AN: We're all caught up! (Aka I can't think of any more flashbacks, so 🤷🏻♀️😅😂)
Look I googled how to do a cricothyrotomy (which, weirdly should only be performed by medical professionals??) so it will be inaccurate, hence why it's so vague. Please forgive me
The resource I copy and pasted from: https://www.merckmanuals.com/professional/critical-care-medicine/how-to-do-other-airway-procedures/how-to-do-a-percutaneous-cricothyrotomy#Step-by-Step-Description-of-Procedure_v45736191
☤
I'm not supposed to miss you
You're not mine to miss
And I shouldn't think about all
The things that we did
wonder wander Bella Kay
It's when you're alone that you miss Robby - his steady presence behind you, guiding you through your first cricothyrotomy, his elbow pressing against your back.
"Where are you making the incision?"
"Through the cricothyroid membrane," you murmur, shocked to hell that your hands aren't shaking.
"You need to identify it first," Robby murmurs, and you nod pressing your finger against the patients neck.
"Okay -"
"Move your finger caudally from the laryngeal prominence until you feel the cricothyroid membrane -"
"I've got it," you say, swallowing.
Princess hands you the cleansing agent, and the patient is already unconscious, but you still murmur an apology as you stabilize their larynx with your right hand.
"Now, you're going to make a two to three centimeter incision -" you do it, feeling the warm blood spill over your fingers, "you're going to insert the catheter, at a forty five degree angle -"
You push down, waiting for the pop as the needle enters the trachea, watching as bubbles form in the saline in the syringe - letting you know exactly when to stop.
"Take the guidewire, and thread it through the needle, you grip the wire, removing the needle leaving the guidewire in place.
"Good, now make sure the guidewire passes through the dialator -" you sigh, as if that wasn't the obvious next step, "keep holding the end - the last thing you want to do is lose the guidewire -"
Princess bites back a grin, as you nod.
"And if I feel resistance?" You wonder, suddenly terrified.
"Use gentle, but steady force," Jack interjects, stepping into the room, "and rotate it as you insert it -"
"Oh -" you gasp as the hub and flange of the airway catheter sits flush against the patients throat. "Holy shit -" you murmur, withdrawing the guidewire and dialator, as Princess inflates the balloon cuff.
"We're yellow."
"Vitals are looking good -" Jesse interjects, "oxygen levels are increasing."
"Nicely done," Jack nods.
"I did it," you grin under your mask.
"Hell yeah you did," Jesse grins.
"Soon you'll be doing crikes with your eyes closed," Robby jokes.
"God I hope not," you mutter.
He had been a constant through your entire rotation, until the last two weeks and then it was as if the two of you had never met - he no longer asked for your assistance, and no longer sought you out across the ED and while he was still a consummate professional, you still felt the shift keenly.
To say you were anxious to see him was an understatement, and his eyebrows shoot up when you enter the room.
"What have we got?" You wonder, even though you'd thoroughly read over the patient's chart before heading downstairs.
"Sixteen year old female, showing signs of acute appendicitis -"
"Hi Bethany," you smile, coming to stand next to the bed, "how are you doing?"
The girl looks terrified, sweaty red hair streaking across her face as her mother stands just to the left of the bed.
"I've been better."
"I'm Dr. Bennett," you smile, reaching out to lay your hand over hers, "I'll be your surgeon today -" Bethany nods, grabbing your hand in a death grip. "I know you're scared, but it'll be okay -"
"W-will you put me under?" She wonders, green eyes wide.
"Yes, baby," her mother replies.
"Will I die?"
You learned a long time ago that it was better to be honest than lie to a patient about the odds.
"While deaths do occur, they're exceptionally rare -"
"What're the odds?" Bethany wonders, bracing herself and Robby's eyes crinkle as he grins under his mask.
"Between 0.9 and 0.24%."
"You've done it before?"
"Yes."
"Okay," Bethany nods, glancing at her mother, "I trust you."
"I'm glad," you laugh, "we're going to take you upstairs now to prepare you for surgery -"
"Can I come with her?"
"Of course," you nod, and mom immediately relaxes.
"I told you I wasn't constipated," Bethany mutters as you walk with her towards the elevator.
"Thank you Dr. Bennett!" Robby calls.
"Of course."
The surgery goes without a hitch, and you take a deep breath, pulling off your gloves.
"You're a rockstar," Emery murmurs, sidling up next to you.
"Is that going in my file?"
"Obviously," Emery laughs, bumping her shoulder with yours.
If only every surgery went as smoothly.
☤
"Time of death is 13:47pm," you murmur two weeks later, throat thick with tears as Janelle turns off the monitor. "We did good work," you assure your team, "sometimes the complications are too severe -" you gasp a breath. "Let's take a minute ..."
You're still shaking when you head out of surgery, upstairs to the roof.
Christopher Barrett is hardly the first patient you've lost, but it never got any easier. Every loss still felt like the first.
You realize you're not alone as soon as the door shuts behind you, and you gasp, noticing Robby standing along the railing.
"Oh, I'm sorry," you mutter.
"Emma -"
Your name makes you pause, and you look at him.
"When were you going to tell me?" He demands, like you came to the roof for a fucking smoke break.
"I - I actually can't do this right now?" You murmur.
"When would be a convenient time?"
"Oh, I don't know, when I'm not at work?"
"You told me to lose your number, Emma, and I understand that you don't owe me anything -"
"You're right, I don't." You shake your head, "you don't get to be jealous, Michael. I would've stayed if you'd asked me to, if you'd said anything. But you let me believe I was the only one -" who felt anything "You made me feel crazy."
He's standing in front of you, and outside of an emergency, you've never seen him move so fast.
"I know, I know," he catches your arm, "I was trying to do the right thing -"
"For you," you spit, and Robby's eyebrows draw together.
"No, Emma, for you. I fucked up, I was in a position of power and I was selfish -" your lip trembles as he tugs you closer, "I took what I wanted -"
"You're acting like you were the only person there that night. You didn't make me do anything that I didn't want to do -"
"I shouldn't have pursued a relationship with you, outside of a professional -"
Your laughter rings hollow, "a relationship? Are your fucking kidding me, Robby? You could barely look at me and instead of telling me the truth, you shut me out."
"The truth?"
"That it was a mistake -"
Robby runs a hand over his face, "the timing was the problem, Emma, not you. It was never you -"
"Is that what you tell yourself? To make it easier?"
"Jesus Christ, none of it was easy, Emma. You don't think I regret not asking you to stay? I regretted it every goddamned day you were gone." He's lightly holding your hand, and you know you should shrug him off, tell him to go to hell and you hate yourself for how you don't want to.
"Why didn't you come to Seattle?" You demand, "you never once reached out to say that you were sorry - you just sent me a bunch of JAMA articles like you didn't break my fucking heart -"
"I didn't think you wanted me -"
"Why didn't you ask me, Robby?"
"Would you have responded?" He throws back, and you swallow.
“T - that's not -" you shake your head, as tears finally spill down your cheeks.
"Don't cry -"
"I'm not crying because of you!" You shout.
Realization hits Robby, "who did you lose?"
"It doesn't matter -"
"Jack's downstairs, why -?"
"Because I felt like I couldn't breathe and I just needed to get some air, clear my fucking head before I have to go downstairs and tell his parents that he didn't make it." Your breath hitches as tears fill your eyes, "that I couldn't save him -"
"Stop," Robby interrupts, grabbing your shoulders, "it's not your fault -"
"He was six years old," you sob, "how am I supposed to go downstairs and tell his parents he didn't make it? You didn't see the look on his mother's face -"
"I know."
You know he's not just saying that, that he's seen that look, the thousand yard stare, heard the wail of a mother who's lost her child, and you collapse against him.
"I've got you," he whispers, pressing his face against your hair, "I've got you."
He holds you until you stop crying, carefully letting go when you can manage to take a deep breath, and you look at him - the wetness on his cheeks and his hair that's been mussed by the wind on the roof.
"Thank you," you whisper.
"Of course," he brushes your hair out of your face, "now go and find Jack."
You nod, tucking the hair that's slipped from your braid, behind your ears. "Okay," you reply, taking a deep breath, you carefully wipe your cheeks with your scrub top before schooling your face before you push open the door to head downstairs.
Jack is standing at the nurse's station, and he stands up when he sees you.
"Christ, Emma, are you okay?"
"No," you reply, biting the inside of your cheek, and he takes your arm, carefully guiding you towards the stairwell.
"Try not to blame yourself," he murmurs, pulling you against him, "even though I know that's easier fucking said than done."
"I know," you reply, fisting your hands into his scrubs. "I just ... Don't know how I'm supposed to -"
"Dr. Abbot?" Olivia calls, "there's a ambulance coming in, possible GSW?"
"I'll take it," Robby replies, and Olivia shoots him a grateful look.
Jack reaches up to take your face in his hands, "did you want me to come with you?"
"Please," you nod, and he lets you go, and you take a deep breath, willing yourself not to cry as you quickly head back into the ED, towards the family room.
Sometimes you hate how your face reveals all of your secrets, but you're thankful for it today as you push open the door.
"Oh no -" Mrs. Cooper gasps, "oh god -"
"I'm so sorry, we did everything we could, but -"
"Can we see him?" Mr. Cooper interrupts, tucking his wife to his side.
"Soon, the nurses will prepare his body and then you can see him in the viewing room."
"Thank you," Mr. Cooper nods, "we know that you did everything you could."
"My baby -" Mrs. Cooper gasps, slumping into her chair.
"I really am so sorry," you whisper, blinking against the hot rush of tears. "We have a social worker who will come and speak to you about what happens next, if you'll excuse me -"
Emery is waiting for you in the hallway and you burst into tears when you see her.
"I told you it would kill you," she says, not unkindly as she pulls you into her arms.
"I know," you laugh, lightly smacking her shoulder.
"You did everything you could. His parents couldn't have asked for a better surgeon -"
"It wasn't enough."
"Sometimes it isn't, you do everything you can - everything right and sometimes they still don't make it."
"How do you do it?"
"Therapy helps, and so does getting drunk and singing god awful karaoke -"
Jack tries to smother a snort beside you, and Emery gives him a look.
"I'm talking about you, you know. If I have to listen to, Here I Go Again one more time - I'm actually going to commit a crime."
"What about Paint it Black?" He asks hopefully.
"No!" You and Emery reply in unison.
"Look, I'm actually feeling pretty attacked right now -"
"Tell that to my ears Abbot."
"I wonder if they'd let me sing Stairway to Heaven ..."
☤
End Note: I apologize if this feels abrupt, I'm just trying to get the ball moving somewhat in Robby's favour before reaching 30k words.
Summary Just because you and Titus are now actively trying, doesn't mean it's gotten any easier to get pregnant.
W.C. 4.2 k
Tags No use of y/n for reader insert, pet names (baby, darling, dove), smut (yay!) p i v sex, semi public sex (outdoors but no one is around idk), oral (m receiving) tw: infertility, throwing up, hurt and comfort (or I guess Titus's version he is not very comforting)
Author's Note Can you tell I'm stretching this out?? I'm just so obsessed with how this story is coming out and I feel like the baby arch may end it a little so I'm going to take as long as I want! So here's a little in between chapter <3
xoxo
“Is it required of rich people to be super fucking boring?” you ask, shielding your eyes from the sun.
“Yes,” Titus says, swinging the club and sending the golf ball flying. You don’t know enough to know if it was a good hit or not. You clap all the same. “It’s taught to us in our expensive private schools.”
“Why can’t the resort have, like, go kart or pickle ball,” you call to him from your seat on the driver’s side of the golf cart.
“You don’t like pickle ball,” Titus says, coming back to you. He sits down, waiting for you to shift gears.
“But at least if you were playing pickle ball, I could watch you run around in those cute little shorts,” you point out, glancing at his pants as you steer the golf cart away down the green.
Titus looks at you flatly.
“What? You have very nice legs, especially for your age,” you stop the golf cart at the next hole. “They’re strong.”
Titus looks away, but you can see the smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. You pause. You’re not getting your usual reaction from him. He’s not asking you if you’re using him for his body, which you would usually say yes, to which Titus replies good, because he’s only using you for yours.
And then you make out for a bit and everything is fine.
You roll the cart to a stop.
“What’s the matter,” you ask gently, sliding your fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck. Your nails graze his scalp, and you can feel him settle slightly at your touch.
“Why do you think something’s wrong?” Titus looks at you.
“You usually like it when I objectify you,” you say.
“I do,” he replies.
You continue your gentle petting. Not rushing, just waiting. The sun is moving down the sky slowly, marking the end of your time at the lodge. You and Titus are heading back to the estate tonight, but he wanted to get a few rounds of golf in while the course was still empty.
Empty from the wedding two days ago.
Empty from the murder sacrifice.
“Have you tested yet?” Titus asks. His eyes flick down to your stomach briefly, like he doesn’t even realize he did it.
“No,” you say. “It doesn’t really work that fast. We’re going to have to wait a week or so.”
“Right,” he nods.
The words hang between you for a moment. You take a deep breath, the clean northeast air relaxing you.
Usually Titus is the one calming you down, but he’s been extra careful with you the last few days. He’s on edge, a little, obviously. The last few days have been a lot. A lot of stress and anxiety and a lot of your inner turmoil dumped on him.
Not that Titus would ever make you feel that way.
“Is that okay?” you ask.
“Of course,” Titus says quickly.
“It’s the not knowing, right?” You say, sliding your hand down to his face. Your thumb lands on the corner of his mouth.
“It’s the not knowing,” he repeats, nodding like you’ve been able to identify some mystery emotion that he wasn’t able to place.
You study him for a moment. The way he chews on his cheek, looking away from you like he doesn’t want to give anything away. As if you haven’t seen each other at your most vulnerable moments.
You lean over the center console to kiss him gently. He settles against your mouth, pressing closer and changing the tone of the kiss. From soothing to desperate, from reassuring to hungry. Titus takes more, more, more. And you’re happy to give it.
“We could-” you murmur, the heat in your body rising, “we could always make sure.”
Titus’s gaze drops down to where the hem of your skirt stops. To your thighs, where they’re rubbing together. To where your fingers gently move up his leg, perfectly manicured nails squeezing gently.
“What do you want, angel?” Titus whispers, cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushes along your bottom lip, tugging it gently. Your face tilts towards his warm hand, nose nuzzling against his wrist.
You look around at the wide open green around you, nothing but sand pits and vacant grass in every which way. Not a soul in sight. Just the blue sky and gentle breeze. “I want you,” you inch closer, “right now.”
There’s a shift in Titus’s expression. A challenge. He nods his head just a fraction, giving you permission.
You gently push him to lean back in the golf cart, kissing him while your hands make quick work of his belt. He’s already getting hard just from your fingers gently grazing over him. Gentle, teasing, barely there movements.
Titus lets out a low noise, reaching for your wrist and pushing your hand closer.
“If you’re going to do it,” he says. “Do it.”
“I’m taking my time,” you lean in close and nudge his nose. “You’re a big fan of that.”
“When it’s me tormenting you,” he says.
“So you admit, it’s torment,” you smirk.
“If you didn’t like it the teasing,” he pushes your hand underneath the waistband of his boxers, “you wouldn’t come the moment I fuck you.”
Your lips part, just slightly. Because you could deny it. But with your fingers wrapped completely around him, thumb dragging precum over his tip, you’ve suddenly lost your train of thought.
Titus moves his hand around the base of your neck. Not pushing you, just holding you. His jaw clenches at your touch, feeling your grip through his entire body. After a few strokes of your hand, you feel his fingers twitch against your skin, and you bend over, moving your face into his lap.
“Fuck, darling,” he groans when you finally drag your tongue up his length, taking him into your mouth.
He reaches down your body and rests his hand on your ass. You feel a slight breeze when he moves the fabric up, bunching your skirt over your hips so he can better grip your plush skin. His fingers dig in slightly, an indication of how worked up he is with you bobbing on his dick.
You come up for air, stroking him steadily as your legs shift and move, trying desperately to relieve some pressure, without asking for it.
“You’re feeling needy?” he asks.
You swirl his tip with your tongue, saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth.
“Always,” you say, slapping his dick against your tongue.
Titus pulls your face up to his, licking the spit from the corners of your mouth and sliding his tongue just past your lips. He swallows your broken moan, your hand slowing around him.
“Get up,” he mutters.
“Please?” you tease.
“Please,” he says. The words wavers, like he’s at the very edge of his control.
That’s what makes you get up. The proof that he’s just as undone by you.
Your eyes dart around, making absolutely sure that no one is here to see.
Both of you slide off the golf cart. Titus pushes you against the side, nudging you legs apart, your back flush against his chest. You whimper slightly, taking your bottom lip in your teeth, the sharp feeling keeping your head from spinning.
Titus’s hand snakes around to the front of you, palming the wet spot on your underwear.
“We’re alone now,” he says, thumbs gently sliding under your panties, just brushing the skin there before retreating. “But I know it gets you going that someone could be watching.”
“Not true,” you say, leaning back against him slightly. Your skirt keeps riding up, just enough to feel his hard dick pressed against your ass.
More. You need more.
Titus holds your hips tightly with both hands, pushing you forward against the golf cart. It puts you just far enough away that you can’t rub against him anymore.
“Don’t lie to me, darling,” he leans in close, his breath making your skin prickle. “I can always tell. Look, you’re already a mess.”
Heat rises in your cheeks. Whatever control you once had in this situation is slipping through your fingers. It’s okay, with Titus.
Titus slides your panties to one side, fingers finding you soaking wet. They skate around your entrance at first. Just enough to make you desperate and squirming.
This is the torment he was referring to.
You let out a low, frustrated whimper.
“Titus, please,” you turn back and give your best pout.
“Careful,” he says, “or I’ll start to think you’re deflecting.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumble.
“Say it,” Titus’s voice is gruff, relishing in the way you fold at his touch.
“Okay, fine,” you smirk, looking back at him. “You’re a dick.”
“True. But not what I wanted to hear,” Titus smacks up at your bare pussy. You yelp. “Try again.”
The pent up energy is starting to make you crazy. You’re beginning to think that Titus could make you do or say whatever he wanted, if he pushes the right buttons.
“Honey,” your voice drops low, desperate and needy, “Baby. I want you to fuck me on this golf cart. In the middle of the golf course. Where someone could easily see us.”
Titus’s mouth curves into a satisfied smile, and he finally loosens his grip on your hips.
Unfortunately, he was right. The edging gets you so worked up, you’re already close the moment you feel his thick fingers inside you. Two of them is enough to stretch you out, and he always works up to the third, just because he knows you can take it.
“That’s it,” Titus says, watching your face change as you clench around him. “This pussy is just for me, though. No one else gets to see this.”
Your skirt is fully bunched up over your hips now, tshirt rumbled from his hands exploring your curves. It’s obscene, how you’re bent over for him.
But it feels so good.
“You’re close aren’t you?” Titus asks.
“Don’t act like you don’t know,” you say, your voice shaking.
“I’m always like hearing when my dove feels good,” Titus mutters, sucking a small bruise to your neck. His teeth graze over your skin, hushed words of encouragement pushing you further over the edge.
“I’m so- so close, fuck,” you mewl.
You come hard, the only thing keeping you from collapsing is Titus’s arm around your waist. He pulls you closer so that you fall back against him, breathless.
You turn to face him, a satisfied smirk on his face.
“Titus,” you whimper. “Need you.”
“Please?” he nips at your bottom lip.
“Fuck, Titus, please!”
Titus slips his fingers out, using your mess to stroke himself a few times. Your breathing deepens, waiting over the golf cart in anticipation as he lines his cock up.
Titus’s jaw works, his gaze completely focused on you as he sinks in slowly, letting you feel every inch of him filling you up. Your jaw drops in a silent moan, hands splayed out on the side of the golf cart in front of you to steady yourself.
“Talk to me, angel,” Titus runs his hands over your body, up your shoulders, and pulls your hair to one side.
“Good,” is all you can manage at first. “It’s good. I’m good. Good.”
“Good,” he says, a choked groan fighting its way out.
He presses an open, wet kiss to your neck before rocking into you. It’s a slow, deliberate rhythm at first. But the more little noises you make, the more your pussy clenches around him, the faster he moves. Titus palms your breast over your shirt before his hand slides down to your clit.
“Titus,” you whimper. “Too much. It’s too much.”
“I know, baby,” his voice is fragile. Titus is just barely holding on, too. You can hear it, and it makes you crazy. “Let go. Let me feel you come.”
It’s almost like Titus needs it, too. He needs to feel you around him before he can come undone.
With a whimper and his name in broken fragments on your lips, you come again, trying to keep from screaming out at the top of your lungs.
“That’s it,” Titus coos in your ear. “Fuck, honey that one was strong.”
You reach back, one hand in Titus’s hair, bringing his face over your shoulder. You kiss him deeply, taking the breath from his lungs to keep you going.
“I love you,” you breathe, lips just barely grazing his. “You’re going to be such a good daddy.”
That does it. You can feel his pace stuttering, his breathing changing. You can’t hide the smile that forms when you realize he likes it. You’ve said it to him jokingly before, more as a joke about his age in passing or during some intense foreplay. But never when he’s slamming against your cervix. Never when you're begging for him to fill you up.
“Fuck,” he breathes, “don’t say that to me.”
“You gonna come inside me, daddy?” you bite your lip, pushing your hips out towards him. “I want it.”
Titus finds his release with a low groan and his hips pressed firmly against your ass, not willing to let anything slip away. You can feel his heavy breath against your neck and reach back for his hand.
“Thank you daddy,” you say.
“Unfair,” Titus murmurs against your skin.
“Very fair,” you smile.
~~~
You don’t feel good. That’s the only way to put it. It started out as just a general discomfort, but over the course of the day, you couldn’t even look at your favorite mac and cheese without feeling like throwing up.
You’re not due for your period yet, so it’s not like you would know if you were late. But you’ve waited long enough to take the test, and now it feels like your body is trying to tell you something.
As awful as you feel, in a weird way, it makes you hopeful. Something you haven’t dared to be in months. You feel achy and sore as you burst into your bedroom and beeline for the en suite bathroom. Titus is on the phone, pacing the length of the bedroom, eyes snapping to you as you scurry by.
“Dear?” he calls after you.
“I’m peeing!” you call back.
He lets out a deep, resigned sigh. “Okay.”
“Come in here!” you call again.
There’s a pause, the sound of him excusing himself from the call, and then you hear Titus’s heavy step near the bathroom.
Your legs bob up and down restlessly as you watch the timer on your phone. The pregnancy test is upside down on the counter next to you.
“I have to let it process for a second,” you say, leg still bobbing nervously.
“Of course,” Titus nods. He crosses his arms, clearly not sure what to do with himself. He leans against the wall opposite you before standing up straight again, and then uncrossing his arms. Nervous energy courses through both of you.
The timer goes off. You look at Titus. He looks down at you. You almost don’t want to touch it. But you flip the test over, peering over it to see where the lines would show up.
“Oh,” you blink, suddenly overwhelmed.
“What is it?” Titus moves closer to get a better look.
You close your eyes and hand him the test.
Negative.
Negative?
Titus lets out a low breath.
“Darling,” he says softly.
“No,” you snap up, wiping under your eyes, blinking away any threat of tears. “I’m fine. It’s not the first one. I’ll be okay.”
“Maybe we should take a break,” Titus kneels in front of you.
You look up at him slowly, blinking incredulously. “You want to stop having se-”
“No,” Titus cuts in. “I did not say that.”
That almost earns a smile from you. Almost.
“For the time being, I’m calling the doctor, get some bloodwork done. Or whatever tests are involved with,” he gestures to you, “this.”
“Smooth,” you deadpan.
“I don’t know anything about pregnancy,” he says.
“Me neither, I’ve never been pregnant before!” you point.
“Yeah but you’re-”
“Titus, I will smack the shit out of you if you don’t choose your words wisely,” you close your eyes for a moment.
When you open them, you see Titus smiling down at you. Your lips twitch, not wanting to give into the smirk.
Titus reaches for you, tilting your face up towards him.
“You’re an idiot,” you say, mouth still curved.
“You’re smiling,” he says softly.
A few days later, the small droplets of blood in your underwear confirm what you already knew. And it’s enough to sway you. No more tests. No more waiting on the toilet seat, with baited breath and shaky legs. When it happens, it’ll happen. You can’t keep getting your hopes up like this. Especially now that Titus is in this with you. You don’t want to make this harder for him, either.
Titus calls your OBGYN for a house visit. Clearly, something that only he is able to do.
You give blood and and listen to her talk about prenatal vitamins and things you can do to encourage pregnancy. But you’re zoned out. None of this will matter until you figure out what is going on with you.
“I can see how badly you want this,” the doctor leans in and takes your hand. She sits close to the bed side, packing up her equipment. “This baby, when they come, is already so loved. I can tell.”
It never occurred to you that you could love something you’d never met. It didn’t occur to you that at some point, this wasn’t about securing Titus an heir. It turned, along the way, into something you truly wanted. To pour your love into someone else, stretch that love wider than you and Titus.
~~~
The Vernal Equinox.
Another change of the seasons. Another gala.
Spring. Growth. Rebirth. Demeter’s gift to the world now that her daughter Persephone has rejoined her.
It’s almost cruel at this point. Rubbing it in your face. The fact that you were probably fucking barren.
Titus wanted to cancel the entire gala. Stave off the stressors and keep people out of your home, out of your business.
But you welcomed the chance to have something to occupy you. Have your hands and mind focused on something that wasn’t yourself. Besides, you had already started planning before the wedding, and before the doctor’s appointment. And you weren’t going to let all of that effort go to waste.
By now, you’ve planned enough of these galas not to be nervous about them anymore. Or maybe you’ve just been with Titus long enough not to be nervous about anything.
Almost anything.
Either way, you know the routine. People listen to you, they do what you say. You have a presence about you that makes it hard to argue with.
Titus has been more active in the planning process than usual. He refuses to leave you alone for longer than necessary, terrified that the stress of the event will make you sick. He’s almost completely useless, of course, only echoing your requests to staff and making sure they’re done in a timely manner. He doesn’t really know how to help without just getting in the way.
But it’s sweet. He cancels meetings and refuses phone calls because he’s busy. With you.
The day before the gala, you feel strange. Not sick, but just off. Like your skin isn’t yours, or your brain is working against you.
In the main ballroom, you’re overseeing the set up. It’s not going as smoothly as it has in the past. Your head is pounding, and your temper is extremely short. You’ve been snapping at the staff all day.
“I’m sorry, did I say that I wanted flowers here?” You gesture to the main staircase. “Who is even going to see these? Guests aren’t even allowed upstairs!”
You’re shouting at no one, really, but people still jump in to fix it as soon as you walk away. They start carting the bouquets away from the staircase and through to the ballroom.
“You,” you point at the maid who walked by you, just not fast enough.
“Yes, ma’am,” she approaches slowly.
“Why am I looking at bare tables? Where are the table cloths?” There’s an edge to your voice that you can’t seem to control. A bite that you can’t seem to swallow.
“They’re being steamed, ma’am,” she nods.
“Well they should have been ready four hours ago,” you start.
Before she can respond, you hear your husband’s voice behind you.
“Go away,” he nods to the maid, who seems more than relieved to be excused.
“Okay, my love, what’s the matter?” he asks. “Usually I’m the one being short with staff. You’re supposed to be the nice one. It’s a balance we have.”
“This party is going to be the death of me,” you sigh, rubbing at your temples.
You can hear yourself. It’s not good. The bitterness and anger in your voice feels foreign. It’s like someone else has taken hold of your body, carrying you around like a marionette.
You slink into Titus’s arms, pressing your face against his chest. Where Titus’ lacks in words of comfort, he more than makes up for physically. Large hands rubbing over your back, his heartbeat steady against his chest. His deep breaths force you to slow your breathing.
Titus pulls you away so he can look at your face. Your pallid face.
The feeling washes over you in an instant. You want to throw up. But that may be unrelated to this. Probably. It is absolutely unrelated to this.
“I’ll be just a second,” you say, feeling the nausea overcome you. You slip out of Titus’s grasp and scurry away to the bathroom.
Down the hall, to the left. Hand on your stomach the entire time. You shut the door behind you and kneel to the ground in front of the toilet. You’ll be damned if your outfit gets ruined.
For a moment, the nausea fades. You think you’re in the clear. But when you move to stand, it knocks you back down again and you hurl.
Once you’re sure there’s nothing left to give, you flush the evidence. There’s a gentle knock on the door.
“Darling?” Titus’s voice comes through softly.
You rise to your feet, a little uneasy but mostly fine, and make sure there’s nothing on your face before you open the door.
“I’m good,” you say, moving past him.
Titus snags your wrist before you can get too far.
“Not so fast,” he says, pulling you back.
“Don’t turn this into something, Titus,” you sigh.
“I’m not the one throwing up,” he counters. “Come on, let’s go make a phone call.”
He drags you down the hall, cellphone already in hand with your OB’s phone number pulled up.
“I was just about to call you, actually,” the doctor says on speaker. His phone is sitting on a table in the drawing room between you two. “Your bloodwork came back this morning. Congratulations, I didn’t know you were already pregnant!”
Your mouth goes dry.
“I’m sorry, did you say pregnant?” you blink, trying to process. “I’m not pregnant.”
“No, you’re definitely pregnant,” the doctor says.
Your heart jumps. You almost think the call failed, and you’re hallucinating.
“But the last test definitely said negative,” you say, trying to temper your emotions.
“It’s rare,” she says, “happens about 5% of the time. But false negatives do happen. You’re not far along, just a few weeks. But you are, without a doubt, pregnant.
“I got my period within the last month,” you say.
“That was probably not your period,” she says. “Was it heavy?”
“Uh,” you try to think back. “No, I guess not. Some spotting.”
“There’s other reasons for spotting during pregnancy, none of which are alarming.”
For a moment, no one says anything. Titus and you both still, absorbing the information.
“Is this- I’m sorry, I thought this was good news,” she says.
“Yes,” Titus says quickly. “It is.”
You seek out Titus’s hand. He squeezes it reassuringly.
Before hanging up the call, the doctor schedules a prenatal visit with you. When you finally hang up, you just look at Titus, not sure how to break the silence. He looks at you with damp eyes, clearly trying to hold it together.
“Titus,” you smile.
“Pregnant,” he repeats. He gathers you in his hold and hugs you close. You breathe him in, letting the news wash over you as you attempt to understand it.
“What the fuck are we going to to?” Titus says softly, his face buried in your shoulder.
Your hands move down to his face, cupping his cheeks. He holds your wrists like you may vaporize at any moment. Titus has faced certain death many times, and still you’ve never seen him so terrified.
“We are going to thank Mr. Le Bail for this gift. We will wait for this first prenatal appointment. And I’m going to think of all the best names that go with Danforth.”
Titus softens into your grip, closing his eyes for a long moment before finding your gaze again. He takes your hands off his face and brings them down, lacing your fingers together. He bends over you and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.
synopsisyou and john have always been cut from the same cloth, close in the way only you two could be working in the ER. but what john doesn't know- your deep love for him- can't hurt him. only you. but if you have to hear him love a girl that isn't you one more time, your heart might not make it.
warningsheavy angst, language, sex allusions
authornotei've been binge watching ER, I'm obsessed, my god its so good and of course, I love John Carter. i don't know if anyone else will care but i have to write for this man
“John! Oh John!”
John. Oh John. It was a mantra prayed upon next door to your room. It was religious, almost every other night the calling for his name.
It was damn right sinful.
When John had invited you to move in with him almost six months ago you thought all your problems were solved. You would no longer lose rent on a stuffy apartment you didn't even like, being kept up by frat parties that seemed to run all night. You'd share with Carter, be able to study together as you had since starting as med students together, be able to help each other out and share the rent.
“Oh my god, John!”
You hadn't thought about the noise. The moaning, the thudding of beds, the awkward greeting of the new girl of the week in the mornings where all you wanted to do was drink coffee and get ready for the day in peace.
Your bed was next to Carters, a wall separating the two of you.
This girl was blonde, slim, not from the hospital from what you could tell. They'd stumbled in at eleven and you'd heard him jingle at the door so you hid yourself away, running from the living room you paid rent for to offer them privacy and peace that they never offered you.
“John...” the girl had whined, you imagined her hands crawling up his chest, peeling off his coat and scarf, dragging her lips over his neck.
“Wait, wait, wait-” you heard John, probably making sure the coast was clear before he took her on the sofa. The sofa you'd paid for! He'd called your name, checking where you were. Gathering you'd hidden yourself away he carried on.
It wasn't the first night the sound of fucking next door had kept you up, in fact you'd lost count of the many of women John preferred to you. Slowly your patience was failing. Sleep as an intern in the ER was precious- like a gem stone. You shouldn't have been losing it in your own apartment.
You heard the mumble of medical procedures and thought you were in a nightmare.
“John, what are you doing?” the girl asked.
You knew what he was doing. To make himself last and drag on the night he thought about medical notes, the books you studied piled on the coffee table.
“Making it last,” you heard him say.
You wished he wouldn't.
When the low moaning started again you couldn't take it.
It was somewhere past four but you'd never known Mark Greene to turn away help.
“What are you doing here? You're not on till seven,” said Carol as you threw on your doctors coat, swinging on the stethoscope.
Outside it was dark, starting to rain and you'd drank two coffees on the way in. You weren't feeling awake but the hustle of the ER and the calls of trauma were better to hear than the moaning and slams of bed.
“Couldn't sleep, thought I'd get in early, early bird catches the.... something,” you said, eyeing the board. Abdominal pains, sores, vision blurs, the usual. There were plenty not taken up with a doctor.
“Couldn't sleep huh?” Carol asked, as familiar with the drill as you were.
“Nop.”
“And what was her name this time?”
“I didn't catch it.”
You didn't know if it was a head nurse thing or just a Hathaway thing but Carol had caught the feelings you had for John maybe even before you had.
She'd watch the two of you come in as fresh faced med students aiming for two different things. The two of you worked well on cases. You learnt how to take a more direct approach through Carters determination in surgery and John learnt to take closer care with his patients with your attentiveness in a pedes rotation.
“God, men are pigs,” said Carol.
“What have I done now?” asked Ross as he passed, leaving and picking up a chart. “You're in early,” he observed.
“I'm dedicated.”
“Wanna check out a cough in five?”
“I'll be there.”
You didn't need to stare to see Carol and Doug share a look. As you'd taken an interest in pedes work in the ER you'd been brought under Dough Ross's rather large wings. And if you were around Ross by proximity you were around Carol. And if you were around them Carter wasn't far.
It was a chain of terrible love stories.
“Eventually you'll get written up for overtime,” said Carol.
“A hospital that hates over-achievers, damn.”
“You should just talk to him.”
You turn to her, leaning on the counter. “And tell him what? I hate him having sex?”
“Well if he could be a little quieter,” she suggested.
“It's not him, it's the women.”
Carol was silent as you distracted yourself with the charts. You knew what she would say next, you knew what you would say after that and it would continue as it had for months. “You should tell him how you-”
“-no.”
“What's the worst that could happen?”
“He says he doesn't feel the same way, tells everyone, I'm left embarrassed, I lose my apartment, need I go on?”
Her eyes rolled. “No I get it.”
“Hey!” Ross called out. “Cough! Five! Let's go!”
You followed him on and used what you'd come to the Er to get: distractions. You followed Ross around from patient to patient, got called in on a trauma and even had time to change the the filters in the coffee machine before you were faced with John.
He was bright eyed, smiling with his dimples. Heck, you were even convinced his eyes lit up seeing you, with your coat hanging off, hair already falling out of its hold and he'd just left some blonde babe. Maybe she'd dropped him off at the hospital and he'd beg a lift back with you. Or he'd told her to let herself out the apartment.
Carter had no right to look at you like that.
“Hey,” he smiled. “You get in early? I thought you started at seven with me?”
“Oh yeah... I was paged in early.”
“Trauma?”
“Cough.”
He laughed. “You were paged in for a cough.”
“I know can you believe it,” you had tried to make it sarcastic, wanted it to seem like a passing comment but your lips didn't move into a smile and it fell weak into your stomach.
John leant next to you at the counter, tilting his body in a way to try to look at you. “You okay?”
“Why wouldn't I be?”
“Something's up, what?”
Maybe it was how close you’d worked, going from students to interns. Or it was your living together which made you both understand each other with small looks.
Clearly you didn’t know each other well enough, otherwise he’d note the bags under your eyes or the way your body didn’t lean into his like you used to.
John jutted his hip against yours with a chuckle. “Talk to me, c’mon.”
“I just didn’t get much sleep last night.” You admitted.
How stupid could men be?
John didn’t even catch on to what you were laying down. “How about we do something tonight? Catch a movie? Get some dinner?”
You and John used to do that sort of thing often. When you'd first moved in together it was all watching films with take out, taking it in turns to order your favourites. You could hardly recall what the films were about because the two of you spoke throughout them. It took a month then you knew everything there was to know about him.
But that was almost two years ago and things were different.
You were in love with him.
He had no idea.
Instead he had love for hours a night and that seemed to do him fine.
John was still waiting for an answer. “Dinner? Movie?”
You looked at him. Over his shoulder you spotted Carol, shaking her head. “Dinner sounds great.”
John's face broke out into a smile. “Yes!” he cheered. His lips pressed to your head quick, gone before you could get a feel of him.
“Carter!” Benton called.
Benton's ordering and bossing around of Carter had grated on his nerves for months but you'd never seen him smile so wide and all but skip to him.
Maybe things weren't being so bad.
“Why would you agree to go to dinner?” asked Carol.
Why would you? Because even if he wasn't your lover, he was still your friend. You'd take that. “Was I supposed to say no?”
“You're gonna hurt yourself,” she said.
But sadly you had hope, which was probably the only thing keeping you in the state you were in.
“It's just dinner with a friend,” you said, picking up a patients chart, any chart.
Carol clocked her head at you. “It's not though is it?”
“To him it is.”
John appeared at your side, hands bracing your arms as he leant over you. For a moment you panicked, imagining that he heard it all. His grin said different. “I'll book us Nona's, your favourite Italian, I'll get it for eight.”
He disappeared, rushing around the corner. You got a last look at his scrubs and gown.
When you turned back to Carol she'd gone too.
“And so I said to him, that's not his Appendix, that's his Kidney.”
Johns laughter bounced around the restaurant. As promised he’d booked your favourite Italian, a table in the window lit by a candle and golden lights around you.
There was an empty plate from a tiramisu you’d shared and several empty glasses of wine dotted around from the evening you’d shared, lipstick of your stained glasses you’d had.
John had entertained you all night, telling jokes, talking about work. His eyes had been lit up since you both sat down, talking animated and never letting a moment of quiet. He’d even dressed up, supporting a suit as if this was some kind of date.
With the lights down low and dragging your fingers over your glass of wine, you almost imagined it was.
The waiter came by and John waved him down.
“Another bottle of white,” he ordered, sharing the last dregs of the bottle between your two glasses.
“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re trying to get me drunk,” you joked.
“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he laughed. “I’ve missed you. It’s just nice that we get to do this, I didn’t see you at all yesterday. You were in bed when I got home.”
Home. Home with his date.
“We’ve been… busy,” you said.
Johns smile broke but only a fraction, some sort of disappointment floating by and marring his expression. “Yeah, I-I guess we have.”
There was a flicker of silence, the first sort there’d been in the night.
The wine was delivered.
“We should do this once a week,” suggested John, alight with the idea.
You laughed. “What, with our schedule?”
“Okay.” He rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “Once a month, surely we can manage that, right? We’re capable people, capable doctors.”
There was more laughter, dulling the ache you’d been carrying.
At some point Johns hand had come down and touched yours.
You’d expected him to pay your hand friendly, move it away and make another crack at a joke.
His hand lingered. Stayed, his fingers stayed slowly moving against the back of your hand.
John watched as his fingers drew lazy circles over your skin. There was a smile playing on his lips.
You didn’t have it in you to move away. You chuckled lightly. “What are you doing?”
John looked at you, his other hand coming up to cup his chin as he rested there. “I’ve missed you.”
It was sincere, almost loving.
You laughed it away. “You’ve said that already.”
“What? A guy can’t say it again?”
“A guy can’t say but you…” you trailed off.
“I what?” asked John pointedly, tilting his head to get a better look of you.
It was almost cruel how unaware he was, or maybe acted he was. The thought that he knew your feelings that were oh so obvious to some and were using them against you made you feel sick.
You slipped your hand out of his and took a sip of your wine. “Nothing.”
“No, what?” he asked, nudging himself closer to the table. “What were you gonna say?”
You drained the glass of wine and picked up the bottle, pouring yourself more while John watched and waited. You laughed, doing your best to brush it off. “I dunno what I was gonna say, slipped by me.”
You could tell he didn't believe you. He seemed to like to chose when he wanted to believe you.
“I-” He'd just started to speak when his gaze drifted over your shoulder and widened at the door. “Oh god, don't turn around, don't look- don't look!”
Frowning you did just what he said not to do, wine still in hand.
Carter was busy slouching in his chair, trying to hide.
A girl walked in with two of her friends, peeling off their coats and handing them to the staff at the door. They were all large smiles and tanned skin, dresses that hugged perfectly and hands manicured. They were alight with life and not drowned in exhaustion like you.
You looked back to John and didn't even have to guess and why he was hiding from them. Your brows rose at him.
“I went to school with her,” he said, scratching at the back of his neck. “She has a massive crush on me.”
“Does she?” at least you weren't the only fool to love him.
John nodded, the front of his hair moving as he did.
You looked again and as if she sensed you, the girl turned.
“No... no... no....” chanted John as she seemed to recognise him, even half swallowed by the table as he was trying to be.
“John Carter!” the girl greeted with her arms out and her wide smile.
John was polite in standing and hugging her.
You were polite in occupying yourself with the wine.
“Oh my god, look at you it's been so long!” she said, pulling away. Her hand smoothed the jacket of his suit. “God when I last saw you you were winning horses races on... oh, what was your horses name, again?”
“Marigold,” said John.
“Marigold, that's right!” she laughed, hand slapping at his bicep and lingering.
You snorted at the obvious affection she was laying on. At least (you hoped) you were slightly more incredulous.
They both looked to you.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt,” she apologised.
John went to speak but you spoke before he had the chance.
“You didn't, actually, join us if you like,” you invited.
John's face fell. “What?”
“Oh, I mean I'm here with friends but, hey, what's one drink between old friends?” she pulled up a chair effortlessly, setting it between you and Carter.
Carter himself lingered up on his feet, pulling his jacket close and slotting a button in. He looked at you, almost with some betrayed ideas in his eyes. He sat down, deflated but his old friend from school - Samantha- was already taking his wine glass and filling it. She was already talking about the first time she met John.
You didn't know why you'd decided to interrupt your own night with him. Just as you didn't know why John seemed to perturbed that you had.
Two days later he was at it again.
“John! Oh, John!”
You didn't even get a glance at this one, you had no idea who it was. The old friend from the restaurants or a friend of hers that had joined you later in the night. Maybe it was patient or a friend or family of patients. It could've even been the new intern that had started. You didn't know.
They were all blending into one.
“John! John! John!”
You'd tried putting on headphone from you walk man. You'd tried smothering yourself with your cushion. You'd tried every trick under the sun but it was as if the sounds of pleasure had buried itself in your bones. Even if you couldn't hear it, you knew it was there and it was enough in your bones to have you tossing and turning.
“H, stands for hemolysis, the- the break down of red blood cells-”
You threw your covers off. It was nearing three a.m. The ER could always use an extra pair of hands. That's what you told yourself as you pulled on clothes in the dark, desperate to get out the apartment before you crawl out of your skin.
Perhaps turning on the light would have been beneficial.
You pulled up your pants, jumping to do so but sliding on a lose sock. You fell, hurtling to the ground and trying to catch yourself on the desk had only resulted in banging your head on the side.
For a moment, lying in the dark of your room with a new ache in your head you thought maybe you were concussed because there was suddenly no noise. No nothing.
“John-”
“- wait, shh, shh-”
Nope, still there.
You finally got your pants on without any more injury and left your room.
There were to empty beer bottles at the kitchen counter. You noticed them as you pulled kitchen roll onto your head, pulling it back you pulled open the fridge to check in the light. A little blood.
All the more reason to get to the ER.
You were just fetching your bag from the side when the squeak of a door behind you alerted you.
“Hey, what's going on?” John spoke up.
You didn't dare turn around. You knew if you did you'd find a recently fucked-out Carter, maybe his friend hanging off his arm like his other friends had two nights before at Nona's.
He called out your name.
“Nothing, John,” you dismissed, swinging your bag over your shoulder.
“Where are you going, it's like, three am?”
You didn't answer.
“Did the hospital call?”
“Just go back to bed, Carter.”
It could have been the head split, the fact you were running on little sleep as it was or that John was so insisting he cared when the noise of you falling had clearly broken him out of his blissed state.
You never called him Carter. If you did, it was a bad sign.
“Wait- wait- jus' a second, hold on-”
You turned, catching a glimpse of him retreating back in his room.
You dabbed at your cut again, seething at the pain it brought.
You doubted stitches were needed but maybe some glue. Heck, maybe you could find an on-call room and sleep off the wound.
John's door opened again and he was rushing out, tugging a shirt on with joggers already pulled up. He flicked the light on and you watched his eyes widen at the cut as if you'd been shot. “Woah-woah, hey-hey-”
“Leave it, John.”
“What happened? What'd you do?” he rushed to you, sliding on the floor as he cupped your cheeks, checking the cut in the light.
His clothes hung limp on him and you didn't even have to look close to see the blue and purple bruises at his neck, still fresh, a thin trail of kisses not yet settled. There was no slouch in him like you knew there to be in you. He was alert. The kind of attention sex required.
He was using all that energy- the energy he was stealing from you- to asses your wound.
“What were you doing, jumping-jacks?” he tried to joke.
You didn't feel like laughing. “Can you leave it, please?”
The crinkle at his eyes at his own teasing dropped. He became as dull as you felt.
“No, no I- I can't leave it,” he said, serious. “You're bleeding, you're hurt, what happened?”
You sighed. “I was dressing in the dark, I'm a clutz.”
He shook his head. “Why were you dressing at three am?”
“Because I'm going into work.”
“We're not on nights.”
“Then I'm going in for fun.”
“Like the other night when you were paged in for a cough that didn't exists?” he said. “Mark told me, so what's going on?”
You had hoped Mark Greene- your mentor- wouldn't be noticing the slow falling apart of your love life. No such luck there. “Nothing,” you told him. “Nothing is going on.”
“You running off in the night is something, in my books at least,” said John, stern. His arms fell to his side. “So, you want to tell me?”
You'd just done a thirty-six hour shift and was only reward with two hours sleep. You didn't have it in you to be kind to him while your own chest felt like it was caving in on itself. “No, I don't.”
John scoffed. “Well, I've got all night, I can wait.”
“No, you don't.”
He frowned.
At that moment his latest peeked out of the room. She'd had the decency to wrap herself up in his thin white sheet at least. Her hair was a mess, her body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. She genuinely seemed sorry to be interrupting but clearly wanted to get back to the high she was chasing.
“Hey, John, is everything okay?”
She was so un-like you. She was everything you weren't. You didn't even know who she was but she wasn't you and seeing her coming out of John's room, wrapped up in his sheet and smell and faint marks of him you were reminded of that.
You didn't know why she- an odd number in his list of conquests- broke your heart. But it did.
You chocked on a sob, turning away from them both.
John's neck snapped to you at the noise. “Hey, hey-” his hands were soft on your forearms but you shrugged him off.
“John?” asked the girl again, a lazy drawl of her voice piercing your heart.
“Just, go back in, I'll- I'll be a second,” he said, dismissively.
It some how made it all the much worse because he didn't care for the other girls feelings. It was nothing serious to him, it never was. If it was serious, if he brought a girl back and took painstaking effort to introduce the two of you maybe you could pull on a brave face, pretend to be happy for him.
But he was constantly throwing it all in your face.
“John?” the girl asked again.
“Meg, seriously, I just need to sort this out-”
Sort it out? Like you were something on a check list?
You'd managed to make it to the front door before John caught you.
“Hey, wait! No- jus'-” his hand slammed down over you on the door, closing it before you could escape. “You're scaring me now, what's going on?”
“Nothing,” your own voice betrayed you, cracking as tears escaped you.
You rushed to wipe them away but John beat you to it.
“Hey, hey.” His thumb swept at the tears, voice laced in worry and pain. “Why are you crying? What's happened?”
You knew yourself well enough from the years of stress of medical school, from losing patients that were making promising progress and dying, from months of hearing John love on a girl that wasn't you to know when you couldn't trust your voice. All you could do was duck your head and sniff.
John was still close enough for you to smell the other girls perfume on him. “Why- why don't we sit down? I'll make you some tea.”
“I don't want tea,” you chuckled dryly.
John seemed startled. Tea was always what you offered him after the hard days. “Coffee?”
“I just want to go,” you admitted.
“Go? Go where?” he asked, voice almost as broken as yours. “You want to leave, you want to get out of here?”
He asked like he was almost understanding where you were coming from.
You nodded.
“Can I come with you?”
You shook your head.
John nodded with tight lips, like his own heart was breaking. “Okay them, I- I can't let you go. Not alone.”
You cried. “John-”
“It's three am it's dark out, I'm not letting you go anywhere alone-”
“John-”
“And frankly you're scaring me right now, I can't stand seeing you like this-”
“- I just don't want to be near you right now.”
The confession hung between the two of you like a hook caught in your hearts and tearing you both down. It was one thing you hurting because of John's actions but it wasn't like you'd told him how you felt. So really, you were hurting him for nothing.
“Okay, okay,” he said calmly. Turing for a second to gather himself up, patting the back of his hair down. “Okay you don't have to be anywhere near me but can you at least stay? So I know you're safe. I'll- I'll hide in my room or something. Out there, it's-it's not and I know you hate me right now but you will give me a heart attack if you go-”
“- I don't hate you,” you uttered.
“Well you just said you don't want to be near me,” he pointed out, the first angry notes in his voice. He took a deep breath and took a step closer, his hands clenched in together. John bent a little in the knees to get a look at you. “I'm sorry, whatever I did, I'm sorry, so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.”
He hadn't. Nothing he'd done had been with you in mind.
John laughed at himself. “It's me, for Christ sake, I'd never do anything to hurt you, okay? You've got to believe me. You know me.... you know me!”
The door to his room opened again and in the dim light the both of you saw his girl- Meg- wander out. She was in one of his old grey shirts, flaunting herself with jutted out hips. She threw herself down on the sofa and watched, waiting.
You wiped your tears away, telling yourself to get a grip. “Can we just- can we do this later, John, please?”
You'd thought the tears and begging would have been enough but John looked at you, studying all over you. He took in a deep breath like he was getting his confidence from somewhere.
He shook his head, staring at you. “No. Okay, wait- just wait for for a second, one second.”
You did. You waited one second and watched as he returned to Meg, crouching at the sofa and talking low to her. He even put his hand on hers and spoke very calmly and clearly.
Whatever he was saying Meg seemed to not like, or really understand, her eyes flickered back up to yours accusingly.
That's when you slipped out the door and hailed down a taxi to take you to the ER.
Carol had offered to help but you said no, so did Lydia, practically following you down with the right kit to take care of the cut on your head. Genie had offered with a kind understanding smile but you'd hidden yourself away on an empty bed with a mirror.
Mark was the only one you'd let stay in the room, even then you weren't letting him get close enough to help. “We should get a CT, at least.”
“Geez, it's just a small cut,” you chuckled, putting the thin strips of tape over it to help bring it together. It was the sort of thing that wasn't even medical. Just common sense.
“Better safe than sorry,” he said.
“And do you want to be the one to tell Wheever you ordered un-neccary tests and wasted hospital rescourse and money?”
You'd thought that would have been enough to deter him but instead Mark leaned forward.
“Yes.”
Damn.
“As chief resident I don't have to have you working till you get the all cleared.”
You huffed. You could always find an on-call room to catch up on sleep but you feared you'd re-play John's heartbreak over again if you did. “Fine, book me the CT,” you said, slinging your stephscope back around your neck and pocketing your pocket mirror.
“Thank you,” said Mark and with one last look of conserved worry, he left.
But the door swung open a second later and Carter waltzed in, hands in the pocket of his lab coat. He paused and looked at you, as if you were a patient of his.
It was going on four. He'd followed you in.
You opened your mouth to say something. A sorry, maybe. An apology for ruining his sex time and for crying.
John beat you to it. “I know you said you didn't want to be around me but I'm sorry, I-” he laughed at the very idea that was true. He knew you too well for that. “I don't believe you.”
“What do you want me to do about that?”
“I want you to talk to me.” John grabbed the stool close and sat on it, pushing himself close in front of you like any attentive doctor would. He grabbed your hands. “Talk to me.”
You wondered what you should have told him first. That out of desperation for your well-being Chuni had offered up her spare room at her place till you could get a place of your own. That Mark was willing to move around the schedule and face Wheever's wrath in doing so. That you couldn't take one more night of not being the one John chose.
“I'm sorry for being mad earlier, at the apartment,” you said first, looking down to where he held your hands. His knuckles were bleached white from the tightness he held onto you to. “I'm not- I'm not mad at you.”
His body sagged in relief. “You're not?”
“No.”
“Oh - thank god.” His body curved over yours, breath fanning the envelope of your hands.
“It's just me, it's just stuff,” you dismissed.
“No, it's not just stuff,” he said, equally as dismissive. “If it's getting you up in the middle of the night, ending in you being hurt- I mean... we can sort it.”
His thumb was a delicate tough as he brushed over your cut.
It didn't feel as painful when he did.
John's gaze lingered on your cut before looking back at your eyes. There was nothing to indicate he knew what this was really about, only a small hurting sorrow that he didn't know how to help you.
It was enough to hurt you all over again.
But maybe pulling the band off at once was better than a slow, agonising pull.
You squeezed his hands. “John, I'm moving out.”
The words were like heavy stones sinking in the bottom of a lake. You saw his expression blanked, his hands release yours slowly and his face pale as if the world was ending. His eyes searched yours trying to detect a hint of amusement.
He found nothing.
Mark popped his head back in, saving you. “CT's ready for you.”
“Thanks Mark,” you said as he nodded once and left again.
John hadn't moved, frozen in place. He stared past your body.
“I'll um... I've got to go...” it was the cowards way out but the way you saw it you'd been tough a long time, lying in bed and crying yourself to sleep. Letting yourself feel pathetic for doing so when you had so much more in life to give it meaning. If you could just get away enough, create some distance so you didn't feel trapped you could at least keep his hand in friendship. At least still have the privilege of looking in his eyes everyday and know, just for a second, you once had a chance for it all with him.
When you got back to the door and looked back, John was still on the stool, eyes watering.
Three hours later your shift officially started but you were already four patients deep, a case in pedes with Ross, a trauma that had gone up to the OR, an elderly man with a nasty fall to his hip and possible schizophrenia. Your last was a young girl, complaining of stomach craps. You suspected pregnancy and was thinking as much when you glanced out the door to the front desk.
John was staring through the door at you, Carol at his side trying to talk to him also staring in at you.
It wasn't a good sign in any case, not when Carol knew everything and John knew so little. It didn't help he looked wrecked. Tie askew, hair sticking up in the way that indicated hands running through it in stress.
Then he rounded the corner and disappeared from view.
“Leanne, have you been sexually active recently?”
“With my boyfriend.”
“And how long ago was your last period?”
“Two weeks.”
“Are you late?”
“Not yet.”
You jotted it all down on the chart. “Ok, we're gonna get some blood work, start you on an IV and get a urine sample in-”
The door swung open and you and Maleek who was helping on the case looked up.
John stood there, breathless like he'd ran the ten or so paces it took to get here.
“John?” you asked.
“You love me?”
The world stilled. There was suddenly nothing but you and him. Him looking at you astonished, like he couldn't believe it. At a loss of words from the very idea.
“I'm sorry- what?”
He took a heavy step forward, a deep inahle seething. “You love me.”
It wasn't an accusation the second time.
You looked back to the fifteen year old and Maleek who seemed as startled as you. “Can we not- I'm with a patient-”
“It's okay, I got this,” said Maleek, stepping in the way.
And John Carter was still standing there, catching his breath and staring at you.
You, with little other choice, barged past him.
You heard Carol calling out for you as you marched around trying to find a private corner to have the dreaded confrontation.
“I'm sorry!” she called.
John was hot on your heels. “Don't apologise, I deserved to know!”
Benton had joined the crew of on lookers at the desk. “Do I want to know?” you heard him ask.
“Probably not,” Mark replied.
Exam room two was empty and you held the door open for Carter. He marched in, hands running over his hair again as he mumbled to himself. You closed the door behind, locking it and closing the blinds because you knew everyone was going to try to listen to your world crumble.
You gave yourself a two second head start in catching your breath before turning to him.
John stood in the middle of the room, hands on his hips, waiting. His lip tucked under his teeth. “You love me.”
“Who told you?”
“Carol,” he said. “I was so worried about you I asked if she knew what was going on but turns out everyone did. You know, I could've asked Doug, Mark, Susan, Genie, basically everyone I mean- was I the last one to know?”
“There was nothing for you to know.”
“Really?” he scoffed.
“Yes!” you snapped. “It was my feelings, you didn't need to know them!”
“Yes, I did! I needed to know!”
“Why?”
“Why? Because- because it's me!”
You groaned, frustration ripping through the tears you had cried that morning. “What does it matter, John? You don't love me!”
“Of course I love you!”
“Not in the way I love you, not like that!”
“Yes I do!” he all but screamed.
The room fell silent. You could hear the labour of his breath and the wheels and running outside the room. A trauma was called in yet nobody was rescuing you or John.
He stood there, exposed.
Yes I do!
It was the heat of the argument, you told yourself, as you shook the idea out of you. For a second you almost believed him.
John deflated, watching as you hugged yourself, as you didn't rush to him or smile at his confession. “Do you... do you think I don't love you?”
You levelled your gaze on him.
As if he could see the break of your heart through the windows to your soul he shattered.
“Oh my god. You think I don't love you?”
You lifted your shoulders in a tired shrug. “Was I supposed to believe you did? You fuck a different girl every night while I'm on the other side of the damn wall.” The words come out bitten and finally the penny dropped for John.
The sleepless nights, the times he knew you were tired, the way you hid around every corner, in every room. Slowly he fit all the pieces together and he didn't like what he was seeing.
“That wasn't- they were- they were nothing,” he stuttered.
It was your turn to scoff. “Yeah, it never sounded like nothing-”
“You have to believe me, okay, you- you have to-” he begged, rushing in front of you. His hands took yours without your offer and he held it close to him, over his chest where you could feel his racing heart by the palm of your hand. “- you can't- you have to-”
He clenched his jaw.
You waited for more. “Can't what?”
John screwed his eyes shut, uttering a curse before opening his eyes. They pleaded onto you. “You can't think they meant anything over you. You can't,” he said so definitely you almost believed him. Almost.
“You're not making sense.”
“I know- I- I know,” he said, moving closer to you. He rested his head on your shoulder and you didn't have the strength to move. There was no smell of any other girl, only your shampoo he used in his hair. You could feel the tremble of his body. “This isn't how I wanted this to go.”
You were still, like you were a bunny in the jaws of a lion.
John pulled back and you were shocked at the redness of his eyes, at the tears threatening to spill. “When I dreamt about this I dreamt roses and a better declaration,” he chuckled at himself.
“I'm glad you find this really amusing, John, but I-”
“I don't- I don't,” he said at once. But he still chuckled dryly. “I just think I've messed up my whole life and I- I don't know how to fix this.”
You weren't sure what he was saying because he couldn't be talking about whatever was going on between the two of you. Frankly, you weren't sure what was going on. There was confessions hanging in the air like dirty laundry and tears from him that you didn't know what to do with. None of it made sense.
Your brain went to the only sense it could make.
“You've ruined your life?” you asked, full of concern for him. “What? Is one of the girls pregnant?”
John swiped his hands over his face, roughly. “No. No, I've just realised I fucked everything up with you.”
You stared at him and laughed. “And that's your entire life ruined?”
Carter nodded earnestly.
He loved you? He was insisting he did. Looking at you like he did.
A fist grabbed your heart and squeezed. You counted every girl you'd met through him and tried to add it up to love. It only made your head hurt and you knew it had nothing to do with the cut.
“I can't- I can't do this right now,” you said. “I have patients. So do you.”
“Can we talk? Tonight. Can we- can we talk? Please. Back home,” he begged, voice quiet like you'd never heard him before. “Please don't leave me.”
You wanted to argue there was nothing to leave. That even if you were going to go you still had a room of things to pack and sort. “Okay, fine, tonight.”
For the rest of the day you and John avoided each other, only working side by side on traumas. It was the only clue anyone got about the two of you. Nobody had dared ask what was going on but as you threw yourself into work and John got back on the floor after a thorough self-pity party they were all smart enough to guess it didn't go well.
“So, you're talking?” asked Carol at the end of your shift as you finished passing off your charts.
“Tonight, yeah.”
“That's good, isn't it?”
You huffed, finding your bag. “He says he loves me, Carol.”
She didn't know whether to smile or not. “Yeah, I think he does.”
“So what were the girls?”
“Distractions? A bit of fun? Men don't always have to make sense. Even if they are in love,” she told you, knowing all too well the the ins and outs of men and stupid choices through Doug Ross and their famous on and off relationship. “But give him a chance, he might surprise you.”
A chance.
You were tired. The kind that came from a long shift and little sleep. The kind you'd become accustom to that it didn't shock you when you felt it knocking on your door.
Were you too tired for a chance?
A throat cleared behind you and Carol disappeared from your side.
John stood in front of you, sheepish, with a bouquet in hand. They were your favourite flowers. “For you.”
Ignoring the audience that was trying (and failing) at being subtle, you took them.
“Thank you.”
He nodded, shy, in a way you hadn't seen him be since the both of you first started in the ER.
Nobody knew what to say next.
“Can I, um, can I take you home now?”
You could have been petty and told him you'd catch the subway back. Or that you'd hail a cab but you were both going the same way and you'd end up in your living room, talking, one way or another.
The car ride was quiet with John trying to find a radio station that didn't grate on him and ended up in silence.
When he pulled up in front of your apartment building he rushed out the car like it was on fire. He pulled open your door before you got the chance and helped you with your bag and bouquet.
In the apartment it was just as un-touched as it had been in the morning.
You didn't realise until you saw it so that you'd been expecting a lingering guest.
But there was only signs of you and John.
He was watching you while he set both your things down. “Do you want a drink?”
“No, no thanks I think I should be sober for this,” you said. Amicable ground was trying to be found, keeping your voice neutral was the best you could do. “Do you want a drink?”
“No, no.”
The silence was invasive. An un-wanted guest.
You would start it, as you had with all your messed up feelings. You could finish it even if it hurt. “If you love me what were all the girls?”
John seemed to leap at the chance to defend himself. “Nothing. They were nothing, they were-” he paused, taking time to think about his next words. “They were just distractions. Meaningless. To get you out of my mind.”
“Cheap, John.” It was almost word for word what Carol said.
“Nothing I say can defend myself, I'm not trying to defend myself I'm trying to tell you the truth. I need you, and if I've ruined this I'm not letting you go without fighting.”
He approached you, giving you space and time to step back or flinch away. You didn't.
“I've loved you since I met you. Ever since you came up to me thinking I was a doctor and knew where labs were, I knew it. Love at first sight- if you think that's bullshit- I don't care because I knew it. But you made it clear, very clear you were here to be the best doctor you could be and I wanted that for you, I still do- I always will,” he said.
You remembered John years ago, tailored white coat and hopeful. You'd gone up to him because you were supposed to meet Doctor Greene in labs and had no idea where that was and he was the first person in a white coat and clipboard you'd seen.
You did twelve hours next to him that day, competing on stitches and sutures.
“You know, I had an apartment when I heard you were looking to move in with someone, cheap rent and that,” he said, laughing at himself. “I moved out of that apartment and got another one within the week with a spare room just so I could ask you to move in.”
The apartment you were stood in.
“What?”
John nodded like he knew it was ridiculous. “It worked.”
You knew the Carter family was rich beyond imagination. You'd always wondered why John insisted on a room mate when he could afford to live comfortably without one.
“When you told me you were thinking of moving in with Anna god I had a heart attack, practically begged her to back off.”
John had helped you pack your old place, had carried your stuff with care into his apartment. It had looked so much like him, so lived in you wouldn't even think to wonder how long he'd lived there. You'd never have guessed only a week till you invaded with your stuff.
“It was the closest I could have you without having you.”
“Why didn't you tell me then?” you asked.
His face screwed up like he regretted it. He did, you guessed. “Because we both get tired. We get irritable. I hate failing patients and you take on so many that you can't give yourself a minute to think during the day.”
You weren't sure if it was a compliment or not.
“We work together, we live together, take patients together I figured we'd crash and burn if I told you how I felt,” he admitted. “And- god, help me- if I had to live only being your friend it was better than living without you at all.”
But you and John had never argued. The both of you had figured out how to silently read each other. How to know when he needed space or a hug and a shoulder to cry on. He knew when you needed an extra pair of hands or to just put a stupid movie on to fall asleep too.
The nights you'd fallen asleep in his arms on the sofa and woke in your bed. The mornings where you were on and he wasn't but he was still up to get you a coffee. The days you worked close together and ignored everyone else. It all meant something else now.
“The girls were to forget,” said John. “It didn't work, hardly. All I could think about was you. And I know- I know it's wrong. I had to recite medical facts to myself just to get the thought of you out my head.”
“I thought you did that to make it last for them,” you admitted, realising now how silly it's all been.
He shook his head. “I didn't mean to hurt you. I'd rather cut off my own hands than make you cry. And I've made you cry and hurt you so just get a knife and-” he made a chopping motion, chocking on a laugh.
John wiped his tears with the back of his hand and he looked at you. “If you want to leave then leave but I can't let you go. I'll be around, I'll be really hard to get rid of.”
The both of your rooms stood behind you. Both dark. Both separate cages for the two of you.
“All I could think about when I saw you with those girls was how much they were never like me,” you spoke, quietly. “I thought you'd never... you know... think of me that way.”
John's hands were firm on your cheeks, gaining your attention. “It was always about you. You didn't deserve that, you didn't, I wish I could take it all back and tell you. But why didn't you tell me?”
Why? Because you were afraid. Knowing what you knew now it didn't seem a strong enough argument.
You laughed. “Are we stupid?”
John grinned through his own tears. He nodded, caressing your cheeks. “I think we are, I think so.”
Your foreheads leaned against each other as you laughed.
Slowly, it faded as he pressed his forehead into yours harder.
“I'm so sorry, baby.”
“I'm sorry,” you said, hands coming to hold his face, feeling the rough stubble in your palms.
“No, no, you have nothing to be sorry for, it's me, it's me,” he uttered, eyes closing. “If I've ruined this forever please tell me.”
You couldn't say he didn't have a point. Working long hours made you both difficult at times but never to each other. You couldn't say the girls wouldn't hurt you for some time more, that your insecurities weren't something you had to work on yourself.
Yet, you couldn't say you could manage without him.
“I don't think you have, no.”
John breathed out against you. “No?”
“No,” you shook your head against his. “I think if we love each other-”
“- we do, we do-”
“ -we should at least give it a try.”
“I'm not trying with you, I'm not trying- I'm doing,” John assured you, hands still moving along your cheeks, your hair, anything to hold you. “I'm not messing it up again, I'm not. I'd propose right now if you asked me to.”
You pulled back enough to stare at him seriously. “Don't.”
“Okay, okay, I won't,” he said. When he opened his eyes back at you he smirked, a twitch to his brows. “At least not today.”
There was laughter in place of tears and you knew that if you slept tonight there'd be no need to hurt. Maybe, instead, time to heal.
“Not for a long time,” you told him.
John nodded along, mockingly going along with you. “But eventually right?”
“Maybe you should kiss me before we get that far?”
The laughter died quietly. You were slowly brought into his arms as they wrapped around you, hands moving down your back without going further.
There was a gentle breeze of his warmth and the tips of his hair tickled you as he tilted his head, your own neck moving back to meet him.
It was soft and sweet. A small press of his lips like he was too scared to break you. It was your hands around his neck that brought him closer, it was his whimper that moved him on as his hands held your waist. You stayed pressing into each other, promising silent things as you did, until you both recognised the burn in your lungs for breath.
“I love you,” he said, slowly dragging his lips against yours again.
Summary: Not having seen you in a week has Jack on edge, and to add to his frustration, a certain doctor thinks he can touch what’s his
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, jealous!Jack is a warning, inaccurate depiction of a hospital workplace
A/N: I had an itch that needed scratching so I wrote it myself. Hope ya’ll enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!!
Jack had been in a mood for what felt like forever. Your schedules weren’t lining up so the last week or so had been just texts and short phone calls.
Being doctors, you both understood what was demanded of each other. Him as an ER attending and you as a pediatrician, work life balance wasn’t exactly something either of you excelled in.
But when things became official, bit by bit you’d drawn boundaries at work, now refusing to compromise time you could’ve spent with each other.
Still, duty calls, and for over a week, Jack hasn’t seen your face unless it was through a phone screen. Not being able to kiss or touch you in any way has made him an even bigger grouch.
Truth be told, he was loosing it. He’s exhausted and pent up to the point he’d consider giving up his other leg if it meant spending even a little time with you.
So when his rare day off finally comes along, he’s already making the trip to the pediatric ward. With your coffee on one hand and a small excited smile on his face, he wishes the elevator would go faster. He can’t waste even a second.
Jack is already planning the evening in his head. He’ll pick up a few steaks and cook it at his place, not forgetting to grab your favorite wine too. Maybe you’d watch a movie, but he’d probably feign interest because all he really wants to do is make out with you on his lap.
Jack is busy playing out scenarios in his head when he’s stopped dead in his tracks. At the end of the hall is you, hair in a loose bun, looking every bit as beautiful even with the fatigue weighing you down. But it’s not the sight of you that has him on pause, rather the hand that’s running up and down your arm.
That blonde pediatric surgeon you’ve introduced to him some time ago is offering you a smile that looks fond, but Jack knew better. He knew that behind those eyes was an attraction you were oblivious to. You offered a polite smile back, mind only half registering what your colleague was saying.
Almost as if you had a sixth sense specific to his presence, you had turned your head, bright smile instantaneous as you watched Jack walk closer to where you stood.
Taking a few steps to close the distance faster, you were quick to wrap your arms around him.
“Jackie…” you murmured as you slanted your head to bury your face in his embrace.
Standing there, finally having you in his arms, the animosity that had started creeping up his veins slowed to a stop, albeit momentarily. He pressed you harder against him, communicating his longing through the hug both of you clearly needed.
Only when an awkward cough came from behind, did you reluctantly release your boyfriend.
“Jack, you remember Dr. Adams.”
If looks could kill, lord knows Dr. Adams would’ve dropped dead on the sterile floor. Jack only offers a small nod of his head in reply.
“Ah Dr. Abbot. Nice to see you again. I was just telling Dr. L/N what a great job she’d been doing with-”
“I’m sure she did. My girl has always been amazing at what she does.”
Your eyebrows crease at that. While Jack has always been a fan of pet names, it’s the possessiveness in his tone that has you tilting your head.
“Well, that’s true. Just the other day, with her patient, she-”
“Actually, I did have something I needed her to look at downstairs. So if you don’t mind…”
Jack was quick to intertwine his fingers with yours, walking back to the elevator with you in tow, not sparing doctor blondie a second glance.
Jack definitely missed this. You’re panting and whining as he sucks on your throbbing clit, fighting the urge to lock your thighs around his head.
It took him less than 10 minutes to drag you to his truck in the hospital parking lot and even less time to have you screaming his name.
“That’s it… my pretty baby, let me see you cum on daddy’s tongue”
His fingers have replaced his tongue, twisting them upward and curling them just right to hit that spot while his teeth lightly graze your sensitive clit.
“I-I, Jack! Please- Ah ‘m gonna cum” you squeal as he slaps your clit, sending shocks through your body, his stubble further adding to your overstimulation.
“C’mon pretty girl, let go for me,” his words have your muscles seizing up as you squirt into his awaiting mouth.
While he has you catching your breath, Jack is impatiently taking his pants off. You watch with wide eyes as he strokes his hard cock, tip an angry red, desperate to sink into your heat.
He’s gentle when he lifts you unto his lap, smiling softly at your flushed face as you settle your knees on either side of him.
Jack can’t wait for long, not when your soft hands have wrapped around his length, lifting your thighs up as you sink down on him slowly.
You let out a broken moan at the stretch of his cock. It’s been awhile, the frustration and impatience catching up to you as well.
More than a week without his touch and your pupils are dilating as you watch Jack throw his head back as you take him deeper inside.
“Fuck, there you go, my baby girl, so perfect, all mine” you mewl at his praise, wrapping your arms around his neck to stabilize yourself.
There’s a pool of your slick between the two of you as he rubs on your clit again with a rough thumb.
Jack bounces you softly at first, relishing in your little gasps as you adjust to his size. His length has always been a challenge, and your time apart makes him extra gentle with you despite the animalistic urge to lift you up and slam you back down his cock till he hits the very back of your insides.
He leans forward to suck and kiss your tits as you begin bouncing faster on his cock. He lifts one hand before landing a harsh smack on your ass.
“That’s it, baby… you’re so good to me, princess”
The pressure deep in your belly is overwhelming as Jack thrusts up to match your movements. The kiss you share is desperate and filthy. Your cries filling the small space.
“You going to cum for me? Yeah, baby c’mon- make a mess on my cock,”
That sends you over the edge. The absolute filth that comes out of Jack’s mouth is downright sinful. He has you shaking in his hold, coming hard for a second time.
Jack doesn’t take long after that. His hold on your waist is bruising as he keeps you rooted to the hilt while he cums inside you.
You’re breathing heavily as you collapse on his chest, your insides still warm from his release. Neither of you speak as you revel in the bliss of your orgasms.
Jack is planting soft kisses to your neck and shoulder when you finally find your voice.
“This was what you wanted to show me?” You teased. “The backseat of your truck? For you to fuck me in?”
Jack grumbles as you giggle.
“I was gonna invite you over to my place. Cook you dinner, ya know? Just wanted to spend time with my girl” he whispered the last part as he nuzzled into your neck
“I was gonna wait for you till your shift ended but then doctor Ken had his hands all over you” Jack continued.
“Doctor Ken?”
“That Ken doll looking, blonde idiot”
“Oh my god… are you,” Jack groans and hides his face deeper in your neck.
“You’re jealous of Dr. Adams?” Your tone carries your amusement at the situation.
“He’s obviously into you,” Jack whines. “Looking at you with hearts in his eyes, all lovey dovey and shit”
You’re laughing harder now, relishing in the way Jack is blushing at your delight.
“You know you have nothing to worry about right?” You pull Jack’s head back so he’s looking into your eyes.
“Dr. Adams is just a colleague, if anything, him acting that way towards me knowing I have you just makes me want to set the record straight with him.”
“You sure I can’t just punch him?”
“Dr. Abbot!” You gasp. “That’s no way to treat the other doctors,” Your face gives way to a teasing smile.
“Doctors aren’t supposed to fuck each other on the job either but that’s never stopped us”
You slap his chest at the crude remark and Jack can only laugh at your embarrassment.
“Your shift ends in a few minutes so I think we can go straight to my place, sweetheart”
“At least let me get my things before we leave”
“Mmmm you’re gonna walk back to peds and say goodbye to doctor blondie while my cum drips out of you? That’s so fucking hot, I-”
Summary: In a situationship with your attending, he gets extremely jealous and possesive, wants to make you his. Has a happy ending ;)
Warnings: Sexual content, age-gap relationship.
A/n: First of all: Rawr, gimme that old man.
Second of all: Likes, reposts and comments are really appreciated. I love hearing from you guys :))
Requests are always welcome!
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It's hour four of your night shift.
You are currently working on a patient who has been in a fight. He’s got some serious abrasions and cuts all over. You’ve learned along the way to not ask too many questions, it’s better not to involve yourself in situations you don’t want to be involved in.
“Man.. if all doctors were this good looking, I’d let myself get beat up more often.” the young guy tells you, eyes staring at your face as you’re focused with stitching up one of the cuts.
A soft chuckle leaves your lips before you look up and lock eyes with him. “You still have the ability to flirt, that’s a good sign.”
A smirk tugs on his lips as he hears your words. “They could never beat that out of me.” he jokes, making another laugh escape you.
While you suture his open wounds, the conversation keeps flowing. You have to stop yourself from poking in his skin from time to time since he makes you laugh so hard you can’t focus on what you’re doing. It’s fun to have a nice patient for once, not an old drunk who constantly assaults you with his choice of words.
As soon as the sound of your laugh made its way through the emergency department, Jack Abbot was determined to find out who was the source of your entertainment. Ever since the two of you got acquainted, physically and mentally, he’s become your new shadow.
Abbot is obsessive. Once he’s decided that something is his, he doesn’t like to share it with anyone else.
The privacy curtain gets pulled to the side, you turn your head over your shoulder and spot Jack standing there. It’s not weird, considering he’s your attending and needs to supervise the cases you work on. However, an easy case like this usually doesn’t need to be observed by him.
“This is my attending, Dr. Abbot.” you tell your patient who is checking out Jack.
“Ah shit.. am I worse off than I think I am?” he looks over at you as concern edges in his face.
“What?” you furrow your brows. “No.”
“Because doctors only get more experienced doctors around whenever something’s up.” the guy tells you.
It doesn’t surprise you, he has told you about how this isn’t his first time in an emergency department. He explained how he’s in a work environment that deals with lots of violence and dangerous situations, it was basically saying he was a drug dealer without actually telling you he was.
“Don’t worry,” Jack speaks up as he takes a few steps closer. “You’re in good hands. I’m just checking in, seeing how things are going.” he explains.
“Oh,” the guy seems genuinely relieved as he slumps back on the hospital bed and rests his head against the mattress. “Thank god.”
Jack looks down at the cuts you have sutured up and seems to inspect your work, you only have one wound left to close up. “Good job,” Abbot tells you, looking up into your eyes.
“Thanks.” you tell him, holding eye contact for only a second before focusing back on your patient.
“Best damn doctor I’ve ever had.” the guy speaks up, “Hands of an angel.”
The muscle in Abbot’s jaw flexes as he feels jealousy course through his veins. Jack knows just how soft those hands of yours are, he also wants to be the only man who knows that feeling. It’s not like the attending doesn’t realize he’s being slightly crazy with jealousy, but he can’t help himself when it comes to you.
“We’re good here,” you say, which makes Jack snap back to reality.
It’s basically a friendly way of saying he can get lost, which angers him even further. He gives you a short nod before turning and walking out. Before leaving completely, he holds onto the privacy curtain and turns to look at you again.
“Can I speak to you for a minute,” he says. “It’s about another case.”
You furrow your brows for a moment before nodding and standing up from the stool you were sitting on. “Be right back.” you say to the guy who tells you to take your time.
Once you’re standing out in the hall, Jack crosses his arms over his chest. Your eyes linger on his muscles for only a quick second before you look up in his eyes.
“What’s up?”
“Once you’re done with the patient, come and find me.” Jack tells you. “We need to talk.”
That’s the only thing he says to you before walking off, leaving you standing there a little dumbfounded. The tone in his voice was all but pleasant to hear. You hate disappointing him but it’s hard to figure out what you’ve done wrong this time around. You decide not to dwell on it for too long and get back to work.
You’re quick to finish up with your case. Mateo, who was assisting you on this patient, has rejoined the two of you again.
“What’s up, man?” the nurse gives the guy a smile as he walks closer to the bed. “All stitched up?”
“Yeah.” the patient gives him a quick smile back.
“The wounds need to be disinfected once more and bandaged up.” you tell Mateo as you’re taking off your medical gloves and discarding them in the trash. “Then, he’ll be good to go.”
“You got it, doc.” Mateo tells you before getting out the supplies he’ll need.
“And you,” your eyes look back at the guy that was already staring at you. “Stay out of trouble,” you tell him. “You might be a good patient but that doesn’t mean I want you back here any time soon, got it?”
The guy lets out a soft chuckle, eyes twinkling with amusement as he hears your words. “M’gonna have to come back to see your pretty face again,” he says. “Or maybe you give me your number and I can see you again without having to get wounded.”
A smile tugs on your lips. While you’re only interested in the attention of a certain older guy at the moment, it’s still nice to be flirted with.. it’s an ego boost.
“Sorry, gonna have to pass on that one.” you tell your patient.
“Awh.. man,” his voice is filled with disappointment. “You taken?”
“I-” that’s a complicated question, you and Abbot have not talked about labels yet.
“It’s that grey haired doctor, isn’t it?” the patient speaks up again, catching both you and Mateo off guard.
“What?” you are quick to shake your head. “No..”
“Sure..” the guy chuckles. “You should tell him that.” he proceeds. “Dude is looking at you like you’re his prized possesion.”
A soft blush forms on your cheeks, making Mateo raise a brow at you as this is some new information to him. You’re quick to collect yourself back together and say your goodbyes so you can get the hell out of that room.
Once you’re back out on the ED floor, it doesn’t take long before you spot Abbot. He’s talking to Ellis, seemingly about a case that she needed his expertise on.
For a moment, you are not so sure if you want to speak to Jack.. you’re nervous as to what he’s going to tell you. However, your moment to escape in the busy environment of the Pitt is taken away rather quickly as Jack locks eyes with you from across the room. He signals you to follow him and it makes your stomach drop, you get the feeling that you’re going to be told off by your superior.
The two of you come to a stand in the hallway that leads up to the locker area, hidden from everybody’s view. Nerves are filling up your stomach as you lean against the wall, looking into his eyes and waiting for what he has to say.
“Seemed like you had your fun with that patient.” Jack speaks up.
“I-” you give him a soft shrug. “He was nice, not like the usual drunks we need to take care of.” you explain.
Nice. The word rings through Abbot’s head and makes him want to hit something, preferably the guy you’re talking about.
You can see the look of jealousy in his eyes and it makes your heart beat faster. At first you weren’t sure that’s what you were noticing but now you are, he’s jealous. That’s why he came in to check on you and the patient.. it makes sense all of the sudden.
“Are you jealous?” you question him.
“Jealous,” Jack scoffs, placing his hands on his sides. “No.. m’just observing.”
“Oh.. okay,” you nod, not believing him one bit.
Silence falls back over the two of you, Jack is thinking about what he can further say without coming over as jealous or possessive. Yet, it’s not easy considering every fiber of his being longs to make you completely his.
“Listen-” Jack speaks up, losing all sense of morals at the moment. “I need you to be mine,” he tells you. “Not knowing if you’re only mine is driving me crazy, it makes me act like a jealous fool, disturbing my work ethic.”
A smile tugs on your lips as you look into his eyes, heart fluttering in your chest. “You askin’ me to be your girlfriend?”
“I,” Jack scratches the back of his neck in an awkward, nervous gesture before nodding. “I guess I am.” he says. “If it’s not what you want then I’ll understand, m’not gonna force you-”
You lunge forward and stop him from rambling by pressing your lips against his. Jack’s surprised for a split second before he kisses you back, arms wrapping around your waist so he could pull your body closer to his.
“Yes,” you smile brightly after pulling back. “I’d like that.”
Jack smiles equally as bright, relieved that you want to be his officially. He pecks your lips once more before resting his hand against your cheek, cupping it so he can hold onto you as he looks in your eyes.
“We have to be secretive about it here,” Jack tells you. “M’not looking forward to having a chat with HR about relationships at work.”
“Me neither,” you chuckle at his words. “I can be secretive but I think you need to brush up on your skills.”
“Oh?” he arches a brow.
“My patient was onto you, the one that only saw you for like a few seconds. If he can tell.. so can colleagues who work hours on hours with you.” you explain.
“Your patient,” he repeats. “That drug dealer?”
“Hey,” you give him a look. “We don’t know that for sure, let’s just say he’s keeping himself criminally busy.”
Jack shakes his head at your words, a huff leaving him. “How did that even come up in your conversation?”
“Well,” you doubt about telling him for a second. “He was flirting with me.. asked for my number and so I had to turn him down-”
“He asked for your number?” Jack questions like he can’t believe what you just told him, the look in his eyes turns a lot colder.
“Yeah,” you nod. “But I immediately turned him down, I-”
“That motherfucker,” Jack mutters, unable to keep his cool about this. “Is he out of here already? Otherwise I’m gonna pay him another visit.”
You give him a look and are quick to shake your head. “No.. absolutely not.”
“But-”
“No,” you tell him again. “That’s not really keeping it hidden and professional, now is it Dr. Abbot?”
Jack scoffs at your words, hands resting in his sides as he tries to cool that jealous part inside of him.
“I wish I could put a sticker on your forehead with my name, so they’d all know you belong to me.” Jack grumbles.
You give him a look. “You’re a lot more possessive than I thought you would be.”
“Is that bad?” he locks eyes with you.
“Mostly hot, actually.” you say which makes a smirk tug on his lips before he leans back in to kiss you.
A chuckle escapes you before kissing him back, arms wrapping around his neck and body pushing up against his. Your actions make Jack groan softly in the kiss, body on fire by the brush of yours against his. His hands slide down and settle onto your ass, giving it a squeeze.
“Stop, sweetheart..” Jack is the first to pull back from your heated make-out session. He stares down into your eyes and you see how plump his lips are from kissing yours. “You’re gonna get me all worked up.”
A soft smirk forms on your face before you pull back, leaning against the wall again.
“Doctor Abbot, I think you’re having a little problem.” you say, glancing down at the bulge in his scrubs.
“Ain’t nothing little about it,” Jack tells you which makes a pit of desire form in your gut.
“M’gonna go back to work,” you tell him, taking a step closer and laying a hand against his crotch. Your action makes him hiss. “Try to control yourself, you’re still my attending and this is highly unproffesional.” you tease before pulling back again.
Jack watches you walk down the hall and can only groan before shaking his head softly, irritated but mostly turned on.
“After our shift you’re coming back to my place,” Jack tells you, making you turn to face him. “You’re gonna regret teasing me.”
“Can’t wait,” you smirk, giving him a wink and a flirty wave before walking back onto the ED floor.
⊱✫⊰
Jack’s place is no secret to you anymore.
You’ve spent lots of early mornings here when you tagged along with him after the night shift. At first, it was a little awkward being in your superior’s apartment but now.. it feels like coming home.
“First time here as your girlfriend.” you smile brightly after putting down your bag and shrugging off your jacket.
“Yeah,” Jack mirrors your smile, a happy feeling settling in his chest.
You throw him your jacket before walking further into the place, Abbot can only watch you and shake his head softly before hanging up your jacket. He’s quick to follow you, wandering into the kitchen.
“Do you want something to drink?” you ask him as you’re looking into his fridge.
“A diet coke,” Jack tells you, making you nod before getting out two cans and handing him one.
Silence falls back over the two of you, only the sound of the can being cracked open and the fizzling of the soda can be heard. You take a sip and take a look at Jack in the meanwhile, he’s also eyeing you over the brim of his can.
“You’re so beautiful.. even after working a fourteen hour shift.” he says before putting his can down.
A blush forms on your cheeks, his words making you all giddy inside. You watch him take a step closer and soon feel his hand cup your face. “My angel.” he mumbles before pressing a kiss on the top of your head.
“I’m really happy,” you smile and look up in his eyes, cheeks blushing heavily. “Can’t believe I’m yours now.”
“You always were,” Jack tells you before leaning in completely so he could attach his lips to yours.
A soft hum escapes you, eyes fluttering close and melting away under his touch. Jack takes the can you were still holding and places it on the kitchen island, you let him and when your hands are free you rest them against his broad chest.
Jack kisses you deeply before he pulls away, softly nipping your lip. “I didn’t forget about you teasing me.” he says.
“I’m sorry,” you look up at him through your lashes. “Didn’t mean too.” you tell him but Jack can hear by the tone you put on that you’re still messing with him.
“Brat,” he smirks before lifting you up in one big scoop and laying you over his shoulder.
A shriek escapes you before chuckling out as you feel him carrying you with ease over towards his bedroom. Your legs dangle off his shoulder and Jack smacks your ass while walking.
Once you two have reached the bedroom, Jack is quick to lay you down on the mattress.
“Take off your clothes,” he tells you, standing at the edge of the bed and looking down at you with hunger in his eyes.
“Okay,” you nod before moving your hands down and stripping yourself out of your top.
While you get rid of your clothes, Jack starts undressing himself while his eyes stay glued to your every move. You check out his broad shoulders and sculpted chest, the more skin he’s showing the more you want him.
Jack is quick to take off his prosthetic, opening the clasps with ease, being used to it after all these years now.
You watch him crawl onto the bed towards you, hovering over your bare body now with his and looking you into your eyes.
“Beautiful,” he mumbles before kissing your lips. “And all mine.”
The two of you start making out, bodies twisting together in a heated embrace. You can feel his erection straining against your thigh and it’s making you crave him. His hands explore your body, taking the time to brush all over his favorite parts before looking you back into your eyes.
“Gonna be good for me?” Jack asks.
His words make you nod quickly before letting out a whimper as you feel him kissing down your body. When his lips ghost over your pussy, you look down and see how he’s looking up at you.
“You sure you can be good?” he asks.
You can feel his hot breath against you which makes you whimper, you know he’s teasing you now and it’s driving you absolutely crazy.
“Yes,” you nod eagerly, making him smirk.
Before you know it, he licks up your slit and sucks down on your clit. A sharp exhale leaves you, back arching into him and head tilting back on the pillow behind you.
Jack is going at it, eating you out like he’s a starving man. You are already a squirming mess beneath him, the intensity of his actions nearly too much to take. It’s when he adds two digits inside of you that a broken gasp leaves you, lips parting and one hand reaching down to his curls so you’d be able to ground yourself.
Abbot can only smirk for a moment before continuing his actions, using that finger and tongue combo which gets you there every damn time.
“Fuck..” you whine out. “M’gonna-”
“I know, sweetheart.” he mumbles against you. “Give it to me.”
It takes a few more pumps of his fingers and him sucking on your clit before you feel that tension in your gut explode. Your body tightens beneath his hands as your orgasm washes over you, leaving you a moaning mess.
“Mhmm,” Jack licks you clean before he moves back up and looks into your eyes.
His lips are glistening with your juices, pupils in his eyes having turned bigger and darker with even more hunger. Overall, he looks feral for you and it’s turning you on like crazy. The man is already so damn sexy.. but when he’s horny for you, god.. he’s something else to look at.
Jack’s lips press against yours again, his arms resting next to your head and caging you in. You hum in the kiss and reach a hand up to cup his cheek which makes him growl softly. You part your legs some more so Jack could settle between them, feeling your warmth down there is nearly undoing him right there and now.
“I want you so much, it’s nearly killing me.” Jack sighs out against your lips.
“You have me,” you tell him, which makes his heart flutter in his chest.
Abbot never expected to be able to feel this again, this kind of puppy love he had with his ex-wife. The giddy feeling he has inside makes him smile, it’s a small reminder to him every time that he can feel something else then the sorrow and sadness he’s been feeling for so long. He finally feels alive again and it’s all because of you.
Jack doesn’t use any words but he kisses you with every emotion he feels. You’re left breathless after the intensity he kissed you with, it made your heart nearly beat out of your chest.
“Ready for me, sweetheart?” he asks you as he drags his cock through your wet folds.
“Yes,” you nod, hands moving up his arms to rest on his shoulders where you hold on.
Jack locks eyes with you first before slowly making his way inside of you, your lips parting in a silent gasp as he grunts when he’s fully seated inside of you.
Soft moans are leaving you as Jack starts moving his hips, thrusting inside of you at a slow space to warm you up. Your hands are moving all over his chest and shoulders, feeling on his muscles which makes it hard for Abbot not to lose it.
“Fuck.. sweetheart,” he grunts out, hand moving down to grab your leg and move it higher around his waist.
Another moan escapes you as you feel his thrusts deeper now, back arching which makes Jack move his hands to hold onto your hips. His eyes are taking in your form, feasting on how reactive you are towards his every move.
“Mhmm.. feels good,” you whimper out and pull him closer towards you.
“Yeah?” Jack looks down into your eyes, the rhythm of his movements never faltering even though the noises you make are getting to him.
“Uh-hu.” you nod your head, pulling him in for a kiss.
Jack hums against your lips, kissing you back for a moment before he moves back up and stares into your eyes.
Your legs move up, he guides them to lay over his shoulders. Jack presses a few kisses against your ankle, eyes never leaving yours, thrusts never stopping.
“Who’s pussy is this, sweetheart?” Jack leans in some more, making you whimper out as you feel him shifting deeper inside of you again.
“Fuck..” you bite down on your lip and try to regain yourself so you could answer him. “Yours.” you say softly.
“Louder.” he demands, taking hold of your chin and making you look up into his eyes again. “Who’s pussy is this?”
“Yours, baby.” you answer him, making a smirk tug on his lips.
“Good girl,” Jack presses a kiss against your mouth. “That’s what I wanna hear.”
You grab onto his arms, absolutely soaking as he’s fucking you stupid. Your lips part, some drool escaping your mouth as your nails dig into his skin. Jack groans out at your actions. You feel him hitting your cervix with every deep thrust he gives.
“Taking it so good for me,” Jack grunts out, moving two fingers up so he could push them in your mouth.
You let out a whine before sucking down on them, letting your tongue roam around his digits which makes Jack groan out. You look so ruined by the way he’s doing you, it’s nearly enough to make him come already.
“Do you like taking my cock?” Jack smirks softly as he keeps hitting you with deep thrusts.
You hum softly around his fingers and whimper out at his actions, back arching off the bed once more.
“Yeah..” he looks down at you and enjoys taking in the view. “Feels so good, doesn’t it?” His words make you nod once again. “Nobody can fuck you as good as I can, right sweetheart?”
You nod at his words but it’s not enough for Jack.
He pulls his fingers back and groans at the linger of spit on your lips. “Use your words.”
“Nobody,” you tell him. “Nobody comes even close to you.”
“Ugh.. fuck,” Jack groans out, loving the way you speak in that whiny tone to him.
You see what impact your words have on him and it’s making you want to please him even more. It’s all you want, all you can think about lately.. making sure Jack feels good.
“Only you, Jackie.” you tell him softly.
The nickname undoes him, making another groan escape him as his hips falter for a short moment. He leans into you some more and cups your cheek. “Are you close?” he asks, thumb brushing against your skin.
“Yes,” you nod softly. “Wanna come.”
“Good,” Jack says. “Because I’m close too, beautiful.”
Before you know it, he starts moving his hips again which makes you moan out. If it’s one thing about Jack, it’s that even if he’s desperately close he will still make sure you get there first. It would make him feel bad if he came before you did, he doesn’t like it.
You can soon feel the bubble form in your lower stomach, nails digging into the skin of his back where you’re holding onto him as you know you’re about to come. Jack picks up the speed of his movements, thrusting inside of you fast and deep because he knows that’s what will make you come.
“Fuck!” you cry out as you look into his eyes, teetering on the edge.
“I know, sweetheart.” Jack moves his hand lower and lightly wraps it around your neck, knowing you’re into that. “Come for me.”
Another cry leaves you before the bubble explodes, body tightening around him before the orgasm washes through you and leaves you shaking.
“Atta girl,” Jack tries to hold on some more so he could fuck you through it but it’s not easy.
“Want you to come,” you tell him and look into his eyes with need. “Fill me up.”
“Fucking hell,” Jack groans out before he spills himself inside of you.
Your panting mixes together with his, the feeling so intense that you even have Jack whimpering in your ear for a moment as his orgasm moves through him.
As you’re both coming down from your high, Jack pecks your lips before he rolls off you and rests on his back besides you on the mattress. You are catching your breath and so is he, the intensity of the moment slowly fading away.
“You still got it in you, old man.” you tease Jack as you roll onto your side, clinging onto him.
“Hey,” he nudges the back of your head playfully which makes you both chuckle. “Old man, my ass. I’m not even fifty yet.”
“Well.. next year you will be.” you say which causes him to roll his eyes and shake his head.
“Shut up,” Jack rests his hand on the back of your head and pulls you into him, making you lay against his shoulder.
Another chuckle leaves you before you lean in and press a kiss against his cheek. “Since you’re my boyfriend now, I need to tease you a bit.. keep you humble.”
Jack lets out a laugh before giving you a look. “You’re so full of shit.” he mutters before silencing you by pressing his lips back onto yours.
💌 my personal faves that I read the last two months + shameless self promo :) 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
⟢ Jack Abbot ⚕
I'll take the couch by @weird-is-life f
jack abbot spanks by @ickology s
back scratcher by @groovyangelkisses f
pussy inspection by @ridgeflaw s
i love you, baby; i promise by @/ridgeflaw s
sugar daddy!jack abbot 2 by @unmarlou f
DOLL'S CORNER by @80sfilmclub
sushi with jack by @softtachycardia f, sp
wife guy by @tumbleweedstillhaspanic f
distracted by @pinkandblueblurbs s
accident by @fluttervoid f
fingers in your mouth by @mparksy
⟢ Brendon Park 𓂁
softness in sex by @zivistardust f, s
Girl Dad by @tumbleweedstillhaspanic f
sleepy bren by @novatheory f
apartment by @soobshi f
⟢ Rabbot ❤︎
heatwave by @carbonfiction s
texts by @urfavoritewritersfavoritewriter smau
lesson learnt by @robbyscoffee s
sleeping between rabbot by @/robbyscoffee f
⟢ Michael Robinabvitch 𑣲
hands-on inspection by @mariasont s
⟢ Joel Miller ☣︎
strings by @softly-potter s
honey baby by @mcthsman s
⟢ Pope Andrew 𖦏
In this corner by @mcybank a, s
hyperspermia by @misspossexxive s
his inability to let anyone else near you by @groovyangelkisses f
⟢ Clark Kent ⎚-⎚
desperate by @maiamore s
NEW IN DREAM'S LIBRARY @barnesdreamcatcher
⟢ To Need Somebody (Jack Abbot) a, s
⟢ Take me to your river (Jack Abbot) s, h/c
⟢ casual dominance (Jack Abbot) sp
⟢ mock sympathy (Jack Abbot) s
⟢ Nothing's quite enough (Jack Abbot) a
⟢ As long as you’re with me (Jack Abbot) s, h/c, f
⟢ phone sex (Jack Abbot) s
💌 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. 💌
Summary - One charity gala. One argument. One kiss that was long overdue.
Word Count - 6500ish
Warnings: 18+, smut, explicit sexual content, explicit language, rivals to lovers, mutual pining, jealousy, dirty talk, handjob, fingering, protected sex, public bathroom sex, risk of being caught, consent, possessive behaviour, fluff, happy ending.
Occupied
The first thing Phoenix said when you stepped out of the hotel lift was, “Oh, Seresin is going to be unbearable.”
You stopped halfway into the corridor, one hand curled around the tiny clutch Bob had already pointed out could barely hold your phone.
“Good evening to you too.”
“I’m serious.” Natasha caught your wrist and turned you beneath the warm hotel lights, inspecting the dark dress you had spent far too long convincing yourself was appropriate for a formal squadron charity gala. “You look incredible.”
The compliment softened you more than you wanted it to.
“Thank you.”
Bob smiled beside her. “You do.”
His eyes widened as the words left him.
“I mean, the dress is nice. You look nice in it. Not that you don’t usually look nice.”
Phoenix rescued him before he could dig any deeper.
“She knows what you mean, Bob.”
“I do.” You slipped your arm through his. “And I appreciate it.”
The ballroom doors stood open at the end of the corridor, spilling music and conversation into the hotel. Uniformed personnel mingled with civilian guests beneath chandeliers that looked expensive enough to finance an entire training exercise.
You had barely crossed the threshold when Phoenix leaned closer.
“He’s staring.”
You knew exactly who she meant.
You refused to look.
“He’s probably checking whether my dress violates regulations.”
Bob glanced across the ballroom with considerably less subtlety.
“He did ask whether you were coming tonight.”
Your steps faltered.
Phoenix’s mouth curved.
You recovered quickly. “Probably so he could prepare himself.”
“He asked twice,” she added.
“He was confirming the threat level.”
Bob looked between you and wherever Jake was standing. “Is that why he remembers the date of that training exercise?”
You finally turned your head.
Jake Seresin stood on the opposite side of the ballroom in his service dress blues, one hand wrapped around a glass while an officer you vaguely recognised spoke beside him.
He should have been listening.
He wasn’t.
His eyes were fixed on you.
For once, the distance between you prevented him from hiding the first unguarded reaction that crossed his face. His gaze travelled slowly over the dress before returning to your face, lingering as though he had forgotten someone was speaking to him.
Then he noticed you watching.
The corner of his mouth lifted.
There he was.
You looked away first.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you told Bob.
Phoenix gave him a sympathetic pat on the arm. “You’ll learn not to ask.”
The three of you had only made it halfway to your assigned table when Jake appeared beside you.
You had not seen him cross the room.
That happened often. Jake had a remarkable talent for turning up wherever you were while insisting you were the one who could not leave him alone.
His gaze dropped over you again, less openly this time.
“Well,” he said. “Look at you.”
You waited.
The compliment did not come.
Jake’s smile widened when he realised you were expecting one.
“You finally found something without a flight-suit zipper.”
You should have known better.
“And you almost look respectable when you keep your mouth closed.”
Bob made a quiet noise that might have been a laugh disguised as a cough.
Jake placed a hand over his chest. “Almost?”
“The tie ruins it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my tie.”
“Besides the man wearing it?”
Phoenix took your clutch from Bob and steered him towards the table.
“We’re sitting down before one of them challenges the other to a dogfight over the appetisers.”
Jake watched them leave, then looked back at you.
“You’re still bitter.”
“About what?”
“That exercise.”
You laughed. “The one I won?”
“The one where I underestimated you.”
“You’ve had eight months to come up with a better excuse.”
Jake leaned closer, bringing the clean scent of his cologne with him.
“You remember exactly how long it’s been too, sweetheart.”
“Only because you mention it every week.”
“That’s because you’ve built your entire personality around one lucky win.”
“One?”
His eyes lit up.
It was ridiculous how much he enjoyed this. He could spend an entire briefing needling you until you wanted to strangle him, then look delighted when you finally snapped back.
The first few months after you joined the squadron, you had genuinely believed Jake disliked you.
Somewhere along the way, the arguments had begun lasting longer than the things that started them.
You stepped around him.
“Go bother someone who still finds you charming.”
His fingers brushed your bare elbow as you passed.
“You think I’m charming?”
You turned to walk backwards for several steps. “I think you need your hearing checked.”
Jake watched you return to Phoenix and Bob with an expression that made warmth creep beneath your skin.
Phoenix waited until you sat down.
“You know, most people just flirt.”
“We don’t flirt.”
“No,” she agreed. “You make everyone around you feel as though they’re trapped inside a mating ritual narrated by David Attenborough.”
Bob looked concerned. “Are we meant to intervene?”
“No,” you and Phoenix said together.
Dinner passed in courses too small to justify the number of forks arranged beside each plate.
Jake was not seated beside you. It should have made the evening more peaceful.
Instead, you kept noticing him.
He moved easily between conversations, smiling at senior officers, charming donors, and somehow looking entirely at home beneath the glittering chandeliers. Every so often, his attention drifted back towards your table.
You caught him twice.
The third time, he did not look away.
His gaze dropped to your mouth.
The room seemed to blur around the edges.
For one unwelcome moment, you were back outside the Hard Deck three weeks earlier.
The air had been warm and heavy with salt. Music had pulsed through the walls behind you while Jake stood close enough that the toes of his boots almost touched yours.
You had gone outside because he had accused you of cheating at pool. He had followed because apparently he had no survival instincts.
The argument had slowly disappeared.
Jake’s smirk had faded. His voice had gone quiet. His eyes had fallen to your lips, and you had stopped breathing because you knew exactly what was about to happen.
The door opened behind him.
Rooster called both your names.
Jake laughed.
Not because anything was funny. You knew that now, or at least suspected it. But humiliation had burned through you. You told him he was imagining things if he thought you had been waiting for him to kiss you, then walked inside before he could answer.
Neither of you had mentioned it since.
You looked away from him now and reached for your glass.
Phoenix noticed.
She noticed everything.
Thankfully, she said nothing.
Jake appeared at your table shortly after dessert, placing a fresh drink beside you without asking.
You looked at it, then at him.
“Did I order this?”
“No.”
“Then why is it here?”
“You finished the other one.”
“You were keeping track?”
Jake pulled out the empty chair beside you and sat. “Hard not to. You’ve been glaring at me over the rim of it for twenty minutes.”
“I wasn’t glaring.”
“Staring, then.”
“Dream on.”
His knee brushed yours beneath the table.
Neither of you moved.
Bob was telling Phoenix about a radar malfunction during training. You should have listened. Instead, you were painfully aware of the firm line of Jake’s thigh against your own.
His fingers rested loosely around his glass.
“You planning on dancing tonight?” he asked.
You glanced towards the dance floor. “Maybe.”
“With who?”
You turned slowly. “Why?”
“No reason.”
“That sounded suspiciously like a reason.”
Jake lifted one shoulder. “Just wondering who I’ll have to rescue from having their toes crushed.”
“I’m an excellent dancer.”
“You fly like you’re trying to kill the aircraft. Forgive me for making assumptions.”
“I fly better than you.”
“One time.”
“Eight months, Jake.”
“There it is again.”
Before you could answer, a man stopped beside your chair.
Lieutenant Cole belonged to another squadron on base. You had spoken to him several times in passing. He was pleasant, handsome, and currently smiling at you without disguising the fact that he found you attractive.
“Would you like to dance?”
Jake went very still beside you.
You looked at him.
His expression was easy. Almost bored.
Only the muscle tightening in his jaw gave him away.
You smiled at Cole and placed your hand in his.
“I’d love to.”
Cole led you towards the dance floor.
You told yourself you accepted because he seemed nice. Because you had spent the evening sitting down. Because Jake Seresin did not get to decide who you danced with.
You certainly had not accepted because some childish part of you wanted to see whether Jake would react.
Cole’s hand settled politely at your waist.
You tried to focus on the conversation. He asked about your squadron. You asked about his upcoming deployment. He was funny in a quieter way than Jake, without the sharpened edge that made every exchange feel like a competition.
You should have enjoyed it.
Instead, your gaze kept drifting over his shoulder.
Jake had turned his chair towards the dance floor.
He was watching you.
Not casually. Not with his usual amused detachment.
His eyes tracked Cole’s hand on your waist. His mouth flattened whenever you smiled. He looked so openly displeased that satisfaction curled low in your stomach.
Phoenix followed his stare.
She leaned towards Bob.
“Here we go.”
Bob looked between them. “Where are we going?”
“Give it five minutes.”
The song ended.
Cole asked whether you wanted another.
You might have agreed if Jake had not been standing at the edge of the dance floor, waiting.
“I should get back,” you said.
Cole smiled and released you. “Maybe later?”
“Maybe.”
Jake’s eyes narrowed.
He waited until Cole was out of earshot.
“Nice guy.”
You started walking towards the table. “He is.”
“A little dull.”
“You spoke to him for approximately four seconds.”
“Didn’t need longer.”
“You’re threatened by anyone who can hold a conversation without mentioning himself?”
Jake fell into step beside you. “Threatened?”
“Is there another word for whatever that was?”
“I was watching you dance.”
“Yes. I noticed.”
His mouth curved. “You noticed me noticing.”
You stopped near a pillar at the edge of the ballroom.
“Not everything I do revolves around you.”
“Could’ve fooled me, sweetheart.”
Heat flared across your face.
Jake saw it and mistook the reason.
“You checked whether I was watching every thirty seconds.”
“And you were watching every time.”
“Maybe I was worried about your feet.”
“You are unbelievable.”
“You liked knowing I was looking.”
You stared at him.
The worst part was that he was right.
The even worse part was that he seemed pleased rather than affected. As though this was still only a game to him. As though the moment outside the Hard Deck meant nothing. As though he had not asked Bob twice whether you would be here.
“You don’t get to do that.”
Jake’s smile faded. “Do what?”
“Act jealous.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“Right.”
“I’m not.”
“Then stop behaving like I needed your permission to dance with him.”
“I never said you needed permission.”
“No. You just insulted him because he touched me.”
Jake stepped closer. “He had his hand all over you.”
“It was on my waist.”
“I saw where it was.”
You laughed once, without humour.
“You have spent eight months pretending you can barely stand me. You do not get to suddenly decide you care who touches me.”
Something shifted in his expression.
You did not stay long enough to examine it.
You turned and walked away.
Phoenix caught Jake’s sleeve as he started after you.
“Don’t.”
He looked down at her hand. “Don’t what?”
“Whatever you’re about to do.”
“I’m finishing the conversation.”
“You were losing the conversation.”
“I don’t lose.”
Phoenix glanced towards the corridor where you had disappeared.
“That attitude is exactly why she left.”
Jake freed his sleeve carefully. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Bob watched him go.
“Should one of us check on her?”
Phoenix picked up her drink.
“Absolutely not.”
The private bathroom was halfway down a quiet corridor outside the ballroom.
You slipped inside, shut the door, and placed both hands on the edge of the marble sink.
Your reflection looked as irritated as you felt.
“This is ridiculous,” you muttered.
Jake was ridiculous.
You were worse.
You accepted the dance because you wanted his attention, then became angry when he gave it to you in the most Jake-like way possible. He had never promised you anything. He had never even kissed you.
Nearly kissing did not count.
The door opened behind you.
You closed your eyes.
“Get out.”
Jake stepped inside and shut the door.
“No.”
“This is a bathroom.”
“I’m aware.”
“You cannot follow women into bathrooms.”
“It’s single occupancy.”
“That is not the point.”
“You walked away.”
“Because the argument was over.”
Jake leaned back against the closed door, arms folded over his chest.
“You don’t get to decide that alone.”
You stared at him through the mirror. “You genuinely believe every conversation requires your permission to end.”
“Did you want me to be jealous?”
You turned.
“Why does that matter?”
“Because you still haven’t answered.”
“You didn’t answer me either.”
“I told you I wasn’t.”
“And we both know you were lying.”
His jaw shifted.
“You do this all the time,” you continued. “You find me, you start something, and then the second it becomes remotely real, you laugh.”
Jake’s brows drew together. “What are you talking about?”
“The Hard Deck.”
Recognition moved across his face.
“You nearly kissed me,” you said. “Then you laughed and spent three weeks acting like it never happened.”
“You walked away.”
“Because you laughed.”
“The door opened.”
“That doesn’t explain anything.”
Jake dragged a hand over his mouth.
“I didn’t know what the hell else to do.”
A surprised laugh escaped you. “You?”
“Yes, me.”
“Jake Seresin panicked?”
“Enjoy the moment. It’s not happening again.”
“You could have spoken to me.”
“You told me I was imagining it.”
“Because you made it seem like a joke.”
“Because Rooster walked outside right when I was about to kiss you.”
“So?”
“So I panicked.”
The admission came out almost angrily.
You folded your arms. “You’ve been treating me like this since long before the Hard Deck.”
“Like what?”
“Like you care until I notice.”
His expression tightened.
“After the hydraulic failure, everyone else asked whether I needed a medic. You found me sitting outside the hangar and stayed there for almost an hour.”
“You were shaking.”
“And the next morning, you acted like it meant nothing.”
“You didn’t want them hovering.”
“You were hovering.”
“I was sitting six feet away.”
“You brought me coffee.”
“You hate the vending-machine coffee.”
“You remember how I take it.”
Jake’s mouth opened.
You did not let him interrupt.
“And when I cleaned that cut above your eyebrow, you couldn’t let five quiet minutes pass without making some stupid joke about me trying to get you out of your shirt.”
“You were trying to get me out of my shirt.”
“There.” You pointed at him. “That. Every time something might mean anything, you turn it into this.”
“Because you make it impossible to know what you want.”
“You could have asked.”
“You argue with everything I say.”
“You’re always the one who finds me first.”
The words settled between you.
Jake looked at you in a way that made your heartbeat stumble.
“That’s because I’m always looking for you.”
There was no smirk this time.
No teasing edge.
Your arms slowly fell to your sides.
Jake stepped closer.
“I followed you outside the Hard Deck because I wanted to be alone with you.”
“You could have said that.”
“I’m saying it now.”
“You’re three weeks late.”
“I know.”
He stopped directly in front of you.
The music from the ballroom was barely audible through the walls, reduced to a distant pulse beneath the silence.
Jake’s gaze lowered to your mouth.
“Would you have let me kiss you?”
“Yes.”
His eyes returned to yours.
“Would you let me now?”
You caught the front of his jacket and pushed him backwards.
Jake struck the sink with a surprised breath just before your mouth met his.
For half a second, he did nothing.
Then his hands closed around your waist.
He kissed you back with every bit of frustration you had carried for eight months, dragging you closer until your body fitted against his. The kiss was hard and messy, teeth catching, breath breaking, all the anger between you turning hot enough to burn.
Your fingers tightened in his jacket.
Jake’s hand spread over your lower back.
He turned you without breaking the kiss, reversing your positions until the edge of the sink pressed into you.
The door handle moved faintly as someone passed in the corridor.
You tore your mouth from his.
“Lock it.”
Jake’s eyes searched yours.
“Now.”
He crossed the room and turned the lock.
The click sounded unnaturally loud.
When he faced you again, the humour had vanished from his expression.
You caught his tie and pulled him back.
Jake’s mouth crashed into yours.
Your hand slid down between your bodies.
His breath caught sharply.
The clever remark forming against your lips died before it ever became words. His body tensed beneath your touch, his hands gripping the sink on either side of you.
You slowed deliberately.
Jake’s eyes opened.
“Tease.”
“You deserve it.”
Your hand moved again.
His head dipped, forehead pressing briefly against yours as his breathing grew rougher. You kissed along his jaw, feeling the muscle jump beneath your lips.
He was hard beneath your hand, every slow stroke making his grip tighten on the marble. His hips shifted almost involuntarily, following the movement before he caught himself.
The tiny loss of control sent a rush of satisfaction through you.
You brushed your mouth along the line beneath his ear.
“So quiet now.”
Jake turned his face towards yours.
The look in his eyes should have warned you.
Instead, you tightened your hand.
His breath broke against your lips.
Voices passed through the corridor.
Both of you stilled.
Jake’s hand closed around your hip, holding you firmly against him. Your fingers remained wrapped around him, though you eased the pressure.
The voices paused somewhere nearby.
You felt every sharp breath he tried to suppress.
“Stop?” you whispered.
“No.”
The answer came low and immediate.
The footsteps moved away.
Your hand resumed its slow rhythm.
Jake’s head fell forward, mouth brushing your shoulder. You felt the quiet sound he made more than heard it, warm against your skin.
His fingers tightened around your waist.
You kissed the corner of his mouth, then his jaw again, deliberately unhurried now that you knew exactly what it did to him.
Jake let you have control for longer than you expected.
Long enough for the muscles in his stomach to tense beneath your other hand.
Long enough for his composure to fray into uneven breaths and rough sounds swallowed against your mouth.
Long enough that you began to wonder whether he might actually let you finish him there against the sink.
Then his hand closed around your wrist.
Firm.
Final.
You looked up at him.
His chest rose sharply beneath his uniform.
“My turn.”
He turned you towards the mirror, pressing close behind you.
Your palms landed against the marble.
Jake’s mouth moved over your shoulder while his hands travelled down your sides. He gathered the dress slowly, exposing more of your thighs by inches, drawing the moment out until you could barely hold still.
You met his eyes in the reflection.
His fingers slipped between your legs.
The first touch stole your breath.
Jake watched your lips part.
A slow, satisfied smile returned.
“Already?”
You gripped the edge of the sink.
“Shut up.”
His hand moved again.
The words dissolved in your throat.
Jake’s mouth brushed your ear.
“That wet for me?”
You tried to glare at him through the mirror.
His fingers pressed more firmly.
Your head tipped back against his shoulder.
“Thought so.”
You turned your face and caught his mouth.
The kiss became messy almost instantly.
Your hand reached behind you, finding him again. Jake groaned into your mouth, the sound muffled between you as his fingers continued their slow, deliberate work.
The bathroom filled with uneven breathing, the faint rustle of your dress, and the distant music pulsing through the wall.
Neither of you seemed willing to give the other control completely.
Your grip tightened whenever his fingers found the place that made your legs threaten to fold.
His touch became more insistent whenever your hand dragged another broken breath from him.
Jake’s free arm wrapped around your waist, holding you upright as your knees weakened.
His mouth moved down your neck.
You tilted your head, giving him more room.
“Jake.”
His fingers slowed.
“Tell me.”
“Don’t stop.”
The pressure returned immediately.
Your forehead dropped towards the mirror.
Jake caught your chin gently and raised it again.
“Look.”
You met his gaze in the glass.
He watched every reaction while he touched you, his expression losing its teasing edge as your breathing quickened.
Your hand faltered around him.
Jake covered it with his, guiding the movement once before releasing you.
The sight of his hand over yours sent another wave of heat through you.
His eyes darkened as if he knew.
“Keep going.”
You did.
His mouth opened against your shoulder.
The hand between your thighs moved faster.
Pleasure gathered low and tight, sharp enough to make you press your lips together.
Jake recognised it immediately.
“Close?”
You shook your head, though both of you knew you were lying.
His fingers changed angle.
Your body jerked against him.
Jake smiled against your skin.
“Liar.”
You tightened your hand in retaliation.
His smile vanished.
For another breathless stretch, the two of you remained tangled against the sink, each trying to push the other over the edge first.
Jake’s breathing grew rougher.
His hips pressed into your hand.
The pressure inside you tightened until you could feel yourself beginning to lose the contest.
Then Jake caught your wrist again.
You made an irritated sound.
“Not yet.”
He withdrew his other hand, leaving you aching and frustrated.
You turned in his arms.
“Coward.”
Jake’s eyes moved over your face.
“Not even close.”
His hands closed around your waist.
He lifted you onto the marble counter.
The sudden movement sent your shoulders back against the mirror with a soft knock.
Jake froze immediately.
“You good?”
You caught his loosened tie and dragged him into another kiss.
He stepped between your thighs.
The mirror was cool behind you, the marble colder beneath your legs. Jake’s body filled the space in front of you, his immaculate uniform rumpled, your lipstick smeared across his mouth.
You had never seen him look less composed.
You had never wanted him more.
His hands moved beneath your dress.
His fingers hooked into your underwear and drew them slowly down your legs. You lifted your hips, then one foot and the other, barely noticing where he placed them before his mouth was back on yours.
Jake pulled you closer to the edge of the counter.
The hard line of him pressed against you.
You shuddered.
He kissed along your jaw, one hand firm beneath your thigh while the other moved between you again.
The first brush of his fingers made your legs tighten around his hips.
Jake’s eyes lifted to yours.
“Soaked.”
Your face warmed.
“You talk too much.”
“Not what you said five minutes ago.”
You caught his tie and pulled until his mouth met yours.
Jake’s hand continued moving between your thighs, slower than before, using the slickness he found there to draw helpless movements from your body.
Your back pressed against the mirror.
He kissed you deeply while his fingers worked you open, every deliberate movement making the ache inside you sharpen.
You could feel him watching you even when your eyes closed.
The moment you tried to hide your face against his neck, his hand slowed.
“Eyes on me.”
You opened them.
Jake’s gaze held yours.
His fingers pressed deeper.
Your mouth opened on a silent breath.
“There she is.”
You gripped his shoulders.
The mirror gave you nowhere to retreat, reflecting every detail back at you. Jake stood between your spread thighs, tie hanging loose, collar open beneath your hands. Your dress had gathered high around your waist, his fingers disappearing beneath the fabric while he watched your face.
The sight alone nearly pushed you too far.
You reached down for him again.
Jake caught your hand before you could.
“Soon.”
The single word was rough.
His mouth moved to your throat, biting lightly enough to make your back arch.
You dragged your fingers through his hair.
“Jake.”
He lifted his head.
“Please.”
Something changed in his expression.
The teasing disappeared completely.
His hands curved beneath your thighs, drawing you closer until there was no space left between you.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
He searched your face.
“I’m protected,” you whispered. “Implant. No one since before I joined the squadron.”
Jake nodded once.
“Clean. No one since March.”
You wrapped your legs around him.
“Then stop making me wait.”
Jake kissed you as he pressed forward.
The first slow stretch stole every thought from your head.
His body went rigid.
For one suspended moment, neither of you moved.
His forehead rested against yours, breath hot and uneven across your lips.
“Okay?”
“Yes.”
Your fingers tightened around his shoulders.
“Move.”
Jake’s eyes closed briefly.
Then he began.
Slowly at first.
Controlled.
The sink shifted faintly beneath you, the small sound almost lost beneath the music beyond the wall. His hands held you securely, one beneath your thigh, the other braced beside your head against the mirror.
Each careful roll of his hips dragged another breath from you.
Jake caught every one against his mouth.
The months of tension made even the smallest movement feel sharpened. Every argument. Every stare across a briefing room. Every time his hand had brushed yours and lingered a second too long.
All of it had led here.
To Jake between your thighs.
To your dress gathered around your waist.
To his mouth moving hungrily against yours while he tried to keep the sink from striking the wall.
You tightened your legs around him.
Jake’s breath broke.
His control slipped for one hard movement before he caught himself again.
It was not enough.
“Jake.”
His mouth moved down your throat.
“Tell me.”
“Harder.”
He lifted his head.
The restraint in his expression snapped.
His next thrust drove you farther back against the mirror.
A sound caught in your throat.
Jake’s palm covered your mouth.
“Quiet.”
You glared at him over his hand.
His hips pressed forward again.
Your eyes fluttered closed.
“Look at me.”
The command was barely more than breath.
You opened them.
Jake’s gaze held yours through the mirror while he moved, watching every change in your face. His uniform grew more disordered beneath your hands, collar open, tie hanging loose between you.
He drew back slowly.
Then pressed deep enough to make your head fall against the glass.
His eyes darkened at the reaction.
You tried to turn your face into his shoulder.
His fingers caught your chin.
“No.”
Your pulse jumped.
“Watch.”
You looked.
The reflection made everything feel even more reckless.
Your legs wrapped tightly around him. His body moved between them, one hand gripping your hip while the other remained braced against the mirror. Your lipstick marked his mouth. His hair had fallen out of place beneath your fingers.
Jake looked nothing like the composed officer who had stood beneath the chandeliers half an hour earlier.
Neither did you.
His pace increased.
The sink knocked softly against the wall.
Once.
Twice.
You bit down on his shoulder to smother the sound threatening to escape.
Jake’s grip tightened.
“Careful.”
You pressed your mouth against the mark you had made.
His hips drove forward harder.
You clung to him.
The slow build from his fingers had left you sensitive enough that every movement now pulled you closer to the edge. The pressure gathered quickly, tightening until your legs began to tremble around him.
Jake saw it in the mirror.
His hand slid between you.
Your head tipped back.
“Jake.”
His thumb moved in slow circles.
The sharp combination made your entire body tense.
“Don’t stop.”
“Wasn’t planning to.”
His mouth moved against your ear.
“Wanted this every damn day.”
The confession broke something open inside you.
You pulled him closer, nails scraping lightly over the back of his neck.
“More.”
Jake gave it to you.
His rhythm lost the last of its careful restraint. The mirror knocked behind you with each hard movement, the sound barely contained by the music from the ballroom.
You buried your face against his throat.
Jake’s hand remained between you.
Pleasure wound tighter and tighter until you could no longer separate the drag of his body from the pressure of his fingers.
Your breathing became impossible to control.
Jake covered your mouth with his.
“Quiet for me.”
The door handle rattled.
Both of you froze.
Your eyes flew open.
Someone tried it again.
“Oh, come on,” Rooster complained from outside. “You’ve been in there forever.”
Jake’s forehead dropped against yours.
For one suspended second, neither of you breathed.
You could feel laughter threatening in his chest.
You silently shook your head.
His eyes darkened.
Jake moved again.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Your fingers dug into his shoulders.
He held your gaze as he pressed deeper, the quiet movement dragging a helpless reaction across your face.
Rooster knocked.
“Some of us have been drinking water all night.”
Jake’s pace increased.
Your lips parted.
His hand covered your mouth.
“Occupied,” he called.
His voice sounded almost normal.
The movement of his body did not.
Silence followed outside.
“Hangman?”
Jake drove into you harder.
Your head tipped back against the mirror.
“Go find another bathroom, Bradshaw.”
“What are you even doing in there?”
Jake looked directly into your eyes.
He did not slow.
His thumb pressed harder between you.
Your whole body tightened.
“Stay quiet,” he whispered.
Rooster tried the handle again.
“Seresin, I swear to God.”
Jake’s mouth lowered to your ear.
“Come for me.”
The pressure broke.
Your eyes rolled closed as pleasure tore through you, sharp enough to steal every thought. Jake covered your mouth with his, swallowing the sound that escaped despite your efforts.
Your body clenched around him.
His grip tightened beneath your thigh, holding you securely while he kept moving, drawing the sensation out until your legs trembled around his waist.
Outside, Rooster muttered something about finding Phoenix.
His footsteps finally retreated.
Jake broke the kiss.
His control was gone.
You pulled him closer, nails scraping lightly over the back of his neck.
His face disappeared against your shoulder.
One final broken movement drove him deep, his entire body tightening as a rough sound left him against your skin.
You felt the shudder run through him.
Then the warmth of him as he finished inside you.
Jake stayed there, arms locked around you, breath ragged against your throat.
For several seconds, neither of you moved.
The distant music drifted through the wall.
Your fingers moved slowly through the short hair at the back of his head.
His hold loosened gradually, though he did not step away.
“Still hate me?” he murmured.
You turned your mouth against his temple.
“Ask me after round two.”
A breathless laugh warmed your skin.
Jake lifted his head and searched your face.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
His thumb brushed beneath your eye.
“Sure?”
You kissed him softly.
“I’m sure.”
He remained close for another moment before carefully stepping back.
Cold air replaced his warmth.
Jake helped you down from the counter, keeping both hands around your waist when your knees proved less reliable than expected.
You looked at your reflection.
The evidence was everywhere.
Your lipstick had almost disappeared. Jake wore the missing colour across his mouth. His hair was disordered, collar open, tie hanging crookedly.
You fixed the tie with unsteady fingers.
Jake watched you in the mirror, hands still resting on your hips.
You wiped the lipstick from his mouth with your thumb.
Then you began looking around.
Nothing sat on the counter except your clutch.
You glanced towards the floor.
The space beneath the sink was empty.
Jake leaned one hip against the marble, watching you with far too much interest.
You checked behind your leg.
Then beneath the edge of your dress.
“What are you looking for?”
You straightened slowly.
“You know exactly what I’m looking for.”
Jake’s expression remained perfectly innocent.
“Do I?”
“My underwear.”
He looked towards the counter as though he might be searching too.
“Strange.”
“Jake.”
You crouched slightly to look beneath the sink again, although you already knew they were not there.
Behind you, Jake made a thoughtful noise.
“Oh. These?”
You turned.
He held them loosely from one finger.
Your eyes narrowed.
“Give them to me.”
Jake looked at them, then back at you.
“Yeah, I think I’m going to keep these.”
“You cannot be serious.”
He folded them once and slipped them into the inside pocket of his jacket.
“Very.”
“I still have to go back into that ballroom.”
“I know.”
The quiet satisfaction in his voice sent another wave of heat through you.
You stepped towards him.
“Jake.”
“My place after this.”
“You already secured that.”
“Then I’m keeping the souvenir.”
You reached for his jacket.
Jake caught your wrist and drew you against him.
“That dress looks better without them.”
“You’re insufferable.”
His mouth brushed yours.
“You like me.”
“That remains under review.”
Jake kissed you once, slow and deep enough to make your irritation slip.
When he released you, you tightened his tie unnecessarily hard.
He smiled.
“You’re going to regret this when Phoenix notices.”
“Phoenix noticed before I followed you in here.”
“That is probably true.”
Jake unlocked the door and checked the corridor.
“Clear.”
You moved past him.
His fingers caught yours briefly.
“Two minutes.”
“Fix your hair.”
“You messed it up.”
“Consider it revenge.”
You returned to the ballroom alone.
Phoenix looked up the moment you approached the table.
Her eyes narrowed.
Bob stood automatically and pulled out your chair.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine.”
“You look warm.”
Phoenix studied your face. “She does.”
“I’m fine.”
Bob immediately passed you a glass of water.
You took it because your throat was dry and because holding something gave your hands a purpose.
Phoenix’s gaze moved to your missing lipstick.
Then to the empty space where Jake had been.
Then back to you.
She said nothing.
You loved her for it.
Bob sat beside her.
“Did you and Hangman finish the argument?”
You drank half the water.
“Something like that.”
Phoenix’s mouth twitched.
Two minutes later, Jake walked back into the ballroom.
He had fixed his hair.
His tie remained slightly crooked.
You looked at him.
Phoenix saw you look at him.
Across the table, Rooster stopped speaking mid-sentence.
His eyes followed Jake all the way to the empty chair beside you.
“You.”
Jake sat down. “Me.”
“You were in the bathroom.”
“Excellent work, detective.”
“For ages.”
Jake reached for his drink. “You timing me now, Bradshaw?”
Rooster looked from him to you.
You lifted the water glass to your mouth.
Bob glanced between all three of you. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” you said.
“Plumbing issue,” Jake added.
Rooster stared.
Phoenix lowered her face towards her drink. Her shoulders moved once.
Jake’s hand settled on your thigh beneath the table.
You nearly spilled your water.
He kept his attention on Rooster, appearing entirely engaged in whatever accusation followed.
His thumb moved slowly against your bare skin.
The fact that nothing rested between you and the dress made even that light touch feel far too intense.
You placed your hand over his and squeezed hard enough to warn him.
Jake turned his palm beneath yours and linked your fingers.
The gesture was almost sweet.
Then his hand moved higher.
You kicked his ankle.
His mouth twitched.
Phoenix leaned towards you from the opposite side.
“Do you need rescuing?”
Jake’s hand became still.
You glanced at him.
He was pretending not to listen, but his eyes had shifted towards you.
A small smile tugged at your mouth.
“No.”
Phoenix followed your gaze.
Understanding settled across her face.
“Didn’t think so.”
She returned to her conversation with Bob without another question.
Jake’s hand relaxed against your thigh.
You leaned closer.
“Behave.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“We are surrounded by people we work with.”
“Didn’t bother you twenty minutes ago.”
Your face warmed.
Jake’s mouth brushed your ear.
“Save your voice, sweetheart.”
A shiver moved through you.
“You’re going to need it later.”
You turned your head. “One bathroom encounter does not erase eight months of you being unbearable.”
“You can give me the complete list at my place.”
“That could take hours.”
“Good.”
His eyes dropped to your mouth.
“We’ve got time.”
The remainder of the event passed slowly.
Jake did not return your underwear.
He did, however, keep one hand on your thigh beneath the table whenever nobody was looking, as though he needed the reassurance that you were still there.
When the speeches ended and guests began collecting coats, Bob offered to arrange a car.
“I can call one for the three of us.”
Jake appeared beside you, jacket folded over one arm.
“I’m taking her home.”
You looked at him.
“I’m going to his place.”
Bob blinked.
Phoenix did not.
“Oh,” Bob said.
Rooster, passing behind him, made a strangled noise.
Phoenix hugged you before you could examine either reaction too closely.
“Text me tomorrow.”
“I will.”
Her voice dropped.
“And drink some water.”
You stared at her.
She smiled innocently.
Bob hugged you next, still looking confused but supportive.
Jake waited several feet away, speaking to another officer while watching you over the man’s shoulder.
The moment you moved towards the exit, he ended the conversation.
Outside, the night air cooled your flushed skin.
Jake led you towards his truck, his hand brushing the small of your back.
He opened the passenger door.
You paused before climbing inside.
“Are you planning to give them back when we reach your place?”
Jake leaned one forearm against the open door.
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“How round two goes.”
“You’re still arrogant.”
“And you’re still coming home with me.”
You caught his tie and pulled him down.
Jake smiled just before you kissed him.
This kiss was not angry.
It was not interrupted.
It promised everything the locked bathroom had not given either of you time to explore.
When you released him, Jake looked briefly stunned.
You climbed into the truck.
His expression recovered as he closed the door.
“Still think you won?” he asked through the open window.
You settled into the seat, acutely aware of exactly what was missing beneath your dress.
“I kissed you first.”
Jake walked around the front of the truck, grinning.
summary: you've loved bradley bradshaw for years, watching him choose well - not you for years. jake seresin loves you so much he's willing to put his needs aside to help you with rooster if that means you won't take a job offer that takes you off the island.
warnings: angst, fluff, smut (p in v, oral f recieving) bradley is kind of a douchebag, jake is yearning, jake down so bad, reader is female
a/n: first top gun fic, hope yall are still in the market
"I once heard a rumour that pretty girls aren't supposed to sit outside of a party by themselves." Jake smiles, that easy, charming smile he always had for you. "But that's just a rumour."
He slides beside you, tucked in close, passing you a beer, acting nonchalant when your fingers brush against his.
Jake has perfected the act of pretending that you're not everything he's ever wanted. But he's hasn't mastered the art of letting go. He knows, he knows that you're meant to be his, that you were made for him. He's almost positive he wished for you over birthday candles once.
"What're you doing out here, sweetheart?"
You don't answer, but your eyes lead his, landing on Rooster with some leggy redhead tucked between his legs, he smiles easily while she plays with the collar of his unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt.
"He's an idiot," Jake sighs, "and you deserve better than him anyway."
You shrug.
You'd known Bradley for years. You both went to the same university, where you took medicine, becoming a doctor. You fell in love with him at school, but never tried anything, always thinking it was never the right time. But anytime you thought maybe you should move on, Bradley did something, just enough, to keep you hanging on.
Jake's eyes narrow over the ocean. He knows Bradley knows about your feelings. They've never talked about it, but how could Rooster not know.
Jake's been watching Rooster string you along for the better part of a year, and it makes him sick. How could Bradshaw just, waste away his time like that? The perfect woman, smart, funny, kind, beautiful. A fucking doctor for crying out loud - who better to be with a Navy man? Someone who understands that there's risks in life, someone that understands how precious time is.
"You should make him jealous," Jake finds himself saying, surprising both you and him.
"What?"
"You know," Jake continues, not sure where the words are coming from. "Make him jealous, make him make a move."
"Oh yeah? And how exactly would I do that? I've been on dates and he never cared, he's seen me kiss guys, and he just... he doesn't care, Jake. He doesn't want me."
Jake frowns. "I told you. He's an idiot."
"They offered me a job in Parkland Memorial Hospital in the emergency room."
Alarm bells ring in Jake's head. You can't be talking about... leaving? Leaving. Leaving!?
"I'm thinking about it - thinking space might do some good, I can finally, finally just... get over it."
"You can't just leave," Jake says, hand gripping the railing so hard one of his knuckles crack.
"I can't keep this cycle up, Jake." You look at him, his tense jaw, how his eyes stay focused at one point in the distance. There's no denying how beautiful Hangman is. Your eyes flit over to Rooster, who's pulling the girl closer. You look away before you have to see them kiss. "I'm tired."
"I'll help you," he says, and he's once again unsure where the words are coming from. But if making Rooster make a move is the only way Jake gets to keep you in his life, then he'll do it. He can't lose you. He won't. "And if it doesn't work in a month, I'm sure that job'll be there for you, or a better one."
You don't answer, and Jake takes that as a maybe.
Anything, anything would be better than you packing your bags.
The next day, you're sitting in your office on base, finishing sending in inventory for the medical supplies you need.
Not too much happens on base, anything really bad ends up sent to the hospital with you in the back of the ambulance providing care. It's not that exciting - which is good, exciting work for a doctor usually means someone is seriously injured.
But here you are, asking for more gauze and tape, and that's okay too.
A knock on the door followed by, "Hey doc," breaks you out of your trance, and Jake comes strolling in, small smile on his lips as he glides over, leaning on your desk beside you. "How are you feeling today?"
"Right as rain, Jake."
"Mmm," he mumbles, looking at the papers on your desk, before running his gaze over your face. He's noticed that your lips have been holding a soft pout for weeks, like you've given up on a dream. It makes his blood boil. He wants to fix it. He leans back a bit, arms crossed on one foot crossed over the other, and he keeps his eyes on you. "You think more about that job offer?"
You sigh, "No, not really. It's ... hard. I want to make the decision that's best for me and not base it off of Bradley." Your shoulders slouch, "but I - I just have no idea what to do. All my friends are here, I love my job."
"So stay," Jake says, "Don't run from where you are over Chicken."
For the first time, ever, you don't tell Jake not to call Bradley that. You just smile, finally looking up at Jake. He takes the moment head on, and leans towards you. One hand on your desk, the other on the back of your chair, legs spreading wide in a way that makes your breath hitch - but if Jake notices he doesn't comment on it.
"There are lots of things here that can make things better, you know."
You're so close to him.
You've never been this close to him.
No one ever understood the friendship you two have. Nat thought it was odd, the way that Jake seemed to gravitate towards you, always finding you a sea of people, like he was magnetically drawn to you. But he never made a move, never talked about you in ways he's talked about other women, never expected you to fall at his feet. And rarely ever laid down the moves he so easily threw at beautiful people. Nat noticed recently that Jake's been on a dry spell - and doing absolutely nothing to change it. Even when women threw themselves at him, he just smiled politely, and got you another drink.
Unfortunately, you saw this as platonic - how? No one knows. Everyone else can see it for what it is. Payback and Fanboy have a bet going about who confesses first, you to Bradley or Jake to you. Fanboy bet on you confessing, Payback on Jake. Coyote wants Jake to get the girl. Bob silently hopes you find a nice, stable man outside of the military because he adores you and doesn't think either Hangman or Bradley deserve you. While Natasha and Halo just want you to be happy.
"Jake, I..."
The door opens, and both of you snap your attention to the person, Bradley, obviously, walking in.
He hesitates, eyeing the closeness between you guys suspiciously.
"Sorry, am I interrupting something?"
You say no the same time Jake says yes. And you both look at each other, smiling like you're sharing an inside joke.
"Did you need something, Rooster?" Jake asks, and you hit his chest playfully.
"Come in, Bradley. Everything okay?" You ask, pushing up from the desk and gliding around Jake's arm, which makes the chair roll back and he has to catch himself, praying you didn't see that.
"Yeah..." he starts, "I just have this... uh," Brad looks at Jake. "Can I maybe talk to you privately?"
"Of course," you nod, "Jake?"
"I'm going," he rolls his eyes. "Lunch?"
"Yeah, I'll see you then."
"I'll bring you something."
Jake smiles, winking at Bradley, who is still looking at you with confusion written over his expression.
When Jake leaves, Bradley's eyes trace over you - looking for something.
"What's wrong?" you ask, looking him over for injuries.
"It's nothing just... I have a really bad sunburn on my back is all, wanted something for it," he explains, and you move to the cabinets to get some cream for him.
"I should still look at it," you say, "take your shirt off."
As he does, he talks, "what was Jake in here for?"
"You can't ask me that. Turn around," you spin your fingers, and he obeys.
"Right, yeah," he mutters, "didn't really seem like a clinical thing though."
"Bradley, stop." You look over the burn, it's red sure, but doesn't really seem that bad. With gloves on, you rub some of the ointment over it. It should make you blush maybe, but this is your clinic, and your job, and you don't take the moment as anything more than what it is. Being a doctor. "Just put this on again before bed, and in the morning if you need it. If it doesn't go away, come back. But it looks fine."
Bradley nods, but doesn't move. Doesn't put his shirt back on.
"You didn't say goodbye last night."
"Huh?" you ask, "I didn't see you all night, I didn't think I had to."
"Oh, you don't, I guess, but..." he looks down, "you usually come say bye."
"Me and Jake head out early," you explain, shrugging, indignation rising in your chest. Who was he to complain? He was wrapped up in someone else anyway... were you meant to tap him on the shoulder and wait for their lips to break apart just so you could say goodbye to someone you hadn't even spoken to that night?
"Together?"
"Yeah, he wanted to make sure I got home, I had a bit more than normal." You move to your desk, filling out a sheet to add to Bradley's file. It doesn't really need a sunburn update, but you do it anyway, for something to do with your hands under Bradley's intense stare.
"Right, okay..."
"Is that okay?"
"Of course it is, I'm just... checking in on you, that's all." Bradley finally puts his shirt back on. "Do you, are you going to the gala next week?"
"Yes," you say, instantly, too instantly.
"Me too," he says, "I was thinking we could go together."
"Oh?" your hand stills, your heart races. Is... is he asking you out? Did Bradley Bradshaw fake the pain to come to your office? Is this really happening? All these years of pining, and yearning, are they ending? You almost say yes, but then he speaks again.
"We used to go to stuff like this as friends all the time, and I thought... It would be fun to do it again, is all, better than standing around alone. My date bailed when she saw me take home this girl last night - she was so pissed off, you should hear the voicemail she left."
Your heart shatters.
It's so loud and painful you're almost sure he can hear it.
"I already have a date."
You say it before you can think about it. It comes out in a snap and you can't take it back.
"Oh," is all he says.
"Yeah," you say, trying to find the excuse out of this, you land on, "Jake asked me to go with him."
"Hangman? You can't be serious." You can practically hear Bradley roll his eyes as you tuck the paper into his file.
"Why not?"
"He's... he's Hangman!" Bradley has never raised his voice to you before, and he doesn't yell, but the tone he uses is something you've never heard directed at you as he says, "you're going to be Hangman's date!?"
"What's so bizarre about that?" you ask, turning to face him finally.
"He's not good enough for you and you know that."
You both stare at each other, arms crossed, angry faces mirroring each other. This is as close as you've come to a fight, ever. Usually you would back down, but you're... offended, on Jake's behalf. Jake has always been a perfect gentleman to you, and a great friend. He's been an amazing friend to you, actually.
"Jake is wonderful. Now if you don't need anymore medical attention, I have work to do."
You answer leaves no room to argue. Bradley leaves - without saying goodbye, one might point out, and closing the door harder than he needs to, enough to make your shoulders flinch. His attitude left a bad taste in your mouth, and you don't like it at all.
Rooster comes back to the group hot headed and ready to blow.
The air is tense, made more tense every time Jake cracked a joke, or answered a question, or did anything.
When Mav leaves them for a moment to talk to Cyclone about something, Nat finally asks what the problem is.
"Ask Bagman," Rooster mutters, rolling his eyes.
Jake scowls, "Hey, what the hell did I do?"
"You're taking her to the gala?" Rooster crosses his arms, and pouts like a schoolboy. No one has to ask who he's talking about.
An easy grin lands on Jake's face, and it only irritates Rooster more. Jake, being the guy he is, goes along with it. He never actually asked you - but absolutely would love to have you on his arm for the night. So he's all too happy to play along. He's all too happy to be your date.
"And what's the problem?" is all Jake asks.
"You're my fucking problem!"
"Well," Jake shrugs, "you snooze, you lose, brother."
Rooster is quick to anger. And pushes Jake before the others can grab him. Jake just laughs, walking a few steps back and out of Rooster's reach.
"Don't get mad at me for wanting her," Jake says, and it's earnest, he means it, they all know he does. "You just don't want anyone else to have her in case you change your mind, and honestly, Chicken? That's so messed up."
"You don't know anything." Rooster pushes Fanboy off, but he stays close by, in case Rooster lunges again.
"I know that she is special, and I know that she deserves the world. And I know that you could never give that to her, so I will." Jake glares at Rooster. "And I'll do it better than you ever could, and I'll do it fucking gladly. Because being in her orbit, well that's a goddamn honour, and I will not be squandering it like you did."
Nat and Bob share a look that says... damn - maybe Jake is the one. Everyone is quiet. Rooster is breathing heavily, jaw ticking in anger, but Jake is cool as can be, not worried in the slightest. Coyote puts a hand on Jake's shoulder, and the two share a smile.
When Mav returns he senses the tension, but he doesn't say anything about it, just gets back to business.
And both Rooster and Hangman both have you on the mind.
At lunch, Jake shows up with two meals in hand.
You're at your desk again, looking over paperwork when he strolls in, just happy to see you.
"You're in luck, Doc," he says, "they're serving your favourite today."
A bright smile crosses your face when he sets the food down. Jake hesitates, only briefly, and decides it's okay to lay a soft kiss on your hairline as he hands you your meal.
"Thanks, Jake," you sigh, "I like... I like when you come here for lunch."
His heart flips. His cheeks feel warm and he knows the tips of his ears are turning pink at your admission.
"I like coming here," he says softly, pulling up a stool to sit beside you.
"It must be nice to get away from the chaos for a bit."
He shrugs, "I don't mind the chaos, I just like spending time with you."
"Big softie," you smile.
"Don't let the others know."
A knock on the door makes him tense, but he relaxes when Nat comes into the room. He thought maybe Rooster was coming to talk you out of going with Jake to the gala.
"Hey Doc," she says, "Hey, Bagman."
"Nix," Jake says, "she's not doing walk-ins, she's taking her lunch."
You hit him on the arm, laughing. "He doesn't speak for me, you okay?"
"Oh yeah, I'm fine, I actually just came by to invite you out later. Me, Halo and some of the other girls are going for drinks later and thought you might like to come."
"Oh," you say, "that sounds great!"
"Perfect, I was hoping you'd say that." Nat looks at Hangman, who isn't being annoying, miraculously, and he's just unwrapping your food before his own, like it's the most normal thing in the world. She can't help but note how much different he is when it comes to you, and it's... endearing, in a way. "We'll swing by your place to pick you up."
"Just text me the time," you say, "I can't wait, I need a girls night."
"Anytime."
Natasha leaves, hurrying to find Bob because she needs to debrief both the fight, and Jake sitting at your table setting up your plate immediately. It was almost domestic, and she needs to talk about it.
"You know what happened earlier?" Jake asked, and you shook your head. "Rooster pushed me after finding out I'm going to be your date next week."
"He pushed you? Oh, I'm so sorry Jake, I should've asked first but it just came out," you flush, looking him over like he'd told you that he was pushed down a flight of stairs.
"No, it's okay," he smiles, "would you like to go with me? It'd be an honour to take you."
"You don't have to," you rush, "I swear, I can just tell him I was lying. I don't know why I did that."
"Stop apologizing. I'm asking you because I would like to go with you. It would be fun."
"As friends?"
Jake looks at his plate, then you. "I mean yeah, we are friends. But it would still be a date. I pick you up, I get your drinks, we dance. Just because we're friends doesn't mean you're not getting the full treatment."
Something clicks in your head.
You're not entirely sure what.
But there are butterflies in your stomach, and it just feels... easy. Like how you wanted it to feel when Bradley asked you. With Jake it's, nicer. It feels better. It feels right. You don't know what it means, but you like it. You like being around Jake.
"I'd love to."
"Good," he smiles, "now eat, before one of those knuckleheads needs something else."
Jake gets a call at one in the morning.
He wants to ignore it, but he worries that it's his mother. He worries even more when he sees your picture across the screen.
"What's wrong?" he answers, heart pumping when he hears little sobs from your end of the line.
"I'm scared," you whisper. "I got too drunk, Jake, please."
"Please what? Where are you? I thought you were with Nat?"
Jake's already getting out of bed, moving to get into the pants he discarded earlier.
"Rooster and Fanboy showed up, crashing girls night. And it was fine," you hiccup, "but then Nat wanted to leave and Brad begged and whined for me to stay, so I did. And then he disappears, like, almost immediately. And Fanboy left with a girl and..." you whimper, "and I'm drunk and I can't find Rooster. Will you, would you please come get me? I'm sorry to ask but..."
His reply comes out immediately, "I'll be there in 10, stay where the bartenders can see you." And Jake's ears ring at the name Rooster. You rarely call any of them by their call signs. But he doesn't think he's ever even heard you say Rooster. It feels like the first crack in the dream. It feels kind of like hope.
Jake speeds to get to you.
You didn't listen, maybe you couldn't have because you're stumbling, Rooster has an arm around you outside the bar, he's holding you up and doing a piss poor job because Jake can see how unsteady you look from his truck.
He puts it in park right by the door, stopped in a no parking zone and ignores the annoyed look from the bouncer, immediately coming to your side.
"You okay, sweetheart?" he asks, brushing your hair off your face and looking you over, making sure you've got your bag and assessing whether to take you home or to the hospital. Dramatic, maybe, but with you it's important. He's actively ignoring Rooster's stupid face. He keeps the focus on you, and away from Bradshaw, because he doesn't trust what would come out of his mouth.
"Jake," is all you say, practically falling into his arms and out of Rooster's.
He holds you tightly, fully supporting you and not letting you fucking wobble around.
"What are you even doing here? I've got it. I was just about to get her into a cab."
"No, I will get her home safely, since you left her in the fucking dust, Chicken." Jake eyes the girl rolling her eyes and waiting for Rooster, and his anger hits a boiling point. "What? Were you just gunna roll her into the cab and fucking hope she makes it to her front door okay?"
"Jesus, Hangman, sorry if I don't want to ruin my night just because someone else got too drunk."
"Ruin your - !? You're pathetic, Rooster." Jake catches you as your knees wobble out from under you, and he picks you up, hands braced under your knees and behind your back, holding you close as you snuggle into his chest, humming happily.
Rooster's jaw ticks at the way you seem ... comfortable, in Jake's arms. Bradley was convinced what you and Jake were doing was just ... fun, flirting. This seems... more real than he was expecting. When Jake starts walking away without another word, Rooster feels extra indignant.
"She'll never love you the way she loves me, you know!" Rooster yells.
But it falls on deaf ears.
Because Jake loves you so unconditionally that it doesn't matter. He will be what you need. Even if it dismantles him in the process.
Jake gets you settled in the passenger seat, makes sure your seatbelt is done up before getting into the driver's seat. Rooster and the girl are gone before he pulls out of the lot, but he can't think about that now, he just drives steady and slow, not wanting to make you feel any worse.
It's so irritating, watching Bradshaw act like such a loser. And he only seems to do it to you, which is just extra irritating. He can't stand it.
The drive to your apartment isn't far, he parks and makes his way to your side, fishing the keys out of your purse before hanging it off his arm, strong forearms cradling you to carry you bridal style to your door. He makes it seem easy, the way he unlocks the door and brings you into your place. He locks the door behind him, and brings you into the bathroom, setting you on the toilet, making sure you're steady before continuing his work. He puts your purse on the counter, pockets your phone, and grabs a couple make up wipes to take the makeup off. He's as gentle as can be, even when you're grumbling and groaning, about fireball and lemon drops.
"Can I have this?" you ask, fingers pinching the shirt he's wearing. "Looks mighty comfy."
"You want the shirt off my back, huh?" he chuckles, but takes it off. "Anything for you."
You hum happily, peeling your shirt off without warning, and Jake trains his eyes to the ceiling. They feel like they're made of concrete the way he has to keep them up and off you.
"All clear, Lieutenant," you say, cheesy grin on your face, but his breath hitches, and he coughs to cover it up.
"Let's get you to bed," he says, helping you up again, and letting you walk on your own.
"Thanks for coming to get me," you whisper, sliding into bed. "I got really nervous and I just... I thought you'd be a safe person to call."
"I'm glad you did," he says, tucking the blanket up to your chin. Mostly for comfort, but also because knowing you're laying in nothing but his shirt right now was an image he didn't know he'd ever be able to get out of his head. "I just want you safe and happy."
You hum in response, easing into the pillow, eyes closing and breaths already getting slower. He starts moving to leave, and you eye him again, pout on your lips. He looks like an angel, shirt off, hair messy from sleep, soft smile on his face.
"Jake?" you whisper, "will you please stay in here with me?"
"Oh uh, yeah, okay," he says, shuffling over and crawling into bed with you. He keeps his jeans on, because taking them off while you're in the bed and drunk just doesn't feel ... right.
You don't seem to mind, you just snuggle into Jake's chest, hand splayed across his abs and it makes his stomach somersault under your touch. You fall asleep instantly. Jake hesitates, but rests his chin again your hair, letting himself pretend, just for tonight, that he has you.
The night of the gala, Jake feels sick.
You look ... beautiful.
No one has ever looked as beautiful as you since... well he thinks ever. And he knows that tonight is the night - in one way or another. Maybe Rooster will confess, or maybe you'll take the job offer. Either way, Jake is probably going to lose you tonight.
But it doesn't stop him from holding out his elbow to you, smiling softly at you and leading you into the party.
Rooster can't keep eyes off of you.
His date, the redhead from the bar all those nights ago, clings to his side like she belongs there.
And you see that, but it doesn't twist you up inside.
Like, maybe she does belong there. And maybe you belong here.
Jake's been a perfect gentleman the entire evening. He holds a palm over your lower back as you laugh and chat with Nat, he grabs you a new drink as you give Bob a big hug and compliment how well he cleans up. He pulls you closer when Coyote asks you to save him a dance, making you and Javy laugh.
And then he leads you to the dance floor.
He spins you gently, just as he knows you like, he holds you close and keeps his eyes on your face as he sways you to the music.
At some point between Jake spinning you softly and dipping you at the end of the song, you realize that you're not concerned about where Rooster is. Another slow song starts and Jake brings you back up, holding a hand securely around your waist, the other holding your hand and he just dances, eyes on you the whole time, smile soft, and warm. And you realize... you're not putting on a show, you're just dancing, and you're happy, and you want Jake to pull you close again.
And he does pull you; so close his nose brushes yours and his breath, whiskey coated and a hint of spearmint gum, fans over your lips. You can’t help but feel drawn in, you want to be drawn in - you want Jake. Not as a consolation prize, not as anything other than the man he is.
“Can I cut in?” Rooster asks, startling the pair of you. “Can we… can we dance?”
"Uh..." you start, ready to say no, but Jake she kisses your hairline, and it feels like goodbye, not permission.
"Don't spin her too fast," Jake says, eyes avoiding you, "she hates that."
And he slinks away without another word, grabbing a drink and finding Coyote in the crowd - not looking back at you once, because he can't bear to see it. Coyote gives him a sympathetic squeeze on the shoulder - but he's got nothing to say.
Rooster holds you the same way Jake did; but it's not as warm. It doesn't feel as... right.
"You look beautiful," he says finally, and it's no less awkward. The compliment not making you blush the way Jake's do. Not anymore.
"Thanks, Rooster."
"I don't... I don't know when you started calling me Rooster but I thought, I thought I was always Bradley to you."
"Your friends all call you Rooster."
"You're not just my friend though," he whispers, "you know that, right?"
"But I..." you start, then stop, eyes flicking to the door and you watch helplessly as Jake walks through it. Your eyes find Rooster's again and your heart plummets. Isn't this what you wanted? Isn't he what you wanted?
So why is your body desperate to go follow Jake?
"I have to go," you rush, dropping Rooster's hand, but he doesn't drop his from your waist. "Jake went outside, I want to find him. He's my date, I want..." This is the moment, the moment you choose. "I want to go find Jake."
"Is this... do you love him?" Rooster asked.
"I don't know," you answer, honestly, "but I know that he's who I want to spend the rest of my night with."
"I always kinda thought that... I always thought it would be me and you ending up together, you know? Just... I didn't realize that I love you until now."
It was all you wanted to hear.
But...
"I have to go," you whisper.
...all you can think of is Jake.
Rooster's eyes fall to the floor, his stomach sinks even lower than that. "You really do look beautiful."
"Thanks uh, Bradley," you start shuffling your dress up so you don't step on it while you're walking, "see you at work!"
When you find Jake outside, he's leaning against the wall, hand braced above his head like something is causing him pain. You clear your throat and scare him, trying not to laugh as he clutches his chest, not finding it nearly as funny as you.
He looks you over quickly, lipstick still intact, no Chicken trailing behind you.
“How uh, how did that go?”
“Rooster told me he loves me.”
Jake smiles sadly. “That is… awesome. Yeah, it is, it’s great.”
“Jake…”
“Don't say my name like that,” he sighs, “you might have to call me Hangman now, actually, you know what - you have to call me Bagman.”
“Jake...” you chuckle.
“Oh my god,” Jake mutters, heart flipping in his chest, throat tight with regret. He’s just lost what little of you he had and you insist on torturing him by saying his name so fuckin' pretty. Like you're the only one who knows how to say it at all.
“I told him no.”
This makes Jake's eyes snap to yours, and his brow furrow. “What?”
“I told him no, I told him I came here with you and,” you smile, Jake malfunctions. So you close to gap, running a hand up Jake's neatly pressed dress whites, “and I’ll be leaving with you.”
“Me?” he whispers, unsure.
“You,” you smile softly, and the corner of his lip turns into a smirk, anyone else would think it's cocky, but you know he’s nervous, you know him, better than anyone. “If you want me to.”
“Baby,” Jake whispers, hands finding your hips over the soft fabric, and they grip you tight enough to hold you steady. “I want you so badly I was willing to let another man have you just to keep you on the island.”
Your hand slides up more until your fingers are softly against the side of his face, and he looks down at you like there is nowhere else he’d rather be.
That's the difference. Rooster only wanted you because he thought he lost you, thought you would be steady and waiting forever and suddenly you weren't. But Jake... he was willing to lose you if that's what would make you happy. Jake wants you because he loves you, because he’s afraid of wasting one second with you. Like the thought of not having enough time makes him ill.
“If I kiss you now,” Jake whispers, “It's real. I want you. I want everything. All of it, slow mornings, birthdays, holidays, parents asking when they're getting grandkids, all of it.”
“It's real,” you promise. “Kiss me?”
“Yes ma'am.”
When he kisses you, it's exactly right. Like the end of a romcom where the girl is swept off her feet by the real hero of the story.
He kisses you so softly, every move intentional and reverent. He doesn't rush. Just moves his lips against yours like he's exactly where he wants to be. His hands stay steady on your waist, while your thumb rubs softly against his cheek. His tongue rolls lazily into your mouth and you moan, and you can almost feel the smirk on his mouth as he nips your bottom lip, pulling away to rest his forehead on yours.
His eyes are glassy, relieved, filled with adoration as he looks at you.
"Do you want to go dance some more, baby?"
The pet name rolls off his tongue like it belongs there, and you shake your head no.
"I want you to take me home," you say, placing another chaste kiss on his mouth. He smiles, letting go with one hand and letting the other slide around to your lower back, leading you back to his truck without a second thought. There would be a lifetime of chances to dance, but that's not what you need right now.
Right now, you just need him.
"Jake, please," you moan, hands thread through his hair as he devours you like a man starved. "Just want you."
He pulls away for a second, fingers still moving inside you, and he kisses the inside of your thigh. "Stop rushin' baby girl, we got all night. And I'm still hungry."
"Baby, baby please."
He grunts, pained to decide between drawing another orgasm out of you with his mouth or giving into your pretty, pretty begging.
He was never one to deny you.
Jake crawls up your body, trailing kisses across your stomach, chest, neck as he does, before settling comfortably in between your legs. As he kisses you, you taste yourself, and you moan against slippery lips, hands wrapped around his broad shoulders like a lifeline.
"I'll be going back for more later," Jake says, making you laugh against him, tucking your face into his shoulder.
"Perv."
"If that's what it makes me, so be it."
His hand moves between you, grabbing himself to line himself up with your centre, and he drops his head against your shoulder at the feeling. So wet, and tight, and warm - he knows he won't last. It's been too long and you're, well, his dream.
"Please," you mutter, biting into his shoulder, begging for all of him, and he sighs, pushing into you.
You both gasp, the feeling of him stretching you so perfectly, no pain, no discomfort, just two people that were made for eachother.
The movements start slow, pulling back only a few inches to push back him, he wants to stay inside you, to feel you around him the rest of his life.
And then he slowly picks up the pace, listening to your moans to find the right spots inside you, the right tempo that makes you close your eyes and arch your back. He's learning every sound you make, committing it all to memory.
Jake’s hips stutter against yours, it takes everything in him to keep his composure, to stop himself from filling you with cum the second he’s inside you.
“Baby this is… you’re a dream - baby, fuck, you’re so fucking perfect, i can’t … you feel so, so good baby.”
“Jake,” you mewl, “Jake it feels so good - makin’ me feel so good”
“Yeah, baby? You like it?”
“Love it - love you.”
Jake hips stutter again, and he stills. Large palms brushing over your forehead, moving damp hair away from your face, and his smile is soft, reverent.
“I love you too,” he whispers, slotting his lips against yours in a sensual, languid kiss, and his hips move again, slow, deliberate, controlled. "I love you so much." He angles himself deeper, hiking one of your legs over his waist and around his back, letting him sink fully into you, both of you moaning in tandem. "I'm sorry baby, it's - it's too fuckin' good, I'm not gunna be able to hold out."
"That's okay," you moan, "it's okay, let go. I want you to feel good."
"I feel so fucking good, baby."
"We have all night," you wink, "we'll go again."
He doesn't need anymore coaxing, he stills inside you, spilling deep, groaning against the curve of your neck, the vibrations sending a chill down your spine. He doesn't move, stays locked deep inside you, fanning kisses along your neck.
Eventually, he pulls out, and he hisses with over sensitivity. In his wildest dreams, this is always where he ends up, wrapped up in you. Not even just the sex, but the closeness of having you near, of being able to kiss you as he pleases, of not having to worry about needing his hands on you.
As you lay tangled in the sheets, your hit with a moment of clarity. Of everything you must have been putting Jake through the last week, and it feels akin to how you felt. His steady breaths a comfort you didn't know you needed, and you nuzzle closer into his side, with him happily making room to draw you in closer.
"I'm sorry," you say, guilt gnawing at your heart.
"What for?"
"For..." you sigh, "For asking you to help me with Rooster, I... I wish I fell for you in a better way, I wish it wasn't sullied by the drama."
"It's not sullied," he says, rolling over to face you, hand sliding under you to hold your cheek, thumb brushing over the curve of it. He smiles. "I don't feel like a second choice, I feel so, stupidly, insanely happy. I do not care how we got here, I'm just happy we're here."
"Are you sure that you won't, resent me?"
"I would do anything for you," he says after a moment, "I don't care that you used to love Bradshaw, I don't. I love you, I loved you unconditionally, and patiently, and it all worked out. Love is messy, baby." He kisses your nose. "Love you," he kisses your forehead, "love you," he kisses your cheek, "love you."
And he kisses you fully, slowly, pouring every ounce of love he has to give into you. And you sigh, content, comfortable, madly in love with Jake fucking Seresin of all people, with his cocky attitude and boyish grin that makes you feel alive. He fills your cup. He leaves room for you on busy days. And he never, ever strings you along for anything, ever. To him, you are the only feasible answer. To him, you are everything.
And to you, he is what home feels like. He is where warmth stems from. He's not just exciting, and handsome (so fucking beautiful really) but he's sturdy.
You pull away first. "I love you, Jake."
He just smiles, and brings you in for another kiss.
And another.
And another.
And then he groans as he rolls back on top of you, ready to promise you forever.
But you're both happy to start with tonight.
The rest of your lives can come one day at a time. And you'll face them all together.
bonus: epilogue
Rooster nurses his drink while his date talks his ear off about, what exactly? He doesn't even know.
His eyes drag back over to you, as they have all night, as has everybody’s, and he can't help the sigh that leaves him. You're a vision in white, the most beautiful bride anyone has ever seen.
And he's not the groom.
Hangman is.
Rooster looks at his date and feels a mix of resentment and guilt. She’s perfectly lovely, in a dress that exactly fits the theme and colour scheme, and she’s been kind to all of his friends. But she's not you.
He looks at you again, and watches Jake pick you up and twirl you slowly, holding you close to his body. Rooster's stomach drops the same way it had at the gala all those years ago.
Then Jake kisses you. Rooster clenches his jaw and looks away quickly. His date follows his previous line of sight and she sighs, finishing her drink and excusing herself.
Rooster doubts she’ll return to the table.
He doesn't care.
Just takes another sip of his drink, watching miserably and wondering how this even happened.
How Jake stole you away.
How Rooster didn't notice until it was too late.
But on the dance floor, Rooster hasn’t entered Jake’s mind once. His thoughts were completely consumed with you, trying to memorize exactly how you look, right now, at your wedding, to him. This is the best day anyone has ever had.
“I love you, Bagman.”
He laughs, head thrown back and carefree, enjoying what will one day be considered one of the greatest highlights of his life.
Temptation:Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader (P*rnstar AU) - NSFWish
AN: The porn landscape in 1998 was mainly magazines/VHS/DVDs/CD Roms. Websites were bludgeoning things where you had to physically call up on the phone and give your credit card details to a person in order to subscribe. You were then given a code to have access to an array of pictures and the ability to download movies – these were often low quality so people would order CD Roms. Fan clubs were managed by production companies/management teams to retain fanbases and provided exclusive content/merch like glossy signed images of the porn star through the mail, along with merch catalogues, etc. This fic is reflective of that time.
Summary: Robby struggles to balance boundaries with desire after he hears you getting off in the shower.
Companion Piece To:
The Casting Couch - Your first foray into porn starts on a casting couch with Michael “Robby” Robinavitch behind the camera.
The Photo Lab - Jack and Robby review the photographs from your audition on the casting couch.
The Screen Test (NSFW) - You and Jack set the screen test on fire during your first video together.
You’ve left your gym bag.
Robby finds it resting against shelves that stocks the towels and the baby wipes after him and Jesse hoof Dana’s velvet sofa back to the reception area of the studio. He stares at the white and green Nike bag containing your spare set of clothes before glancing at the bathroom door where Jack has graciously let you take the first shower. He’s currently reviewing the footage Robby shot during that scene, something he’s very interested in to Robby’s surprise. He’s usually a ‘wrap it’ and move on to the next shoot kind of guy.
Jesse’s already been sequestered to this next assignment. Dana’s on location, filming a bathroom scene with Garcia and Walsh, and needs his skill set. They have no idea why, but their viewers really love the whole lesbian in the bathtub trope, the more bubbles the better.
He picks up the bag and approaches the bathroom door. You’ve been in there a few minutes by now so he’s hoping you’re finishing up. He raps his knuckles on the door, a loud one, two that has Jack’s head popping up from behind the camera like a meerkat. “Honey, you’ve left your bag-”
You call out his name through the thin wood. You mustn’t have gotten in yet, he turns the handle, pushing the door open and to his surprise steam bellows out. The showers running, he can hear the patter of water against the tiles.
His name sounds again like a siren’s song. The showers in this place, they can take a minute to reach an ambient temperature. He pokes his head through expecting to see you in front of the vanity. Instead, he’s treated to your naked silhouette in the fogged-up glass of the cubical. Your back is against the wall, the blurred shape of your hand between your legs, while the other kneads your breast.
This happens sometimes after a shoot if one of the performer’s didn’t climax, the build-up it can lead to taking matters into your own hands…
“Robby.” His name rolls off your lips, your voice desperate, closer to the edge than you ever were with Jack.
His cock springs to attention, thrusting itself against the inside of his combats, electricity spiking underneath his skin. He stares down at the tent in his pants, surprised by its sudden interest. It’s the second time he’d popped a woody over you. He’d made sure to jack off before the screen test just in case it happened again but it’s still there, big, bold and craving every inch of your bareness.
Christ, he hasn’t felt like this in a long time, not since before all that shit that happened with Driscoll.
That memory, it’s like cold water dousing his entire body, reminding him of how boundaries can be blurred, how temptation can be entirely one sided. He pulls away, setting your gym bag just inside the bathroom before closing the door.
“You alright?” Jack asks. His body is angled away from the camera, his eyes on Robby. The movie you’ve just made plays in the background, your gorgeous tits on display as you play with them, almost a mirror of what’s going on in the bathroom. “Oh, is she…”
Robby nods his head at the insinuation. “I walked in because she was saying my name.”
“I knew she had a thing for you.” Jack’s hands grasp his hips, his tongue clicking as he jerks his chin back to the movie. “The way she looked at that camera at the end…Are you going to-”
Robby cuts him off with a shake of his head.
“I’m her boss.” His arms cross over his chest, affirming his stance on the situation. “Everything we do here is based on ethics, that’s why we set up our own studio in the first place. She should be able feel safe here.”
Jack, more than anyone else on this earth understands exactly why Robby has to maintain that professional boundary, he was the first one Robby told about the assault, the one who found him after he tried to slit his own wrists.
“Why don’t you take a break?” Jack suggests, picking up the camera from the tripod and handing it to Robby. “You can grab a coffee, get started on editing the footage. I’ll close down the set, finish up here.”
“You’re sure?” Robby asks him, cradling the camera to his chest. He’s usually the one that resets the room after a scene, that does the checks to make sure everything’s ready for the next shoot.
“Yeah, don’t worry.” Jack says as the shower turns off and the sound of you humming Destiny’s Child drifts through the bathroom door. “I’ll take care of everything.”
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10,500 Follower Celebration: The Blues: Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader (NSFW) ExWife!AU
Summary: You and Robby spend your first wedding anniversary in New Orleans.
SET AFTER:
The Neurologist - Robby doesn’t think much of Jack’s friend The Neurologist…
Cuffs - Robby makes a discovery when a pair of handcuffs malfunctions at a crucial time.
SET BEFORE:
Bed Rotting - Robby starts to blow up his life after you return to Seattle.
The Voicemail - Robby puts the final nail in the coffin of your marriage when he leaves THAT voice mail.
Divorce Papers - Jack gives a couple of home truths to Robby after he finds out he signed your divorce papers.
A Fucking Nightmare - Robby’s worst nightmare comes true when his ex-wife shows up as a guest at Dana’s vow renewal ceremony.
Regrets - Robby can’t help but think about his regrets after seeing his ex-wife for the first time since he signed the divorce papers.
Unread - Robby turns to Jack when you don’t respond to his message
The Call - Robby takes the plunge and decides to call you, leading to a surprising revelation.
Shepherd - Robby’s world is turned upside down when he receives a call from Derek Shepherd.
Husband Number Two - Robby gets into it with the man vying for the role of Husband Number Two in your life.
The Road Trip - Robby makes a decision that brings the two of you closer together in the wake of your concussion.
You spend your first wedding anniversary in New Orleans, in Robby’s old haunt The Spotted Cat Club, listening to Robert Bradley’s Blackwater Surprise. You’d surprised Robby with the trip a couple of days ago and he decides to show his appreciation by taking your hand while the support band are on and pulling you into the bathroom so he can make love to his wife like he’s in his early twenties again.
Christ, you taste like a Tequila Sunrise on his tongue. He licks the citrus bite right out of your mouth as he backs you up against the vanity, that pretty sundress fluttering around your thighs. In the background the support act are getting into the swing, the call and response of the blues vibrating through the walls of the building along with decades of worth of history.
“I’ve lost track of the amount of times we’ve fucked to a blues soundtrack.” You laugh into his ear as his eager fingers draw up the cotton hem, bundling it in his fist. “I’m afraid we’ve conditioned ourselves to get turned on whenever we hear it.”
“Is that why you wore no panties?” He tuts as his palm slides over your bare mound. His fingers trace over your clit, tapping it in a light slap that makes your grip on his t-shirt tighten. “You knew you’d be getting fucked tonight?”
You’re soaked for him, turned on by having him pressed against you all night as the two of you swayed to the music. His fingers stroke through your wetness, coating them in your arousal as he circles that needy little hole of yours. He captures your lips, drinking down your desperate little whine as he pushes a finger inside of you, keeping rhythm with the tempo that thrums through the building. He strums your notes right to the peak, before pulling out and looking down at that sensual pout and your flushed features.
You look stunning under the warm light, the perfect darling for him to ruin as the music of his heart plays on. Your hands slide down his shoulders, fingertips skating over the planes of his chest underneath the fabric of his t-shirt, seeking out the button of his jeans.
“Are you going to give me this or do I have to beg for it?” You tease as you guide the zipper down, your hand dipping inside the denim, cupping his cock. His hips buck towards your palm as you squeeze it, thumb trailing over the head, smearing the pre-cum that’s leaked through his underwear.
“Oh Vivi.” He smirks, his hands coming to rest on either side of the vanity, caging you in. “You don’t have to beg for anything tonight. You gave me this wonderful gift, let me show my appreciation.”
His hands grasp your waist, turning you around so that you’re facing your mirror on the wall above the vanity. He shucks his jeans and underwear down past his ass, his cock slaps against his stomach, pre-cum leaking from the slit as he yanks your dress up, admiring that pert ass of yours.
“I can’t believe how lucky I am to be with you.” He whispers into your ear as his boot kicks your feet apart, opening you up for him. “Out of everyone in the world you chose me.”
“Oh Michael, that wasn’t a choice.” You say your eyes meeting his in the mirror as your arm reaches back, threading through his dark hair. “I knew the moment you outhustled me at pool we were soulmates.”
He huffs a laugh into the hollow of your throat as he notches himself against your entrance. His lips weave a heated trail up along the curve until his teeth graze your earlobe. “Are you ready to get fucked by your husband?”
You clench around the tip of his dick, earning a deep moan in response. “Does that answer your question?”
He groans into your hair as he eases inside you, his hips flush against yours, pinning them against the vanity. You watch his expression in the reflection, the moment of rapture, that thrum of connection. His hand finds yours, fingers interlocking as his other grasps your hip and he starts to thrust. Hard, slow strokes that have you squeezing his fingers everytime he strikes that sweet spot. His hand shifts from your hip, fingers pushing down the strap of your sundress. The neckline goes with it exposing your breasts to the humid air.
“I know how much you love me to play with them when we fuck.” Robby’s breath ghosts in your ear. “And I love how sensitive they are.”
His thumb traces over your nipple, pinching it hard enough that you clench around him. “Oh that’s it, isn’t it? You like it when I get a little rough with them, pity we left the clamps at home.”
Your breath catches as he rolls it between his fingers. That flush starts to creep down your chest. The pleasure builds, a euphoria that seems to grow with the melody of the band on the opposite side of the wall as it pulses through your body, strings strummed, chords plucked.
“You gonna come for your husband?” Robby’s voice is rough in your ear, a harsh rasp through grinding teeth as he tries to hold himself back, to delay his pleasure. “You gonna come all over my cock, show me how much you love me.”
His hand slides up to your throat, tightening over the gold chain he gifted you for your anniversary, his palm covering the circular gold pendent with neuron etched into it. Your family may not give a shit about the work you do but Robby does, he understands it’s a fundamental part of you, he admires it, respects it, accepts it with his whole heart.
That’s why you love him.
He sees you and that’s why you gifted him this trip, because you see him too.
“Why don’t you fuck me harder and show me how much you love me.” You challenge him and that thin thread of control snaps.
He drives you into with force, hips snapping, cock pounding that sweet spot. Ecstasy surges up inside you, setting your nerve endings ablaze as he gives you exactly what you want.
These are the moments you crave in the relationship, the reassurance that you are enough and Robby shows that with his entire body as he fucks you like a tempest, like you’re the only woman on this earth he’ll ever love. The hand on your throat squeezes harder and you see pinpricks dotting over your vision as your eyes meet his in the mirror once more.
“I’ve got you Viv,” he whispers. “Come for me.”
You erupt like a star, shattering across the sky, burning for him. He buries himself deep, his release spurting into you in white hot streaks that leave him breathless. His beard rubs across your cheek affectionately, his honied eyes meeting yours again in the mirror.
“You are the best fucking wife.” His lips grace your shoulder, his words a soft kiss upon your bare skin. “I don’t know how I ever lived without you.”
Like My Work? - Tip your friendly fan fic writer here! Or be a sweetheart and drop me comment or reblog.
Summary: Your husband, Sammy Bryant, comes home for his lunch break. The two of you find a way to make time for food and a little extra ;)
Warnings: 21+, established relationship, big dick! husband!Sammy, hypersexual! wife!reader, size kink, fingering f!recieving, oral m!recieving, unprotected piv, dacryphilia, forced orgasm, pet names (including bunny, baby, etc), pussy pronouns, lots of fluff
Word Count: 2.7k
acab btw
⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰⋆
"Sammyyyy!!" You cheer as he comes through the front door, you rush over to him with your arms out and he wraps you up instantly.
"Hi, bunny." He signs, relief washing over him the same moment he feels you in his arms. You climb up him until your legs around around his work belt. "Hold on, hold on, let me get this off." He hoists you up higher with one arm while the other unlatched his work belt and sets it on the entry table.
"That's better." You hum, situating yourself on his hips much better now. You pepper his face with kisses as he walks further into your shared home. "I missed you so much, handsome. So happy you came to visit." You coo between kisses, fidgety in his hold as need settles between your legs.
"I missed you too baby." He returns the sentiment, rubbing your back as he walks you over to the couch. "Wanna eat? Only got a few minutes." He suggests and you nod excitedly. You slowly slide out of his hands, pushing him back to sit in the couch before you scurry off to the kitchen.
You fix him a plate of your homemade meal and grab a cold can of cola before returning to the living room. You can't help your grin as you set everything down on the coffee table in front of him.
"Here, handsome." You chirp, skipping around the table and hopping down in the spot next to him. You lean in close to his side, kissing up his neck because you just can't help yourself. He smells so good, like his cologne mixed with a little sweat from the work day. It drives you crazy.
"Thank you, bunny. This looks amazing - Hey, that tickles!" Sammy nudges you away from his neck when you get carried away. You're blushing and grinning at him as he reaches for the plate, taking a big bite and moaning in satisfaction after swallowing it down. "That's delicious, m'so lucky, - you spoil me bunny." He coos, leaning over to peck your lips thankfully, before taking another bite.
Your hands roam over his chest, fingers dancing between his button to feel the warm skin beneath. It makes your thighs clench together, you scoot closer to hip, one of your knees overlapping his thighs as you kiss his face and neck.
"Bunny, I have to eat," Sammy groans, clearly conflicted by your touch. "Fuck-" He hisses when your knees presses into the fat bulge growing in his slacks.
"I know, Sammy, just wanna make you feel good." You whisper, kissing his jaw and replacing your knee with your hand. You stroke him over his slacks, enjoying how much of him there is to touch and lean against.
Your husband is a stout man and it does something to you. You love every inch of him, from his chubby belly to his chubby cock. You shiver at just the memory of how full he makes you, it makes you whine with need. You've already soaked through your silk shorts just by rubbing your thighs together.
Sammy notices how worked up you're getting, he can always tell when you need him. He quickly shovels a few more bites in while the food is hot before setting the plate back in the coffee table. When he leans back he pulls you into his lap, big hands on your hips as your straddle him.
"C'mere, baby." He coos, finding your lips at the same time he grinds himself between your legs. He groans from the friction and you cry out. The small sensation feels like such a relief, Sammy works you up so much sometimes you wonder if you're spelled, you just need him all the time.
It's not always sexual, you married the man for gods sake. But you can't deny that his special touch in the bedroom drives you just as crazy as his crooked smile and round cheeks. He's your Sammy, and you want to feel him fill you up.
You reach between your bodies, frantically ripping Sammy's slacks open. He kisses your jaw and caresses your body all over, giving you goosebumps despite how warm he is against you. When you finally free his length your hand is instantly wrapped around his wide shaft.
"God, Sammy, I love you so much - need it, need it!" You whine, wiggling in his lap as you're overcome with need. You guide his tip to your clothed entrance, using his mushroom head to slid your shorts aside.
"Woah, woah baby, not yet. You know that. Have you stretched yourself yet today?" Sammy grabs your wrist to slow you down, his other hand cupping your cheek as you pout at him.
"No..." You huff, wanting to skip the prep part and just have him split you open. At this point you're not sure you care. But you know Sammy does, he's always so dedicated to making sure you're ready to take all of him. Sometimes it takes all his fingers and an orgasm before he can pound you the way he likes without bringing you to tears - and he never minds. "But I don't care, we can just grab the lube and..."
"No, baby, you know better than that." Sammy shakes his head and it makes you pout further. You're just so desperate for him, it's getting more and more unbearable by the second. "Take your bottoms off and I'll get you ready, hurry." He encourages, guiding you off his lap.
You stand up, giggling with excitement. Sammy grabs a few more bites of his food as you undress from the waist down. You swirl your own fingers over your clit as soon as you're exposed, biting your lip to stifle your noises as the relief sets in. It's not enough but it'll keep you from crying for now.
"Bunnyyy - c'mere," He huffs, losing his breath at the sight of your slim fingers swirling around in your wet, messy, pussy.
"Finish your food, I'll start." You encourage, trying to stand up straight in front of him. Sammy picks up his plate with haste and it makes you blush. You place your non working hand on his shoulder for balance as you sink a finger into your dripping cunt. The twinge of relief makes you whiny which makes it nearly impossible for Sammy to control himself.
"Do another bunny, I know you can take it, I hear how wet you are." Sammy begs of you. When you listen however it has him at his wits end. He's right though, your second finger glides in along with your first with no resistance. "Good girl, such a pretty pussy." He whines, reaching for you but you redirect him to his plate. He coughs on his food when you start fucking yourself with real force and speed.
"Hurry up and eat, need your fingers instead." You tell him when you become impatient. He scarfs down the remnants on his plate before tossing it on the table. He shoves his slacks down around his hips, grabbing your arms and dragging you all the way back to him. You slide between his legs instead of crawling into his lap and his shivers.
"Baby, you don't gotta do that." He pets your hair and tilts his head.
"I want to." You assure him, grabbing his length with both of your hands before wrapping your mouth around his tip. He bucks up accidentally, forcing himself to the top of your mouth as distorted sounds escape him.
"M'so sorry, baby - didn't mean that, fuck, keep going - please!" He grunts out, petting your head as his lays back on the couch.
You swirl your tongue around him, bobbing up and down a few times at a comfortable depth. Sammy whines and writhes under your touch, you can see him resisting the urge to take over and fuck your mouth. He knows he'd have you gagging and choking and you'd love it but he just doesn't have time to indulge that far.
So, he lets you sputter for a few moments, enjoying the show you put on for him while you have your fun. When he can't take it anymore he grabs your arms and drags you back to his lap. You straddle his thick thighs as he guides you to slide your slick pussy along his shaft.
He slides a hand between your legs, his blunt finger tips teasing your entrance. You whimper and shift down against him, begging for more.
"You're so wet, bunny. She needs me, doesn't she?" Sammy asks earnestly, kissing your lips and teasing you with his tongue as he sinks a finger into you. You whine and nod your head to agree with him.
"Your pretty little pussy is dripping for my chubby cock all the time, huh? She wants to be stretched wide, hm?" He continues, fucking you faster so you're practically incoherent just off one finger.
"Could take my bunny's pussy anytime I want 'cause she's always ready for me?" Sammy sinks a seconds finger into you, dripping down his own shaft at the sounds you make.
"Oh, god, Sammy! I love your words but please - please stop teasing me, gimme your cock!" You beg and plead, wiggling your hips around and digging your fingers into his shoulders.
"Think you can take me already? Without being properly prepped?" He looks up at you with curious eyes.
"Yes! Sammy, give it to me, please!" You go on with your whining and he finds it so endearing. He loves that his wife can't get enough of him, that she's so eager even knowing that it'll be too much. He's the same way with you, risking returning late just to get a good orgasm out of you.
"C'mon, baby," He instructs, slipping his fingers out of you and grabbing your hips to pull you closer. You go eagerly, holding his shoulders for balance as you hover over him. He guides his tip to your soaking entrance and you whimper, instantly shifting for more. "Hey, hey, go slow!" Sammy urges, sounding so worried about you.
You don't head his warning, forcing his tip and a little more inside your cunt. Sammy shudders and digs his fingers into your hips, clearly struggling to hold back. You're a whiny mess, the burn of the stretch egging you on. It hurts so good.
"Oh god, yes Sammy!" You cry out, writhing uncontrollably. Every thrust you manage to stuff a little bit more of him inside of you, so desperate and determined to take all of him.
The stretch has tears stinging in your eyes, stealing the air from your lungs, leaving you an absolute mess on top of him. Sammy holds your flushed face in his hands, his own pleasure all over his face as he watches you struggle to get all of him in.
"So, so beautiful bunny! Please be careful - don't hurt yourself, - ah! Fuck!" He tries to slow you down but your fight back, slamming yourself down with all your might.
You're too impatient to wait for your pussy to stretch gradually, instead you grind your swollen clit against the sparse happy trail on Sammy's lower belly, where his shirt rode up, to help. He's a sputtering mess, trying to get you to calm down and breathe for a moment.
It doesn't work, you move too quickly and with too much determination, he can't tame you. He holds you close and tight, kissing you anywhere he can reach, hands groping your ass for comfort.
"Mm, love you so much, bunny. Love the way you bounce on me, so so pretty." Sammy praises, petting your hair and face, nails down your back as he kisses the whimpers out of you.
"Fuck me back, Sammy, please!" You beg, kissing his lips to seal your request.
"I can't baby, it'll hurt," He argues gently but you just won't hear it.
"I don't care! It's not enough, I need all of you - please, fuck me back!" You continue on, practically hysterical by this point.
"I got you, baby." He huffs, wrapping his arms under yours and bringing you to on his chest. "I'll give you what you need, don't worry." Sammy uses his leverage to bounce you off of him as he starts thrusting up into you.
"That's why you married me isn't it?" Sammy groans into your neck. "Cause I know how to take care of you, I know what my bunny needs." His lips trace down your neck, hands rough and demanding on your hips.
"You take such good care of me, baby." You whine back to him, your voice cracking with tears.
His pace is relentless, just like what you begged for. The pain echos through you, along with the the tingles of pleasure that follow. You start to wonder if you've become a masochist for your husband's cock.
He fucks you until you're a blubbering mess, sniffling through the moans bellowing out if you. Sammy and you work together to keep a steady pace, he kisses the tears from your cheeks and holds you close.
"Let it out, baby, I know, I know." He coos at you, caressing your legs and your back to soothe you. "I can feel you getting close, bunny." He whispers, nudging your face with his nose. You whimper back, intimidated by the pressure building in your belly.
"S'too much, Sammy. You come!" You insist, making Sammy scoff at you.
"You must be fucked silly on my big fat cock, huh? Thinking I'm gonna come before you, ridiculous." He shakes his head, holding your jaw to lift you away from his chest where you lay.
He holds you up right, his free hand reaching for your swollen clit. You try to bag his nimble fingers away but he's too strong, circling your nerves so expertly you start shaking.
"What makes you think I'm going to let you not come? - you become such a dumb bunny when I give every inch of me." His fingers and fat cock work you to the edge quicker than you can register.
"Sammy," You whisper, your body going limp in his hold as your orgasm bursts through you. Your eyes roll back in your head, your husband's strong hands hold you up as he pounds you through it.
"That's it, baby, - fuck! You grip me so good, - gonna make me come too." He grunts out, his hips stuttering as you start to come down. You might as well be a ragdoll as Sammy fucks himself through his orgasm. He's so deep it makes you hiccup every few thrusts from the depth, you can feel him in your belly and he loves it. He spends a few extra thrusts making sure his come stays deep inside you.
When he's finished making a mess of you and slowly eases his half hard cock out of you, kissing you the whole time as a distraction. He scoops your limp body up in his hands and lays you down on the couch, kissing your face and lips as you return to earth.
He guides your panties back up your legs and over your plump ass, tapping a cheek for encouragement once you're covered.
"Love you so much, Sammy. - You felt so good." You mumble, almost incoherent but he can understand you. His gentle hands are on your face, making sure now hair is out of place.
"Love you too, bunny." He whispers, covering you up with a blanket and kissing your forehead. "Don't clean up, okay? I still wanna be inside you when I get home." He requests, nuzzling your nose.
"Wouldn't think of it, Sammy." You hum, cuddling his large hand.
"Gotta get back to work now, baby. - Thank you for lunch." He kisses you again, hesitating to pull his arm away from you.
"Anyyytime." You sing, winking at him even though your eyes burn.
"Get some rest for me. I'll see you so soon." He coos, pecking you gently as you start to get drowsy. You hear him say other sweet things, how he loves you and can't wait to come back home to you.
You doze off, the adrenaline gone now so you're exhausted. The feeling of being so full of your husband even as he returns to work follows you into your dreams.
Summary: Titus makes sure all of your needs are taken care of, just not the one that matters most to you. When you finally get your way, he ensures you know just who’s in charge
Warnings: 18+ smut - this gets rowdy i’m so sorry I don’t want to spoil anything
Word count: 11k
Titus Danforth does not have erectile dysfunction.
He considers himself an amorous lover, giving, selfless. He just has… niche interests. What he’s trying to say, is that he liked you enough to not try to scare you off during your first shared instances of intimacy.
So he finds himself rightfully taken aback when, over breakfast, you ask him if he struggles with erectile dysfunction.
Truth be told, it spoils his appetite.
When he asks you where on earth you got that idea, you frowned, tight-lipped. Like you were pondering what to say without hurting his feelings. As if you could hurt his feelings.
“It’s just that…”
“C’mon bunny. You can’t hurt my feelings.”
“We’ve been dating four months, and we haven’t had sex.” He watches you cringe inwardly on yourself, as though willing your body to disappear.
The statement surprises him, because as far as he was concerned, the two of you had been having sex. Objectively great sex. For months.
“We had sex last night,” Titus counters. He watches you process his words. A crease between your neatly manicured brows, pouty full lips, world-wary eyes flitting around in confusion.
“Titus…”
“Baby…” he echoes your tone back at you.
“Last night, I masturbated, and you watched from a chair in the corner of the room occasionally providing commentary. That’s not sex.”
“Then what, pray tell, was it?”
“Touching myself with the ghost of a Victorian stranger in the room?” He laughs, but it’s abrupt and not at all at your words.
“You want to have sex, sweetheart?” He finally asks.
“Please, Titus,” you beg.
He nods, digging the tips of his fingers into your thigh hard enough to bruise.
“Alright, we can have sex.”
“Right now?” You ask, perking up at the prospect of finally getting his cock inside you.
“Tonight, baby. Have some decorum,” he chuckles crudely. You’re too wrapped up in your own excitement to catch the way his eyes have darkened about three shades closer to black.
You thought that illuminated beneath the warm, dim glow of the lamp set on the table beside him, that Titus Danforth was beautiful. Dangerously so.
The shadows dancing across his sharp features created the illusion of an edge, of a darkness simmering just below the surface of his piercing hazel eyes. They were trained viciously on you, commanding only the utmost devotion, a claiming of the soul.
The thought might have been frightening to you a couple of months ago, that one man could demand so much from you with just a gaze. But that was then, and this was now.
Titus’s claim over you was an unspoken thing, a creature with no mouth, but fatal claws. It snuck up on you swiftly in the middle of the night; like soldiers emerging from the trojan horse with nothing save for bloodlust and a primal urge to conquer.
It was lavish gifts with no price tags, the expectation that dates were paid for (he spent a long time training this out of you), that the apartment you lived in was paid for. Christ, he even got you to quit your job, feigned deep offence that you thought for even a second that he couldn’t very easily take care of you.
And there’s the rub.
Because now, your very existence was tied to the strings of his generosity, and his wallet.
You didn’t have much time to think this over though, because he was gesturing vaguely for you to begin, the other hand cradling his cheek as though a bored spectator awaiting their evening’s entertainment.
You leaned the curve of your spine against the plush headboard, the thick support hopefully hiding the tremble currently terrorising your limbs. You weren’t nervous, exactly. It was more trepidation, anticipation.
You’d spent countless nights with your legs spread for Titus, getting yourself off while he watched. It felt almost like prostitution, like you were a camgirl cumming for tips - but there was no camera, just him watching, waiting, assessing you like prey. You couldn’t even know for certain if this was pleasurable for him, didn’t know if his cock throbbed beneath the confines of his pants while you whined his name and begged for him to fuck you just once, please.
Untying the knot of your dress at the base of your neck, you glance at Titus, hoping your expression reads as sultry and ravishing, rather than other unmitigated waters - something like constipated or gassy, annoyed.
When your tits drop, no longer bound by the dress, Titus’s line of sight drops from your eyes to your chest, the ghost of a smile breaking through the corner of his mouth. “Gorgeous,” he comments.
Feeling emboldened by his reaction, you gather spit from underneath your tongue and hold up a hand to your mouth, then stare intently at him as drool the saliva onto the tips of your fingers.
He leans forward a smidge, barely millimetres. If you hadn’t been watching him as closely as you were, you would have missed it.
You lower the spit soaked hand to your chest, and lave it over one nipple, pinching the softened bud till it peaked between your fingers. Once you feel the thread of pleasure connecting your nipple to your cunt pull taut like a guitar string, you drag your fingers to your other breast, repeat the process all over again.
“S’it feel good?” Titus asks, voice hoarse. The evidence of your affect on him causes pride to spread outward from your chest all the way to the tips of your toes. It’s all inexplicable warmth and soft summer smiles, melted ice cream dripping between your toes on the boardwalk.
You nod, rutting your hips against the bed softly while you play with your tits.
“Can’t hear you, bunny. S’it feel good?” Titus asks again.
“It’d feel better if you were the one touching me,” you retort, pleasure making you brave. Titus thought it was cute that you got like this, no holds barred and mouthy while your fingers stroked your flesh, cunt leaking with your slick. You’d soon know better, he would see to that.
“Oh yeah, s’that right, baby?” He coos, leaning almost all the way forward now, elbows resting on his knees.
“Y-yeah,” you stuttered weakly, head feeling a little more soupy than you’d care to admit.
“We’ll see if you deserve it, huh? Get that pretty dress off, bunny. I wanna see your pussy.” Titus leans back, having restored order over the situation.
The bratty behaviour was only a decoy, really, a way for you to deflect how close you are to submitting fully to him. He wonders what would happen if you ever stopped being a mouthy little thing. If you were sweet and pliant in his hold from the get go, rather than pushing back to allow yourself the breathing space. Would he enjoy it even more? Would you?
He watches you shuck your dress off hastily, throwing it with impressive force across the room and watching as it lands atop the lamp. His lamp. When his eyes redirect to your face, the small smirk that curves at the corner of your mouth is distinctly proud, triumphant, and he finds his answer. No, he thinks he enjoys this side of you too much to want it to go away.
“No panties… someone was expecting to get lucky tonight, weren’t they?”
In lieu of replying, you trace a confident finger lewdly through the petals of your labia, gathering the cream that’s accumulated from your hole and dragging it up to wet your clit. You exhale softly at the sensation, your hips jerking in tandem.
“I’m still hoping to get lucky,” you sigh wistfully, tipping your head back against the headboard.
“Oh yeah? Your old man not taking good enough care of you?” Titus mocks, you whine back in protest.
“Take such good care of me,” you whimper, pushing in a finger.
“So what’s the problem?” Titus asks, fighting the urge to stick his hand in his pants and fist his cock.
“Want you to take care of me like this too,” you whine, curling your finger inside your cunt like you’ve got something to prove.
Titus doesn’t reply. He doesn’t need to, already knows he’s given up on this little game and is simply waiting for you to crack; waiting for you to offer up something more of yourself, maybe, so he can take more than he has to give.
“Add another finger,” he instructs, breath ragged.
You do as he says wordlessly, moaning unabashedly at the stretch. It’s still not enough.
“Want you, want you, hnnng,” you repeat the phrase like a mantra, like a prayer. You repeat the two words over and over like salvation.
At the sound of a belt buckle, your eyes flutter open in alert. You look over at Titus, and almost cry in relief, because you had heard correctly. He’s got his belt and pants undone, briefs pulled down just enough to reveal his cock.
You mewl at the sight, mouth watering and hips writhing against nothing. “Please.”
Titus looks at you smugly, taps the thick length against his palm. The sound echoes filthily in the room, only spurring you on. “Please what, baby?”
“Fuck me, please fuck me, daddy,” you cry, too far gone to care, too far gone to realise the power you’ve just handed Titus on a silver platter.
He exhales hard, like the air’s been forced from his lungs.
“Say it again.”
“Wha—?” You ask dumbly.
“Y’want me to fuck you, say it again,” Titus says with impressive restraint. Though he lets you think he’s in charge, he knows that’s not the truth - that he’d follow you to the ends of the earth, would get on bended knee to claim you as his forever, or just as surely disappear from your life if that was what you wanted. Apropos of how he really feels.
“Please fuck me, daddy,” you beg wantonly.
One second he’s sitting in the corner of the room, fisting his cock languidly, the next he’s standing at the edge of the bed, inches from finally giving you what you want.
“Daddy’s gonna give you whatever you want, bunny. But you gotta cum first, okay?” You nod eagerly, thrusting your fingers inside you with renewed fervour.
Titus has a firm hand clasped around your ankle, holding you open so he can watch, but he quickly becomes restless. He’s just so enamoured by you, this sweet little thing in his bed, doing everything you tell him to simply because he said so, and because you want to please him. It’s a heady feeling, having this much sway over a person.
It’s what he tells himself anyway, that he’s doing this for you, not for him, when he climbs onto the bed, urges your legs apart by his broad shoulders until he’s face to… face… with your pussy. Face to… lips. No.
His breathing picks up pace at the sight of your sopping cunt, because it’s finally in front of him, not metres away from his isle of self-imposed exile. He swats your hand away and you grumble at the loss of your fingers inside you. “Wanna see her, stop being a brat.”
He coos at the way your hole flutters around nothing, your cheeks flush with searing heat at the attention he’s finally giving you.
“She’s almost as pretty as you are, huh princess?” He asks softly, his tone almost fuzzy in its enamoured fondness. The way one reserves for speaking exclusively to babies or small animals.
“You think so?” You ask. He shushes you.
“I was talking to her, not you, bunny,” he says exasperatedly, as though you should have known he was talking to your reproductive organ, and not you.
He cajoles you by placing your legs on his shoulders. “Let’s go, bunny, wanna watch you cum.”
You roll your eyes. “You talking to me or her?”
Titus smirks. “You jealous?”
“No.” The smirk grows even more.
“Baby, you don’t need to be jealous of your pussy. M’just a fan of how you have another set of lips that don’t talk back.”
You huff angrily. He pouts mockingly. When you make no move to continue touching yourself, he sighs. You look away, trying to settle your gaze on anything that isn’t him.
He pointedly exhales his hot breath straight on your cunt and you wail, two hands falling to the greying curls on his head.
“Touch yourself.”
You nod now, and press the pads of your fingers to your clit, rubbing circles around the sensitive nub. You exhale shakily, but the sensation isn’t enough anymore, not when Titus is so close now, not with his hot breath fanning over your swollen folds.
“You promised,” you whine.
“I did, didn’t I? Am I being mean, baby?” Titus asks.
You nod at him, eyes teary and red-rimmed.
He hums as if in thought, and then hooks his pinky finger into your hole.
You bite down on your lip hard enough to draw blood, having the older man’s touch finally inside you is dizzying. “I’m— I’m gonna—“ you stutter.
“Gonna cum just from having my pinky inside you? That’s so pathetic, bunny,” Titus tuts in faux disappointment.
“Why’d you do that?” You ask, panting laboured breaths like you’re not embarrassingly close to cumming. He was right, it is pathetic that you’re free-falling over having his thick pinky hooked lazily into your pussy like a tepid, false promise he probably doesn’t intend to keep.
“M’pinky promising, honey,” Titus huffs a laugh.
“So annoying,” you grumble, fingers picking up pace on your ruddy clit.
Titus keeps his pinky inside you as you fuck yourself, adding one of your fingers to the mix while you assault your poor clit.
You’re shaking terribly, your hips rutting against his finger and yours. He knows you’re close, can feel it in the clench of your walls and the way you’ve stopped talking.
“Gonna— m’gonna—“ you whine.
Ever the team player, Titus spits onto your cunt, and you tumble over the edge, headlong into a blinding orgasm. Your nerves are shot, suspended somewhere between heaven and hell as your brain short circuits, whiting out your vision while your back arches off the bed as though possessed.
He watches you rapt, riding out the waves of aftershocks that wrack your body with tortuous pleasure, your pussy pushes out his finger and he mourns the loss, the warmth, the closeness.
“Holy shit,” you finally say, after what feels like an eternity.
“You’re magnetic,” Titus adds uselessly. You huff at him, he makes it up to you by flattening his tongue and licking your cunt from hole to clit. The touch punches the air from your lungs.
He cleans you up with his tongue attentively, almost clinically, and then pats your thigh like he’s wishing you a job well done.
He pulls you into his arms, kisses the top of your head. “Did so good, bunny.”
You yawn. “When are you gonna fuck me?”
“Not tonight, sweetheart. You’re exhausted.”
“But you promised,” another yawn leaves you. You can’t believe your body is betraying you at a time like this, choosing his side over yours, no less.
“And I intend to keep that promise, but you need to rest.”
You fall asleep almost immediately, failing miserably at the old adage about never going to bed angry.
When you wake, it’s to steady threads of sunlight streaming through Titus’s blackout curtains. You wince at the brightness of it all, eyelids flitting restlessly at the onslaught from peaceful dark.
You peer down at the weight covering your entire midsection, bury a hand in the soft curls on the offender’s head, teasing soft shapes along the scalp. Titus grunts sleepily, hikes a leg over yours so that he’s fully cradling you now - head nuzzled into your chest, arm possessively slung over your waist, and now the leg. It made you feel cared for, claimed and cherished, like a well loved teddy bear, or some other play thing.
You dig your nails into his scalp, tugging his hair at the root. He hisses, hips rutting against your thigh in surprise.
“G’morning, sleepyhead,” you coo softly.
He groans dejectedly. “No.”
“No?” You repeat.
He nips the soft tissue of your breast, your breath hitches at the sharp sting. “No.”
You pull his head from where he’s nestled - now contentedly sucking love bites all over your chest - until he’s face to face with you. “You’re behaving like a child, y’know that?”
The left corner of his mouth curves deliciously at your taunt, and despite yourself, you smile. You’d always thought he was devastatingly handsome when he was at his most mischievous. “S’not what you were saying last night, if I recall correctly,” he lilts.
You hum as though trying to recollect the events from the night before. “Wasn’t it? I’m having a hard time remembering.”
Titus huffs, flips the two of you over so you’re on your back, holds your hands above your head with only one of his.
“Ah… it’s starting to come back to me now…” you sigh wistfully.
“Maybe this will jog your memory. Oh please, daddy, fuck me with your huge cock, daddy,” he pitches his voice about three octaves above yours mockingly.
“I did not say that, Titus,” you retort.
“Oh, you didn’t? I must be imagining things,” Titus shakes his head faux-solemnly, hand still gripping your wrists.
“It’s common in men of your age group to become forgetful,” you supply unhelpfully.
Titus pinches your nipple hard enough to draw a sharp yelp from you. “Funny.”
You course-correct the conversation with all the finesse of a baby deer. “Now might be a bad time to point this out, but you promised to fuck me last night, and this morning I’m still markedly un-fucked.”
Titus loosens his grip from your wrists, trails his fingers down the expanse of your arm until he finds purchase around your throat. Your eyes dilate in response.
“Isn’t this fun for you, sweetheart? The thrill of the chase, the suspense building higher till it feels like the bough will burst, the constant rush of just falling short; of not being able to jump off the deep end just yet?” His eyes explore yours for any sign of understanding.
You whimper under the intense scrutiny of his gaze. His fingers close tighten around your throat, restricting your air supply. Your eyes roll back in response, but you offer up no verbal confirmation. He scoffs lightly. “It’s not, is it?”
You shake your head, eyes wide. “No, it is, I just—“
Titus cuts you off abruptly by climbing off the bed and walking out. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving you in the suffocating silence of words unspoken.
He doesn’t return. You wait five minutes, and then ten. Ten turns to twenty, and by then half an hour comes and goes in a flash.
Your tear ducts are waterlogged when you finally reach for your phone, opening your friends group chat and calling an emergency brunch.
“He what?”
You laugh miserably into your glass.
“I don’t know where he went, or what he’s doing. I didn’t even see him when I left this morning,” you explain, champagne sloshing around in your glass as your hand moves animatedly.
“And this is all because he still won’t fuck you, right?” Your friend asks, tone dripping with commiseration.
“Yes,” you whine, not caring how pathetic you sound.
“Has he said why he won’t? I feel like he’s just old and can’t get it up. He’s trying to distract you with these mind games and making you feel like the pervert so you don’t leave his geriatric ass.”
“No, it’s not that, his dick was rock hard last night. You should’ve been there, it was insane,” you muse wistfully.
“I want no part in your sick sex life, but I appreciate the offer,” they huff out a laugh, you giggle wetly.
“So what do I do? I don’t know how much longer I can hold out,” you whinge.
“Play his game, but play it better. Give him no other option but to fuck you till you can’t remember the past four months without him rocking your shit,” your friend explains like the answer was elementary, like you should’ve seen it glaringly with neon lights and flashing arrows.
“What would I do without you?” You cradle your cheek with your hand adoringly.
“Grow your hymen back, I guess.” The four of you drunkenly cackle, drawing the attention of other patrons.
You’re in the uber home when you notice the onslaught of notifications from Titus.
7 missed calls, multiple texts. You exhale what feels like relief off the tip of your tongue.
Baby, where’d you go?
Where are you?
Baby?
Stop ignoring me.
I went looking for you and you’re nowhere on the property…
What the fuck
Sweetheart?
Call me when you get this.
The last text’s time-stamped from about 3 minutes ago. You tap on his contact to call, when the phone starts ringing again, you answer and bring the phone to your ear.
“Hiiiii, Ti,” you slur, giggling down your end of the call.
“Bunny, I’ve been— wait, are you drunk?” Titus asks, tone laced with concern.
“Mhm, y’made me so sad this morning. Had brunch with m’friends, they say hi by the way.”
He blanches a little at your confession. “Baby, where are you? I’m coming to get you.”
“M’already coming home, in the uber,” you reply drily.
“You ubered? Sweetheart, we have drivers for that,” Titus reprimands you gently.
“Didn’t want your drivers, or your money, can do it myself,” you huff, exasperated.
“Get home to me safely, okay?” Titus pleads, feeling like he’s losing an uphill battle with you.
“Uh-huh.” You hang up abruptly, leaving your boyfriend beside himself.
Titus is standing at the front door when you stumble from the uber, watching the ungraceful entrance unfold like a train-wreck.
In spite of your drunkenness, and the sharp way you’d spoken to him on the phone, he still feels a prang of… something, unfurl in his chest at the sight of you; because you came home, because he missed you and he’s sorry for the way he acted. He just needs to tell you that, so everything can get back on track.
You glare miserably at him as you traipse up the stairs, taking two steps per stair, not trusting that you won’t fall on your face if you otherwise took them normally - maybe some part of you also didn’t trust that Titus would catch you if you did happen to fall.
As though sensing your inner turmoil, Titus leaves his post from the doorway and moves fast to steady you, a firm hand wrapping around your elbow. “You doing okay, my love?” He asks, brows furrowed at the state of you.
“M’fine, why’d you come to help me?” You grumble, feeling the wobble in your gait not dissimilarly to sea legs.
“Always wanna help you, sweetheart. What are you talking about?”
He leads you inside now, his arm around your waist, hand gripping the flesh of your hip like it’s grounding him to the present moment.
“So you wanna help me but you don’t wanna fuck me? Figures,” you argue, voice slurred and messy.
Titus huffs a soft laugh.
“Let’s get you to bed, sweetheart,” he offers.
“Yeah I bet you’d like that, you freak,” you bite.
He’s lifted you off your feet and into his arms before you even notice, let alone have time to argue.
He murmurs into your ear, “the only one in a rush to get the other into bed is you, bunny. Watch your tone, yeah?”
Your cheeks flush even pinker, your eyes well with unshed tears. “M’Sorry, daddy. I’ll be good, promise.”
Titus brushes the stray hairs off your face. “Course you are, bunny. I’m going to see to that myself.”
You sputter and sob wetly into his shoulder until you fall asleep in his arms. He tuts adoringly, finally places you into his bed.
He turns to leave, to allow you the rest you clearly need, but he’s stopped by you pawing at his wrist. “Stay, please. Please stay with me.”
He folds instantly. You crawl into his lap on the bed, and fall asleep chest to chest, his steady heart rate slowing your own, your thighs caging him in so he’s trapped.
When you wake again, the sun is starting to set behind the clouds, yellows and oranges and pinks giving way to blues and purples and all-encompassing black.
Titus must have moved while you were asleep, because he’s no longer trapped underneath your body. The lamp flickers on, illuminating the shadows of the man you were just thinking of.
“G’morning, sleepyhead,” he lilts.
“Mmm,” you hum, your throat parched and dry.
“How’re you feeling?”
“Thirsty,” you reply. Titus hums in response.
“I’ve got something for you to drink.” You perk up instantly, moving from lying to sitting attentively.
“Thought you might like the sound of that,” he notes smugly.
“C’mere, bunny. Hop to daddy.”
You crawl off the bed in a rush to make your way to Titus. Once you’re standing on two feet, he stops you.
“Nuh-uh, crawl,” he commands.
You crouch to the floor, feeling disconnected from shame, the emotion flickering somewhere in a box you’ve hidden deep within the recesses of your mind, and crawl to your boyfriend on all fours.
“That’s it, such a good bunny, huh?” He praises.
You cross the floor in seconds, and kneel expectantly before him.
He pets your head earnestly.
“Y’know, I got so horny while you were sleeping,” he starts, the corner of his mouth curving in delight as your eyes glaze over.
“But I couldn’t wake you, y’know? You looked so peaceful. So, I had to take care of myself.” You whimper, devastated, at what he’s just told you.
“Rolled you off me, shoved my hand in my pants, and fisted my cock until I came all over my briefs. And it was so fucking messy, bunny, y’should’ve seen it. Know what I did?” You shook your head, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood.
“Had to take my pants and messy briefs off, clean off my cock, and then put my pants back on. But I thought to myself, why waste a perfectly good load, when my girl’s gonna be so thirsty when she wakes up?” You look at him, waiting.
He pulls the sodden underwear from his pocket, the material soaked through with his cum, and looks at you.
“Open your mouth, bunny.” You follow his orders, and are rewarded with the taste of jizz on your tongue. You moan wholeheartedly.
You lap at the ropes of cum on his underwear with your tongue, savouring the undeniable taste of him. He watches you, eyes glinting with something like delight while you take to being gagged with his soiled underwear like a fucking champ, like you were made for it. It’s sickening what it does to him.
“Come here, bunny. Hump my fuckin’ boot while you gag on my underwear like a good little girl.”
You murmur something that gets lost in translation as it leaves your mouth and enters his eardrums, but it doesn’t really matter because you’re already sliding forward until your tummy hits the lace of his boot.
“That feel okay, bun?” He asks, you hum back at him, wriggling your butt around his boot as you attempt to find the right angle.
He lifts his foot, nestling the boot right between your folds and against your clit. You choke out a whimper beneath the gag. “That’s it right there, huh baby? Just needed your daddy to fix it for you,” he says, the tone swaddling you in warmth.
You rock your hips against his boot, once, twice, then you pause - the friction isn’t right. Titus watches this all unfold and removes his foot from under you.
You argue uselessly at the loss of contact. Titus shushes you. “I’m making it better, gimme a second.”
He spits on the boot with rather little fanfare, your jaw slackens at the drool pooling on the pristine leather. “Go on, get to it.”
You perch yourself back on his boot, and he lifts his foot again, eager enough to not want to waste any more time. The added lubricant on the boot is filthy, has your soaked through panties sliding over the boot as you rock your hips back and forth.
You exhale through your nose as your clit catches on a row of laces, but you’re undeterred, you pick up your pace, focusing on the throb of your clit against Titus’s spit slick boot and the depths of his eyes as he drinks in his fill of you.
“M’gonna—“ you manage to enunciate through the gag. The musky, salty flavour of his cum invades all your senses, trickling down till all you know is his taste and the feel of his boot, ungiving and unmoving to your writhing flesh.
Above you, Titus hisses. You look up from where you’d fixated on his kneecap and the thick bulk of muscle just above it. He’s pulled his cock from his pants at some point, you can’t be sure when, but he’s not letting himself fuck into his fist just yet. His eyes watch you, waiting, imploring you to do something, while he circles his leaky tip with the pad of his thumb and forefinger.
You moan wantonly at the sight of him, so undone and affected by you, so different from his usual masquerade at put-togetherness. He nods at you fervently, like he’s begging you to give in.
You lift your hand to his thigh hesitantly, he jolts at the contact but quickly settles. You trace your fingers slowly up the expanse of his thick thigh, pausing occasionally to gauge his reaction, waiting for him to stop you. But it never comes.
He’s slack-jawed, can only offer dumb, eager nods. If you thought you were unmoored by this whole encounter, you knew that Titus was ten times more affected.
When your fingers finally graze his shaft, he crashes back to reality all at once, slaps your hand away. Outraged, you spit out the gag.
“Wha—“ you start, but are interrupted by Titus surging forward so he’s encroaching on your space. He cups your chin harshly, squashes your cheeks together.
“Did I say you could spit your gag out? Or stop humping my boot?” He asks.
“No, but—“
“No, I asked you a question,” he cuts you off again.
“No, you didn’t,” you answer.
“That’s right. So what gave you the impression that you could do it then?”
Your eyes divert from his piercing stare. “You slapped my hand away, was just trying to make you feel good,” you murmur.
“I never said you could touch,” Titus rebuffs.
“You nodded!”
Titus laughs meanly. “Nodding is not verbal consent, bunny. You should know that.”
Your head drops, you don’t want him to see how crestfallen you probably look right now.
Titus pinches your chin again, lifts your head so you can look at him again.
“This must be so hard for you, baby,” he coos.
You roll your eyes dejectedly. “You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?”
You look away from him again, not meeting his eyes. He places his thumb at your bottom lip, tugs at the flesh softly until you suck the digit into your mouth. “Attagirl.”
“Bet you wish it was my cock, huh?” He asks smugly, though the way you’re suckling his thumb, hollowing your cheeks as you lave your tongue over the pad of it, has him also wishing it was his cock.
He pulls you off of his thumb by tugging your head back with a firm hand. You look up at him, eyes glassy, fully supplicant at his feet.
“Alright, fuck it,” he announces.
“Open up for me,” he adds. You drop your jaw obediently and mewl when he finally slaps his tip on your tongue, the weight of it making you dizzy.
“Look at you, cock drunk and it’s not even fucking inside you yet.” He pushes his tip past your lips and groans.
You push your head down, trying to get more of him in your mouth, but he holds you at the scruff of your neck, clicks his teeth at you.
“Eager, are we?”
You groan frustratedly, suckling on his tip.
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I thought,” he replies to your babbling. You pull back just enough to speak.
“Fuck my throat or I’m leaving.”
You dare him to fight you on it. To exert control over you. He simply balks.
“Oh,” is all he can manage before he’s pushing his cock into your mouth, not stopping till it hit the back of your throat. You gag at the fullness.
Titus ignores you pushing and hitting his thigh. You want him to fuck your throat, that’s what he’s going to do.
He sets a brutal pace, thrusting his long girthy cock in and out of your mouth. Tears flow freely down your cheeks, you rut helplessly against his boot, chasing your own release while he builds his in your throat.
“Shit, this is what you wanted, right? Wanted your big, mean daddy to fuck your throat?”
You babble around his cock, soaking his boot with your slick while pleasure glitters up and down your spine, curling your toes. The persistent shlick of his cock as he fucks the walls of your throat echoes around the room, hammers its way between your ears till it makes a home in the darkest corner of your brain, the sound so filthy it only brings you closer to orgasm.
You hollow out your cheeks in an effort not to gag, catching Titus off guard. His clenched fingers tug tighter on the root of your skull and he honest to god whimpers.
“Can’t just do that to me, baby. Fuck, I almost came,” he exhales.
You hollow your cheeks again, flick your tongue against the underside of his shaft. He pitches forward with a garbled yell, bent over you while his thrusts turn short and fast. “Gonna cum.”
He’s leaned over far enough that he can grab your ass from this angle, you shout in surprise when he gifts you with a swift smack.
“C’mon, bunny. Hump my fuckin’ boot, know you can do better that.” He cups the soft plush of your ass in his hand and moves, sets the pace for you to rock your cunt against him.
It’s so much.
He’s evil enough that the rock of your hips matches the thrust of his, taking and giving at twin tempos. You’re brainless in his clutches, a mewling, whining play thing for him to fuck as he wishes, while also letting you use him as a vessel for your own pleasure. It’s all you ever wanted.
Your orgasm surges through you at the realisation, breaks you open and throws you off the cliff violently. You cry out, throat seizing tightly enough that it triggers Titus’s own orgasm, he blabbers praise and whines into your hair as he buries his load in your throat, tacky spend trickling over your tongue like silk.
You tremble in his arms, the aftershocks coursing through your veins and searing your nerves till nothing remained.
Titus drops to his knees, grunting softly as his old bones betray him. He gently tucks your hair behind your ear.
“You’re wonderful, bunny. D’you know that? So perfect and wonderful.” His eyes are glassy as he sings your praise, tone shaky - you attribute it to him still reeling from his orgasm, he knows the truth. A four letter word starting with L knocking him in the teeth.
“Thank you for doing that with me,” you murmur softly, purposely meeting his gaze. Something in him cracks, and he struggles to hold back the sentence he’s dying to say. Three words. Eight letters.
But it’s too soon, so he merely says course, baby, anytime.
“Christ, made a fuckin’ mess of my boot, honey,” he lilts.
You tilt your head at him, assessing, but he can gather where your head is at based on the way your eyes glint with mischief. “Sorry, daddy, I’ll clean it up.”
His cock twitches in interest as you slide off his boot and arch forward, ass pitched in the air while you drop your head to his boot, tongue flattening to lick your juices off the leather.
He’s fucking winded, to tell you the truth.
You find new ways to surprise him every day.
After you lick the boot clean, you right yourself on your knees, grin up at him sweetly, your slick coating your cheeks.
He leans forward and kisses you messily, hands cradling the side of your head and your hip. You sigh dreamily into his mouth as he licks the cream from your cheeks, fucks it back into your mouth with his tongue.
When he pulls back, a string of saliva connects the two of you and you giggle at it.
“You’re so sweet, baby. Guess I just needed to fuck it back into you, huh?”
His eyes glint playfully at you, you respond by licking the tip of his nose and leaving him on the floor. “Good luck getting back up, old man! Those knees aren’t what they used to be.”
He feels like maybe you’re joking, like any second you’ll come back into the room and help him up. Not that he needs it, he’s more than capable of getting himself off the floor, it just takes him a second. But then he hears the shower turn on, and the shower door open and shut. By the time you start humming, he can imagine you washing your hair, a smug smile perched on your soft lips.
Guess I deserve that. He peels himself off the floor with as much dignity as he can handle, and saunters over the bathroom, leaving behind items of clothing as he goes. He’ll pick it up later, or you will, or the maid will. He’s not really fussed about it.
You squeal as he enters the shower behind you, whinging at him to give you some privacy. From outside the door, the sound is soon muffled, fizzled out, as though covered beneath a hand, and then evolves into shameless cries of pleasure.
The shower leaves you covered in more bodily fluids than you entered with, and you resolve that maybe a second shower will solve the problem. With Titus in the picture, and four months of edging now bursting forth from captivity between you two, that was not an option.
He’s got a lot to catch up on.
“Y’know, I was thinking…” You punctuate your sentence by tracing the rim of your wine glass with the tip of your forefinger.
“This can’t be good,” Titus quips.
“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” you bemoan him, he smiles at you in jest.
“No, but I know you, and you thinking has almost always been to my detriment.” Titus takes down a bite of steak in premature triumph, savouring the win before the game’s even begun its fourth quarter. Idiot.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said about the hunt, the chase, and whatnot before you stormed out of the house…” You tepidly throw out the hook, feigning humility, you wait for Titus to take the bait.
“Oh yeah?” He asks hesitantly, careful not to give too much away.
“Mhm.”
“What about it?” He questions further. Got him.
“Well, I figured we could make a little game out of it, just the two of us,” you muse, sugar sweet and innocent enough for him to want to sink his claws into you.
“What are the rules?” His silverware lays abandoned on his dinner plate, his hands white-knuckling the edge of the table. He feels like a dog who’s heard all its favourite words, can only hope he’s hiding it well enough that you don’t scent his excitement.
The small tug of your mouth tells him all he needs to know.
“If I catch you, you have to fuck me,” you explain. Titus perks up in a way you can’t help but be endeared by. His posture straightens, his pupils have dilated, he’s futilely battening down the hatches on the world’s strongest grin. His excitement rolls off of him in waves, it’s fucking contagious.
“Yeah?” He asks, voice straining.
“Yeah, baby.”
He’s at your side in a second, perched against the table. He pushes your dinner plate away, the action reeks of attention-seeking, an insistent and needy look at me, I’m the real main course, please, m’right here.
You’re smug as you take him in, eyeing him up and down hungrily. He’s suddenly bashful at the attention, is fighting the good fight to keep it under control.
“You know, I’m typically the hunter, not the hunted,” Titus notes.
“Yeah, well, I’m in charge this time, champ,” you quip lightly, clapping his bicep firmly.
He tilts his head at you, eyes narrowing to the claiming grip you have on his bicep. “Okay.”
“Okay?” You ask.
“Yeah, but don’t call me champ,” he scoffs.
“I’ll call you whatever I want, sweetness.”
You press your lips to his disarmingly. He’s immediately pliant under your touch, gooey and soft-limbed as you lick into his mouth, digging your fingers hard enough to bruise into the bulk of his bicep and his lower back, just shy of the top of his ass.
He cups your jaw and whimpers into the searing kiss, you freeze. He’s panicking as you huff a laugh into the shared space between your mouths.
“Did you just whimper?” You ask, lips touching his with every syllable uttered.
You pull back when he doesn’t answer, he lets out a frustrated whine as you do, cheeks flushed pink.
“S’okay if you did, I just don’t know if I’ve heard you make that sound before,” you assure him.
He nods quickly. “Sorry.”
You kiss him chastely. “Don’t be, baby. Did such a good job letting me take care of you.”
He buries his head in the crook of your neck so you can’t see him flustered. Ever one to read a room, you acquiesce, allow him a brief respite, play with his curls attentively. He murmurs something into your shoulder.
“What was that?”
He groans, tilts his head so his mouth’s not plastered to your throat. “I said, this is so embarrassing.”
“What is?”
“This. Don’t know why m’being so needy, m’sorry, bunny.” You squeeze his thigh reassuringly.
“You just need someone to take care of you for a bit, honey. Lemme take care of you, okay?” You don’t mean to tell him what he needs, you just know - intimately - what he’s experiencing, and you’re more than capable of doing that for him. You want to help.
You wait for him to meet your gaze, he stalls, having suddenly become very comfortable breathing in the sweet scent of your skin, content even - not at all hiding from you.
You tap his thigh and he retreats, rights himself on the table. He peers down at you, assessing. Finding no judgment, only adoration, he nods.
“Thank you,” he mumbles.
“Would tonight be too soon?” Titus takes longer than necessary to answer your question, it honestly borders on taking the piss. He scratches his chin ponderingly, furrows his brow in concentration.
When you scoff and unfold your legs as though about to stand, Titus utters a conclusive No.
“I’ll meet you outside in 15, no weapons,” you point an accusing finger at him, he raises his hands in mock innocence, albeit glassy-eyed and a little knock-kneed.
He watches as you leave the dining room, hips swaying exaggeratedly solely for his entertainment. “15 minutes!” You call, before slamming the door shut behind you.
Titus isn’t exactly sure what he was expecting when you proposed a hunt. No weapons, obviously, maybe nothing at all? Can-do attitudes and a team spirit?
He knows for certain that he wasn’t expecting the full kit and caboodle, a table laid out with all the paraphernalia you’d anticipated either of you would need - and you in hunting gear, looking particularly pleased with yourself.
“Am I going to die tonight?” Titus asks, his voice tinged in disbelief.
“What would be my weapon of choice be exactly - the flashlight, the condoms, lube?” You fold your arms.
“Oh, I don’t know, the rope maybe?” Titus retorts.
Okay, maybe you had forgotten about the rope.
“Think I’ll get my own docuseries on Netflix?” You ask, brows raising teasingly.
“I’m pretty sure the lawyers would have it buried before it left pre-production.”
You pout, “you’re no fun.”
Titus looks over the table again, you watch him in earnest. “Swiss army knives? Kinky,” he lilts.
“For the rope,” you supply. He looks at you, a curt brow raised, jaw slack.
“You don’t say!” He quips snarkily. You roll your eyes.
He turns back around, showing you his taut back muscles. As the line of his spine straightens, a bloodhound having caught a scent, you sigh, wondering what he’s stumbled across now.
He unceremoniously flings the box of condoms to the furthest corner of the room, you laugh. “Won’t be needing those.”
“Is that right?” You ask.
“What can I say, m’feeling plucky tonight.”
“You mean lucky?”
“Said what I said,” he tells you, leaving no room for doubt.
“I’m calling time.” Titus backs away from the table, hands raised.
You turn and exit the room, he follows after you like a stray puppy. You lean against the pillar outside, watching as he arrives immediately after you, hands behind his back. “What’d you grab, honey?”
He’s sheepish as he empties out his pockets, showing off his armada of approximately fucking zilch, nada, absolutely nothing.
“Gave you all that time and you grabbed nothing?” You tut softly.
“You’re very distracting,” he bemoans.
“I guess the experience is more authentic this way,” you sigh wistfully, reaching for something at your back.
Titus stands at full alert, eyes wide as he tries to make of what you’ve got hiding back there. He freezes when you reveal a handgun.
“Now… sweetheart…” He starts, feeling very much like he’s negotiating with a terrorist. His hands raised calmly in a defensive stance, attempting to fawn.
“Stand down, Danforth. This is just to… I don’t fucking know, commence the hunt? Is that what y’all call it?” You fuss with the barrel, clicking the safety off.
He sighs in relief, wipes away the beading sweat at his hairline. “This is very immersive.”
“Ten.” You start counting down, but avoid eye contact with Titus, looking instead toward your boot laces.
“Nine.”
“Eight.” Titus internally maps out the grounds, trying to pinpoint a hiding spot.
“Seven.” He can’t fucking think with you counting down the seconds like this is life or death. He’s never been on this end of the stick before. It’s fucking bullshit, he thinks.
“Baby—“ he interjects, like maybe if he plays his cards right, he can take you inside and pretend none of this ever happened if he can flick his tongue just right.
“Too late, six,” you reply monotonously.
“Five.”
Fuck. Titus leans forward, sprint ready.
“Four.”
“Three.”
“Two.”
You raise the gun in the air and shoot.
“What happened to fucking one?” Titus yells.
“You have seven minutes! That’s it!” You yell after him, watching gleefully as he disappears into the darkness.
Seven minutes fly by.
You barely had time to check your phone after running the checks on your buggy before the alarm was going off. All things considered, you felt like you were handling this a little too well. It’s not like hunting your rich boyfriend through his family compound for sex reasons was a certifiable skill, one you can put on your résumé and send in for job applications.
Maybe Titus was rubbing off on you after all. Well… yes, but in more ways than one.
You kickstart the engine, and veer off the golf course in the direction of the woods.
Titus’s legs carried him all the way through to the furthest corner of the woods. If he knew you as well as he thought he did, then there’s no way in hell you’d come looking for him here. It was easy money.
He doesn’t even bother finding a hiding place, because he’s so sure you wouldn’t come looking for him here.
It’s not that he doesn’t wanna fuck, there’s literally nothing else he wants to do, despite past behaviour maybe indicating otherwise. He’s just got a mean competitive streak - doesn’t like losing, not even if it’s you, not even if it’s for sex. He refuses to go down like that.
He lays down on the collapsed trunk of a tree, waiting for day to break. He’s not cocky enough to think he might steal a couple of winks of sleep while he waits.
A light shines through the thicket of trees, you on your buggy, he presumes, but you go straight past him. His heart rate picks up at you being so close. Sucker, he thinks to himself.
Ahead, you pull the buggy off to the side and kill the engine, prepared to make the rest of the trip on foot. You’d spotted a fallen tree as you drove past, back toward the property line. It’s exactly the kind of bullshit hiding spot Titus would be drawn to, thinking you wouldn’t go looking for him there.
You retrace the journey from memory in the complete dark, not being able to use your torch now, lest you reveal yourself to Titus.
You bank right a few hundred feet from the tree, giving yourself the opportunity to sneak up on him from behind. At the sound of obnoxious whistling, you stop. “This motherfucker,” you mutter quietly.
Deciding that he’s close enough to be within earshot, you rid yourself of your boots, you’re not going to sneak up on him if he had heard you clomping around minutes ago and had the wherewithal to run.
You’re not a big fan of your socked feet being exposed to the forest floor, but you’re made of tougher stuff than Titus apparently gives you credit for, so you persevere.
At this point, you aren’t even sure you’re walking in the right direction, when the tree comes into view. Titus is lying on top of the fucking thing, eyes closed with his fingers tapping his belly, still humming some stupid show-tune you’re sure you’ll remember once he’s underneath you.
Knowing you’ll regret this later, you drop to all fours, and crawl the rest of the way to the tree trunk. While the extra limbs might give you away volume wise, you don’t want to be within his line of sight if he were to open his eyes.
He’s literally right in front of you now, and somehow still hasn’t heard you. You stand silently, not allowing yourself a reprieve to stare down at him like you want to.
You raise your dirty hand, silently beg that he’ll forgive you for doing this, and clamp your hand down on his mouth.
His eyes shoot open, darting around until they land on his gagged mouth, and then on you, peering down at him with a soft smile on your face. The one you typically reserve for him on much kinder occasions.
“I win,” you tell him, smile transforming into something cockier.
He nips the flesh of your palm with his teeth. Your smile doesn’t falter, you simply slide your hand from his mouth until it’s wrapped firmly around his neck, careful fingers placing pressure on the sides of this throat.
His eyes dilate in response, breaths coming in heavy pants. “Come claim your prize then,” he quips gruffly.
You hum noncommittally. “Right here?”
“You got anywhere else in mind?” Titus asks, breathless.
You look around as though you have countless options, not just tree number one, number seven, and number 83. “Over there,” you point to a thick oak about ten metres away.
“Kinda far, no?” You tap his thigh.
“I think you’ll make it.” He hops off the tree just in time for you to make a run for it.
He darts behind you, picking up speed to come at you from the side. Just before you reach the tree, he grapples you and forces your back against it. The collision knocks the wind from your lungs.
You bite your lip at him. “Been waiting to do that all night, handsome?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” he groans, leaning forward to nip and suck at the column of your throat.
You curl deceptively light fingers into his hair, digging into the roots and tugging his head back forcefully. He whines, desperate.
“None of that, you’re like a little puppy,” you reprimand.
“Feel like one,” he notes uselessly. You huff a soft laugh.
“Yeah?” You ask, laughter lilting your voice. He nods quickly, eyes staring into yours, pleading.
You turn in his grasp, pressing the line of your ass right against his rigid cock. “So fuck me like it then.”
He’s unbuckling his belt and shucking his pants down when he drops a shaky “don’t have to tell me twice.”
You follow suit, listening to him pant into the base of your skull while he gets himself hard enough to fuck you. “Need a hand?” You offer.
“No,” he throws back defiantly.
You turn around in his hold anyway, batter your eyelashes at him demurely. “No?”
Titus’s cock swells in his fist at the sight of you. “Can do it myself,” he falters, avoiding direct eye contact.
You pinch his chin, force him to look at you. He bites his lip pitifully, perpetually fuzzy from the way you’ve so casually taken to dominating him. Your duality’s fucking intoxicating.
“Titus,” you scold him. He mewls at the tone.
“I know you’re very capable, okay? That’s not what this is. Now be a good boy and let me take care of you.” He almost passes out as you drool a line of spit onto the tip of his fat, swollen cock, flicking your wrist as you spread the mix of your spit and his pre over his tip and shaft - trying to lube him up enough to fuck you, you silently curse him for not having the foresight to take the lube with him.
“Feels… fucking good,” Titus grunts, helplessly thrusting into your hand.
“You wanna fuck me in doggy, puppy? Or missionary?” Your eyes glint mischievously. Titus couldn’t help but notice the way the light of your eyes caught on moonlight, illuminating like you were some lunar goddess sent solely for him.
“Both.”
“And m’not a puppy.” You giggle softly.
“Oh yeah? Then why do you act like one?”
“Do not,” Titus bites. You pinch his cheek with a placating aww, the action is pure malicious intent dressed up as doting affection. It sends shivers down his spine, makes precum dribble heavily from his tip.
“Okay, tough guy,” you reply.
You turn around again, lining your hole up with his cock, and tilt your hips back, filling yourself until he’s at the hilt. You exhale, winded.
“Holy shit.”
You keep him inside you for a minute, unmoving. He thinks you’re being cruel, you’re just trying to get accustomed to being so fucking full.
“Need— need you to—“ Titus stammers.
You shush him. “Just need a second, baby.”
“Oh.” Though you can’t see him, you know he’s smiling, super fucking pleased that you’re so affected by his size.
Not to be one-upped, you clench the walls of your cunt around his cock. He shouts in surprise, thrusts even further into you somehow. You whimper pathetically, not un-noticing of the bulge in your tummy.
“It’s so deep, honey. Can feel you in my fuckin’ guts,” you tell him as you reach for his hand and place it gently against the bulge of his cock inside your belly.
He pushes down on the bulge and gives an aborted thrust, you fall forward, barely avoiding smacking your head against the tree trunk.
Instead, you meet flesh, a soft palm, one you’d spent hours familiarising yourself with. You know, my grandma always used to say soft hands meant you’d never done a hard days work in your life, you told him, tracing shapes into the peachy, unblemished skin. He’d wrenched his hand from yours, faux-pissed but definitely mildly offended. I work, he’d told you, disbelieving. You were grateful for the soft landing now.
“Careful, bunny, can’t have you unconscious now,” he chides.
You scoff. “Okay, m’ready.”
Needing no further warning, he pulls out till only his tip’s inside you, and thrusts forward, spearing you on the first couple inches his cock. “Ju—just like that, baby,” you coo, the short and sharp thrusts hitting the ache between your thighs just right.
He groans, presses in another couple inches. He’s barely halfway, but you’re already keeling over at the length. He knows you can take more, you took him balls deep a couple minutes ago to prove a point - played your cards too fucking early.
“Take it, bunny, know you’re good for it,” he hisses.
“Y’don’t know shit. Take what I fucking give you like a good puppy, huh?” You clench your cunt around him to punctuate your sentence, cutting off his smart mouth like punishment.
He whimpers. “Thank you.”
You reach back and grip his hip. “Lemme set the pace.”
He nods emphatically. “Okay, just— please, move.”
You huff and lower yourself against the tree, creating a better angle and arching your back further. You must elongate your spine further because the movement draws out breathless pants from Titus. “S’perfect right there.”
You steady your hand on the trunk, keep your other hand locked on Titus’s hip, and fuck yourself on his cock. His hands find purchase on the dips at your spine, digs his fingers into the soft flesh. “Feels so good, baby, like you were made for me,” he praises.
You preen under his praise, your hole flutters around his cock in response, swallowing as much of his length as she can. “Y’like when I bounce this ass on you, baby? You gonna cum for me?”
Titus chokes on a moan, his body seemingly content to betray him in more ways than one because his hips jerk against the rhythmic pace you’ve set fucking back on him. “Thought so,” you note cockily.
“You tellin’ me this doesn’t feel as good for you, as it does for me?” Titus asks, barely concealing his hurt.
Your thrusts stop. He groans dejectedly, waits for anything, something. You slip forward, feigning nonchalance as his dick falls from your hole. ET phone home.
You turn to face Titus. “Lift me up?”
He picks you up with ease, rests your back gently against the tree as though he hadn’t tackled you into it moments ago. You trace the shape of his face gently - his hairline down to the apple of his cheeks, his jaw, his lips, up to his hairline again and down the bridge of his nose.
“What was that for?” He asks gruffly.
“Just admiring how pretty you are,” you tell him.
He scoffs. “M’not pretty.”
“Handsome, then. Beautiful,” you concur.
“You don’t need to grease me up, sweetheart, I’m already fucking you.”
You hum. “Seems to me like you’re arguing with me while your dick goes soft, actually.”
Titus’s gaze drops to his dick, fully erect. “I am not— oh, you were fucking with me,” he says flatly.
You take his dick in your hand again. “Want you to cum inside me, honey. Think you can manage?”
His eyes light up. “Really?”
“Really. Limited time offer, subject to change,” you stifle a laugh.
“M’ignoring that, for Christ’ sake,” he murmurs, fists his dick a couple times to ensure he’s still hard enough to fuck, and then pushes in and in and in.
“Feels like a home run everytime, huh?” He asks, more to himself than you.
“I’ve never watched an NFL game before,” you reply shakily; his cock nestled snugly between the walls of your cunt like he belongs there is admittedly throwing you, gives you a myriad of ideas - dangerous ones.
“I’m ignoring that because I feel like it’s going to kill my boner.” His grip on you lifts you higher, spreads your legs a little further. His hips shift in tandem with yours, allowing him a deeper angle.
He rocks his hips forward and you wail, head dropping into his shoulder. “That’s the finisher, yeah?”
He kisses the top of your head, spears his hips into yours in long, languid thrusts. “Need— faster,” you tell him, words muffled by his skin’s hold on your lips.
“I can do faster for you,” Titus nods, holding you tighter against the tree as he thunders his hips, hammering his cock into your pussy.
“Fuck!” You cry. He huffs a satisfied laugh, keeps his brutal pace.
You throw your head back, feeling your core simmering, tipping near to the point of boiling over. “Gonna— fuck— gonna make me cum, baby. Doing so good f’me,” you pant, words pouring out into the night like stardust.
Titus kisses you desperately, tongues clashing and teeth licking against each other hard enough to ache. He slides a hand from around your waist to your pudgy, swollen clit and gives the poor thing some attention. You cry out in relief, overstimulation maybe, he can’t tell which, only that the noises you gift him spur him on even more.
Your legs tremble uncontrollably in his grasp now, the clit rubbing has your nerves working overtime to bring you release. “Shit, need you to cum with me, Titus. Are you close? Need me to do anything for you, baby?”
He whines, his thrusts hiccup at your question. “Can you— can you tell me you love me?” He asks pathetically.
You falter. He catches your expression, and his face falls.
“Even if you don’t mean it, s’okay. It doesn’t matter, forget I said anything.” His eyes are glassy, even more pretty when lit by the moon, though he won’t look you in the eye.
His hand drops from your clit, goes to rest back on your waist to set you down, feeling like the moment is clearly dead.
You wrap your smaller hand around his wrist, bring it to your mouth. He watches, confused, as you suck his fingers between your teeth, licking your slick off the pads of his fingers individually, then suckling and kissing and laving your tongue over them in a way that feels like devotion. Maybe you just like the taste of your cum, Titus can’t really say right now - doesn’t feel very sure of anything.
You guide his hand back to your clit, moving his stiff fingers against the engorged nub until he unfreezes enough to do it himself. Your hand returns to his face, cups his cheek.
“Titus Danforth, I love you terribly. I love you in a way that feels non-conducive to breathing, to eating, to sleeping. I watch you while you sleep and think that I couldn’t feel close enough to you unless I burrowed my way into your skin and lived out the rest of my days there. Do you understand me? I love you, and I’m sorry if I haven’t shown you that every day that we spend together.”
Fat globs of tears streak down your poor boyfriend’s cheeks, he hiccups these awful sobs before he buries his face into your lips, smushing his against yours gracelessly, like he’s trying to transfuse himself to you. His thrusts are messy as he fucks into you. “Can you say it again?” He asks against your lips.
“I love you,” you repeat, your cheeks wet with his tears.
He groans loudly. Your eyes widen in surprise as you feel him fill your cunt, burying his load inside you. “Ti—“
“No.”
He thrusts faster and harder into you, his fingers pinch your clit like he’s on a mission. “Waitwaitwaitwait.”
“No, cum on my cock like you fuckin’ love me,” Titus commands, and you do.
Searing pleasure burns from your core, explodes in your spine like fireworks. His touch is merciless, coaxing you through your orgasm while you jerk and convulse in his arms.
You drop against the tree trunk, spent.
“Holy shit,” you say in unison.
You both giggle, content to stay in this bubble forever, pressing chaste kisses as a reminder, a promise to keep forever, a declaration of… well, love.
“Do you wanna go to a diner?” Titus asks, breaking the calm silence.
“You’re sooo old. You sweet on me or somethin, Danforth? Gonna buy me a milkshake?” You quip, a smirk curling at the corner of your mouth.
“Would you prefer I act like guys your age? Oh, I came, I’m going to sleep now, can you see yourself out?” At his oafy impression of almost of all your exes, you snort.
“Are those my two options? Diner dash with grandpa or avoidant 20-something year old?” You ask brashly.
He squeezes the plush of your ass possessively. “You don’t get any options, bunny. You’re fuckin’ mine forever.” You smile, dazed.
“I’m suddenly craving waffles.”
“Sounds good, we can just swipe your pussy for the syrup,” Titus lilts. You groan, disgusted, and push him away from you so you can pull your pants back up.
“I hate you.”
“Noooo you love me, you said it yourself.”
“I miss when you had erectile dysfunction, all this sex’s got you on some bullshit.”
Titus whips around. “I never had erectile dysfunction!” You bite your lip to keep from laughing.
Summary: You and Jack had history; years of working together, you the resident and he the doctor. You had an unspoken thing between you two that never came to fruition. You left for a fellowship in California and now you’re back three years later.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | The Pitt Masterlist
When your shift was over, you made yourself scarce. You did hand-offs and promptly made your way to the lockers. You just wanted to go home, cry a little bit, and sleep.
But Jack Abbot seemed to have other plans.
As you're about to walk out of the ED, Jack intercepts you, grabbing at your elbow, "Can we talk for a sec?"
You sigh, "I'm tired, Jack-"
"Just a quick. Chat, I promise."
He pulls you towards a nearly empty hallway. You tiredly lean against the wall, "What?"
He looks at you with a concerned and slightly sad expression, "You say that you're not mine to worry about, but that's not true. You are mine." the statement makes you hold your breath and Jack continues, "You're my colleague, my friend. I like making sure the people I care about are okay." And there it is.
You don't look at him when you nod, "Right."
"So I'm gonna ask you again: what's wrong?"
You sigh, running your hand through your hair. You think about how you want to word this without ruining things. How do you tell the man that you've grown to love that seeing him be familiar with someone else? How do you tell him that you thought your years apart would make you love him less? How do you tell him that your buried feelings came up to the surface so easily as soon as you saw him again?
How do you tell him?
You clear your throat, "I hate feeling incompetent and invisible. Earlier with the neuro case, I just...it felt like you and Doctor Alvarez were speaking another language I couldn't understand. Made me feel like I was a first year med student again, a lost puppy with no confidence."
Jack frowns, clearly upset that he upset, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"
You shake your head, "I know. It's just...my own thing to deal with."
"Still. I'll be more mindful. We're still the Dynamic Duo," he gives you that smirk that always makes you melt inside. His fist sticking out to you.
You sigh, giving him a small smile as you bump his fist. Feeling confident that you're good, that you and he are good, he lets you go.
"Go rest. I'll see next shift."
You give him a salute and you head out, but you feel his eyes on you as you create distance.
And Jack does keep his eyes on you the entire time. He's satisfied, for the most part about your reasoning behind your distance. However, he's still unconvinced that that was the complete reason.
He thinks back on what he discussed with Lena and a specific thought bounces around his head. Maybe you caught onto the fact that he and Juliette were a little too comfortable with one another. And maybe you got a little jealous? But you didn't explicitly say so and, usually, you're very honest with Jack about things. So maybe it wasn't that at all. Maybe you weren't jealous and you really did feel unconfident.
A little part of him is disappointed, because if you were jealous then maybe, just maybe, you did have some feelings for him.
___________________________
Jack watches from the hub as you discuss the x-ray in Dr. Barker's hands. You look at the man with soft eyes and a polite smile. Barker apparently says something hilarious because you're now laughing, nudging his arm. The guy can't be that funny, right?
Jack's jaw clenches and he crosses his arms over his chest. His eyes narrow when Barker chuckles with you, returning a smile that makes Jack want to punch the guy's teeth in.
"Looks like someone's out to steal your girl, boss," Ellis says as she swings by the hub.
The frown on Jack's face grows as he rasps, "She's not my girl."
"And she definitely won't be with how long you're taking," Lena mumbles, her focus still on the iPad in her hands.
"And I'm leaving," he grumbles, marching away from the two women, whom give each other knowing looks over the hub's counters.
He nears the room where you and Barker are still talking, but now discussing things with your patient. He's a middle aged man whose leg got crushed by concrete blocks.
He grabs Mateo, who happens to be walking by. The abrupt grab, startling him, "Woah! Jesus!" he chuckles, "Scared the hell outta me, doc."
"Sorry," Jack murmurs, "Hear anything about sending Dennis Looms upstairs yet?"
Mateo shakes his head, "Nope. Want me to call them again?"
"Nah. I'll call Walsh. She's less likely to get snippy with me," Mateo gives him a salute and strides over towards Lena at the hub.
You eventually exit the patient's room, exchanging a few more words with Barker before the man leaves your side and heads towards the elevators.
Jack immediately takes his usual spot - right beside you.
"Hey!" there's some sparkle in your eyes this time. It seems like after your chat, you've gone back to your regular self, although not as much sparkle in your eyes. But Jack sees a little right now, which he's grateful for.
"Barker was here for a while. Everything go okay?"
"Nick? Oh yeah! He came down and helped explain everything to my patient."
"That's nice of him," Jack mumbles, hands behind his back, hiding his tightly wound fists.
You nod in agreement, "He's always been like that."
You can tell from the confused look on Jack's face that he's silently questioning what you meant. So you explain, "Oh, Nick was in California too. He was doing a fellowship at Rady's in San Diego the same time I was. We became friends and then found out we both worked here. Small world, right?"
"That's...fun," Jack responds plainly and seemingly unimpressed.
"We've been trying to meet up for drinks, but conflicting schedules."
"Did you two ever..."
"Date? Oh God no. He was freshly engaged when we met. Still engaged now, but the wedding is next year, I think. Anyway," you wave everything off, "Need me for something?"
Jack's immediately shaking his head, "Nope. Just wanted to check in on you."
You softly smile at him, the one he's grown so fond of, "Thank you, but I'm fine. Promise."
Jack pulls out one of your favorite protein bars from his pocket. He always keeps one or two on him for you. Just in case, "Protein bar?"
"Actually, yes! I'm feeling a little peck-ish," You swipe it out of his hands, ripping the bar open and taking a bite. He smirks at you in amusement and pats your shoulder, no longer feeling that sliver of jealously he felt a mere fifteen minutes ago.
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