sitting in jack’s lap, back to chest, the fingers on his left hand filling up your mouth, fingers on his right hand filling up your cunt. his lips to your ear as he checks in.
‘happy girl?’ he confirms, humming when you nod. ‘yeah, ‘course you are. all full of daddy like this.’
he lets out quiet laugh when your pussy clenches down around him, a vibration you can feel more than you can hear. he presses a kiss to your temple—once, twice.
‘what do you think, princess?’ jack asks, curling his fingers behind your pubic bone and making your toes curl in response, a moan slip out from behind your makeshift gag. ‘any room left in here for daddy’s cock?’
you and jack forget just how paper thin the walls are on vacation with your coworkers
MASTERLIST | RULES | INBOX
PAIRING jack abbot x fem!reader
WARNINGS 18+ MDNI explicit sexual content, p in v, secret fwb relationship, enemies w benefits more like, hate sex, angry sex, mutual antagonism, consensual rough sex, competitive/power-struggle dynamics (?), manhandling, physical restraint, rough dirty talk, insults & verbal degradation, shared vacation rental, risk of being caught, accidnental exhibitionism
WC 2.5k | REQUEST here!
Your back hits the mattress hard enough to make the old springs squeal beneath you and Jack’s first hiss isn’t one of pleasure.
“Shut. Up.”
His hand closes around your jaw before the laugh can properly make it out, fingers digging into the hinge just shy of painful. His thumb finds the soft under of your chin and presses until your mouth falls open for him.
It’s supposed to be corrective, presumably. Intimidating. To make you reconsider whatever smart thing you were about to say.
Instead, you turn your head just enough to catch the heel of his palm between your teeth. Salt. Sunscreen. Jack.
You bite down lightly and watch the quick flare in his eyes that says try me again.
It makes you want to try him again.
This is perhaps your most enduring character defect, the congenital need to worry at Jack Abbot until something gives, to poke one finger into every concealed pressure point and keep pressing until that pleasant facade finally fractures and you get the man underneath, irritated and looking at you like patience is a finite natural resource you have personally exhausted.
Conveniently, this defect has also made the two of you very easy to hide.
Wanting Jack has never looked substantially different than hating him. Same symptoms, really.
At work it manifests as narrowed eyes across the nurses’ station, remarks delivered half an octave louder than necessary, shoulders knocking in hallways wide enough to accommodate two functioning adults.
In private, the argument merely changes medium.
You end up underneath him with your thighs spread around his hips while he fucks every complaint back into you, and somehow neither of you has to concede the point.
That is, more or less, what is happening now.
Jack is attempting to fuck a confession out of you, specifically the admission that he had been right when he told you not to challenge the ocean after three frozen margaritas and one declaration that rip currents were mostly “a mindset.”
In your defense, this had sounded perfectly reasonable at the time. The ocean disagreed.
You made it maybe six yards before a wave hit your broadside, folded you clean in half, stole your sunglasses, and deposited you at Jack’s feet with enough seaweed caught in your bikini to suggest the beginnings of marine conservation.
You called him an insufferable bastard for saying he told you so.
Now he keeps insisting he “rescued” you because he hauled you upright by the waist while you sputtered saltwater.
He would like an apology. You would like him dead. Compromise remains unlikely. You would swallow your own tongue before giving him the satisfaction.
You nip him again, sharper this time, then grin around his thumb. “Go on — make me. You’ve been trying all day.”
“Fucking brat.” He drags his thumb free, replacing it with two thick fingers that press insistently at your tongue. “Keep talking and I’ll stuff you so full the only word you remember is sorry.”
He’s close to delivering on that promise, hips battering the breath from your lungs until all you can do is claw the navy sheets below you.
You almost give him the noise he’s hunting for, but feeding Jack’s ego has never been on your to-do list, so you smother the sound and glare your defiance instead.
You clamp down on his fingers, hard enough to make him grunt, and he jerks back, slick digits slipping free.
“Jesus — watch the teeth,” he growls, shaking the sting before flattening your wrist to the mattress. “You want a muzzle, sweetheart?”
You swipe your tongue over enamel, savoring the residue. “So many threats, Doctor. I’m starting to think you’re all talk.”
“Careful,” Jack murmurs with a hollow laugh. “You might hurt my feelings.”
He apparently decides conversation has exhausted its usefulness.
One second you are on you looking at him; the next he has you flipped facedown, dragged your hips into the air, and buried himself back inside you with enough force to make the entire bed complain in sympathy.
His chest covers your back, breath searing the shell of your ear. A half-moan, half-sob cracks loose out of you, palms skidding for purchase as your pelvis jerks forward as if distance could blunt the stretch, make it more manageable.
Jack only laughs again, settling both hands over your shoulder blades as he lets his weight weld you to the sheets.
“Where d’you think you’re going?” Each thrust stakes you there, sensation cresting so hot the edges of the room tremble out of focus and into watercolors.
You mash your face into the pillow, trying to hide the choked noises bleeding from you but they seep through cotton and feathers just the same.
“Listen to you,” he croons, mock-tender, thumb stroking a false comfort along your spine. He grinds you down while he pushes in again, slow enough you feel the catch of every ridge. “So fucking mouthy until I start making you feel good.”
His hand snakes beneath you, palm burning a trail down your stomach until two fingers find your clit. The first tight circle detonates in your core. Supernova heat.
“Pretty thing like you shouldn’t fight common sense,” he purrs. “Just admit it — You were right, Jack. Should’ve trust you. Smartest guy I know. That’s all I want.” Another figure-eight of his thumb, another planet collision behind your eyes. “I keep you safe, I make you feel good — why’s it so hard to give me a little credit?”
“Because — you’re such — a cocky — asshole,” you gasp, the insult dissolving into a helpless whine when his thumb presses harder.
“Dirty mouth on you,” Jack tuts. “C’mon, honey. Be sweet for ten little seconds — tell me I’m right — and I’ll let you come.”
You give him nothing but a furious side-to-side wobble, hair stuck wetly across your cheeks.
He can make your thighs shake and turn your brain into warm soup but he cannot make you surrender a point you are still technically convinced is yours.
The knot low in your belly winds tighter in retaliation, every muscle beginning that little climb towards something inevitable, and then Jack simply stops.
Fingers gone. Thrust halted. He holds himself inside you like a blade sheathed to the hilt, every inch throbbing but inert, punishment by deprivation.
Your muscles fire once more on instinct, grasping at a phantom that’s already gone, walls twitching uselessly around empty air.
The knot loosens with insulting patience — twist, release, release — until climax slips from reachable to hypothetical.
A brittle, involuntary sound hooks in your throat, proof that your body has accepted what your mind refuses to: Jack Abbot means to leave you suspended in this awful limbo until you fold.
“Please — no.” You writhe beneath him in shallow arcs, powerless under the weight pinning you. “Need you — need you to keep going.”
He slips a broad palm under your jaw, lifting your mouth off the pillow for your gasps to reach him unfiltered. “You know what I need, honey. Say the words, and I’ll give you everything you’re begging for.”
“I — I’m sorry,” you finally spit out. “You were right, Jack. Always are. Just — please — don’t stop.”
The words hit like blood in the water. He buries himself with a hoarse snarl, rhythm turning brutal, inexorable, as though the apology were a starting gun. Wood knocks hard against the plaster wall and your body jolts forward with every drive.
“Was that so hard?” His voice drips triumph while his teeth worry a shallow crescent into your shoulder. “Christ, sweetheart, what’re you always fighting me for? You know I’m gonna get my way.”
The only reply you manage is a shaky “uh-huh — ah, Jack —” strangled into the pillow, every syllable climbing higher until it breaks apart in a thin, urgent keen that tells him exactly how close you are.
“There you go, pretty girl. Give it to me — yeah, just like that.”
That’s all it takes.
Your body locks, squeezes, and he answers with a raw-throated groan, bracing you inside the bracket on his arms while your trembling tries to shake both of you off the bed.
Then everything goes incandescent. A long, rushing hush, white and depthless, flooding every corner of your mind as you come all over his length.
Somewhere inside all that brightness, Jack loses whatever rhythm he had left.
He lasts two more strokes.
“Fuck — sweetheart.” His hips snap tight against your ass, burying himself as deep as he can go, filling you in heavy surges that make your already-softened core flutter all over again.
You barely understand it at first, only feel another strange wave roll through you, your body squeezing reflexively around every throb until his arms tighten and his forehead drops heavily between your shoulder blades.
Jack stays folded over you until both your breathing begins to settle, the hard rise and fall of his chest gradually slowing against your spine.
When he finally moves, it is with considerably more care than anything he has done in the last thirty minutes.
He withdraws from you slowly, and your cunt manages one useless twitch at the emptiness he leaves behind. Pathetic, really, but apparently it's all the reaction your spent body can afford.
Sensing the weakness, the bastard takes advantage.
He rolls you onto your other side until you're nose-to-nose, the world tilting under the authority of a man rearranging furniture. Normally, you'd bark at him to ask first. Right now you just marvel that you're the furniture.
You blink at him through the pleasant cotton packed between your ears.
Jack studies the damage he's done, mouth curling like he's content with his handiwork, then lowers himself to press a kiss above your hipbone.
He works upward without hurry, lips brushing warm over skin still prickling with aftershocks, teeth occasionally catching in a light nip that makes you squirm before he kisses the same place better.
Your fingers slide into the silver-flecked hair at his temples, nails scratching lightly until you feel the growl rumble against your ribs.
“Funny how suddenly you like me again.”
“Like is generous.” You give the silver strands at his temple a tug. “Give me five minutes. I’ll remember everything I hate about you.”
“Mm. I can do a lot with five minutes.” He lifts his head just enough to give you that smug, crooked look.
“Four and a half now.”
Jack laughs, apparently delighted by the threat of your imminent return to hostility, and works his way up until there is nowhere left between you for him to kiss.
He folds down beside you and takes your mouth one final time before you can decide whether final kisses are perhaps too affectionate for people who supposedly cannot stand each other.
“Better use ’em wisely, then.”
He does, in fact, use them wisely. Spending what remains of his allotted minutes with his mouth between your thighs and apparently deciding there is some obscure world record for orgasms induced out of spite that he intends to break before sunrise.
But by breakfast, the consequences have arrived.
You sit at the island with a fork slack between your fingers, pancakes cooling untouched beneath a generous pour of syrup.
Your eyelids keep flirting with gravity; every time they drop Jack clears his throat in exaggerated warnings, as if falling face-first into breakfast would somehow be his fault.
It would be. Somehow. You'd make it so.
“Late night?” Frank asks from across the island, not bothering to look up from whatever he’s doing to his coffee.
Your head lifts approximately half an inch.
“No, I'm fine,” you say, far too quickly. You hear it the second it leaves your mouth, that bright little note of guilt you have apparently developed overnight, and clear your throat before anyone else can appreciate it. “I'm fine. Just tired. All that swimming yesterday wore me out.”
Dana, standing at the sink with her sleeves pushed up, lets out a thoughtful hum as she rinses a plate.
“Funny, everyone seems to be dragging this morning,” she remarks, flicking water off her wrist. “Can’t imagine why.”
“I can.” Robby lifts his mug. “Some of us were awake until two in the morning. Against our will.”
There is a tiny, merciful interval where you almost misunderstand him.
Of course people were awake. There are more than twenty coworkers crammed into one beach house, sleeping on couches and air mattresses and whatever other horizontal surfaces they could claim before someone else did.
Somebody is always awake. Somebody is always opening a refrigerator or flushing a toilet or talking too loudly in the hallway.
But when you finally drag your eyes up from your pancakes and find several people already looking at you with expressions ranging from tired amusement to outright accusation, the alternate interpretation arrives all at once.
They heard you. They heard Jack. Possibly extensively.
Fuck.
You lower your eyes and shovel another piece of pancake into your mouth.
Then again, maybe they're staring for some completely unrelated reason. A syrup stain, bed hair, the fact that you still haven't blinked in ten seconds.
“So, Jack,” Trinity suddenly says from the other side of the island, casual enough that for one stupid second you don’t hear the trap opening beneath your feet, “how's it feel being right all the time?”
You keep chewing.
“I mean, so right,” she adds, her voice climbing into a suspiciously breathy imitation. “The rightest man alive, apparently.”
The pancake becomes significantly harder to swallow as a hot ribbon of mortification slides up your throat. You manage a strangled cough and focus on sawing your next bite into pieces the size of atoms so you don't have to lift your head and meet anyone's eyes.
Without missing a beat, Jack wipes a smear of syrup from his thumb and shrugs. “Feels pretty nice, if I’m honest.”
“You are such a smug little —”
“Language,” Dana cuts in from the sink without even turning around.
You clamp your lips together, cheeks still burning, then lean just enough into Jack’s line of sight and mouth, shit.
His smirk cuts sideways across his face, eyes dropping briefly to your lips before coming back up darker than they were a second ago. His nostrils flare faintly, then his thighs spread another inch beneath the island as he leans back.
A minute repositioning of his hips that would mean nothing to anybody else and means everything to you because you know exactly what Jack looks like when his body gets ahead of his better judgment.
“Ew,” Trinity says suddenly, pointing between you and Jack with her fork. “This is flirting, isn’t it? You two have just been doing foreplay in front of us for, like, years.”
Robby grimaces. “Freaks.”
“I have no idea what you mean,” you insist, despite the heat steadily colonizing your entire face.
Jack undermines you immediately as he shoots you a wink. “It’s worked pretty well for us.”
Your eyes widen ten sizes. “Shut. Up.”
His grin only gets worse, teeth showing this time, and something about that makes you want to kick his ankle under the island just to restore the natural order of things.
Frank shakes his head. “Get a room.”
“We had one. Apparently that was the problem,” Jack says.
A chorus of disgusted groans answers him.
MARIA NOTE jack abbot getting pussy as a direct consequence of being annoying… terrible precedent to set actually 🍋🫧🌀 HOPE YOU ENJOY I LOVE YOU ALLLL
Jack making this face when you've had a bad day and gone nonverbal and he's all soft and sweet on you, running a big hand up and down your thigh comfortingly as he says "tell me whats wrong, baby," pressing soft kisses to the curve of your jaw and the plush of your cheeks, "c'mon, tell daddy whats wrong so he can help you." And when he finally gets you to make a little noise its when he's between your plush thighs, licking flat warm stripes up the sopping folds of your pussy, mumbling into your heat "there she is," when you give a little cry and weave your fingers through his silver curls.
you know exactly how you ended up here. nose in a corner, hands tied behind your back, ass painfully red and exposed to an audience of one. it wasn’t your fault that you had an attitude - jack had promised he would be home, and then he wasn’t. (it’s completely besides the point that he was on call when a multi-car accident occurred).
so maybe you weren’t the kindest when he got home. maybe you mouthed off about how he has “time for everyone but you, apparently.” you definitely threw something at him. a pillow, maybe?
jack had the patience of a saint, but after 36 hours of no sleep, he was done. before you knew it, he was bending you over the edge of your bed frame, little shorts tugged to your knees as he spanked your ass, heavy breaths accompanying every smack while you yelped and cried.
he didn’t give you a number, which meant he was looking for a particular shade of red before he was done. by the time he was done, your ass was bright red, your feet held down by his knee pressing into the backs of your calves, face stained with tears.
to add insult to injury, he hauled your whiny ass into the corner, reminding you that your tears only made him harder (mean !!) and spanking you twice more when you tried to move your nose from the corner. he tied your hands after he caught you rubbing the warm skin of your ass, warning you that “bad little girls get no comfort.” you just whined louder as he settled back on the bed behind you, admiring his work.
⊹ jack abbot makes you ride him while you finish fighting
warnings: 18+ minors dni! unprotected piv, established relationship, multiple positions ( spooning, prone, cowgirl ) fingering, dirty talk, overstimulation, biting, jack jealousy-bating, jack provoking overandover again, angry sex!!!! lots of name-calling, hair pulling/tugging, light spanking, literally them using sex to take out frustration ⊹ notes: ANDDDDD POST BYE !!!!!! queued her
pettiness was your strong suit. it was – in fact – one of the reasons why jack had fallen for you in the first place, back when it had been aimed at anyone but him. he’d found it utterly delightful, his little menace that could hold grudges like a steel trap. it’d turned on him now.
you’d folded into the far side of the bed, facing the wall, your spine all stiff. you’d stormed in here twenty minutes ago mid-argument and claimed the bed like a fort, and you’d been lobbing grievances over your shoulder ever since, even as jack finished getting ready in the bathroom, even as the water shut off and his footsteps came and went.
“and another thing,” you announced in the direction of the wall. “if it were my work thing, you would not call that a date. you’d call that watching me work. which is what this is. so don’t act like you’re being romantic – ”
“are you done?”
you were, in fact, just getting started. if all went according to plan, you would’ve continued this after the event (you weren’t that petty) and been mad in his ear allllll night long, lullaby-ing him to sleep with a list of all his wrong choices; you would’ve named a problem for every hour in a sweet sing-song voice.
you made your first mistake by glancing over your shoulder at him; shirtless, slacks open and belt dangling, hair still slightly damp, standing in the doorway like he had all the time in the world and no fight to lose.
it was, frankly, a cheap shot to show up looking like that in the middle of an argument you were winning.
he raised a brow, then shook his head before he crossed the room in three long strides and climbed in behind you. his fingers went straight to the hem of the t-shirt you’d put on after finishing your makeup and pulled it over your head. you made a sound of protest, but lifted yourself up just slightly to let him do it. answer enough, you supposed.
he tossed it aside, and his hands were immediately on you, sliding down your ribs until one hand settled on your hip, fingers splaying, while the other dipped lower, cupping the curve of your ass and giving it a squeeze that made you inhale sharply.
“still mad?” he asked, leaning in for his mouth to brush against your shoulder blade. his hand kneaded at your hip, moving to the soft inside of your thigh.
“yes,” you said, but it came out weaker than before. “jack – ”
your words stopped as his hand moved from your hip to your breast, gathering the weight under his palms before his thumb came up to brush against your hardened peak.
“hello? cat got your tongue?” he said through a snort, pulling you flush against him, chin going into the curve of your neck. he ground his hips against you then, letting out a low breath through his mouth. he pushed a fist into the mattress by your ribs, caging you in. “what d’you wanna talk about?”
“i’m serious, jack,” you said, trying to force your voice even. “you wouldn’t call it a date.”
he hummed, fingers shamelessly sliding down as he said, “come on, baby. if you wanna keep talkin’ about this, you gotta do better than that.”
“do better – ” you let your neck turn back to face him, and he immediately tilted his head down, his tongue peeking out as he tried to bite back a grin. “ – my points are good enough.”
he ducked and caught your mouth, teeth nipping at your lip the same second his fingers slid under the lace. he smiled into the kiss, fingers running down your folds. you pulled away immediately, going to face the wall again.
“did this happen when you called me a smug asshole?” he circled the pad of his finger once over your clit, causing you to shudder slightly against him. “or when you decided i’m a liar?”
“jackass,” you muttered.
“real creative.” he shifted behind you, other hand going to shove his slacks further down his hips, freeing his cock. he pulled back slightly, and wrapped his hand around himself, stroking once – twice – before pressing the head of it to the curve of your ass. he exhaled once through his nose, intertwining his fingers through yours and moving them around him.
“i’ve been like this for the last twenty minutes,” he supplied casually, then groaned when your fingers instinctively moved around him.
“i’m still mad at you,” you said, but you were already moving your hand because you did also want him inside you. it’d been too long.
he rocked himself into your hand. “yeah – okay. let’s fix that, too, while we fix this.”
he moved to his side, lining himself up between your thighs before fitting himself in between. his fingers slid down your underwear again, fingers grazing over your folds before pressing down on your clit.
his fingers continued circling, while two others slid lower, the hard line of his cock pressing heavy against your ass each time he rocked forward.
“can’t call this a date,” you muttered, even as your breathing picked up.
“no?” he murmured. “this won’t do?” he nodded absentmindedly behind you, then his fingers came up just to slide down your underwear over the curve of your hips and down your thighs until the lace was sitting at your knees.
“two weeks – missed this,” he muttered, more to himself than you, and immediately pressed back into you, sliding his cock fully between your thighs now, the head of him dragging through your folds with every roll of his hips.
“also, it is a date – i’m takin’ you – ” he said, angling his hips so his head notched against your entrance. “ – as my date.”
“it’s not.” you pushed your hips back against him.
he tutted softly, hand holding the base of him as he pressed his tip against you, just enough to make you feel the pressure of the stretch starting, then pulled back.
“impatient,” he murmured, doing it again.
“we don’t have time,” you shot back. “just put it in – ”
“yes, ma’am,” he breathed out, amused, and angled himself to sink into you with one slow, sharp push. his entire body went rigid the second he bottomed out, a groan rumbling in his chest as the stretch hit you.
a broken sound came out of your throat before you could swallow it, after two weeks of nothing. your walls instinctively clenched around him, and his grip on your hip went bruising-tight.
“fuck, been so empty haven’t you?” his forehead dropped to your shoulder blade. “sorry, sweetheart. forgot you just needed me like this.”
you tried to glare, albeit at the wall, but your hips pushed back to take the last inch of him. “shut up.”
he just laughed softly, already pulling back to go again. “i know i’ve been thinkin’ about this every night.”
your teeth grit together to hold back the moan, your fingers twisted into the sheets as your body clenched around him on instinct, spine arching even while you fought to stay rigid.
“so mad at me – shit, huh?” his fingers came up with some tremor to your shoulders, pulling you into him even further as he slid in. “just ‘cause you missed this, baby? should’ve asked hours ago instead of arguin’ with me about tonight.”
your hips moved back to bury him to the hilt, causing his palm to tighten on your shoulder with a groan. “no, i missed you,” you said sharply. “you, asshole.”
his breath shuddered, and you felt him nod against your skin. “makin’ such sweet words sound so mean.”
he punctuated his words by moving his hand down to your spine and shoving you forward, forcing your chest flat against the mattress. he followed you down, pinning you completely – chest-to-back, hips locked tight against your ass – prone. his knee nudged yours wider, letting him sink even deeper on the next stroke.
he blew out a sharp, deliberate breath into your ear. “can’t run that mouth so easy when i’ve got you like this, can you?”
“are you trying to shut me – ” you started, words coming out into the pillow.
“huh?” he dipped his head to the side to meet your smushed face, brows rising in amusement. his forearms came up to rest at the curve of the back of your neck. “sayin’ something?”
you twisted just enough to glare at him over your shoulder, still trying to form the argument – something about obligations and dates and missing him so much – but the words stayed half-formed when he pointedly drove in particularly deep and your breath left you in a sharp, broken sound.
he watched your face with a small, smug smile, not slowing.
“yeahhh, that’s what i thought,” he muttered and kept fucking you. his mouth brushed the shell of your ear. “poor thing, can’t even finish a sentence. needed this, huh?”
“i did not – ”
“mhm, lying now, too – ” his forearm flexed, fingers coming out to absentmindedly brush your hair out of your face. “thought i was the liar.”
“don’t touch me,” you muttered, turning your face into the pillow again.
“stop squeezing me so tight then,” he said through a rough pant, thrusting up once meanly.
“i’m not kidding – ” you said, firmer now. “it was a – fuck – shit thing for you to do.”
“mhm.”
“i’m not being unreasonable.” you had to grit your teeth together when one of his palm came down to knead the side of your hips. “a date is you and me – your being a shit boyfriend when i haven’t – ”
your words cut off with a sharp gasp as he rolled the two of you in one irritated motion, keeping himself buried as he put you on top. his hands clamped hard on your hips, pushing you down until you were seated fully on his cock.
the sudden shift punched the air from your lungs, and before you could steady yourself, he was already driving up into you.
“jesus, you just can’t let up,” he muttered, eyes locked on where you were taking him. “wanna look at you ride me while you keep running that mouth.”
“getting tired, old man?” you raised a brow.
he shook his head softly, fingers reaching out to rub over your clit.
“old man, shit boyfriend – m’fucking you and letting you argue.” he pressed a harder circle, pausing only to come down on your ass in a sharp slap suddenly, making you gasp. “giving you everything you need at once, and i’m a shit boyfriend.”
he reached out to press his palm flat just below your navel.
“can’t take me on a date – ” you used his chest to pull yourself up, then come down, “ – though.”
his eyes flicked up to your face with a small, strained smirk as his fingers pressed down firmer on your stomach.
“it is a date,” he said, as he drove up hard to meet you on the next downward slide. his other palm flexed on your hip to keep you down as he pushed up even further. “fuckin’ – nice event. you. me. dressed up.” he took in a sharp breath through gritted teeth as your nails dug into his chest. “sounds like a damn date to me.”
“it’s work,” you shot back. “you’re just calling it a date so you don’t have to feel bad about cancelling.”
“i didn’t cancel – anything.” his hand came up to push into your hair, pulling your face closer. “i invited you. you want me to leave you home, huh?” his jaw was tight as he tugged your hair back slightly. “things happen. plans change.”
“i don’t want to watch you work, i want to spend time with you,” you managed, surprised by how even your voice came out, considering.
“christ – ” he used the grip on your hair to keep you close, foreheads nearly touching. “actin’ like i signed us up for a week in the desert. it’s dinner. you don’t wanna go?”
he leaned to press your forehead against his. “don’t. imagine alllll the women who’ll try to talk to me, huh?”
“asshole,” you breathed out, nails digging into his shoulders now as you lifted and dropped again. “asshole.”
he snorted through his nose, tugging once on your hair before letting go, leaning back down onto the pillow. “keep ‘em coming, baby. keep punishin’ me for havin’ a job while you’re sittin’ on my cock.”
his hand went to your thigh, spreading on wider so he could push up even deeper.
“you want time with me?” he muttered. “this is time. right now. i’m in you. you’re on me, and you’re still finding ways to be pissed.”
he tilted his chin to catch your lips between his teeth. “you want me to yourself at dinner? i’ll fuck you in the bathroom if you want that, too.”
“this isn’t the same and you know it.”
“isn’t it?” he sat up further, both arms going around your back so your chests were flush. “because from where i’m at, i’ve got my girl riding me, calling me names, and still taking inch like she’s been starving for it. feels pretty damn close to spending time together.”
“principle – ” you tried to say, words cutting off as your hands got distracted to tug at the short hairs at the nape of his neck harshly.
“principle’s pretty shit when i can feel you’re close,” he murmured, mouth brushing yours.
“yeahhh,” he breathed out, feeling you clench on him as your thighs started to shake. “we’ve got ten minutes and if you wanna finish this fight, you finish it on my cock.”
“won’t make it better,” you said through gritted teeth, trying to push through the building pressure – chasing it, pushing it away. “you still – jack – made this whole thing about you – ”
your sentence broke off into a sharp, helpless moan as the orgasm crashed into you. jack didn’t let up, if anything he held you down tighter, hips rutting up against you as you came.
his eyes were trained to your face, pupils thoroughly darkened. “aw, i’m sorry,” he cooed, fingers coming up to brush the hair off your face. “you were in the middle of tellin’ me off. don’t let me interrupt you.”
you opened your mouth to keep going, voice still shaky, and jack’s arms slid up your back to pull you down flush against his chest, crushing you into him so your face was buried in his chest.
“please finish what you were saying,” he muttered against your ear, one forearm caging you in. he let out a soft snort when you only whimpered, then added, “i’ll help. you were saying i was making this whole thing about myself.”
“you always – always do this. make everything about you and then act like i’m being difficult,” you – well, lied.
jack groaned low at your words, only spurred on even more.
“i do? y’really think so?” he mused, almost conversationally. his hand slipped between you, fingers finding your clit and pressing there, holding the pressure while driving up in one-timed strokes that made you gasp. “i make everything about me?”
“you do – ” you started, but the words dissolved when he pressed his palm flat against your lower belly, the pressure from both angles sudden and overwhelming, making everything tighten impossibly.
you groaned into his neck, and he tilted his face to the side to press his lips along your hairline.
“yeahhh, clearly i do.” he pressed a kiss to your ear, almost tender. “it’ll make me feel better to know you’re sittin’ all mad throughout the dinner you don’t wanna go to filled with me.”
Summary: Nothing keeps Jack younger than having you on his lap
Warnings || smut, P in V, unprotected sex, implied age gap (Jack is 50 and reader is 30) oral (f!receiving), creampie, rough sex, daddy kink, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, spanking, spitting, bit of angst in the beginning
A/N: well the itch isn’t going away so, I wrote again. Hope ya’ll enjoy this too!!
Jack doesn’t think about the age gap as often as he used to. Before, he’d lie awake, troubled by the two decades between you.
At 50, he worries whether he really is a partner you can live life to the fullest with or is he just tying you down to him, a widowed veteran who’s been battered and bruised.
A pretty, young thing like you still has her whole life ahead of her. He wonders if you’re settling for him when really, you deserve the world.
While Jack hasn’t exactly made these fears known to you, somehow you still manage to reassure him.
“You’re it for me, Jack… I love you, all of you.”
When you talk like that, all earnest and sweet, everything just melts away.
Still, there are moments when he can’t get behind the whole “age is just a number” thing, especially when he finds himself struggling to keep up with you and your libido.
You’re on his lap, fucking yourself on his cock. The room smells of sex. You’re sweaty, and cock drunk. While Jack feels the ache in his bones, he can’t complain when you’re so pretty making a mess on him.
It’s been hours. Jack already wrung out a few orgasms from you with his tongue and fingers, but you’re still going. Nails digging on his shoulders, there’s tears in your eyes as you near another release.
“Fuck, yes! I-I’m close, Jack- Ah”
“Yeah, baby? You gonna cum on this cock again?” While his tone is teasing, in reality Jack was fighting tooth and nail not cum before you.
At this point he’s shooting blanks, resisting the overstimulation as you clench down on him, hard.
When his thumb finds your swollen clit, you scream. Jack fucks his cum into you, forcing you to take the previous loads and his fat cock.
His cum is leaking out of you as you bounce even harder, feeling him all the way in your gut.
“Mmm my little minx… you like fucking yourself on daddy’s cock? Tell me, baby, whose pretty pussy is this?”
You’re struggling to form words, throat dry as you chase your high. A harsh smack soon reaches your ass.
You yelp as Jack hits you again, his impatience growing at your lack of a response.
“I-I’m yours!”
His spit lands where you’re connected, adding wetness as he roughly circles your clit once again.
This has you tensing up, you can taste the precipice of your orgasm.
“Not what I asked, sweetheart. I said, whose pussy is this?” While it may look like Jack is still in charge of the situation, he’s panting, seconds away from another mind blowing orgasm.
“Y-Yours! This pussy is yours- fuck! M’gonna cum!”
“Go ahead, baby. Make a fucking mess. Let your daddy fill you up again.”
Your knees begin to buckle as your orgasm comes crashing into you, calling out Jack’s name.
You spray out against him, your whole body spasming as your climax overcomes you.
“There you go. You’re so good to me, baby. Fuck!” Jack is coming for the last time, completely spent with the rounds you pulled from him.
You’re collapsed against his chest when you say, “Knew you still had it in you, old man.”
Jack rolls his eyes as you giggle at him.
“What? I told you so. You’ve got nothing to worry about, Jackie.”
“You say that now, but I’m pretty sure I’ll feel this tomorrow.”
You laugh as Jack grumbles.
“We have the entire day tomorrow to rest. We can just stay in and cuddle.”
“Knowing you? You’ll find a way on my lap again, little minx.”
Jack abbot who’s been going insane for the last few months. He’s 50 years old and getting bricked like he’s going through puberty.
It first happened in the middle of a code, side by side with you, the newest resident at ptmc, who was understandably anxious during such a crucial moment. You looked up to Jack every so often, to which he’d softly coo and praise you for your clearly competent skills and ability to quickly adapt to his instruction. A resident he wouldn’t have to worry about. Thank god. Also a brunette.. who eerily resembled her. His late, beautiful wife. Oh fuck. He didn’t know if you made him more depressed or horny but one thing that was undeniably true was that you had him throbbing, tip tightly pushing against his scrubs leaving him having to get creative when I came to hiding them.
And that was just the start. Lately he’s been sneaking off to the bathrooms, barely able to get a break as it is and having to pace himself a steady 2 mins in order to soften what you’d done to him. Brows furrowed, and one hand needily thrusting up and down his shaft, and the other taking all his weight as he leaned onto the wall of the tiny stall he was in. You had him getting so incredibly needy he’d have to bite down on something and give his all just to not whimper.
He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Getting jealous every time you took in a male patient or spoke to Robby. And he knew it was wrong. He couldn’t clock what was so arousing to him about you. But he needed you bad.
It wasn’t even the second hour into his shift when he excused himself off of another case with you. Back to the bathroom, knees buckling and lips pouted as he did his best to cum fast and not tire himself out. Everyone had started to notice Abbot leaving every time he was on a case with you, and generally avoiding the cases in general when he could. It was almost as bad as when Langdon came back from rehab and Robby couldn’t even look him in the eyes. Shen and Ellis gave you a puzzled look every time he left or passed up a case with some shitty excuse.
And you, being the hungry-for-validation-burnt-out-resident that you were, started to consider getting a therapist over it. You thought Jack hated you, and you couldn’t figure out what you were doing wrong.
So one night, after a particularly rough shift, you took to the roof of PTMC. You didn’t go up often but tonight you decided to just take a breather and get some alone time. After today you needed it. You only worked two cases with jack and both he stormed out in the middle of them like he couldn’t even bare to watch you fuck up that badly. He hadn’t said a word to you in weeks and it felt like everyone knew why BUT you. You took a deep breath, tears welling in your eyes that softly overlooked the edge of the roof.
The silence of the morning was broken by Jack clearing his throat to warn you he was walking over. “You won’t die if you fall from there.. ’S not worth it.” He said, a sympathetic look in his eyes, slightly limping thanks to standing for the last 14 hours on the current state of his leg and a half.
You shook your head and scoffed. “Thanks for the heads up..”
Jack stopped when he was comfortably next to you, and could barely look in your eyes knowing that he’d cum to the thought of you at least 3 times today.
“Am I doing something wrong?” You blurted out, quickly regretting it as you heard the man sigh and look down.
“No.. more of a me problem.. I guess” He anxiously fidgeted with his hands before continuing “I owe you an apology, everyone and their grandma’s probably noticed by now but.. I’ve been pretty.. um.. distant.. from you. ‘M sorry, it’s not what you think. I promise. You’re a good doctor. You do amazing work.”
“Then what is it..” Your voice was wobbly and you felt your throat tighten, before one of his hands softly drifted to your lower back, rubbing slow circles.
He couldn’t handle that sad.. eerily familiar look in your eyes. Oh how badly he couldn’t stand it. “Don’t cry. I- sigh kiddo. You’re an amazing doctor, with some of the most compelling skills I’ve seen in my time working here. ’N im not just saying that to comfort you.. Im serious. I just…”
a/n: lmk if you want a part two i completely lost motivation to finish but see my vision ok hi bye 🙌🪽😇
is it july 29th? yes. am i a little late? well... also yes... anyways, enjoy
💌 my personal faves that I read this month :) please remember to give some love to the writers (that means comments and reblogs, not just likes) 💌
key
s = smut
sp = spice (nothing explicit)
f = fluff
a = angst
h/c = hurt/comfort
smau = social media au
⟢ Joel Miller ☣︎
cocky little questions by @whimsydoe s
The Best Birthday Secret by @vintagevenus1111 s, f
deep by @littledes1re s
too short by @miliebriar s
sex pollen by @/littledes1re ft. jack abbot s
⟢ Clark Kent ⎚-⎚
Clark gets a photo from his girl by @luveline f
Clark takes care of his tired girl by @/luveline f
⟢ Jack Abbot ⚕
jack comforting you in his lap after by @popepout a, h/c
Which one? by @weird-is-life sp
you come first by @annsfics a, h/c
it's your house too by @/annsfics a, f
lullabye (goodnight, my angel) by @mariasont f
TEXTS… 2 3 by @eternalabbot smau
hurt from his hobby by @bitters-n-sweets a
Two reasons to come home by @shadeofpeach a, f
Backup by @starling-in-the-sky f, a, h/c
jack abbot's broad chest by @penvisions s
shameless crier by @weird-is-life f
shushing you by @superhoeva s
water bottle by @unhoelyplaces f, s
laundry fiend by @kiraavi s
voicemail by @richeeduvie s
meanish!abbot by @dollicits
⟢ Rabbot ❤︎
threesome by @/popepout sp
spoiled by @/popepout s
Floaty, but not alone by @gragrace a, h/c
⟢ Michael Robinabvitch 𑣲
boyfriend!robby by @welllsblvd f, h/c
⟢ Brendon Park 𓂁
Magic Hands by @seewhoyouwanttosee f, sp
Boy dad! Brendon by @zivistardust f
texts 2 3 4 by @urfavoritewritersfavoritewriter smau
fertility issues by @/zivistardust f, a
nurse!reader by @buffalokill f
only soft for you brendon park by @dirtgir1 f
💌 fanfic writing is slowly dying and it's because no one reblogs anymore. it doesn't take that much time to give just a little bit of feedback/love (a nice gif, a keyboard smash, your favourite line in italics, etc). please remember that writers are real people who take time out of their day to produce content that you consume without having to pay for it. to reblog means to kiss the writer's forehead. 💌
is it july 29th? yes. am i a little late? well... also yes... anyways, enjoy
💌 my personal faves that I read this month :) please remember to give some love to the writers (that means comments and reblogs, not just likes) 💌
key
s = smut
sp = spice (nothing explicit)
f = fluff
a = angst
h/c = hurt/comfort
smau = social media au
⟢ Joel Miller ☣︎
cocky little questions by @whimsydoe s
The Best Birthday Secret by @vintagevenus1111 s, f
deep by @littledes1re s
too short by @miliebriar s
sex pollen by @/littledes1re ft. jack abbot s
⟢ Clark Kent ⎚-⎚
Clark gets a photo from his girl by @luveline f
Clark takes care of his tired girl by @/luveline f
⟢ Jack Abbot ⚕
jack comforting you in his lap after by @popepout a, h/c
Which one? by @weird-is-life sp
you come first by @annsfics a, h/c
it's your house too by @/annsfics a, f
lullabye (goodnight, my angel) by @mariasont f
TEXTS… 2 3 by @eternalabbot smau
hurt from his hobby by @bitters-n-sweets a
Two reasons to come home by @shadeofpeach a, f
Backup by @starling-in-the-sky f, a, h/c
jack abbot's broad chest by @penvisions s
shameless crier by @weird-is-life f
shushing you by @superhoeva s
water bottle by @unhoelyplaces f, s
laundry fiend by @kiraavi s
voicemail by @richeeduvie s
meanish!abbot by @dollicits
⟢ Rabbot ❤︎
threesome by @/popepout sp
spoiled by @/popepout s
Floaty, but not alone by @gragrace a, h/c
⟢ Michael Robinabvitch 𑣲
boyfriend!robby by @welllsblvd f, h/c
⟢ Brendon Park 𓂁
Magic Hands by @seewhoyouwanttosee f, sp
Boy dad! Brendon by @zivistardust f
texts 2 3 4 by @urfavoritewritersfavoritewriter smau
fertility issues by @/zivistardust f, a
nurse!reader by @buffalokill f
only soft for you brendon park by @dirtgir1 f
💌 fanfic writing is slowly dying and it's because no one reblogs anymore. it doesn't take that much time to give just a little bit of feedback/love (a nice gif, a keyboard smash, your favourite line in italics, etc). please remember that writers are real people who take time out of their day to produce content that you consume without having to pay for it. to reblog means to kiss the writer's forehead. 💌
✦ content. a little something while i’m finishing up summer lovin pt. 2 18+. porn w/o plot. headcanoning brat tamer jack abbot :). hehe. enjoy.
brat tamer!abbot who never takes the bait. you could be difficult all evening, one word answers, eyes anywhere but him, and hed just pour himself a drink and wait you out like he had all the time in the world, which he did. which is the most infuriating thing about him.
brat tamer!abbot who lets you have your fun and then looks at you across the room with that expression. as if he's unbothered and says "are you done?" in a tone that makes your stomach drop because you both know what comes after.
brat tamer!abbot who takes his time with you too. never rushing, never rough, getting his mouth on you right when you think you've won and pulling back just as you're getting close. watching you squirm with dark eyes and his chin resting in his hand like this is mildly interesting to him. "something to say?" he asks. you bite your tongue. and he almost smiles.
brat tamer!abbot who pulls your panties aside when he finally decides you've had enough and drives into you slow and deep and murmurs against your ear about how warm you are, how good you feel around him, how well you're taking him. all the praise you'd been chasing all evening given freely now that you've earned it.
his hands all over you like he can't get enough. his hips rolling steadily and hard while your brain turns to mush and he tips your chin up with two fingers and says "eyes on me" in that gravelly voice.
the sounds of him fucking into you fill the quiet room, quiet whimpers spilling from your lips as his thumb presses to your clit. and when you come apart he watches every second of it with an amused expression.
brat tamer!abbot who bites down on your shoulder as he spills into you, hips stuttering, one hand pressing flat against your lower belly like he wants to feel how you’re filling up with his seed. you clench around him and he groans against your shoulder, a low whine. he lifts his head and soothes the bite with his tongue, slow kitten licks against the marks he left, humming against your skin. all of this his. you his brat.
thinking about having a night off with jackie where you both aren't able to sleep due to having crazy sleep schedules based around the night shift, so he tires you out by letting you bounce on his cock with his back against the headboard
your pussy dripping cream down his shaft and settling down to form a little ring around the base, hands clinging to his shoulders with his hands squeezing and kneading the fat of your ass
"you love this dick so much you put a ring on it, baby?"
"cmon look at that mess you're making, sweet girl"
"tire yourself out and cum on my cock, let me feel you squeeze me"
your tits pressed up against his chest, head resting on his shoulder, and his fingers making fast work of your clit until you're clenching down on him hard, and your drool is oozing down his chest and when you're finally tuckered out, you drift off on his chest with his now soft dick still inside and his cum leaking out
you tell jack abbot you can’t cum without a vibrator and he proves you wrong. not proofread btw
“i didn’t sit through all those anatomy classes for nothing,” he grumbles, one hand holding your hip and the other keeping his dick in line with your pussy.
“that was what? like fifty years ago?”
he starts shoving himself in before replying, “very funny.”
“ah, ah! i’m—jesus—telling you, jack. it won’t work.”
“you know i have to try, at least once.”
he hasn’t let up on it ever since you told him. you can’t have an orgasm without some sort of toy. of course that simply can’t be true.
he always just assumed it was a preference. the few times you’d slept with him so far, you’d always had a vibrator ready on the nightstand.
“just—let me try, huh?”
there’s a pillow beneath your lower back, and your legs are tensed up around his hips.
“you need to relax, though, honey.”
you exhale a deep breath and nod shakily. “okay, i can try.”
“good, just listen to me. do you feel me here?”
he pushes down on your stomach, just above your pubic bone.
“sort of,” you say to be nice, appreciative of his efforts. you expect him to pull out and give up, suddenly decide you’re not worth the effort.
“okay, tilt your hips up towards the ceiling a little bit. good, hold it right there.”
he rolls his hips back and forward again, dragging against your upper wall and hitting something that makes you yelp.
you slap your hands over your mouth and stare at him with stupid, wide eyes. he ignores you, just keeps rolling his hips up into you with his hand pressing into your stomach.
“good girl, focus.”
one hand leaves your mouth to dig into the linen sheets. expensive sheets. the ones you liked in the store, that jack had to insist you buy.
the other hand stays covering your mouth to keep in all the noises you’d never made before.
“how’s that feeling?”
“pressure—there’s pressure, jack. i don’t know what—”
he shushes you, “you don’t have to do anything, just feel it. feel me taking care of you.”
he runs his big hands up and down your sides, keeping the same rhythm with his thrusts, not speeding up or going harder.
“jack, i think im gonna cum. i’m gonna—oh, jesus christ!”
you sit upwards, instinctively tensing your entire body up. jack pushes you back down with a hand on your chest that moves up to curl around your neck. no pressure, only a firm, reassuring warmth.
your stomach drops into that familiar buzz you thought you could only achieve with a toy.
“c’mon, breathe through it,” he grunts, letting himself go as you clench around him so tight he tips his head back and groans like an animal.
when all is said and done, you’re panting and glistening with a sheen of sweat.
“look at that. didn’t even have to play with her,” he says with a smirk, giving your clit a light slap.
in which jack gives you unsolicited advice on vibrators and how to use them.
genre: smut!! 18+ mdni!!!
(a/n: can't sleep, feeling weird. deciding to write to get my mind off things. sorry it's kinda filthy lol what can i say.)
You were running on four hours of sleep and weeks of agonizing physical frustration. So yes, technically, sitting in the breakroom with a tab open to a high rated silicone toy review page wasn't ideal workplace decorum. But you were on your break. Off the clock, tired, frustrated, and researching every available avenue to make something happen.
"That one’s no good."
You froze, every muscle locking up. You slowly turned around to see Jack leaning over, eyeing your phone screen.
Before you could scramble to lock your phone or throw it across the room, Jack gave a casual, unbothered shrug and walked right out the door.
The rest of the night was psychological torture. Back on the floor, Jack acting like he said nothing. Not a smirk. Not a lingering look. Nothing. By the time you clocked out, you were convinced you’d hallucinated the entire breakroom encounter.
…
Two glasses of wine later back at your apartment, unwinding on the couch and feeling comfortably tipsy, your phone buzzed on the coffee table.
Jack: I can make some good recommendations for you.
You snorted into your glass, staring at the screen. The wine gave you a reckless surge of courage, and your thumbs moved before your brain could filter them.
You: you gonna show me how to use it?
His reply came back within seconds.
Jack: Yeah. My place tomorrow?
…
So that’s how you were here. On Jack Abbot’s lap, writhing as his thumb guided a small, buzzy, impossibly effective vibrating bullet directly against your center. His hand was around your hip, holding you steady while his hard length pressed hot against you through the fabric of his sweatpants.
"Told you the other one was overrated." he murmured against your neck, his voice raspy.
You let out a breath, hands clutching his shoulders as you rolled your hips into his palm.
"That good?" Jack said into your skin, tightening his grip on your hip as you squirmed against him. "Need you to come all over my lap, sweetheart."
dbf!jack abbot who’s always looked after you. your mom died when you were young, and he filled in the gaps that your father couldn’t.
dbf!jack who grows more and more worried at your behavior after you come home from college. staying out late, drinking far too much, bringing home men who he doesn’t trust and who don’t deserve to fuck you.
dbf!jack who pulls you aside to scold you after your father’s made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t give a shit what you do. he only wants to express concern, but you’re rolling your eyes and trying to push him away immediately. you’re not having any of it.
dbf!jack who grips your wrists with one hand to keep you from leaving. that’s all. but he doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches, or the way your eyes drift to the corded muscles of his arms.
“listen here. i’ve seen too many pretty girls like you end up in my ER to let you act like this.”
you really, really hope he doesn’t notice how flushed you’ve gotten. he’s just so close, you see, and you can smell his aftershave from here. you put on your best defiant look.
“god, quit acting like you’re my dad!”
thirty minutes later, he’s fucking you so deep you can barely breathe. his thumb is pressing circles into your clit, sped on by the mess of arousal spilling out of you. the half-hearted and clearly faked moans he’s heard from you with the boys you usually fuck are nothing compared to the drawn-out whines and gasps you’re letting out now. your eyes are rolled back, completely lost in the pleasure he’s wringing out of you.
“yeah? who’s your daddy, huh?” he grunts, giving your hip a squeeze to prompt a reply.
“fffuck, daddydaddydaddy ‘m so close,” you moan. he clicks his tongue.
“i dunno, do naughty girls who disobey their daddies deserve to come?”
your eyes flash open, panic apparent in them. you shake your head quickly. “i’m sorry! i’ll stop, i swear ill stop, just please let me come daddy please.”
you’re nearly sobbing now. it feels like a herculean task to resist the orgasm that’s barreling towards you. jack coos at you with a smile.
“there’s a good girl. you can come, baby, come on.”
oh and u can bet ur ass he’s wracked with guilt over it afterwards. the worst case of post nut clarity this doctor has ever seen. hes cradling his head in his hands at the foot of your bed, whispering what the fuck did i just do while you’re lounging above him and scrolling through streaming services on your tv.
“what do you wanna watch? oh my god, get over yourself, it’s not a big deal. i’ve fucked plenty of guys older than you.”
you are going to be the death of him.
miiiight write a full fic of this if people want it
