YAY! So idk if you know but Jack is a fighter. What about a lowkey hand kink? kissing his bruised knuckles and him going down on reader but linking their fingers together as he holds her down. lots of hickeys as well basically like “the bruises i leave on you are better”
warnings: unprotected p in v, butt stuff (no penetration, it's like titty fucking but with your ass cheeks. ass job?), fingering, sucking on fingers, whatnot. the works. pairing: jack mcbain x fem!reader wc: 3,683
fun fact: this is the last fic with my old header. finding pictures for every fic (without re-using any) got to be too difficult. starting next fic you will see an artsy header i made entirely on canva <3 i may not be a photoshop queen but i, at least, think it looks nice. everyone please say goodbye to this header because she served us well over the past 1.75 years!
“Baby,” you say with a deep frown, examining Jack’s knuckles under the light.
He feigns a pained hiss when your thumb passes over the infinitesimal slit on his third knuckle, then grins at you when you look up to check on him.
“Did you have to fight tonight?” you ask. You gently touch your lips to the ridges on the back of his hand, as if you can kiss the injury better.
“It doesn’t even hurt,” Jack tells you, laughing lightly. He shakes his hand free from your grip and wraps his arms around you in a tight hug, your face smushed against his chest. His center rumbles with his next words, proud and goofy. “You were worried about me.”
You groan into his soft cotton t-shirt. Jack loves that you worry about him, wears it like a badge of honor, and sometimes you think he gets into trouble during games just so you’ll fuss over him later.
“You were turned on, too,” Jack adds in a low voice, “Weren’t you?”
You pull back and stare at him, unsure what to say.
You think back a few hours, when you were sitting in the crowd and looking up at the jumbotron as Jack carelessly tossed his stick and gloves aside after the draw and went after that Flames player. The fight was brief, only a few seconds long, but the cameraman had gotten a good shot of Jack’s bearded face and the scab along the bridge of his nose while he sized the other man up and decided his best approach. You recall how he sniffed and shook the tension out of his shoulders before tying up with his opponent and swinging. When they showed him in the box, eyes narrowed and mouth scowling, you couldn’t deny the urge to squeeze your thighs together and bite your lower lip. Jack must have noticed your lingering glances in the car.
A slow smile spreads over his face. “Weren’t you?” Jack repeats, his eyes flickering over your full body.
Nothing comes out when you open your mouth to respond, lips parted in surprise from being called out, but quirked up at the corners. The miniature, subtle smile reveals your truth.
“I knew it,” Jack confirms in a smug voice. He wastes no time, sweeping you into his arms and beginning the short trek down the hall to your bedroom. “You got hot, huh, baby? Had to cross your legs so no one could tell how badly you actually wanted to spread them?”
“Jack,” you laugh, but you don’t challenge his statement. You toss your arms over his shoulders for leverage, then nuzzle the thick column of his neck. His beard is scratchy against your nose, the coarse hairs rubbing your skin the wrong way.
“No, no, you don’t have to pretend with me,” Jack continues, nearly boasting now. He pushes the bedroom door open with his elbow and muscles through the frame. “I know how dirty your mind is.”
“It’s not as dirty as yours,” you reply. Your back hits the mattress of your shared king-sized bed and Jack spreads your knees with his large hands.
Jack just hums in lieu of a response, already nuzzling your inner thighs as he makes quick work of your pants. His fighting hands drag your bottoms down your legs and then smooth up the recently shaved skin. He squeezes the meat of your thighs and fits his hands around your hips as his lips near the edge of your panties, a light kiss brushing the junction where your leg meets your abdomen. He licks a long strip over your slit, eyes peering up at you, before he removes your panties.
You don’t know where it comes from, but Jack has always had a Thing for eating you out over your panties. Sometimes it lasts minutes and other times, like today, Jack is satisfied with spending only a few seconds with your clothed core. Maybe it’s impatience rather than satisfaction that has him peeling your panties away after that initial lick.
He descends on your cunt before he can even get your panties all the way down, sucking your clit into his mouth and contentedly grunting when you gasp. He rolls your sensitive bud against his tongue until you’re clenching around nothing, muscles tense and heart rate erratic. At the same time, he absentmindedly plays with your entrance.
Jack’s fingertips spread your lower lips and dip into your wetness, the pads of his fingers skimming the expanse of your pussy. He circles your tight hole with the tip of his middle digit but doesn’t push past yet.
Your fingers go to his dark hair, strands spiking up between your knuckles like grass growing between slabs of concrete beside the road. Your hips roll, out of your control, begging Jack to fill you wordlessly.
“Ow,” Jack mumbles, shaking his head between your thighs until you loosen your grip. “Too tight, baby. Be nice.” His injured, bruised, unsightly hand travels over your waist with his words, then jumps to your wrist. Jack moves your hand so it’s extending away from your body, then he intertwines your fingers.
The back of your hand presses into the mattress and Jack’s red, scraped knuckles are on display for your hooded, fluttering eyes, which have been drawn by the movement. Jack gives your hand a squeeze and continues his task, reattaches his smart pink lips to your slippery pussy.
With his eyes closed, Jack’s tongue flicks over your clit rapidly. His middle finger dares to invade your cunt, pumping methodically into your depths and back out.
It’s not enough, but it’s so good– you’re torn between either tossing your head back and grinding against Jack’s face or craning your neck to see the way your slick clings to his facial hair. Jack’s messiness and devotion to drawing an orgasm out of you with just his tongue and one finger makes him all the more attractive. His dark features grow clouded and his face flushes from how turned on he is, not to mention how he groans and growls each time you moan or whimper.
Your thighs tremble, squeezing his head between your thick, plush muscles. Jack can hardly breathe, you know it, but his wanton moan sends vibrations up your body and leaves you squeaking between gasps.
He never parts from you for long, never moves his lips from your clit unless he needs to breathe. His long, spindly finger pumps inside of you, stroking your inner walls patiently and pointedly, with one thing in mind. Jack’s persistence is what draws you over the edge. Your body arcs into Jack, free hand once again finding his hair. Your intertwined hands are tightly locked, knuckles white, Jack’s minor cuts and scrapes blooming a renewed red. He grounds you. He has something else in store for you, you know it, but he wants this first climax to leave you drawn out and pent up.
You gnaw on your bottom lip as Jack sucks harshly around your clit, his rhythmic wet slurping harassing your ears more than the foreign, high-pitched whines and “Oh”s that fall from your lips.
You sound desperate, feel suspended above the ground, and Jack curls his middle finger to touch your spongy sweet spot.
It unravels you, hips bucking upward as you come. Jack’s finger continues to thrust inside of you, accompanying you through each tremor until your breathing has evened again.
It’s only then that Jack pulls away from you, his ring finger joining its brother and stretching your entrance.
“You like my bruises,” Jack muses, his statement trailing off like he has more to add, half-smirking up at you before turning his head and mouthing over your inner thigh. He nibbles the cellulite there, his smile heating your skin.
Before you know it, he’s kissed over both of your thighs, leaving small nips and hickeys behind like animal print.
Jack moves up to your hips and abdomen, marking you over and over.
It tickles, but you try to stay still beneath Jack. Each kiss is wrapped in love, like a little present, and each blemish is a reminder of that affection.
You giggle as Jack makes his way to your underboob, laughing fondly at the way he takes your supple skin into your mouth and lathes his tongue along the underside of your breast. He’s sweet, and his eyes are closed like he’s in heaven, leaving a few more marks on your chest before he makes his way up to your neck.
Now your eyes roll back, closing in pleasure. Jack’s hot breath washes over your skin and pollutes the air between you with unadulterated lust. His licking is zealous, suction needy, and your hand cradling the back of his head and holding him in place is no less insistent.
With his free hand, Jack guides your leg over his hip. His cock probes your entrance and you look down in surprise. When did he have the time to take his pants off? You didn't notice, probably too swept up in your orgasm and his kissing, but you welcome the hot rod in. It slides past your slick rim into your depths and Jack breathes out a long, relieved, satisfied sigh.
Your jaw drops open in a silent moan. You’ve never gotten used to the way Jack fills you, your walls clamping down on his length in order to keep him inside as long as possible.
He starts to thrust, slowly at first. He wants your attention more than anything else. You can tell by the way his lips nudge your own, poised mere millimeters apart.
“And I like yours,” Jack says, finally finishing the start of his sentence from before he started kissing up your body reverently. His hips speed up, his hard thrusts going through you like electrical shocks.
You moan aloud, connecting his sentences together despite the fact that there was so much time between them. Of course Jack likes when you’re marked up– he’s always the one biting you until a blemish stays, not the other way around. You do your fair share of kissing and sucking and mouthing over the long, hard, sculpted planes of his body, but Jack takes all the more time to worship you.
Jack’s hands roam over your torso. He palms your breasts, squishing the soft flesh a few times for good measure.
You giggle against his mouth and squeeze his biceps. “What else do you like about me?” you tease, goading Jack into giving you compliments. “I know there’s a lot, too much to list probably…”
“Hm, you’re funny,” Jack murmurs. He kisses you deeply and his fingertips trail over your collarbones and shoulders, making their way to your wrists and hands. He interlocks your fingers with his and raises your hands over your head, pushing them into the soft surface beneath you.
“But do you like it?”
He breathes out a laugh and thrusts hard into your core, your stomach reeling from the force behind his movement. “I love it. Love how much you worry about me and how you take care of me, love how you take me, fuck, love how you sound, how you taste… everything, baby, everything.”
“I love your hands,” you whisper, tongue rolling into his. “Even when they’re bruised and red and messy.”
“Especially when,” Jack corrects, half-interrupting you. He taps your nose with his own, an affectionate nudge that makes you blush.
“Wish they were on me all the time,” you continue softly.
Jack hums appreciatively, shifting your position. You go from missionary to on your side and he fills you again, his vigor renewed. Your body feels like a twisting gnarl of heat and nerves, your arm hair standing on end. Jack’s cockhead presses deep inside you, its bulbous shape bullying your inner walls. Your eyes roll back and Jack’s mouth descends on yours. You’re oversensitive. The responsive bundle between your legs aches and begs to be touched. Jack answers its call, sliding his palm over your hip before diving into the action.
“Jack,” you mewl. Sweat beads on your hairline.
“‘S okay,” Jack assures you. He taps your clit with his fingertip. “So good, sweet girl. Want you to moan for me, be loud, honey, let me hear you.”
“Please, harder,” you say. “Talk to me, J.”
“Don’t need to,” he says. He kisses your cheek, positioning his mouth right next to your ear. “Listen. Don’t you hear her? Your pussy is making enough noise for the both of us.”
The smacking between your bodies is loud, you’ll give him that. Your breaths, and his, fill the room, but you want more. You want his low, rumbling voice to wash over your skin and creep through your orifices until it fills your body and overflows from you.
“Need it,” you reiterate, blinking widely over your shoulder.
Jack’s lips curl into a slow smile and he softens. Guiding you onto your stomach while he remains inside, Jack pushes one of your legs into a high bend. Your knee digs into the mattress, parallel with your ribcage. Jack swats your behind, a slight stinging heat lingering on your supple skin. Then, he plasters himself to your back and pounds into you, lips poised at your jaw.
“I saw you,” he whispers, then kisses your neck delicately. “In the stands while I was in the box. Saw you bite your nail when you looked at the screen. You always do that when you’re trying not to be obvious.” His voice drops and his teeth find your earlobe, nibbling. “Distracted me. Couldn’t stop thinking about what I wanted to do with you.”
“Didn’t you have a game to play?”
“Hey, I locked in,” Jack jokes. He pinches your bottom lip with his thumb and forefinger gently, fondly. “But for five minutes… you know what I kept thinking?”
“Hm, what?” Your voice breaks on your second word, clenching down on Jack’s next thrust.
His middle two fingers enter your mouth. He settles on your tongue and gags you with them, a pleased smirk on his face. A kiss falls behind your ear. “This.”
You make a pleased sound around his fingers, sucking around the long digits.
“You make such a big stink about not liking my fights, but you have this fixation with my fingers,” Jack murmurs in a low, soothing voice. “You always want them in you, baby. In your pussy, in your mouth. I make them pretty for you, you know.”
“Pretty, huh?” you ask, words muffled and garbled beneath his touch. “They’re battered.”
Jack thrusts his fingers down your throat, dangerously close to triggering your gag reflex. He fills you entirely from the other end as well, knocking the breath from you as his cock pounds against your cervix. “Don’t talk back,” he says. “I know you better than anyone. You think my hands are pretty, especially when they’re like this.”
You bite your tongue and focus on the sensations running through your being. Jack’s hips work into you like a strong beat, your muscles stiff yet shaky and your pleasure wholly under Jack’s mercy. Your body doesn’t feel like yours when he’s fucking you, rather, it feels like his. Jack knows where you need to be touched, how you need to be spoken to, how you need to be held in this moment. You belong entirely to him, and though you’re not giving him the exact same comfort he’s giving you, you can tell that he has given himself entirely back to you.
“Fuck, baby, sucking my fingers so sweet,” Jack praises. He nibbles the shell of your ear and tilts his hips to fuck into you deeper. “You feel so good. Love how tight you are, so warm around me, babe. Feel like it’s the first time every time, you never– mmph– shit, you always squeeze me just right.”
“Oh, Jack,” you mewl. Your pelvis has started moving in slight circles, your form working unconsciously to bring you to your highest peak.
“That’s my girl,” Jack coos. “That’s all I want to hear, my name falling from those pretty lips.”
Repeating yourself, you fall into Jack’s gravitational pull. You immerse yourself in a rush of shooting white stars and the chill that you’ve started to associate with Jack, cold hands and feet and the tip of his nose against your neck. He’s always cold from the rink, but it doesn’t take long to warm back up, not when you’ve got the perfect nook for him to fit into.
Jack’s free hand glances over your hip, skims your waist. You feel his touch like a line of fuel igniting from a single match. He sketches the planes of your body, lingering in your softer spots and teasing the thin skin over your ribs and collarbones. His long form comes to a rest behind you, both of you laying on your sides, and you lean back into his torso. Jack plants a kiss squarely on the back of your neck and tugs your nipple with a deft pair of fingers, flinging you from the precipice of your orgasm with a mere twist.
You’re wracked with shivers and quivers as you come, trembling in Jack’s arms. He’s taken you under his wing and carefully surrounded you in a strong refuge, all the while touching his lips to your racing pulse.
“Angel,” Jack whispers. He says it again, slower, softer. “Angel.”
You know he means you, and you quite feel like one: floating above the Earth with the gravity of your world keeping you tethered to this plane from behind.
Jack breathes with you through your come-down.
You realize, through the haze of it all, but Jack is still hard inside of you. That he hasn’t come. That he leaks into you and that his jaw is tight against your shoulder, the vein on his forehead bulging with the effort to restrain himself.
He retracts himself from your heat with a grimace, which you can feel against the back of your head, and his cock is slippery and visibly wet after fucking you to climax.
You make a disgruntled noise, whining at the loss. “Not fair,” you mumble.
Jack lets out a breathy chuckle and fits his cock between the globes of your ass. “You came,” he teases. “Don’t tell me about fair. It’s my turn.”
He starts to rut between your cheeks, self-indulgent and slow. His exhale tickles the peach-fuzz on your neck. You’re warm. Comfortable. Secure.
“Feels so fucking good, baby,” Jack says in his low, gravelly voice. He holds his hands on your behind, pushing your glutes together into a tight, plush space just for him to enjoy. He isn’t doing anything more, but you can tell from his pleased groans that he doesn’t need anything more.
Your pussy clenches on nothing when Jack’s pelvis meets your ass, as if anticipating every thrust. You expect to feel it deep inside of you, but you don’t, and that unsettles you… but you can’t say that you hate it. Especially not when Jack’s hand trails down your body, fingers still wet with your spit, and starts to circle your clit.
His hips move quicker, jaw dropping at the same time yours does. You moan in tandem. You curl into each other simultaneously, your back arching and head lolling onto Jack’s shoulder. His lips catch on your neck and then his teeth graze your pulse point.
Jack’s cock twitches, then you feel thick, hot stripes of cum spurt across your skin. He releases a shattered sound, biting your skin to stifle himself. It stings, but his tongue soothes the indentations as he trembles through the aftershocks of his orgasm.
Jack’s fingers never stop moving over your sensitive, slick bundle of nerves.
“Let go,” he nudges in a soft voice. “One more, with my fingers on you.”
You succumb to him immediately. A rush passes through your body and unravels the pit deep inside your abdomen. Even with your eyes squeezed shut, you can see stars. They twinkle and glint at you against a dark background and it takes a while, longer than you realize, to catch your breath.
By the time you come back to him, Jack has reached past you to grab a tissue from the box on the nightstand. He’s cleaning your thighs meticulously, peering over your shoulder and kissing each freckle that dots your skin.
You find the hand splayed over your hip and fit your fingers between Jack’s. You duck your head to look at the perfect fit you’ve created. Your favorite puzzle is the way these ten digits link together.
Jack notices you staring and smirks, laughing to himself silently, but oh-so fondly. He peppers your body with pecks, turning you onto your back and settling between your thighs. He pushes your legs apart and cleans between your thighs. His thumb skims the inside of your leg in soothing passes.
“How was that?” Jack asks. “Everything you wanted?”
You nod. “And more.”
“Mm.” He nuzzles your stomach. “Glad to be of service.”
“No more fighting,” you murmur.
Jack hides a smile against your belly. “Yes, more fighting,” he replies. “It makes you hot. The more penalty minutes, the better.”
“You’re silly,” you tease, threading your fingers through his messy hair and smiling down at your doting boyfriend. “I don’t think Coach wants you in the box all the time, honey.”
“Coach likes when I stick up for the boys,” Jack says. He blows a raspberry into the curve of your waist. “I’m the muscle of the Mammoth.”
You toss your head back with laughter. “Right,” you say. “With this big body.”
“I’m big,” Jack insists. He crawls up your body and lays against you. “You just felt how big I am. You loved it.”
“I suppose I do.” You pick at the scabs on his knuckles and pucker your lips to kiss him for a final time tonight. “Thank you for thinking of me,” you add in a whisper, looping your arms around Jack’s neck and hugging him.
“Always,” Jack promises.
a/n: started writing this after the first mammoth/flames game when klapka and mcbain fought heavy. didn't finish it 'til december. had to schedule it for farther out! so sorry this wasn't on theme guys but that's ok <3 xo
