning of his words before he starts pushing his cock into your throbbing warmth.
You gasp. He’s easing you down slowly. As your nails dig into his shoulders, his grip tightens; but he keeps composure. Jack’s watching you — your eyes screwed shut and brows pinched together, your body shifting, mouth gulping air as you’re allowing him to stretch you open. He moves one of his hands to draw light circles on your clit, to help you take him, all of him, until you’ve bottomed out.
Your body stills. He feels you clench around him, your pussy gripping him so tightly, he chokes back a groan. Your forehead dips forward, helplessly.
“You are— s’big, so-o —”
“Breathe for me,” Jack instructs, both palms secured at your hips, sounding a little out of breath himself. He watches as your chest rises and falls, the uneven cadence of inhales and exhales. He mercifully gives you a minute to adjust. “Need you to start moving, baby. Yeah?”
You scramble for an answer, all your words slurring out into whines, your body barely used to the stretch. But you want to be good for him. And so you lift your hips. Just a few inches. Then sink onto his cock again, trembling at the overwhelming ache of being stuffed so full.
The pause lasts for barely three seconds.
Then your hips start moving up and down on their own, because it feels too good to stop, because the ache is quickly dissipating into pleasure.
“There she is.”
He lets you find and set the rhythm, at first more grinding and slow, your pussy swallowing him whole each time. As you let the sensation build, as it spreads and turns searing. Euphoric. And your head tips back with a moan.
“Look how well you’re taking me,” Jack praises, his voice husky with lust. “Just like I knew you would.”
His hands grip harder at your hips, and without warning, he starts bouncing you on him. His pace is quicker, harsher, the fat head of his cock rubbing against the spot that makes your vision blur. Jack leans closer to rasp the words into your ear:
“Who do you think I thought about—” his fingers move down to open your legs wider, “While making all these audios—” and he plunges deeper, “For my favorite girl—” and your moans pitch louder, “After her tiresome shifts?”
You’re too cockdrunk to even think of a reply. You’re only capable of moving your hips in time with his, nails scraping at his sweat-covered skin, your slick oozing down to his balls.
“I’m— I’m close,” you mewl. “M’gonna cum, Ja-ack.”
“Think I should let you?” he says through gritted teeth, his own control already slipping.
“P-please,” you stutter out weakly as his hips snap up, “Wanna cum, wanna— want you— t-to make me cum, please.”
A grunt escapes him, and Jack adjusts his hold, his chest heaving against yours, skin rubbing against skin. His mouth latches onto your throat, each word punctuated with a trust:
“That’s a good — fucking — girl.”
His hands drop lower to cup your ass, giving it a squeeze — and then the world around you spins as he effortlessly flips you on your back.
Your legs fall open for him, and he manages to keep his cock nestled so perfectly in your fluttering hole. He doesn’t slow down for a second: Jack shifts his weight on his left leg, angling his hips a little to hit that spot inside you over and over, making your eyes roll back in your head. The room fills with your breathy moans, your cunt squelching around his thick length, your body caged under his weight. In stark contrast, his lips are weightless — against your chest, your collarbones, your arm, mouthing pet names or more praises — or just the letters of your name, you honestly can’t tell. The meaning of his words escapes you.
“Yeah, that’s right. Need your head empty,” Jack groans, breath ragged, his pace relentless. “Need you to only think about how good I’m fucking you.”
He surely is.
Your whole body tenses.
You are so close.
And then you feel his forehead against yours, a pressure of his fingers on your clit, a command given with the utmost softness:
“Let go, baby. I got you.”
The second orgasm tears through you, white-hot and all-consuming. You cum with a sob falling from your lips, your fingers scrabbling at his shoulders as your pussy spasms wildly around his cock. He fucks you through it, he does try to last a little longer, but the combination of all this — the way you look, feel, finally his — pushes him over, his own pleasure so intense, he’s powerless against it. Jack’s hips jerk as he cums, filling you up, his broken groans pressed into your neck.
The room is still.
You wait for your breath and heart to calm. His hand brushes a loose strand of hair out of your face, and he whispers, still a little breathless:
“You good?”
You nod first. Then open your mouth:
“That was—” you have to swallow the slight hoarseness of your voice, “Literally the best sex I’ve ever had.” Three heartbeats later, you add with a tired laugh. “Don’t let it get to your head.”
“Too late.”
You feel him smile against your cheek before he places a kiss there.
Jack pulls out carefully, leaving you empty — you have to stop yourself from reaching for him, from chasing his familiar warmth. You quietly watch him clamber off the bed and pull his briefs up, then close your eyes so he won’t catch you staring. You listen to him walk out of the room, and suddenly, a realization kicks in: his footsteps sound uneven.
Like he is limping.
Jack comes back with a wet towel and gently cleans you up, then helps you put your panties on and brings you a glass of water. And every time you look at him, your gaze catches on how he is obviously leaning on his healthy leg.
You slowly stretch your neck and shoulders, then tap on the spot next to you. “Come here.”
Jack sits down, a little bit unsure where this is going. And very much tense in the exact place you thought he would be. You move your hands to his right knee and feel his hamstrings flex involuntarily.
“You spend too much time on your feet,” you say, working your fingers over his muscles. “And you put too much pressure on it. Your leg feels like it’s made out of concrete.”
Without even looking, you can tell that now he’s tense all over.
You have seen Jack take the prosthesis off, short moments of reprieve that he allows himself too rarely for your liking, only after particularly long shifts. He isn’t shy about his disability, but he doesn’t like bringing attention to it, you’ve noticed. Like living with it isn’t hard, like it’s not that big of a deal. You also know that he’s got no one to take care of him.
You take your time massaging the scarred tissue, mostly applying pressure with your thumbs as they move from the socket up, then back down. And you know that it’s working when you hear him exhale, his breath a little ragged. Relieved.
“I try to take breaks, but you know how it is. We’re always busy,” Jack counters, with that same boyish stubbornness you can’t possibly be angry at.
“Shen’s an attending now, which is supposed to make your job easier. Don’t act like the ER’s gonna blow up if you sit down for 10 minutes,” you turn your head to look at him.
Jack doesn’t meet you with defiance — he’s sitting with his shoulders slumped and gaze mellow, way too relaxed to hide it. The sight is so endearing, your heart lurches behind your ribs. You fight the urge to kiss him. Instead, your fingers glide down to the edges of the prosthesis’s socket. You do not push it; you let him decide if he wants to be this vulnerable with you. Jack just gives you a nod. A small, barely noticeable movement. Also an immeasurable sign of trust. You carefully remove the artificial limb, then take the sock off to let his skin breathe. Your touch lingers: you lightly trace the white uneven scars, faded reminders of something horrible he managed to survive.
He lets you.
Silence fills up the space between you two, and you don’t know what to do next. Technically, you only needed sex, and Jack didn’t say that it would happen more than once. This would be the perfect moment for you to thank him and head out.
So you remove your hands —
Jack puts his arm around you, firmly. His lack of hesitation helping yours to fade away. He scoops you back, until you’re pressed to him, your back met with his bare chest. His chin is placed on your shoulder, his words warm:
“You really like it in surgery, don’t you?”
“I do,” you answer honestly. “Way more than I thought I would. I was afraid it’d be too challenging, too much pressure, too many new things to learn... But it’s not that hard. And I love learning.”
He laughs, a soft low sound you love just as much. “Even with an attending who’s as emotionally evolved as a toothpick?”
“I think us working together is mutually beneficial, actually. Park’s teaching me how to mend bones, I’m giving him lessons on how to hold a conversation for longer than a minute.”
Jack’s smile is tickling your neck as he pulls you back into bed, so effortlessly, like he has done it many times. You readily curl up against him, resting your palm over his chest. He tugs the blanket up to cover you, his fingers gently moving from your shoulder to your collarbone.
But then your eyes meet his, and it is a discovery you never thought you’d make: he looks self-conscious. He is the one searching for words to put his feelings into.
“You said I made you feel like you couldn’t breathe,” Jack recalls.
“I didn’t mean literally... I guess I was a little bit dramatic,” you avert your gaze. Okay, maybe you should’ve found a better way to tell him how you felt. Preferably without it looking like a crash-out.
“No, it’s not that. It’s just—” his hand cradles the side of your face, gentle and reassuring. “From the first day you came to the ER, with your humor and your curiosity and your quick thinking... To me, you were like a breath of fresh air,” he skims his thumb over your lower lip, his touch light, his words heavy with the emotions he’s been holding back for months. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I was working up the courage.”
His heartbeat is hushed under your palm. Steady with certainty. It radiates from him like light, your insecurities melting away under his gaze like snow under the sun.
After a moment, you speak up: your voice is teasing. “Funny how you had just enough courage to record raunchy audios.”
“My therapist said I needed a hobby. Unfortunately, I suck at golf,” Jack leaves a kiss on your forehead. “But you were the one who gave me the idea.”
“Um, for all the great ideas I am famous for, that one definitely wasn’t mine.”
His chest vibrates with laughter. “You don’t remember it? Your third week in the ER, the nightcrawles on a night out. I walked you out to wait for your cab, and you said — and I quote — that I’ve got a very soothing voice. That I should narrate audiobooks or something.”
You cover your face with your palm, groaning. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I said that out loud. I had five shots of tequila. I hoped you would forget.”
“I didn’t,” Jack says and pulls your hand away. “Everything you do and say is very memorable to me,” he presses his lips to your wrist. Then puts your hand back on his chest and holds it there, his thumb brushing yours. And out of nowhere, very nonchalantly, he asks. “So, does it actually take you 40 minutes to get to work?”
“Yeah. Give or take,” you tell him vaguely.
He doesn’t buy it. “And if we’re being more specific?”
“Closer to an hour,” you admit reluctantly. “But the rent is pretty low, and most of my neighbours are nice, and I finally got my shower fixed last week so —”
“You can move in here.”
Your words die down in an instant as you stare at him, trying to discern a hint of humor, of pity, of anything to suggest he doesn’t mean it.
“You aren’t serious,” you mumble, but his unblinking gaze confirms that he is. “No, I really— I can’t.”
Jack props his head up on one hand. “Why not?”
“Because it’s your apartment. You’re living on your own, and I wouldn’t want to bother you or— or take up too much space.”
“Didn’t you say this place can fit a football team? So unless you’re gonna bring another 10 people with you...”
“No, it’s just me,” you say timidly and hesitate for a few seconds. But since you’re out of arguments, the only thing you’re left with is the truth. “I don’t want you to regret it later on.”
“I won’t regret it.”
“You barely know me.”
“I know you plenty. We worked together for half a year.”
“Yeah, but that was us in the hospital. Which isn’t exactly informative, because I can be a total mess in my everyday life. What if you come home to find my clothes lying around everywhere? What if I’ve got questionable coffee preferences or weird food habits?” you absentmindedly draw circles on his skin, stumbling over the excuses you are nervously coming up with. “And then we’ll start getting into fights because I was too tired to iron the bedsheets or I accidentally took your favorite t-shirt or ate your favorite ice cream because I got my period and acted bitchy or —”
Jack tilts your chin up, the small movement making you close your mouth. A smile pulls at his lips, soft just the rest of him — now, in this moment, with you: soft touch of his strong hands, soft grey curls, a little ruffled (totally your fault), soft gaze that is a vortex of green, amber and gold. His voice carries the same softness when he says:
“You usually take your coffee black with just a splash of soy milk. But when you’re tired, you go for these obnoxiously sugary drinks that barely have any caffeine in them,” his smile grows wider. “You do not throw things around, not when the inside of your locker is strategically organized by shelves. Your only weird food habit is thinking a protein bar can be considered a full meal. I don’t iron my bedsheets, you can wear any of my t-shirts, and I’ll make sure to stock up on ice cream. I’ve never seen you being bitchy, but you can get a little uncooperative when you’re upset or nervous. Which I can handle,” but there is no pressure behind his reasoning — instead, he adds with hope, his eyes not leaving yours, “I know enough, and I’d love to learn the rest. If you let me.”
The feeling rolls all over you, familiar and very long-awaited one: of calmness that his presence always brings you. Of just how comforting it is to be with him. Jack makes it sound too easy for you to harbour any doubts.
“Okay,” you manage quietly.
And when your hands cradle his face, he leans in first to close the distance.
You kiss him slowly, like you are trying to spell out your gratitude, your ever-growing fondness, your feelings you are still afraid to name. He holds you close like he can understand exactly what your lips are saying. You want to drag this moment out for longer; but then a yawn bubbles in your throat.
“You’re not leaving this bed until you get at least eight hours of sleep,” Jack notes, more caring than stern, his nose bumping into yours. And you can tell his eyelids are already drooping. “What time do you need to wake up?”
“M’not working tomorrow. Turned off my alarm already,” you mumble.
“Good,” he nods with his eyes closed, wrapping both arms around you — and then adds in a tender whisper, “Good girl.”
You smile into his chest, happily and drowsily, and you know you’re about to fall asleep. And just before you do, you think:
no, this definitely isn’t a one-time thing.
✧ dividers by @/strangergraphics, @/saradika-graphics, @/omi-resources, @/cafekitsune;
✧ I usually don’t like diving a fic into shorter “parts”, but it felt right in the moment, and I hope it didn’t ruin the pacing of the story? ngl I was super horny when I wrote the smut part(s), so maybe I went a liiittle overboard... also, yes, this fic was supposed to be shorter, but then I added a shit ton of softness at the end, I COULDN’T HELP MYSELF!
✧ English isn’t my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any mistakes. reblogs and comments are very appreciated!
before him, you were so independent. you didn’t need any man, it was you and your vibrator against the word.
he called himself daddy from the first time you two slept together, but you wouldn’t give into it. you’d laugh, you’d shove him… whatever it took to dispel that ego of his.
but the more he started babying you, taking care of you after a fight, buying you clothes, making sure you ate, holding your hand, listening when you needed him to… the softer you felt towards him.
the first time you did it was when he had you in a mean mating press, making you come for a third time on his dick. your head was in another place, your eyes rolling back, your voice deteriorated to little broken moans. “feeling good, dollface?” he asked you, so cocky, knowing you weren’t going to be able to walk the next morning.
and then you did it. you didn’t even realize the words were coming out of your mouth. “it feels so good, daddy.” your voice came out like a meek little whimper, your face buried in your pillow.
it took him a second to react. when he did, he swore. he started fucking you faster, rougher. “good girl, such a good girl for daddy.” pitiful tears started running down your face from overstimulation, but he just kissed them away. “fuck, daddy’s gonna treat you right, angel baby. won’t have to lift a pretty little finger. uh huh. gonna let daddy fill you up, huh?”
“y-yeah—“
“good fucking girl,” he growled, leaving bites all over your collarbone. “if it’s up to me, you’d stay in this bed all day. pretty fucking girl.”
he had never come harder, or more, in his entire life. and he also never, ever, ever let you live it down.
its ok if as long as it's not inside, right? ᡣ anal + toys ᡣ backshots ᡣ cuddlefuck ᡣ this ᡣ riding ᡣ deeeeep breeding ᡣ (tw) ghostface ᡣ somno ᡣ stuck! ᡣ fingering both holes
pussy eating ᡣ eating you out ᡣ jerking off to you ᡣ toys ᡣ riding ᡣ public sex ᡣ pounding + hair pulling ᡣ hole swap ᡣ groping + rough sex ᡣ 69 ᡣ pussy eating ᡣ the condom broke!
kisses between thrusts ᡣ he won't let you play your game... ᡣ doggy position ᡣ titty fuck ᡣ dryhumping ᡣ thigh fucking ᡣ more thigh fucking ᡣ reverse cowgirl ᡣ ripping your panties
somno pt. ii ᡣ cuddles ᡣ fingering ᡣ this ᡣ mutual masturbation ᡣ more fingering ᡣ tummy bulge ᡣ using you as stress relief after work ᡣ princess treatment ᡣ riding and breeding ᡣ new position ᡣ anal
It isnt often lately that you and Hopper get time alone.
Takeout and a movie quickly led to you handcuffed to the bed, overstimulated, edged and begging for release.
Hopper had enjoyed himself, after being greedy with his pleasure. Your belly had been painted with his cum, to be wiped clean again as he jerked himself off once more.
You pulled at your restraints, knowing he wouldn't let you out until he was ready or your safe word was uttered.
Jim loved the look of you, all overwhelmed and desperate. Your eyes watered when he pressed a thick thumb to your clit once more, urging you toward an orgasm he wasnt going to allow.
You hiss at the sensation, sob out quietly, rut against his finger.
"Kiss me. Please," you beg, knowing he'll at least grant this wish.
There's a moment of uncertainty, a hesitation that's purposeful. This man loves this.
He kisses you deeply, hungry, meets your eager mouth. You feel the head of his cock press against your dripping opening.
"You gonna cum on my cock?" His warm breath trails down your collarbone as he traces sloppy kisses down to your nipple,
"God, yes. Please. Oh, fuck, please, Hop."
He chuckles darkly.
"Five."
"Huh?"
"Five thrusts. That's it. All you get." He kisses down your ribs. "Five, or you dont get to cum tonight."
You whine, anxiety suddenly clinging to you. You know he'll make good on that promise, the fucker.
He slowly rolls his hips forward, moans loudly as your warmth envelopes his reddened tip. Your hips buck up to meet him as you take him fully - easily - with how wet you are.
"Mmm okay, honey. I'll count," comes his voice beside your ear.
He chuckles as you rut against him, desperate for any kind of movement.
"One."
His fingers pinch at your left nipple, rolling it between his fingers as he slowly pulls out then thrusts back into you.
Your breath catches.
"Two."
The pace is the same, he's showing you a bit of mercy.
The pleasure overwhelming, you feel like you're trying to regain equilibrium.
He puts more pressure on you when he breathes out a, "three," and you can almost feel your peak.
"Ohhh, honey, I feel you...so tight around me. Gripping my goddamn cock like that. Good. Cum for me."
You almost want to beg for his fingers on your overly sensitive clit, but you worry he'll deny you; worry he'll stop completely.
Instead, his "four" is groaned out as he presses his pelvic bone harder into you.
You. See. Stars.
Before he can even utter "five," you're gasping, a quaking mess as you thrust against him harshly, pulling against the handcuffs in a desperate attempt to touch him.
You're squeezing his cock with each powerful flutter and he's completely gone too, pounding into you until he's cumming as well, feeling the sweet release pooling between your thighs.
You go limp, heart still pounding as you struggle to catch your breath.
"So good, baby," he whispers against your skin, kissing all along your hips and your stomach, up your tits, pausing at your neck and lingering there, hovering over you almost as if talking himself out of torturing you some more. "You did so good."
Drowsiness overcomes you. You're in and out of resting when you feel him cleaning you up, feel the gentle hands unlocking the cuffs, rubbing lotion on the reddened skin on your wrists, kissing you softly.
"Sleep sweet," he hums against your temple.
...
You can barely tell you'd slept, but the sun is up as you peek through tired eyes.
Hands glide up your legs and you feel the pinch of Hop's facial hair on your inner thighs.
"Hm, mornin'," Hopper greets before gingerly playing with your sore clit. His thumb draws soft circles before his tongue takes over.
You gasp when he dips his middle finger into your wet cunt. Last night had not been enough for you, and it's almost like he resumed your need for him exactly where it had left off.
In seconds, his mouth is on you fully. A sloppy tongue languidly laps along your folds, paying close attention to your reactions. Each breath gives him pause before he moves on to the next movement, your pleasure clearly the focal point this morning.
Your orgasm rocks through you pretty immediately. It's like your body is still on overdrive, accepting every ounce of pleasure you're allowed.
Your thighs clamp against his head as you rut against him.
"There you go, sweetheart. Take what you need." He lets you finish your gasping before removing himself, flopping beside you on the bed, motioning you over, and saying, "now sit on my face."
Hopper wants you to use him now. And you gratefully accept his offer.
Climbing on top of him, you take the opportunity to fondle him, thankful to finally be out of the cuffs. He enjoys the attention, even his love handles. His strong arms hold you as you kiss him deeply.
"You need more, sweetheart? Take it."
Feeling heated, you climb up, hovering over him.
"How many times do I gotta tell ya," his strong hands grip at your hips, pull you down as you adjust your knees on either side of him. "Sit."
Hopper doesn't need you to support your weight by holding onto the headboard, and you know he'll be pissed if he sees, but lightheaded from a quick wake up, you're holding on for dear life.
The overstimulation from last night is almost forgotten as Jim treats you so gently, lapping at you like he's fixing the damage he did last night.
You find yourself grinding down on him, enjoying every second of control you're given.
Jim groans beneath you, the vibration adding to the sensations, pushing you on. Jim's nose stimulates your sore clit and he takes his time eating you out.
When he chuckles, you pause your movements. "God, I'd love to just grab you and guide you down on my cock."
You look back at him and he's palming himself while he works on you, precum coating his hands. The sight is beautiful.
You click your tongue, feigning annoyance as you back down from his face.
He thinks you're obliging.
When you press his wrists to the bed and readjust your position, the shock and arousal on Hopper's face is so worth it.
You climb back on top, hovering over his face, and pinning his arms down with your legs as you straddle his head.
"Make me come and you'll get your hands back."
Jim's pupils dilate, he goes slack-jawed.
"Sit," he demands.
And now he puts in the real work. Less languid movements, more urgency, more power behind his tongue, more intensity.
You're holding back, hoping to torture him some more. You can tell his wrists probably ache from the position, as he's twitching his muscles for relief.
When you grip at his hair and rock your cunt harshly against him, he knows he's got you. His fingers grope at your legs as best he can. You find yourself lightening the pressure on his wrists as you come.
Bad idea.
He overpowers you quickly, goes to pull you down to straddle his thighs, only for you to surprise him - reverse cowgirl - sliding him inside you easily.
Glancing over your shoulder, you take in his humored reaction.
"Complaints?" You quip.
"None at all."
His fingers dig into the fat of your ass, direct you, guide the speed. Still controlling, even in this position, but it feels like you've won.
You still manage to take control, though - lifting so you're just barely on his cock still, then sinking back down quickly. You so enjoy the moan he makes. You shift again, into a squatting position and use your feet to steady you, allowing for better leverage as you bounce on him.
"You trying to make me cum first, baby? Keep it up."
Laughing, you slow the pace, take him deeper. That familiar tingling begins in your fingers and you know you're close once more.
When you gently play with Jim's balls, you hear him groan behind you.
"Oh, fuck, honey. Gonna cum. Good god..."
You grind slower, squeeze your thighs together just a bit more, and finally come on his cock.
Tightening your pelvic floor, you hear Hopper hiss an inhale, his boisterous groan follows, and his warm cum fills you as you take it all.
Satisfied, you lean back, flop down beside him, breathe unsteady.
"Had your fill?" His voice is groggy from lack of sleep.
tags: minors dni!! smut, both participants are adults, age gap (41/26) uniform kink, hand humping..?, jim keeps that fuckin uniform on😛, jim calls reader kid, pussy pronouns, office sex, riding, protected p in v, dirty talk and mutual orgasms.
summary: you and your boss cross the line for the so-called “last time”.
you knew that what you and jim were doing was wrong.
hawkins wasn’t a huge town after all — if people found out what you’d both been doing together, you’d be crucified. gossip spread like wildfire around here so good thing this was the last time.
or so what you both had told yourselves.
you’d landed this job by a mere fluke. flo — the previous secretary of hawkins police station had given up her job four months ago, retired. and luckily you had just happened to have some office qualifications and got in.
by no means was the job easy — you practically worked your ass off everyday and sometimes even stayed after hours to get some of the never ending paperwork done.
but there was one person that made your days a little less stressful — well, that’s what a good fuck’ll do to you, right?
jim hopper, hawkins chief of police.
this whole thing between the two of you — something you weren’t even sure you’d call a romance started right around your second month on the job.
at first, jim was fine. professional, a little cranky at times and sarcastic. he didn’t hassle himself with getting overly close to you, just came in, did his job and went home. but you were sort of drawn to him. like a moth to a flame. did it come from having no father figure in your life whatsoever? likely. but he was just.. real. he said what everyone else was afraid to say they were feeling. he was straight up, no fucking around and had that dry kind of sense of humour that you’d catch yourself chuckling at every once in a while.
so one night, while working late in the office you and jim.. sort of just happened. a rough fuck over his desk was the start of everything. and now, as much as you both tried to convince yourselves that it was wrong and that you needed to stop, you both couldnt seem to get enough of the other.
it was one of those mornings that made you not want to get out of bed. the weather was gloomy, a little wet from the fall rain but still had that kind of beauty to it that made everything feel cozy.
the office was warm when you made it inside, your desk just the way you left it. you checked your watch, 6:23 am.
you liked to get in early. it made you feel productive, like you were achieving something before most people had even made it out of bed.
you set your bag down and settled into your chair with a sigh, already starting to look over your schedule of whatever bullshit you had to put up with today, but a familiar voice pulled you out of your concentration.
“you’re here early,”
jim.
you turned your spinning chair around to face him and was met with him standing in the doorway of his own office. you, out of habit and maybe nerves fixed your hair, a surprised chuckle escaping.
“i could say the same thing about you, chief,” you mused, standing up and adjusting your skirt, taking a couple steps in his direction. “what’s got you out of bed?”
his expression stayed neutral but you could see that underlying amusement in his eyes. “just thought i’d get a head start on lookin’ over some of that paperwork on the spray painting incident.”
“really?” you smiled, clearly unconvinced. “so you didn’t come to see me?” you cocked your head to the side, a cheeky grin crossing your lips.
you shouldn’t be doing this.
this is wrong.
jim seemed to stifle a noise, shuffling on his feet. “hm. i don’t know, maybe i did. might just have to come into my office and find out.” he mumbled.
you snorted. “is that your attempt at flirting?”
“just get your ass into the fucking office.”
and that’s how you ended up here — jim waiting expectantly on his office chair, legs spread invitingly as he watched you unbutton your blouse.
“i hope you know that this is the last time, kid. we seriously have to stop after this.” he said, trying to sound responsible despite the fucking tent in his pants.
he was whipped and he knew it.
“mhm. last time, totally.” you nodded in mock seriousness, pouting in an authoritative looking manner to mirror his own. you unbuttoned the last of the buttons and allowed your baby pink blouse to fall open, your white, lacy bra coming into view. you bit your lip as jim’s eyes spilled over your figure, taking in those full breasts of yours, your nipples which were peaked in anticipation slightly visible through the thin material.
“fuck,” he groaned head tilting back. he signalled you over with two fingers, an action that could’ve made you cum on the spot itself. you strutted teasingly slow over to him and as soon as you were in reach he pulled you by your wrist into his lap, manoeuvring you so you were straddling him. you squealed a little at the sudden action and soon his hands were up cupping your breasts. “you look so beautiful in lace, you know that?”
your throat tightened a little as his words. it was something so small but it wasn’t often that hopper complimented you like that. it was usually just some lewd comment about your ass or how your legs looked in a certain outfit — not that you didn’t enjoy those ones — but this one just felt a little different, tender maybe?
“i guess i do now.” you whispered, voice breathy as you leaned in to capture his lips with your own. he tasted of coffee and something else you couldn’t quite place, something just.. uniquely jim, you guessed. he responded to the kiss eagerly, shifting you in his lap so he could flip up your pencil skirt, hands grabbing greedy handfuls of your thighs until they eventually drifted up to the matching panties you were wearing. his fingers found your already over excited bundle of nerves over your underwear and they pressed down on it as you both made out.
the feeling made you moan against his lips, tongue now sloppily exploring his mouth as you bucked your hips into his hand. the feeling was so delicious, even more so with the layers between the two of you.
you pulled back breathlessly, hands travelling up to his chest, feeling the solid muscles beneath your palms. “do you have a condom?”
he heaved a breath, face slightly flushed and lips pink from the bonne bell strawberry lip smacker you had applied before work. he lifted his hips up while keeping you on his lap and reached into the butt pocket of his khaki pants — pulling out his leather wallet. he opened it up and pulled out a trojan from it, holding it between two of his fingers and smiling like he’d won a prize.
you giggled at his face, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. “you’re an idiot.”
“hm,” he hummed, hands cupping your waist and thumbs stroking idle circles into your skin. “but you still want this idiot to fuck you. so.. that makes you a bit of an idiot too, doesn’t it?”
you shrugged, grinning at his playfulness, something that was rare for jim, especially in work. “maybe it does,” you rocked your hips into his own in an experimental grind, humming when you heard him groan at the sensation. “how about you get to it then, idiot?”
“fine then.. idiot.” he replies in a mocking, slightly bratty-child tone. you shifted back on his lap enough for him to get his fly open, his hands working the button and zipper of his work pants. “up,” he orders, tapping your hip but you didn’t budge. he looked at you with a confused expression, clearly not expecting this sudden adamancy.
you flushed a little, crookedly smiling as you leaned in to whisper in his ear. “want you to.. keep your uniform on.”
you pulled back and you were met with the cockiest goddamn smirk that it almost made you wish you hadn’t said anything.
“you like my uniform, honey?” he asked, clearly amused.
“oh shut up,” you grumbled, manoeuvring yourself a little awkwardly to pull his boxers down while still on top of him and freeing his hard cock from his pants that were hardly down his thighs. you fisted him and jim immediately groaned in satisfaction at the feeling of your soft hand around his dick. “goddamn, someone’s eager.”
you moaned softly, leaning into his lips yet again and giving his cock a shallow stroke while you clumsily tore the condom open and took it out of it’s wrapper, fumbling with it a little while rolling it onto his cock. hopper kissed you back, hands travelling under your skirt to pull your panties aside, the cheap material ripping a little at the rough action. jim hiked your skirt up just above your lower belly, exposing your cunt to his lap.
“just want your cock jim,” you whined.
hopper chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “yeah, i can see that. pussy’s dripping all over this damn uniform, trouble.” he said in a slightly mocking tone, as if he found it amusing how aroused you became around him.
“mm, it’s all for you,” you hummed, voice breaking into a whimper when he collected your slick from your hole and brought it up to your clit, massaging your sticky fluid into that bundle of nerves. your hips twitched forward at the sensation, head tipping back as pleasure washed over you.
“come on, baby,” he encouraged, his other hand caressing your side. “ride my dick. show me just how much you need me.”
that was all the encouragement you needed. you took his cock into your hand rubbed it against your slick hole, teasing yourself a little by putting it in and taking it out a couple times. you dug your nails into his shirt clad shoulders and in one swift movement, you sunk down onto his length, your pussy greedily swallowing him up and your walls welcoming him gracefully. jim wasn’t huge in length but he was thick so he never failed to hit that spot inside you and the anticipation for that moment was enough to slick you up even more.
hoppers head tipped back, hanging awkwardly off the chair as he felt your heat envelope him so comfortingly. the feeling of your wet walls hugging him so damn tightly was enough to nearly make him loose it. he had been thinking about this all morning so hopefully he didn’t really show his age and cum in seconds. “jesus, sweetie. she’s squeezing me so tight.” he grunted, his hands going to your hips supportively.
“fuck, jim,” you breathed, your head dropping forward and thumping gently against his chest. you let yourself sit with the feeling of him stretching you, you always found this angle a little more intense.
“take your time,” he comforted in a surprisingly soft voice, one of his hands holding the back of your neck, his thumb stroking idle circles into your skin as you regained your bearings.
you pressed a kiss to the material of his shirt, rolling your hips experimentally just to feel his member graze your swollen g-spot. you bit your lip, moaning through your teeth when you felt his dick put such a perfect amount of pressure on where you needed it the most.
“that’s it honey, get yourself used to it before you get to bouncing.” he instructed, his fingers finding their way to your scalp, his blunt nails scratching you there.
“feels good,” you mumbled, pulling your head back from his chest and looking up at him. he looked so beautiful like this, so masculine with his uniform on and his hat. before you could over think it, you plucked the hat from his head and with a sheepish smile, put it on the top of your own head. you giggled and brought your hands to his shoulders as you started to ride him with more intention now, rolling your hips a little more confidently.
he let out a breathy laugh, looking up at you while he guided your hips. “what’s this all about? trying to be a cowgirl?”
you hummed thoughtfully. “well, i think i ride you pretty well.” you moaned.
“hm. suppose that you do.” he agreed, his hands sliding up your torso to cup your covered breasts, kneading them in his hand while you moved your hips in a steady rhythm.
you let out a choked sound, adjusting your position so you could start to bounce a little unsteadily in his lap, the backs of your thighs now starting to thud against his own partially covered ones.
jim moaned, the sound a little startled from the sudden determination in your moves. “fuck, kid. gonna make me cum if you keep that up.”
your lips parted in a messy moan at his words and the feeling of your clit rubbing off his skin. “god, just keep talking,”
“yeah?” he asked, his fingers starting to dig a little painfully into your now bouncing, covered breasts. “you like when i talk dirty to you, doll?”
you could only respond with a half moaned “mhm,” too focused on the task at hand to think of something hot to respond with.
“yeah, i think you do,” he replied for you. “think this pussy likes it anyway. can feel it twitching around me. you gonna cum, sweetheart? you gonna cum on my cock?”
soon, the only response you could say was a babbled “gonnacumgonnacumgonnacum,” before you were gushing on his cock, your fluid running down his length and making a mess of the thin hairs at his base. your bounces started to become uneven so hopper took over, using his big hands to bounce your wrung out body in his lap to get himself closer to his own climax.
“s’too much, too much jim,” you whispered urgently, your head falling forward into his shoulder.
“hold on, m’nearly there, oh, fuck,” he grunted.” “here it comes,” he spilled into the condom with a broken groan, hands squeezing your waist as he fucked himself through the last spurts of his orgasm. you groaned tiredly into his shoulder, relieved when he finally stopped bouncing you on his cock.
“goddamn,” he breathed, rubbing your back a little. “made a bit of a mess, huh?”
“mmhm. too bad we did this in your office. means you have to clean it up.” you quipped, slowly pulling out of your hazy, post-orgasm state.
jim raised his head at that immediately. “hey — what? that’s not f—”
“not fair?” you giggled, slipping off of his lap and rummaging through one of his drawers to look for something to wipe yourself down with, coming across a couple of deli napkins — good enough. “i seem to recall you saying the exact same thing to me last week when we did activities like this at my desk.” you argued, wiping between your thighs quickly before balling the thin napkins and tossing them in the trash can underneath jim’s desk.
jim looked up at you with a clearly unimpressed face, grabbing your blouse and tossing it to you while pulling the used condom off of his softening length with a grimace.
“think of it this way,” you smirked. “we won’t be doing this again, as you said, so, this’ll be the last time you’ll have to do this, right?”
i bought the $70 book about guillermo del toro's frankenstein film because i'm nuts, and here are some of my favorite highlights thus far:
• the fact that all jacob elordi really had to say for guillermo to cast him was "my father is spanish. also i went to catholic school and felt scared and deeply uncomfortable there" like...GDT's requirements are: you gotta be hispanic/latine, be filled with catholic guilt, or BOTH
• [regarding the nine hour prosthetic application process] "elordi recalls, 'the first thing guillermo said to me was that it would be my skin, and i would have to take the sacrament. like every morning, getting the prosthetics put on would be like the eucharist. that's how he spoke about it from the moment i came to the project.'" THAT'S INSANE LMAO
• this quote from jacob - "i love that the film doesn't have a fatalistic ending. what recourse does the creature have but to live? in all the drudgery and sadness and rejection, what else will you do but keep walking toward the sun?"
• the character of william frankenstein was based on guillermo as a child. guillermo gave the actor, felix kammerer, a photo of himself where he looked very little and sad and lonely, and felix carried that photo with him for the entirety of the film.
• the makeup artist applied subtle prosthetics to mia goth's face when she played victor's mother in order to make her look slightly more similar to oscar isaac
• jacob had to wear oversized fake teeth because of the way the prosthetics altered the proportions of his face. they also gave him large dark contact lenses to make him even more doe-eyed/baby-ish.
pairing: marc spector x reader (a bit of steven grant x reader)
summary: marc has had enough of watching you take advantage of steven and not him...
cw: smut (18+), voyeurism, masturbation, rough sex, dirty talk, degrading words, pining omg so much pining, angst, creampie, fluff?, ft. steven
wc: 3.4k
a/n: long time coming (cumming) -- i just realized i barely have marc fics so hopefully this holds up to expectations!
masterlist
----
You know Marc. But you wouldn't necessarily say that you're friends. And even if you were, you're definitely not 'friendly' with him the way you are with Steven.
If you were to ask him though, it wasn't for the lack of trying.
Since you've met Steven, Marc has merely been a shadow behind him, stopping in to check on Steven's personal life every so often before disappearing again.
What you aren't aware of, though, is that the only time he trifles in Steven's life is when he gets to see you.
Usually, Marc is uninterested in the daily life of his other half.
Steven wakes up, catches (or misses) the bus, gets to work, grabs some food on the way home, then calls it a day. It's a bland routine that Marc set up specifically to make sure that Steven is safe and sane. So, of course, when there's a change, Marc starts to pay attention.
Suddenly, out of the blue, you're everywhere.
A smile in the background of Steven's phone, a sticky note on the fridge reminding him to get more blueberries, and the oversized sweater you leave on the armchair one day that Steven steals whenever you're away.
He has no idea how you came into the picture, how he's never noticed you, or how Steven of all people captured your attention.
All he knows is that Steven is fumbling. Hard.
Marc had no idea what the nature of your relationship was until he had a front row ticket to one of your friendly favors.
---
Steven isn't subtle about his feelings. Anytime he's exceptionally scared or excited, Marc is called forward by his subconscious mind just in case he's in danger.
Usually, Marc is forced to front when Steven is about to burn his flat down from his nth attempt at cooking, or when he nearly walks into a busy intersection because he has his nose stuck in a book. But he never expected this.
He knew you liked to baby Steven. Take care of him because he had no one else to turn to (except Gus of course), but he just assumed you were being friendly, a kind soul willing to take Steven under your wing.
Nothing could have prepared him for when he woke up to the sight of you on your knees in front of him. It's odd being in the back seat of his body while Steven is getting all of your attention. He can feel everything, from the way your soft lips brush so sweetly against his cock to the hot suction of your mouth, but there's something that's holding him back from taking what he wants.
He wants so badly to bury his hand in your hair and push you down onto him until you're making a mess of yourself, eyes welling with pretty tears and drool dripping down your chin. He needs to tell you what a good girl you're being for him, so desperate for his cock in your throat. He wants to pick you up and carry you over to the bed to show you just how beautiful you are.
He wants you to look up and know it's him.
But he can't. Because who knows when this development started.
You acted platonically just the other day, and now, you're begging for Steven to cum on your tits.
What are you to each other?
If interferes now and messes this up for Steven, you might leave their lives altogether. Damn, how have you lured him into your clutches without even talking to him?
For all he knows, it could be a one-off thing...
---
It's decidedly not a one-off thing.
Marc has barely had the chance to front since the first time you made a move on Steven. You're always coming over, whether it's a spontaneous movie night or an offer to cook Steven some dinner, you always find a way to slither your way back into his bed. Not that Steven minds.
But Marc does.
With each fumbling move that Steven makes, Marc gets pushed closer to the edge. He could do it so much better. Make it clear that you're wanted. Give you the pleasure you deserve.
He cringes inside with every wary arm that gets thrown over your shoulder during a movie (one of Steven's signature moves to get you to cuddle -- somehow it works, every time). With the messy, unpracticed kisses that Steven haphazardly presses against your sweet lips.
He physically holds himself back from taking control of the body whenever you fall asleep in Steven's arms. He wants to hold you, feel your body molded against his, even if you have no idea it's him.
It's painful watching the two of you walk circles around the truth.
"I'm always thinking about you." Just tell her that you like her, you idiot! What is there to be afraid of? She looks at you like you painted the stars and hung the moon!
At this point, he doesn't even know why he tries.
Whenever you're around, Steven has total tunnel vision. He practically follows you around like some lost puppy. He lets sweet words spill from his lips without even thinking first and you lap up any type of affection he'll give you.
It's a vicious cycle of obliviousness.
Steven is a lost cause. But he isn't.
He can't take it anymore. He can't take waking up with a lingering taste of you on his tongue, or seeing your lovesick smile directed at someone else. He can't take the way you treat him like a stranger, like someone to avoid.
He wants you. So he's going to show you.
---
It's been a long day.
Marc's been out, jumping on top of roofs and kicking ass, all while Steven's 'sweetheart' blows up his phone.
Marc narrows his eyes, shuffling through all the smiley faces and hearts that litter your messages (and the thumbs up messages from Steven).
This book made me think of you <3
A cute little picture of you holding a book next to your face stares back at him, painting his face in a soft glow as he stands in the darkness of the night. He wants to crush the device in his hand.
Call me when you get home safe :)
You know exactly where Marc is right now, and what his life consists of, but you always avoid talking about him directly. You're always just waiting for Steven to come home so he can sleepily tell you he's back in bed and give you the green light to come over and snuggle your face into his chest.
Marc likes to think that he makes measured decisions, but what he does next is completely out of character:
Come over.
---
He's a little impatient, sitting on his worn couch as he waits for you to show up. You said you'd be 20 minutes, but it's been 30 since he texted you.
Sory thought the cookies would be done earlier! I'm otw now!
Your hastily typed out text blinks up from the forgotten phone that lies next to him. He read the sheepish reply when you sent it, but didn't bother to text back because of course you baked cookies for Steven.
He's starting to regret tricking you over. All he can think about is the inevitable rejection he'll get once you realize he's not Steven.
Marc leans back against the collection of overstuffed pillows and (your) gifted squish-mallows that decorate the couch, not caring that he's taking up as much space as possible. Flashes of your time with Steven override his doubts, reminding him of the softness that only you can provide.
He doesn't even realize he's unbuttoning his pants until his hand slips himself out of his briefs. Fuck, he's already so hard just thinking about you.
He doesn't want to get himself too worked up so he attempts to take it slow, stroking and squeezing himself until he's teetering at the edge, pretending that it's your hand instead of his. He quickly gets lost in the feeling, floating in a euphoric dream of you and your touch. It isn't until he hears the door click open that he returns to reality.
You're here. The thought alone nearly makes him spill over himself.
"Steven!"
-- And he's good.
"I'm here--oof," He hears you run into a kitchen stool, "why is it so dark in here?"
He should shove himself back into his pants and greet you like a normal human being, but some sick thing inside of him wants you to see what you do to him.
You place a container of freshly baked cookies on the counter with a smile, satisfied with your work and excited to see him try one. You've been working on a new vegan snickerdoodle recipe just for him.
A sweet treat for your sweet treat. You nearly giggle at your thoughts.
You take a second to smooth down any wrinkles on your dress, desperate to look nice for him. Steven has no idea how obsessed with him you are. You want him all the time. You're constantly craving to coax out soft whines and stutters from your favorite boy.
You look around the dim flat.
Where the hell is he?
Usually you'd find him in front of his makeshift desk, sprawling through various books under a harsh lamp, but tonight his spot is empty.
A soft grunt guides you to the couch, your usual movie night spot. No way he's starting without you.
"Ah, there you are." You're slightly put out that he doesn't move to greet you, but maybe Marc's mission just took a particularly harsh toll on his body.
It's only when you're standing at the side of the couch that he meets your eyes. And you meet his...hard cock, desperately throbbing in his hand. What a sight. Your eyes nearly glaze over at the sight of his mussed hair and laid back positioning.
He just looks up at you, casually. He's been expecting you. He wants you to watch him. It makes it that much more delicious.
He doesn't shy back at your presence. If anything, he sits up to give you a better view. His hand moves methodically -- controlled, stroking himself from tip to base as his half-lidded eyes stare straight back at you.
His dark look and posture nearly make him unrecognizable. It's not just the clothes he's wearing, or the 5 o'clock shadow, but the way he furrows his eyebrows and grips himself so confidently, like he does it all the time.
You shake off the odd feeling settling in your stomach and move over to him with the practiced grace that usually makes him weak in the knees for you.
"Mm...Steven...you're quite needy right now, aren't you?"
He raises a dark eyebrow, briefly squeezing himself in his hand as he unabashedly takes in your figure, draped in a soft dress. He's not backing down like you're used to. At this point, he's supposed to be begging for you to touch him, not staring you down like you're a piece of meat.
"M'not Steven, sweetheart." His voice makes you freeze in front of him and all of the confidence you once held rushes out of your body.
"M-marc?"
A cynical smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.
"You remember me?"
You capture your bottom lip into your mouth, holding yourself back from crawling on top of him and skipping the conversation. The dark and intense version of your lover is serving himself up on a silver platter, and all you can do is watch.
"Why wouldn't I?" He shrugs.
You can tell he's enjoying this, watching you squirm uncomfortably as he teases himself right in front of you. He touches himself like it's an afterthought, something to simply accompany the sight of you.
"W-where's Steven? I was supposed to meet him here..."
"I'm the one who texted you."
You freeze, not knowing what to do.
He wants you here?
He wants you?
"You...?"
"Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna be a good girl for me like you are with Steven?"
What would Steven think?
"I-I don't know..."
"C'mon, you're always dying to suck him off."
Your face flushes at his bluntness. Are you that obvious?
A hand comes up to hold you by the waist before you're pulled closer to him. He looks up at you, eye-level with your chest, looking as predatory as ever, despite his position under you.
"What's the difference, hm?" He slides a warm hand under the hem of your dress, gently caressing the bare skin of your outer thigh. "It's the same body on top of you. The same cock stretching you out..." You shiver when you feel his fingers tease the edge of your panties, the deep red lace you picked out specially for Steven. "...even the same cum filling you up."
You look down, mesmerized by the way his hand moves under the thin fabric of your dress. You watch his shrouded arm pull at the fabric until it barely brushes at your upper thigh as his hand slides up over the softness of your stomach and the dips of your ribs, before stopping at the curve of your breast.
"You want this."
It's not a question, it's a statement. And he's right.
He watches your eyes flutter close as he cups you in his hand. Despite the heat in his eyes, he handles you so softly. Like you're a porcelain doll in his hands. It's a familiar touch, but there's a hint of something more.
"Steven..." You breathe out. It's said out of habit. This feeling inside of you has only been associated with one person. It's always been him. But now, a whole other side of yourself is opening up.
You quickly realize your mistake when his grip tightens around your waist and on your breast, demanding your attention.
"No." His voice is low, "Not him."
"M-marc."
He hums and rewards you with a teasing flick of his thumb over your nipple. You're disappointed when his touch suddenly leaves you, but before you can complain, he begins to work his pants all the way off.
"Don't worry about him, sweetheart." He pulls you close enough that you nearly fall over him, causing you to straddle his lap and sit chest-to-chest. "Tonight's about us." The skirt of your dress falls around your thighs, shielding the way his length presses against your inner thigh.
You bury your face in the crook of his neck, flustered by the feeling of his hot body against yours, at the idea that this is really happening.
You breathe in once. Is that..?
And then, once again.
He smells like him.
"You good, baby?" He rubs over the tops of your thighs comfortingly while subtly shoving your skirt up to your waist.
"Mhm..." You hum against his skin, relishing in the feeling of his embrace. You experimentally push your hips against his, grinding your needy center against his. He groans at the contact and cants his hips upwards, forcing you to feel just how hard he is.
Your cunt pulses in desperation as he continues to rut against your clothed clit. You're nearly soaking through your underwear with how wet you are. And by the way he groans against you, he can tell.
An eager hand shoves between your bodies to shove your panties to the side. "Need to feel you." He drags a finger against you, spreading your slick until it runs down the palm of his hand. "Fuck. You're so ready for me."
"P-please." It's a hushed whisper against his shoulder, but he hears it loud and clear.
"Please, what?" He pushes you back, forcing you to look at him as he lines himself up. Heat pricks at the tops of your cheeks before you cast your eyes downwards.
Is he really going to make you say it?
"M-marc." You whimper as he brushes the tip of his cock through the seam of your cunt, covering himself with your lust. He mouths at your neck, ignoring your pleas by keeping himself busy sucking bites and bruises into your skin. "Please, fuck me, Marc."
He barely gives you a second before he's pushing in with a single fluid motion. The feeling is indescribable. How can he share a body with Steven, but make this feel so different?
"So big..." You gasp out, thighs trembling around his.
"Taking me so well, baby. Just let me in."
He pushes up until you're filled to the brim, drawing out a broken moan from your lips. The stretch is exquisite in this position. You feel like you've never felt anyone as deeply as he is right now.
As soon as he's sure you're comfortable, he starts moving, grinding up against you until you're looping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. You're mewls fill the room as his cock drags perfectly against your slick walls. You arch your back and start moving over him, desperate to feel him entirely.
He watches you bounce on his lap, timing his movements so his thrusts meet yours.
"Such a greedy slut aren't you?" His harsh words are punctuated with sharp thrusts, causing you to clench around him involuntarily. The sensation almost leaves him breathless, but he continues talking through gritted teeth. "You couldn't get enough from Steven, hm?"
His pants turn into rough grunts as he speeds up. He thrusting into you like he's taking revenge, like he's proving that he's the piece that's been missing from your life.
You shake your head, "Need b-both."
"Yeah, you do. Always so desperate to be filled by this cock." He holds you in place and begins to viciously thrust up into you.
"O-oh-!" He's hitting that spot inside of you that makes you see stars. You can't help the way your mouth gapes at the toe curling sensation.
Everything around you quickly fades away and all you can see, hear, and feel is him. You can't even articulate anything when pure ecstasy blooms in your core and permeates throughout your body.
You seize in his hold as he continues to roll his hips against yours, feeling boneless from the pleasure that hums through every nerve. He groans at the flutter of your walls around him, gripping him so tight in your warmth. He can barely get out a handful of thrusts before he's spilling inside of you.
You're a mess on top of him, soaking his lap in a mixture of the two of you. Your hair sticks to your face and neck, but it doesn't matter when you can still feel him pulsing inside of you.
Your eyes flutter open as a gentle hand caresses your jaw and guides you to lean in.
You meet vulnerable eyes framed by dark lashes.
He takes a breath, like he's bracing for the worst, but he doesn't have the chance to let it go before you're pressing your lips against his.
---
You sleep like a rock. It's almost like no time has passed. Why dream when you have everything you want right in front of you?
Or behind you, that is.
You can already tell it's Steven with the way he nuzzles himself against the back of your neck. "G'mornin', darling." He's adorable with his roughened groggy voice.
"Hi, baby." He curls up at the pet name and holds you closer, already flustered before he has fully woken up. You can tell it takes him a few moments to blink the sleep away because suddenly he's stiff against you (and not in a good way).
"W-what. What happened?"
You sigh, "Marc happened."
"Did he hurt you? Oh my god," He pushes away to get a better view, "was he mauling your neck?!"
"Steven, it's fine." You feel your face warm up at the thought of the night before. "I...kinda liked it."
Steven huffs to himself as his thumb lightly brushes over a particularly obvious bruise on your neck, "He's trying to steal my girlfriend."
You nearly choke on yourself, "G-girlfriend?"
"Yes...? I mean, you are, right? Unless," Steven's eyes widen, "I-uh, didn't mean to assume--"
Been thinking of this story so here’s a continuation :3
On film
Prn star Steven Grant x Roommate Fem Reader | 18+ MDNI
“Look at you love, taking it like a big girl” Steven cooed with his phone in hand and the cameras bright flash on, recording the lewd scene of your slicked cunt taking him like a pro.
You replied in a pathetic whimper as he played with your messy clit. His thumb rolling over your sensitive bud and cock fucking you with the intention of making the sex all the messier.
Steven moaned at the sinful visual being captured on screen. Your pretty cunt on full view, thick strings of cum leaking out of your cunt and his length stretching you perfectly.
A selfish thought washed over Steven as he admired the way you took him. Maybe he should keep you all to himself, not show a single soul what he’s won himself. Even if he said this little video was for his followers.
Too preoccupied with the real thing, Steven found no use in his silicone toys. The beloved Steven wasn’t as active on his page and his fans began to notice. So he’d repay them with the filthy video of him making a mess out of you as an update.
But another far more selfish thought came to mind. He knows all the perverts following him on Twitter would only grow even more envious of him. And now his followers would be envious of you.
“I- oh my godd” you slurred in bliss as Steven’s pace grew heavier. His hips snapped at the perfect rhythm, keeping you dumb and weak at his mercy as he let out all those years of fucking his pathetic toys out on you.
“Yeah? Yeahh lovie? You love me don’t you? Love the way I make you feel, love the way I feel?” He purred in a condescending yet loving tone “mmhm I love you love you” you dumbly drooled.
You gawked up at Steven, admiring his pretty curls sticking to his forehead, and the way his eyes scrunched each time he rolled his eyes back. The look on your face as you stared at Steven was making it all the more difficult for him not to let go.
“Ri- right the- oh my god right ther-“ you hiccuped as each of his thrust grew deeper and harder. He could feel your walls pulsing around him as he held your leg to the side, giving him a better angle to hit the gummy spot that always made you scream his name.
His hand roughly slapped onto your mouth, knowing his name would be coming out. Your hands clawed at his arms as your eyes lulled back into your skull.
The phone was somewhere in the sheets as he threw the phone to kept your mouth shut, his other arm cradling your head, and his thrusts still slamming you into the bed “shh darling shhh, can’t have them knowing my name now can I?”
pathetic slow sex w steven grant,,,, hrrgghhhhh,,,, oh i can just imagine his gasps when he first enters you.
he can’t even contain his noises as his jaw goes slack, eyes flutter closed when his hips come to a halt , “h-hold on love- give me a second-“ he shakily asks, british accent almost high pitched as he fight off the urge to look between your bodies, he doesn’t want to see how you’re wrapped around him, he can’t handle the sight of your lips parted because of his intrusion.
