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At County General, being a nurse is hard enough without John Carter making every shift worse. From the start, you clash. You think he’s impossible. He thinks you’re stubborn. Or that he has a smile that makes you go weak at the knees. Between late-night run-ins and long shifts, the line between rivalry and something more starts to blur.
Clashing with John Carter was part of your job at County General. Between patients, chasing charts, and keeping the ER from imploding, you somehow still found time to argue with him at every opportunity.
The rivalry started the day you met. Carter walked in with the confidence of a doctor who thought he already knew everything, and you corrected him on something minor just because you could. He insisted it didn’t matter. You insisted it did. Neither of you backed down, and the chemistry was instant, for better or, more accurately, worse.
Before long, your arguments became part of the ER routine. Carter had to have the last word. You made it your mission to make sure he didn’t get it.
He was smug in a way that made your teeth clench. He had an answer for everything, a comeback for everything else, and a smile that suggested he knew exactly how irritating he was. He was annoyingly perfect at his job. He noticed things quickly, learned fast, and had just enough heart under all that polished confidence to make hating him properly feel impossible. The only time ever you listen to what he tells you is when you’re both in a trama room together.
Worse, you hated the fact that his smug smile could make your knees go weak when you were trying to dislike him.
Carter seemed just as determined to treat you like the single greatest inconvenience in his life. He complained about your attitude, your stubbornness. But he always came back. Always found a reason to stop by the desk where you were charting. Always had some little remark ready, just waiting to make you roll your eyes.
And then there was the face you made. That tiny scrunch of your nose whenever he said something especially arrogant. Carter noticed it immediately. The first time it happened, he was halfway through correcting you when your nose wrinkled, your mouth twitched like you were trying not to laugh when a patient said something funny. Then every thought in his head simply disappeared. For a full three seconds, Dr John Carter, who usually had an answer for everything, stood there silently with a chart in his hand like he had forgotten his own name.
Seeing the new doctor on the floor, talking to you, seeing you laugh.
Benton glanced up from the desk, unimpressed. “Carter, are you planning on finishing that sentence?”
Carter blinked, looked down at the chart as if it might rescue him, and cleared his throat. “Right. Yes. The labs.”
“Did I make you stutter back there Carter? We don’t want another mishap like tasing yourself with the defibs.”
“And says the nurse who somehow punctured a saline bag and practically baptised herself in it.”
It would have been easier if the hospital was the only place you had to deal with him, but fate apparently had a cruel sense of humour. After twelve hours of arguing under fluorescent lights, you usually went home to the exact same apartment building he lived in.
The first time you saw him in the lobby, both of you stopped dead.
“You live here?” you asked, horrified.
Carter looked just as offended. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll try not to lower the property value.”
“With that attitude, I’m surprised the elevator still works.”
You stepped inside before him and pressed your floor button with a sweet smile. “Careful, Carter. If we get stuck in here together, one of us is leaving emotionally wounded.”
His smile was slow and unbearable. “Only one?”
That was the problem with him. He irritated you. He challenged you. He made every shift harder than it needed to be. But sometimes he smiled at you like that, and suddenly your knees forgot their purpose.
Carter had his own problem, though he hid it slightly better. He could handle your attitude when it was sharp. He could handle your eye rolls, your quick comebacks, your ability to challenge him in front of half the ER without blinking. But every now and then, your nose would scrunch or your mouth would twitch like you were fighting a smile, and he would lose whatever brilliant response he had been preparing.
So you kept clashing. At work, in the lobby, by the mailboxes, in the elevator at six in the morning when neither of you had slept enough to be civil. You told yourself it was irritation. He told himself the same thing.
Unfortunately, neither of you were very convincing liars.
The ER is a whirlwind of noise and motion, but next to the supply cart, your world narrows to just you and the student nurse. She’s anxious, gripping the glass IV bottle too tightly. You offer a gentle smile, guiding her hands. “Relax. Support the base—yeah, like that.”
She nods nervously, but her grip slips. The IV bottle tumbles. You move instinctively, catching it, just barely but it shatters in your palm, glass slicing deep. The pain is sharp, but you force yourself not to flinch in front of her.
She stares at you, mortified. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, are you okay? I didn’t mean to—”
You swallow the sting, managing a small smile. “It’s alright. Accidents happen.” You keep your voice light for her sake, though your hand is already slick with blood.
You excuse yourself and duck into the treatment room, heading straight for the sink. Cold water stings as you rinse your hand, pink-tinged droplets swirling down the drain. You wince, shoulders tensing as a couple of tiny glass shards glint in your skin.
You don’t hear Carter walk in, but you sense him behind you. He says your name softly, and you turn to find him watching, concern etched in every line of his face. “What happened?”
You lift your hand, sheepish. “Student dropped a glass bottle. I tried to catch it. Guess I forgot I was human for a minute.”
He steps closer, quietly shutting the door behind him. The ER’s chaos fades, replaced by a hush that feels fragile and private.
“Let me see,” he says, voice gentler than you expect. You hold out your hand, and he examines it, his touch careful and warm. “Did you get any glass in there?”
You nod. “Feels like hundreds.”
He glances toward the window—the student nurse is still out there, fumbling, guilt written all over her face. You look back at Carter, suddenly shy. “Could you…?”
“Of course.” He snaps on gloves, fetching the first aid kit.
You flinch as he teases out the last shard; Carter’s hand tightens around yours, his thumb brushing your skin. “It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he says softly. His face is closer than you expected, all focus and concern.
He finishes cleaning and bandaging your hand, but neither of you moves away. For a moment, the air between you crackles, months of irritation, banter, and everything left unsaid pressing closer and closer.
You can’t help it. You give a shaky laugh, voice almost a whisper. “You know, I don’t actually hate you.”
Carter looks up, eyes locked with yours—hungry, vulnerable, finally letting everything show. The silence is charged, both of you breathing a little faster.
Without warning, you both move at once colliding in a kiss that’s fierce, desperate, and hungry, all the longing you’ve buried finally breaking free. It’s not gentle; it’s urgent, months of tension spilling over in the press of mouths and his tight grip of hands one on your hip, other on the face, falling back on the hospital bed.
Carter made a low sound against your mouth, like that small movement had shattered whatever restraint he had left. His hand found your waist, firm and warm, while the midly hard hosital bed pressed cold against your back. The contrast made you gasp, and he paused just long enough to make sure you weren’t pulling away.
The kiss changed after that. It stopped being a mistake and became a confession neither of you were brave enough to say aloud. Every argument, every lingering glance, every smug smile he had ever thrown your way folded into the space between you. His mouth moved against yours with months of frustration behind it, and for once you had no clever answer. No cutting remark. No way to pretend this was just another fight you could win.
When he finally pulled back, it was barely enough to breathe. His forehead stayed close to yours, his hand still at your waist, his breathing no steadier than your own.
“This is a bad idea,” you whispered.
“Very bad idea,” he murmured back, kissing into your neck.
If anything, you pulled him closer, arms wrapping around his neck, pulling his tie off, unbuttoning his shirt. He slightly pulls you up, taking off the purple scrubs, thankfully, you decided to wear the lacey bra you bought.
For a moment, you just laid there, sharing the same breath, pretending those words had changed anything. Then his eyes dropped to yours again, and whatever fragile attempt at common sense either of you had managed shattered instantly.
It was better than the accidental dreams you would have of these exact situations, waking up in the middle of the night, cursing to yourself that your mind had let you had such dreams.
His hand tightened at your waist as he met you halfway, and the sound he made was somewhere between relief and surrender. There was only the warmth of his mouth, the pressure of his body, and the dizzy certainty that you were both making a terrible decision.
A terrible decision neither of you seemed interested in stopping.
His fingers slid up your side, careful and deliberate, while yours stayed tangled in the front of his coat. Every time the kiss softened, every time it seemed like one of you might pull away, the other closed the distance again. You should have let go of his coat. You should have reminded him you were at work, in a treatment room, that anyone could walk into. You immediately forgot everything when you felt his knee push you up slightly in between your legs, making you gasp in surprise, tightening around him.
Carter noticed, because of course he did, you could feel his smile. Pulling more into each other deepening the desperate feeling. Before anything else could happen, an annoying sound of a pager started going off.
“Shit...” He stood back up, quickly buttoning up his shirt and bothering to put his tye back on. “Stay here, I’ll be back soon”
“Oh, I am actually off in 10 minutes, forgot to tell you”
“You’re impossible” he rolled his eyes smiling, he gave you a quick kiss moving swiftly out of the room, closing the door quickly so no one would be able to see you.
40 minutes have passed since that heated, stolen moment behind the closed door. The ER’s chaos has ebbed into the background, and Carter is finally shrugging on his coat, ready to disappear for his two days off. He’s halfway to the exit when Haleh intercepts him at the nurse’s station.
“Carter, your keys,” she calls, dangling them in front of him.
He blinks, startled. “Keys?”
Haleh smirks knowingly. “Y/L/N said you dropped them.”
He takes the keys, confusion flickering across his face. They’re familiar, but the keychain isn’t—plain, with a number stamped on it: Apt: 104.
Carter frowns. His apartment number is 207.
He turns the keys over in his hand, realization dawning. They’re not his. They’re hers.
A smile tugs at his lips, slow and secret. He knows exactly what she’s done—and what she wants.
Pocketing the keys, Carter glances over his shoulder, already thinking about the next move, heartbeat quickening with anticipation. The game between them isn’t over. In fact, it’s only just begun.
The key feels impossibly heavy in Carter’s hand as he stands outside your apartment, staring at the door like it might somehow answer all the questions tangled in his head. You’d handed it off earlier that day—using a nurse as the perfect cover, slipping it into his palm like it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing. It meant you trusted him with more than just a lock, and that knowledge had nearly undone him.
He’d told himself not to overthink it. Naturally, because he’s Carter, he’s done nothing but overthink it. He could still leave, climb the stairs to his own place on the floor above, pretend he hadn’t spent every spare minute replaying the moment in the supply room, the way your smile had lingered, the silent invitation behind it.
His fingers tighten around the key. He exhales through his nose, jaw flexing. “Fuck it,” he mutters under his breath.
Before he can change his mind, he slides the key into the lock. The click echoes in the quiet hallway, loud enough to make his heart stutter, and for a second he stands frozen. Then he pushes the door open.
You’re there, waiting—not startled, not confused, just waiting for him, like you knew this was exactly how the night would end. Whatever clever excuse or apology he had vanished the moment he saw you. Nerves and doubts collapse into certainty under the quiet intensity in your gaze. You knew he’d come. Maybe you had known before he did.
The door closes behind him with a decisive sound. Neither of you flinches. He keeps his eyes on you as he crosses the room, each step heavy with everything unsaid. When he reaches you, there’s no room left for hesitation.
His hands find your waist, pulling you in, not rough, but desperate, needing. He gives you space, just enough to pull away if you want. You don’t. Instead, your fingers clutch the front of his shirt, grounding yourself in the solid heat of him.
That’s all it takes.
He kisses you again, restraint left, nothing held back. It’s hungry, raw, and real. It’s the kind of kiss that says all the things he’s never managed to say and all the things you’ve both been aching to hear.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me?” he breathes, voice so low it vibrates against your skin. “For months, you’re all I think about.”
Your heart stumbles. “Months?” The question comes out as a whisper. You search his face, wondering how many moments you’ve missed, how many lingering looks you’ve dismissed, how many signs slipped quietly by while neither of you was brave enough to name what was happening.
“Every day,” Carter admits. He pulls you in again, kissing you harder, hands gripping your waist, anchoring you against him.
You gasp into his mouth, and he breaks the kiss only to rest his forehead against yours again, his breath coming fast. “God, you have no idea,” he says, and there’s something almost vulnerable in the way he looks at you
. His hands find your waist again, and when you flinch as he touches the spot where the glass cut you earlier, he immediately softens.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, voice thick with genuine care. He lifts your bandaged hand, kisses your knuckles, and waits for you to steady yourself.
You relax, heart pounding, and his thumb gently strokes your cheek. “Good girl,” he whispers, and the way he says it makes your pulse trip.
The months of tension and want come spilling out in fast, hungry kisses. You tug him closer, fingers curling in his shirt, and he laughs into your mouth, the sound vibrating between you before it dissolves into another desperate kiss.
“God you’re beautiful” staring every inch of you before pulling into you again, kissing every inch of your neck.
He grabbed the hem of your shirt and yanked it upward, nearly tearing it in his haste. You raised your arms, breathless, letting him pull it clean off. Before you could even catch your breath, his hands were already at your back, fumbling with your bra, tugging at the straps until they slipped away and hit the floor.
You tore at his clothes in return, your fingers clumsy with need as you fought the buttons of his shirt, popping a few in your urgency. You shoved it off his shoulders, hardly caring where it landed, hungry for the heat of his bare chest.
He groaned, grabbing the waistband of your underwear and pulling hard, the seam snapping as he dragged them down your legs, tossing them aside without a second thought.
You reached for his belt, ripping it open, yanking the zipper down. His pants dropped, and you shoved his boxers off, his hard cock springing out. both of you too far gone to be gentle. He kicked them away, your bodies finally, blissfully, bare.
You met each other with a force that spoke of every night spent wanting, every day spent pretending. There was nothing tentative left—just hot, reckless hands and mouths, and a hunger that left you both shaking as you finally, finally touched without barriers.
You stand up, he turns you around, his hard cock on your ass. His hands are everywhere, trailing up and down. One massaging your tit, and the other one your neck, pressing kisses up and down.
“Where's your bedroom?”” he growls picking you up, legs wrapped around his waist.
He stood at the edge of your bed, naked and feral-eyed, watching you crawl backward until your shoulders hit the headboard. The air between you crackled, thick with months of denied hunger.
He stroked himself, slow at first, gripping his cock tight, eyes glued to your every movement. The room filled with the sound of your uneven breaths, the wet sounds of your fingers, the low thrum of his restraint unravelling. You matched each other, feeding off the sight, both of you drawing it out, refusing to break the delicious, torturous tension.
“Touch yourself for me, but don’t you dare come,” he growled, voice like gravel, the command making your pulse race. “I want to see you fall apart, but not without me.”
You whimpered, hips rocking, your fingers moving faster, desperate. He watched, jaw clenched, his strokes growing rougher, the muscles in his arm flexing, every inch of him flushed and hard.
When it finally became too much, he moved, limbing onto the bed, grabbing your wrist and pulling your fingers from yourself.
You let your gaze trail slowly down his body, a wicked smile on your lips. “You look even better than I thought” you tease, dragging your fingers across his chest, down his stomach, deliberately brushing over the places that make him shudder.
He laughs, low and strained. “You’ve been thinking about me like this?”
You lean in, lips ghosting over his jaw, breath hot. “Every damn night. Sometimes in the shower. Sometimes in bed. Always wishing it was your hands instead of mine.”
You slid down, taking him into your mouth, slow and deep, tongue swirling, hands gripping his thighs. He groaned, head falling back, lost in you. You set a punishing rhythm, loving the way he struggled to keep control, the way he praised you with every curse, every ragged gasp.
He pulls out, breathless, eyes wild, and flips you onto your back, settling himself between your legs. “Now you’re going to see what happens when you tease me like that,” he promises, his tone dark and full of heat.
He pulled you up, mouth crashing onto yours, tasting himself on your lips. Then he flipped you onto your back, spreading your thighs wide, settling between them with a wicked glint in his eyes.
“Your turn,” he murmured, voice dark and greedy.
He dove in, tongue hot and relentless, licking and sucking your clit. The sensation was overwhelming—your back arched, breath catching in your throat as a sharp gasp escaped.
“Oh—fuck, John—” you choked out, clutching at the sheets, every muscle wound tight.
He slid two fingers inside you, slow at first, then deeper, curling perfectly as his mouth worked you mercilessly. You tensed around him, caught between pleasure and surprise.
He paused for a heartbeat, his voice low and soothing against your skin. “Relax, baby—these are just my fingers,” he murmured, tone gentle even as his touch stayed firm. “Let me make you feel good.”
You let out a shaky breath, trying to melt into the sensation. “God—John, I—” You couldn’t find the words, every nerve ending lighting up as he thrust his fingers deeper, his tongue swirling.
“Oh my god… fuck—” you whined, hips jerking, your body arching up to meet every movement. He edged you again and again, each time you got close, slowing down just enough to make you whimper his name.
“Please, John—don’t stop, please, I need—” you sobbed, your voice unraveling as he worked you higher.
“Not yet. I want to feel you shake for me,” he growled, mouth pressed to your most sensitive spot.
You moaned, desperate, “John—please, oh god, I’m so close—please—”
Finally, he sucked your clit hard and drove his fingers deep, sending you over the edge. You shattered, crying out his name, body shaking as he coaxed wave after wave of pleasure from you, not letting up until you were limp and breathless, mind spinning.
“Holy shit,” you whispered, still panting, your voice raw and full of awe.
He came up, face slick with you, eyes wild and ravenous. For a heartbeat, you just stared—drinking in the sight of him: the muscles in his chest and arms tight with tension, skin flushed and shining with sweat, his hair a messy halo from your hands. Your eyes dropped lower, and you took in the impressive length and thickness of his cock, flushed deep and glistening, heavy between his thighs, the head slick with need.
It made your mouth go dry, the reality of him somehow more perfect than anything you’d imagined in all those months of wanting. He caught you in a messy, desperate kiss, tasting every moan that slipped from your lips. Then, with a rough grip at your waist, he flipped you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up until you were on all fours, your knees pressed into the mattress and your back arched for him." You're not done,”
he growled, lining himself up behind you. The blunt head of his cock slid through your slick heat, teasing, making you shiver with anticipation. You barely had time to breathe before he thrust inside, deep and hard, filling you so completely you gasped and clawed at the sheets. He set a punishing rhythm, his hips slamming into yours, his hands gripping your waist so tight it bordered on painful. Every thrust sent you forward, your body rocking with his every movement, the sheer size and stretch of him driving you wild.
"God, you feel perfect,” he panted, voice breaking. “All those nights I imagined this—nothing compares.” His hand slid up your spine, tangling in your hair and yanking your head back so your arch deepened, your back flush against his chest.
He shifted, rising onto his knees, pulling you up so you were upright, your spine pressed to his front. One hand snaked around your throat, gentle but possessive, the other massaging your breast, pinching your nipple until you cried out. His cock drove up into you, thick and unyielding, rubbing all the right places. His mouth was at your ear, breath hot.
“Look at us,” he whispered, turning your chin so you saw yourselves in the mirror—the wild, desperate way you clung to each other. You whimpered, grinding your hips back, his cock hitting deeper from this angle, every nerve ending alight. “Please, John—harder—don’t stop—”He groaned, guiding you to lift your knees and turn, pulling you into his lap until you straddled him, facing the mirror. You sank down onto him, the fullness making you shudder. He filled you completely, stretching you until you could barely breathe, every ridge and vein dragging against your walls as you rode him. He grabbed your hips, helping you set a frantic pace, your hands braced on his shoulders.
You rode him hard, his eyes on your reflection, watching every tremor, every bounce of your breasts, every time you threw your head back and sobbed his name. “Fuck, you look incredible like this,” he rasped, thumb finding your clit, circling in tight, punishing strokes. “Come on, baby. Let go for me. I want to feel you fall apart.
"You buried your nails in his shoulders, grinding down, your cries getting louder. “John—I’m so close—please.” He grabbed your waist, slamming up into you, his own control slipping. “Come for me. Now,” he commanded, voice rough and hungry.
You broke with a strangled moan, your body convulsing in his arms, clenching around him as pleasure tore through you. He lost it right after, holding you tight as he spilled inside, his guttural grunt vibrating against your neck.
You collapsed together, tangled in the sheets, sweat-slicked and trembling, his arms locked around you. For a moment, you both watched your reflection—wild-eyed, spent, and utterly, beautifully wrecked.
You fell back into the sheets together, laughter mixing with the aftershocks. John propped himself on one elbow, grinning down at you. “So, was it everything you imagined?”
You reached up, tracing the line of his jaw with your finger. “Better. But I’m going to need a lot more research to be sure.”
He laughed, pulling you close. “That can be arranged.”
You sighed, utterly content, the world outside fading away as you let yourself be held, knowing this was only the beginning.
summary: jack had made it clear from the start—he was only available for casual, no strings attached stress relief. the way he acts after finding out you went on a date says something else entirely. (9.5k wc)
warnings: 18+ MDNI, porn with some plot, angst, coworkers with benefits, jealous!jack, yearning!jack, unspecified age gap, attending/resident power dynamics, jack is an ass (he gets slapped so it's chill), pet names (pretty girl, sweetheart), detailed explicit smut, mean!jack (reader likes it), dom!jack, brat/brat tamer vibes, dirty talk, dacryphilia, unprotected pnv, car sex, cowgirl, doggy, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, face sitting, chokehold, spanking (all my jack ass man believers stand up), breast & nipple play, pussy slapping, squirting, little blue pill mention, apologies & confessions, happy ending, fem!reader, reader is dana's niece, no physical description/mention of being blood related, dana haunts the narrative, no use of y/n, dual pov (i think), ending kinda rushed but fuck it we ball, briefly proofread so no doubt incorrect grammar lols
authors note: woof woof, bark bark. this is 70% filth, 20% angst, 10% fluff. i have no excuses honestly. no seriously this was only meant to be 5k. majority written at 3am in sleep deprived insanity. some of the smut warnings are just mentions, not explicit details. this is kinda toxic, if that's not your thing keep scrolling :-)
song inspo: read your mind - sabrina carpenter
masterlist
You say that you need to be alone
But night and day, want me at your beck and call
You say you know that you might be crossin' a line
Wastin' all our time
To think that we could be casual
You're not my friend and, baby, you never were
Why the fuss if you say you just wanna be mine?
6:55am
Abbot: Meet me at my truck in 15.
No hi, hello, how are you. If you were to scroll through your text thread with Dr. Jack Abbot, you would see that the faux pleasantries stopped three months ago. The two of you started sleeping together four months ago; it took four weeks for Jack to discern that he didn't need to use basic human greetings to get you in his truck, in his bed. That's not to say you were easy—god, no—it was just that you two had a mutual understanding for what this was.
Sex. That was all it was. Pure primal, fuck like you're going to die otherwise, sex.
It started after the night of the PittFest mass casualty. You had come in early along with your fellow night shifters to work through what was one of your most gruelling shifts to date. The Pitt only lost six patients, but the weight of that day was going to stay etched into your bones for the rest of your life.
Dr. Abbot came back to the ED around two am, checking in on how Shen was handling things—at least, that's what he used as a guise. The truth was that he had struggled to close his eyes once he got home, tossing and turning with the police scanner on, endless memories of dust and gunshots plaguing his mind.
He stayed until shift change, the act of caring for others quietening the buried memories that were crawling to the surface. He stayed to keep an eye on his staff—noticing how people were a little more quiet, how they were exchanging soft, hesitant smiles with one another instead of their usual jokes. At least, that's what he noticed about you.
You couldn't remember what exactly was said to transition from you two walking towards your cars to you sinking onto his cock in the backseat of his truck. In your memory overridden by lust, you could vaguely hear him saying something vulnerable; a response you weren't expecting after your exhausted tongue let slip how you were struggling with the events of the day.
Mutual words about feeling on edge, needing some kind of release, were whispered into the hazy dawn glow—the fusing saffron skies and coral clouds painting you both in a different light.
Mosaics of amber and olive flaked with gold stared up at you, catching every morsel of pleasure that scrunched your eyebrows and relaxed your mouth. Strong, sure hands moulded the flesh on your hips, keeping you completely at his mercy as he pounded up into you. One of your hands met the condensation slicked window, the wet glass providing no support as his every thrust bruised your cervix.
Your nails dug crescents into his sun-speckled canvas, a crescendo of moans and gasps drowning out the wet mess gushing from your core. Hands you admired while wrist deep in chest cavities clutched your ass, one rearing back to land harsh slaps to the heated and aching skin—setting the fire coursing through your veins ablaze.
Your head flung back with a guttural cry of his name, the warmth of his release coating your walls plunging you into a sea of ecstasy. A groan of your name pushed through the ringing in your ears, the thick chest pressed against yours rapidly rising and falling with pants.
The sex thick air in the truck turned suffocating in the tense aftermath—both your minds spiralling about how bad of a mistake this was. Jack's stomach curdled from his blatant abuse of power, your hands trembled in fear of fucking for special treatment accusations—terrified of tarnishing your reputation.
Jack was the first to break the silence. "This was a one time thing."
You nodded, avoiding his eyes as you straightened your scrub top, pulling your pants up while his seed continued to leak out of you. "Agreed."
Despite his unforgiving mind reminding him how badly he screwed up, Jack fell into a dreamless sleep—the ghosts that permanently resided in the back of his mind staying locked in their rooms, letting him rest alone for once.
He struggled to make eye contact with Dana when he arrived for his next shift—the feeling of betraying one of his dearest friends gripping his chest. The logical side of him reasoned that you weren't her daughter—you were an adult capable of making her own questionable decisions, and letting him manhandle you in the back of his truck was just one of them. Unfortunately, that logical side couldn't silence the guilt that invaded him when he saw her wrap an arm around your shoulder and kiss your temple.
However, that guilt vanished hours later—replaced with a sick sort of admiration, one wrapped in barbed wires of lust. He always knew you were competent—hell, out of all his residents, he would trust you the most with his life in your hands. He always knew you were beautiful—it was a fact he accepted with ease the second you set foot in the Pitt.
But now, he knew how your pussy felt squeezing his cock—knew how your hips moved the closer you got to your release, how you crumbled into a whimpering mess as you reached your precipice. Your competency mixed with this new knowledge created a dangerous concoction, one that infiltrated his bloodstream and made him drunk on the thought of you.
You tried to not let it affect your work—willed your nerves to steady with a scalpel in hand, trying to ignore the empty ache you felt since you left his truck. The ache you tried to soothe on your own but failed every time. Because Jack Abbot had fucked you better than all of your exes combined, and it pissed you off. You refused to be a cliché—the young resident who followed the older, handsome, charming attending around, basking in whatever affection and praise he discarded without a care.
You were better than that. Stronger. Evans women didn't risk their careers for silver foxes who hid behind wry quips and flirty smiles.
Apparently, you weren't as strong as you thought.
One week later, you found yourself back in his truck—your knees pressed into the worn carpet, drool dripping down your chin and neck, the air filled with the sounds of his grunts and your gagging.
He instructed you to slip a hand into your pants, to swipe your fingers through your folds and show him how wet you were from sucking an old man's cock.
"Fucking soaked," he groaned out, the slick on your hand shimmering like liquid gold as the sunrise filtered through the tinted windows. "Knew you'd like being on your knees," a calloused finger tapped your cheek, urging your glistening eyes to meet his, "always so eager to please."
The finger slid down to your jaw, tracing a line until his hand cupped the back of your neck. His grip was tight and strong, keeping your head exactly where he wanted it. His other hand encircled your wrist, yanking your hand coated in your arousal to his mouth. Eyes black with hunger penetrated yours, daring you to look away and disobey his silent command. His tongue slipped out, licking a strip up your fingers. Your responding whine was muffled by his cock thrusting down your throat, resulting in a sinful vibration that had his spine tingling.
In this moment, he wasn't your attending and you weren't his resident, weren't one of his closest friends' nieces. You were two willing adults—a man and woman troubled by their own demons, seeking release and relief.
His hand gripping your neck kept you still as he started to fuck your mouth in earnest, each hit of his tip to the back of your throat earning him a gag. Jack watched as tears breached your waterline, slipping down your cheeks to mix in with the slobbery mess glazing your neck. His eyes drifted down, taking in the sight of your wrinkled black scrubs—committing it to memory, to fuck his fist to later. The shift of your hips didn't go unnoticed, the way you were trying to grind against nothing drawing a mocking laugh from his chest.
"You that desperate, huh? Drooling all over my cock got you so worked up you're tryna fuck nothing."
You nodded your head with another muffled whine, lust overpowering your innate urge to bite back. He eased your head back, leaving his leaking tip resting on your tongue, letting you fill your lungs with oxygen before he continued his efforts to ruin you.
"Touch yourself, pretty girl."
You happily obliged, trying to pull your hand from his grasp.
"Uh-uh," he tutted, tightening his grip—just shy of leaving bruises. "This one's mine. You got another one, don't you?"
Your hand clutching his thigh for support let go in an instant, eager to please Jack and in turn please yourself.
You were so sensitive, your panties already soaked, your clit puffy from arousal and neglect. The first touch had you mewling around him, your hips humping your hand with fervour. Jack chuckled above you, gleaming eyes enraptured by your desperation.
"Fuck your fingers like you wanna fuck my cock." He ordered, heat gathering at the base of his spine when you obeyed immediately. He brought your hand back to his mouth, eagerly licking and sucking your slick off it, all while keeping his eyes locked on your hooded, hazy ones. "Taste so fucking good," he moaned, his hips picking up speed.
He came down your throat minutes later, watching your eyes roll back as you swallowed all of him down. Your own orgasm rushed up behind you, tightening every muscle in your body as you clamped down on your fingers with a moan.
Jack manoeuvred you onto the seat next to him, brows furrowed as his post orgasm clarity soured his gut again.
He kept his eyes locked on where he was twisting his ring around his finger. "That wasn't—I didn't mean to," he cleared his throat. "I didn't intend on being so harsh—mean."
You could feel the stress radiating from him, his words softly spoken and genuine.
"It's okay," you murmured, biting your lip. "I…I liked it." And because you wanted to ease his worries and silently give him permission—"I've begged for worse."
He lifted his head, shocked eyes meeting yours with a disbelieving chuckle and shake of his head.
"This is gonna keep happening, isn't it?"
You answered by pulling your scrubs and panties down your legs, pouting at him with a twinkle in your eyes.
"Need you to help me clean up my mess, Doctor Abbot."
You collapsed into the drivers seat of your car with two orgasms and a mutual agreement under your belt.
Strictly physical, no strings attached. No kissing, no cuddling, definitely no staying the night. Nothing untoward within the Pitt's walls—these two hookups in the parking lot staying as the only ones.
Never speak a word of this to anyone else.
Three nights—technically mornings—a week you found yourself pulling into Jack's driveway, parking your barely road-legal car behind his truck. His black, navy, and white minimalist interior didn't surprise you one bit, neither did the barren walls. The first few times, he led you into the kitchen with the offer of a drink, exchanging idle chatter about the weird cases that came through the Pitt's doors hours before.
The first time your skin touched his soft sheets, he had you on your back with large, calloused hands pushing your legs towards your chest as he devoured your pussy like a man starved. He made your vision dance with stars, made your ears ring from two earth shattering orgasms before he removed his face—his mouth and chin soaked with your release, a cocky smirk deepening the lines carved around his eyes. Your skin was still tender from his stubble when he sunk in deep, reaching spots you didn't even know existed—pulling sounds from your chest you didn't know you could make.
As you floated from his front door to your car, you knew that Jack Abbot had ruined you for any other man. No one had read your body that quickly before, no one else had found the switch to turn off your brain and give in to primal desire.
And you didn't even know what the simple touch of his lips against yours felt like.
By the sixth night you had learnt absolutely nothing new about him. Well, nothing that was outside of bodies and pleasure.
You learnt he was an ass man, needing to land slaps to your cheeks no matter what position you were in. You learnt he liked to talk—liked to mock every pathetic sound he wrung out of you. You learnt that he had a bottle of blue pills in his bedside drawer, learnt that he was unashamed to swallow one down in front of you and fuck you with his tongue and fingers until it took effect.
You knew exactly what Jack liked in bed. Outside of that? Absolutely nothing.
His favourite colour? Fuck knows.
How he cared for his leg after a long shift and long night of screwing you senseless? That was between him and his physiotherapist, you guessed.
And he knew nothing about you. Or, at least, he didn't try to get to know you.
You stopped thinking of this arrangement as friends with benefits—friends felt too generous of a word. Coworkers with benefits sounded the closest to the truth. You worked together, spent at least twelve hours a day in the same building, exchanged the occasional witty remark under fluorescent lights. There were no lingering looks, no secret touches, no dropped voices and subtle smirks. And you were fine with it being that way.
Until you weren't.
By month two it had become impossible to ignore the pang that ricocheted behind your ribcage every time you drove away. The pang that grew to an ache every time you went to Dana and Benji's for dinner.
You adored their relationship, admired it. Your parents' messy divorce had left you skeptical of love, had you doubting if it was worth pursuing if it only ended in misery and spite. But your aunt and uncle softened that cynical side of you, reminding you that yes, love could be messy, but it could also be beautiful and fun. It could be coming home to your best friend everyday, hugging each other even after an argument because going to sleep angry never solved anything.
You tried to find what they had in your exes, putting more effort into relationships that drained you by the end. You heard too many times to count that your lives weren't compatible, that they couldn't give their all to someone who was happy to run out the door when the hospital called.
They didn't understand you—didn't understand what it meant to make a difference, to hold someone's life in the palm of your hands and safely return them to their loved ones. They only focused on the days when you couldn't save someone, when the grief held you captive and motionless. They didn't want to continue holding your hand on those hard days.
And so somewhere along the way you stopped trying—convincing yourself that you were fine with casual, that it was the most suitable relationship for your lifestyle. But every time you saw Dana and Benji, you knew that wasn't true.
They reminded you that you wanted, and deserved, more.
Jack had never slept better. Even with that little voice in the back of his head telling him that he had crossed a line—that he was risking not only your career but his friendship with Dana. He managed to silence that voice three times a week; the sounds of the pleasure he was unleashing on you drowning out everything else.
He truly believed he could keep things separate—that the beautiful woman he had in his bed wasn't the same beautiful woman he trusted and found himself proud of every shift. He could totally keep them separate.
So what if his eyes followed your ass when you walked away from the Hub, admiring how the black scrubs clung like a second skin, knowing how they looked discarded on his bedroom floor. Knowing how the globes of your ass felt clutched in his hands, the sound of his palms slapping them reverberating off his walls.
So what if he found himself craving your taste a minimum of three times every shift, the mere thought of your sweet nectar drenching his face leading to inopportune boners.
No one had to know that whenever he saw you biting back at arrogant surgeons that his eyes were glued to your lips, remembering how good they looked—how good they felt—wrapped around his cock. The no kissing clause had been his suggestion—a subconscious part of him knowing that if he felt your lips against his, he wouldn't be able to let go.
The simple act of kissing felt infinitely more intimate than everything else you did. It was a tender act, saved for the person who walked out his door in the morning only to return in the evening. Saved for the person that had left one cold, winter morning and never returned in the frigid evening.
Jack ignored the warmth that spread throughout him in your company, convincing himself it was just lust, just sexual desire. He convinced himself he didn't need to know anything new about you—he already knew what type of student you were, the doctor he had watched you flourish into from the sidelines.
He knew where to touch you, that mouthing at the spot below your ear made you putty in his hands. He knew what positions had you trembling, had your eyes rolling back as you squirted on his dick, on his face. He knew his favourite view was a tie between you above him, suffocating him as you ground your pussy on his mouth, nose, chin, and him behind you, holding you up with a bicep wrapped around your neck in a chokehold, ordering you to keep your eyes on the mirror across from his bed as he stretched your tight pussy with his thick cock over and over again.
He knew that your car was a piece of shit, knew he was worried every time he heard it sputtering out of his driveway—worried enough to demand you stop driving it, to let him drive you to and from work until you could get it fixed, or better yet, buy a new one from this century. (You compromised by getting the bus instead, saying that you two arriving and leaving together would look suspicious.)
And unfortunately, due to his close friendship with Dana, he knew other things about you. What your childhood nickname was, that you once found an abandoned kitten and tried to hide it from your parents—the kitten that was now an old cat, spending it's days curled up on the couch in Dana's sunroom. He knew your parents had an ugly divorce, one they threw you in the middle of—forcing you to choose a side, which subsequently left you in the care of Dana and Benji for a few years.
He knew more about you than he ever wanted to.
"Strip."
Oh, you fucked up.
The drive to Jack's had been dead silent, his anger rolling off of him in waves—sitting in between you two like a physical being. It had your muscles tensing, and more shamefully, had a fire brewing in your core. Because you liked when he got mad—when he barely spoke a word to you, choosing to get his frustrations out by relentlessly drilling you into his mattress. You liked when he got mean—because at least then you knew he was feeling something towards you other than indifference.
You did as you were told, stripping out of your black scrubs, leaving you in your mismatched bra and panties. From his spot leaning against the wall, Jack could already see the damp patch spreading on your underwear. He let out a humourless chuckle, a thrill running through him seeing how desperate you were already.
"Take your bra off. Lie on the bed."
Again, you followed his instructions with no complaint, no backtalk. Which was the complete opposite to how you had been three hours before—questioning his treatment plan in front of everyone in Trauma One, implying that his orders would cause the patient unnecessary problems later on.
You had a good argument, but he was not going to let your attitude go unchecked. He was not going to let you think the way you spoke to him was something you could do again.
He pushed off the wall, ignoring the pain in his leg—he would deal with it later, once you were in an uber on your way home. He sat down next to you on the bed, trailing light fingers from your ankle up your leg, avoiding the area you wanted him the most. He revelled in the sight of your breasts heaving up and down—you were so responsive, nothing more than his teasing touches starting to unravel you. His fingers continued their journey up your body, skimming over your trembling stomach and resting in the valley between your breasts.
The light touches distracted you enough that you weren't expecting his other hand coming up, slapping your tit before pinching the pebbled nipple. Hard.
"Ah—Jack!" You shrieked, your back arching away—or towards, you weren't sure—from the pain. Whimpers slipped from you as his touch eased up, his head dropping to place soft kisses around the tender skin. The fingers between your breasts trailed to the neglected nipple, tweaking it gently.
He pulled back, smirking when you whined at the loss of his touch. "Anything you want to say before we get started?" He drawled, raising his eyebrows pointedly.
You pouted, pretending to think. "Your curls looked really good today."
A rough hand dropped to your thigh, spreading them apart and pinching the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh. "Flattery will get you nowhere, not in this room."
"So there are other rooms where it will get me somewhere?"
"You need to learn when to keep your mouth shut." He didn't give you time to talk back, raising his hand and landing a harsh slap to your clothed pussy. Your hips shot off the bed with a gasp, chasing the friction—needy for it. He openly laughed at you, his free hand pushing your thigh down as he delivered another slap.
He moved back to sit on the edge of the bed, patting his thigh with a warning look. He watched with sick pleasure as you crawled towards him on all fours, grabbing your upper arm once you were close enough and pulling you over his lap with force. You let out a yelp, muffled by the sheets as you failed to catch yourself on your arms.
His hands gripped your ass cheeks, squeezing and kneading them. "Love this ass, sweetheart. Distracts me a bit too much at work, though. Somethin' else you need to be punished for."
You huffed, pushing up on your arms. "How is that my fau—" you cut off with a gasp, a hard slap to your left cheek stealing your breath and jolting you forward. The heat travelled the short distance to your core, adding fuel to the flames already blazing. Your panties were embarrassingly soaked from his rough treatment, sticking to your skin and his scrub pants.
"What did I say about keeping your mouth shut, huh?" His hand rubbed over the tender spot, tsking.
"Technically," you started, voice light and breathy, "you didn't tell me to shut my mouth."
You were rewarded with three slaps in quick succession, pulling a loud moan from you. You ground your hips the best you could, trying to get the right angle for your aching clit to rub against the growing bulge under you.
"Fucking brat," Jack spat, faux malice lacing his tone. "Running your mouth in my ED, and now you're trying to get off without my permission?" He pulled the ruined cloth between your legs to the side, a light finger ghosting along the slick covering your folds. He groaned, pulling his finger back to suck it clean. "You're dripping—not much of a punishment if you're enjoying yourself, is it?"
Any response you had is stolen from your mouth, whines falling out instead as he plunged two thick fingers into you. He didn't start slow—he never did when he was like this—pistoning them in and out at a force that was bordering on inhuman, making sinful wet sounds fill his room. His other hand forced your head into the sheets, muffling your whimpers—the sheets growing damp underneath you from your drool.
He hit your sweet spot with every thrust, your clit rubbing against his leg from the force. You could feel your high rapidly approaching, the spankings leaving your nerve ends feeling raw and exposed. Jack could feel it—how your walls were fluttering and clenching around his fingers, your muffled whines and moans turning high-pitched. He inserted a third finger, stopping the thrusting and leaving them still—the pads of them rubbing oh so slowly against the textured spot.
He knew it felt like torture to you, how slow he was going—keeping you right on the edge, suspended in the air, looking down at the waves of pleasure he was denying you. Your hips moved back and forth, trying to fuck yourself on his fingers. His hand left your head, delivering another harsh slap to your aching ass—making you sob from the unbearable mix of pain and pleasure swirling in your core. "Who said you're allowed to do that, sweetheart?" He asked, mockingly sweet.
"Please," you whimpered, turning your head to look at him with glazed eyes. "Please, Jack."
"Begging isn't gonna do you any favours tonight, pretty girl."
He pulled his fingers out, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing. "Up you get," he said, helping you move until you were straddling him—your naked thighs bracketing his clothed ones. One large hand was clutching your ass, keeping your hips from meeting his—prolonging your search for sweet relief. His other hand came up to your mouth, a wet finger tapping your bottom lip. "Clean up your mess," he muttered, hooded eyes focused on your lips parting for him.
You licked the tip of his finger teasingly, moaning at the taste of yourself on his skin. Something low rumbled in his chest, and he pushed all three fingers into your mouth—watching intently as you licked and sucked your slick off of them. Your dazed eyes met his and it struck him—not for the first time—how beautiful you were, how you allowed him to see you like this. It made that annoying thing in his chest happen—the thing that felt like his heart was aching in longing, yearning.
He thrust his fingers in deeper, making you gag around them—watching in sick delight as tears slipped down your cheeks. Your hips started to rock in his hold, seeking friction that you weren't going to find. His cock was painfully hard and tenting his scrubs, making it impossible to ignore—especially not when you looked so fucking ruined.
He removed his fingers from your mouth, a string of saliva keeping them connected to your lips. He felt the overwhelming urge to kiss you—again, not for the first time—and knew that the only way to stop himself from doing so was to fuck you from behind—a position he had been favouring lately, for this very reason.
He unceremoniously shifted you onto the bed next to him—a small, surprised squeak escaping you. His lips twitched at the cute sound, and he briefly forgot what he was doing, what he was mad about. Your hand sneaking onto his lap to squeeze his cock reminded him.
Jack abruptly stood up, placing himself between your open thighs. He gripped your chin, tilting it up so you couldn't look anywhere except his eyes—his desire painting them black, amber flames surrounding the dilated pupils. "You're just making this harder for yourself, sweetheart. You sure there's nothing you wanna say?"
Your eyes dropped down to the tent inches from your face, your fingers twitching with the need to start palming him. "You sure you're not the one making it harder for yourself?" You met his eyes again, watching them narrow menacingly as your innocent smile morphed into a cheeky smirk.
His hand moved from your chin, gripping your cheeks hard and squishing them 'til your lips puckered. "Still haven't learnt your lesson." He pushed your head back, encouraging you to lie back.
He grabbed the sides of your soiled underwear and yanked them down your legs, leaving you completely bare while he was still fully dressed. His hands found your waist, flipping you onto your stomach with ease and pulling you back so your legs were hanging off the bed with your ass in the air.
Your cheeks received one more slap each—Jack really was obsessed with your ass—before you felt his tip prodding at your entrance, slipping down to nudge your clit. You whined at the teasing, pushing your ass back against him. A large hand splayed between your shoulder blades, pressing you into the mattress with force.
"Stay. Still." He ordered through gritted teeth.
Then he plunged in, sinking to the hilt in one thrust. A choked moan lodged in your throat, his size still a shock no matter how many times he stretched you open. He gave you no time to adjust, setting a harsh rhythm, making your hands scramble around on the sheets looking for support.
"So big," you gasped out.
A deep laugh rumbled from him. "So big," he mocked you. "You say that every time."
Skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with his grunts and your mewling. You could feel the fabric of his scrubs on the back of your thighs—the fact he was fucking you while fully clothed sending a shiver down your spine.
Jack picked up on the signs of your impending orgasm straight away, feeling his own tightening his balls. "Hold it," he demanded, slipping a hand under your hips and easily finding your clit. You sobbed into the sheets as he rubbed tight circles, your body locking up in effort to keep your release at bay.
"S'not fair," you whined, high and wrecked. The fire in your core was raging, threatening to set you aflame—Jack's orders be damned.
"Y'know what's not fair?" Jack grunted. "When pretty residents walk around like they own the place." His hand moved from your back, his palm resting on the sheets next to your head. He dropped forward, dragging his lips up your spine, biting down on the curve where your shoulder met your neck. Your eyes rolled back, the pain adding to the dizzying pleasure that was making your whole body ache from holding back. "S'not fair," he mocked you again, "when you make me walk around hard. All. Fucking. Shift." He punctuated the last words with hard thrusts, the force knocking breaths out of you.
"Come in me, Jack, please." You whined, delirious and in need of whatever he'll give you. "Need it s'bad, I'll be good f'you—promise!"
He groaned at your begging, pulling out at the last second to deny you what you were so prettily asking for. Even if he wanted nothing more than to fill you to the brim, this was part of your punishment. He spilled over your ass and lower back, painting your skin in white streaks.
You sobbed at the loss of him, at his hand leaving your burning clit and giving you no relief. He leaned back over you, his mouth hovering right next to your ear. "Aw, you wanna come, sweetheart?" You nodded fervently, tears soaking the sheets below you. He gripped your chin tight, turning your face until your lips were inches from his—your breaths mingling together. "Be a good girl and apologise."
"But I didn't do anything wrong." You whimpered out.
He tutted. "Try again."
His hand returned to your clit, fingers rubbing agonisingly slow figure eights—the fire blooming at full force beneath his touch. He watched the sweat beading at your hairline, the tremors running through your body making his bed shake; you were so determined to not give in, and it only made him inevitably breaking you that much sweeter.
He moved his head, nuzzling into the side of your neck—breathing in your intoxicating scent before he started nipping and sucking at the spot below your ear. And just as he predicted, that was your breaking point. Your body shook harder underneath him, a debauched moan slipping from you lips.
"M'sorry, Jack! I'm so sorry—won't do it again." You whimpered, hips rolling back and forth, trying to hump his hand. "Please—it hurts so bad!"
Satisfied that you finally said you were sorry, he moved off of you—flopping onto his back next to you and not wasting a second to grasp your waist and pull you on top of him. He positioned you so you were hovering over his face, giving you a moment to get your bearings before yanking you down and absolutely devouring you.
Your hands were quick to thread into his curls, tugging hard as you rode his face. Three fingers thrust into you again, this time curling and hitting your g-spot perfectly. The most sinful sounds he'd ever heard fell from your mouth, a sharp cry jolting out of you when his lips wrapped around your clit and sucked hard. You were so close already, the teasing and edging for what felt like hours leaving a painful knot that was ready to unravel violently.
"Jack—oh, fuck!" You shook above him, your body glistening with sweat as you climbed higher. He groaned, marvelling at the sight of you—yeah, he was never going to forget this. It sent vibrations through your pussy and your vision started to blur at the edges. "I'm gonna come—please let me come!"
He doubled his efforts, silently telling you to let go. You threw your head back with a scream, an all-consuming orgasm tearing through your core—ripping every single one of your nerves apart, a new galaxy bursting behind your eyes. You squirted all over Jack's face, his eyes never once leaving your heaving body as he eagerly drank every drop you offered him. He continued fucking his fingers into you, mouthing at your clit as you came down. You tried to lift your hips off his face but he refused, not letting up until overstimulated sobs left you and you begged him to stop.
He sat you on his chest, rubbing his hands along your thighs and hips. "That wasn't so hard now, was it?"
You returned home feeling both light and heavy—your head light from the brief sub space Jack put you in, your heart heavy because you couldn't do this anymore.
You couldn't do casual, you deserved more. And you knew Jack could never offer you what you truly needed, not when he was so adamant on being alone—which, honestly, was bullshit. He was never alone—choosing to either strap his SWAT vest on or pick up an extra shift in the ED, calling you up when he wanted company sex, refusing to sit in the silence by himself.
You didn't re-download the dating apps right away, content with accepting the fact that you were ready to start looking again. You continued your routine with Jack, albeit with a little less enthusiasm than usual. If he picked up on it, he didn't say anything—it wasn't like you two talked much anyways.
A few weeks later, you were at the Northside Farmers Market with your mom, browsing the stalls before you had to leave for your night shift. It was something the two of you tried to do every other week when your schedules lined up—an old tradition you had as a kid, every Friday going to the market to buy fresh, local ingredients for your family dinner the following Sunday. It stopped when your parents' tumultuous arguments in front of the vendors, the public, tainted something you once held so dear. Now that you were an adult, you were determined to replace those memories with good ones again.
You were at the baker's stall, exchanging idle chit-chat with Billie—the vendor—when a tall man approached the stall. Billie's face lit up at the sight of him, the older woman rounding the counter to pull him into a hug.
"Ollie," she said, pulling back and swatting his arm lightly. "I should be mad at you, y'know. You work how many blocks away, and you're only visiting your Ma now?"
You turned to the man in surprise, watching his cheeks flush red. He was older than you—most likely in his forties, if you were to guess from the few grey hairs streaking his dark beard. He was ruggedly handsome but tamed—his clothes looking like he would fit in on a farm, but the stitching on his jacket told you he would've paid at least a couple hundred for it.
Before he could respond, Billie looked between the both of you—the smile of a cunning mother overtaking her face. She placed a hand on his bicep, turning to you. "This is my son Oliver, he works at Westbridge as an anesthesiologist. If I remember correctly, you work at a hospital, don't you?" Oliver turned to you fully then, kind green eyes looking you up and down in pleasant surprise.
You smiled bashfully. "Yes, you remember correctly. I'm a third year resident at PTMC, specialising in Emergency Medicine." Oliver held out a hand and you shook it, offering him your name.
Billie returned to the other side of her stall, helping out with another customer. You and Oliver stepped to the side, falling into easy conversation about your jobs. Time passed quickly, and before you knew it your warning alarm to leave for your shift was going off. Oliver politely asked if he could get your number—saying that it's been really nice talking to you, and that he would love to get to know you more over a coffee or dinner sometime. You happily gave it to him with the smallest flutter in your chest—something in the shape of hope.
You found your mom at the books & records stall, gushing to her about the handsome man you just met.
"People hardly meet organically anymore!" She exclaimed, looping her arm through yours, the two of you practically squealing as you left the market.
Not even an hour later, you were standing at the Hub, talking to Lena about the parents in North Three with a degree in medicine from Google University, when your phone vibrated in your pocket. You pulled it out to see a text from an unknown number.
7:15pm
(412) 858-5725: It was really great meeting you today, I would love to take you out for dinner one night soon if you're interested
(412) 858-5725: I completely understand if our schedules don't match up, no pressure at all :)
(412) 858-5725: This is Oliver, by the way. If that wasn't obvious already haha
"I know that look," Lena singsonged, pointing an accusatory finger at your face. You looked up from your phone to see a sly smirk on her face. "Who's the guy?"
You looked away, biting your lip to suppress the smile you didn't realise had bloomed across your face. "It's no one, really. We only met, like, an hour ago."
"Ah, young love," the older nurse swooned. "Let me know how it goes, hon." Then she was throwing you a wink and calling after Vivi who was rushing past.
Luckily, you and Oliver figured out you both had the following Friday off and made plans to go to a family-owned Italian restaurant—not too intimate, not too casual. You kept the date to yourself—not even telling your mom—in fear of jinxing it. The two of you exchanged a handful of texts before your date, each one making you feel more giddy about your upcoming date.
You went to Jack's once in the week before your date with Oliver—cutting your usual three nights a week down to one, claiming that you were feeling too unwell the other nights. Which technically wasn't a lie, the guilt was starting to make you feel uneasy. You reminded yourself that you had no reason to feel guilty—you and Jack weren't dating, weren't exclusive, and you hadn't even been on a date with Oliver yet. But even with your reasoning, there was something clenching your chest and curdling your gut. You reminded yourself that you and Jack were just coworkers who used each other for stress relief; you didn't tell Shen about your date, so why would you tell Abbot?
The guilt stayed with you as you got ready for the date—feeling like you were trying to cover a cold secret with someone else's warmth. Your thoughts were briefly distracted when your phone pinged with a text.
7:03pm
Abbot: Come over to mine tonight. 9pm.
You: Sorry, can't tonight. I have plans.
Abbot: 👍
You scoffed at his response, your previous guilt evaporating in an instant. This was what you needed—the reminder that you deserved more than what Jack could give you.
You walked into the restaurant just before seven thirty, feeling like you had something to prove—to yourself or to someone else, you weren't sure.
The date went well—great, even. Oliver was charming, but also humble—mentioning his less than glamorous upbringing, how he got into med school on a scholarship, that the first thing he did with his first big paycheck was pay off part of his parent's mortgage.
You bonded over the struggle that was med school, the failing healthcare system, the weirdest cases you've worked on. Dinner continued into dessert, then another bottle of wine, but there was still a tension in the back of your head. It had you turning your head when he leaned in to kiss you, his lips brushing your cheek instead of your lips. It had you comparing the hand on your bare shoulder to another hand, one that wore a dark ring and knew exactly how to touch you.
You parted ways with tentative plans for a second date; the next time your nights off aligned wasn't for another two weeks, and you both didn't want to put too much pressure on a set date just yet.
You visited your mom the next day for lunch, filling her in on all the details about your date. She was ecstatic for you, claiming that she always knew the market was going to pay you back somehow.
Monday rolled around quickly, and you walked into your shift ten minutes early like you always did—allowing yourself a few minutes to catch up with your aunt before she went home. Dana was at the Hub as usual, complaining to Robby about the nurse shortage and the pressure it was putting on her people.
She looked over as you approached the counter, her face morphing into a smirk that you knew meant she had been talking to your mom.
"Hey, doll. How was your weekend?" She emphasised the question with a small wink. "Your mom told me you had a handsome date on Friday."
You rolled your eyes at her fondly. "I should've known she'd tell you as soon as I left on Saturday."
Dana rounded the counter and slung an arm around your shoulder. "It wasn't straight away, she waited until we had dinner that night." You laughed with a small shake of your head. "Don't leave me hanging, how was it?"
Robby was still stood behind the counter with his arms crossed, partially paying attention to you and your aunt. His face was pulled into a puzzled expression as he observed Jack standing not far behind you—clearly eavesdropping on your conversation with Dana, a small frown furrowing his brows and setting his mouth in a straight line. It wasn't really eavesdropping since you were both talking at a normal volume, any of your colleagues passing by would've heard your conversation.
What Robby found odd was that Jack had stopped walking on his way to the lockers to listen, one hand frozen on his bag strap and the other curled into a tight fist at his side. His cheek twitched in the way that meant something was bothering him, and Robby came to the chilling realisation that Jack was jealous. Over you—Dana's niece.
You started recounting the date to Dana, a giddy smile stretching your lips. It felt good to be openly wanted by someone, to not be a secret kept in the dark—to be something other than a stress relief booty call.
Robby watched in unease as Jack continued to stand as still as a statue, the vein in his forehead starting to bulge as a dark red crept up his neck.
Robby grabbed a tablet and casually rounded the Hub's counter, trying not to draw your attention. He started towards the North rooms, grabbing Jack's bicep in an iron grip and forcing him through the North Bay doors.
Once safely out of your earshot, he turned to his friend with a scolding glare.
"What the fuck did you do?"
Jack was pretty damn proud of himself. He managed to get to the end of his shift without blowing up at you once. It was due to Robby's threat ringing in his ears for the most part—having your best friend threaten to castrate you with a dead serious face tends to lower your anger to a simmer.
Jack hadn't uttered a word to Robby, the guilt and jealously written all over his face told him enough. Robby kindly reminded him that he was the least of Jack's worries—if Dana found out he so much as touched a hair on your head, losing his dick would be sweet relief compared to what she'd do.
So, Jack treated you as normal—ignoring the stabbing in his chest, the beast in his gut demanding to be let out.
There were less than ten minutes left of his shift when he caught sight of you talking to Lena at the north nurse's station.
Keep walking, he told himself. His feet didn't seem to get the memo.
"I meant to ask," Lena said, leaning her arms on the counter. "Any update on Market Guy?"
Robby had dragged Jack away before he heard the full recount of your date to Dana, which he had been both grateful for and disappointed by. He needed to know like he needed air to breathe—which was a terrifying realisation to him.
"We went out for dinner on Friday," you replied, biting your lip to hold back yet another smile. "It was really nice. He was a total gentleman, very charming, pretty down to earth." Lena nodded along, hanging off of every word. "We're planning a second date for when our schedules next align."
That was it for Jack. His vision clouded with a red fog, the beast in his gut rearing its head and breaking out. He stormed over to the two of you, gripping your upper arm.
"We need to talk," he bit out, ignoring the shocked look Lena gave him.
He didn't wait for your response, pulling you towards the only empty Central room. Once the door was closed, you struggled in his hold, trying to rip your arm free.
"Let go of me, Dr. Abbot." You demanded as calmly as you could, your heart beat quickening at the storm rolling over his face. He let go but stepped closer, crowding your personal space.
"That's why you couldn't see me on Friday? Because you had a date?" He seethed through clenched teeth.
You stepped back, anger starting to grip your chest. "I'm sorry—what?"
He followed you, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Did you sleep with him?"
"How the fuck is that any of your business?"
Unbeknownst to the both of you, the day shift had started filtering in—Robby and Dana finding their command posts at the Hub. Dana was the first to notice the two of you in Central Seven, her eyebrows drawing together at the furious look on your face.
"Hey," she said to Robby, getting his attention. She nodded towards where you and Jack looked like you were having a heated discussion. "You know what's going on with them?"
Robby followed her eyeline, tensing as he saw what he prayed wouldn't happen within the walls of his ED. He rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head. "Uh, no, not a clue."
Dana eyed him suspiciously. "Well, do you mind telling them we have patients who could use that room?"
"I'd rather not go in there."
Dana slowly turned to him, levelling him with a glare. "Michael Robinavitch, what aren't you telling me?"
Back in the room, your hands were starting to shake from anger, and Jack's head was throbbing from holding back the full wrath of his jealousy.
"I have the right to know if you're screwing other people."
You let out a humourless laugh. "Are you kidding me right now? You don't have the right to know shit!"
Jack's cheek twitched. "Yes I do. You said no to me to see some other guy."
"Oh, what—so I'm meant to come running at your beck and call?"
His jaw flexed and he opened his mouth, but your anger and disbelief at the situation had taken over.
"This has just been one big waste of time! I don't want casual anymore—not with you, not with anyone."
Jack opened his mouth before he could think better of it. "I didn't hear you complaining when you opened your legs for me."
A crack echoed throughout the room, the sound of your palm slapping Jack's cheek filling the tension riddled air. "You're a fucking asshole, Jack Abbot."
You shoulder checked him as you rushed out the door, refusing to let him see the tears streaming down your cheeks. You hurried past the Hub, not noticing Dana and Robby watching you with shock painting their faces. Your hand was tingling from the impact, your vision blurring as you made your way out the ambulance bay doors.
Dana didn't stop to think, storming into Central Seven where Jack was staring at the ground—his hand rubbing his tender cheek.
"What the fuck did you do to my baby?" She demanded, her voice dangerously low.
Shit.
The cold morning air made the tears staining your cheeks sting slightly, the sensation grounding and stopping you from completely falling apart. You never cried over a man—it was a rule you made for yourself when you were young, after seeing how your dad would make your mom fall apart at least once a week. They weren't worth your tears.
You wanted to charge back into the ED and slap Jack again for making you cry.
You stayed sitting on the ground with your back against the brick wall until your tears dried, until your breaths evened out and didn't hurt on their way out your lungs. You tensed when you heard uneven steps approach you—there was only one person whose steps sounded like that.
Your head shot up as he sat down opposite you, glaring daggers at him. He raised his hands placatingly.
"Please don't hit me, I'm here to apologise." When you didn't make a move to leave or attack him, he slowly lowered his hands. "I'm really sorry, I didn't mean what I said—to imply that you were easy."
"Then why did you say it?" Fuck, you hated how small your voice sounded.
He let out a long breath, looking up at the sky. "Because I was mad—upset." He looked back at you, his eyes softer than you'd ever seen them. "I didn't know that's how you felt…you never said anything to me."
"How could I when you barely speak to me? You just fuck me and then push me into an uber. Really makes a girl feel special," you shook your head, wrapping your arms around your chest—starting to feel exposed. "I can't read your mind, Jack. You can't tell me you want casual one day and the next get mad because I went on a date."
He had the decency to look ashamed, wincing and squeezing his eyes shut. "That's fair. I don't really have any excuses, no good ones at least."
You sighed, your head feeling heavy and starting to throb. "I don't need excuses; I just want to know why. Why you act like you don't know me, why you won't—" your voice dropped, wobbling slightly. "Why you won't kiss or hug me. I mean," you let out a bitter chuckle, "do you even know what aftercare is?"
He started to twist his ring around his finger, his mouth moving side to side as he struggled to find the right words to say. "Kissing and hugging felt too intimate—felt like things I couldn't take back." He looked up at you again, his eyes glassy. "I didn't want to admit to myself that I had—have—feelings for you, and the thought of kissing you…I mean I've thought about it a lot—to the point it's been driving me insane." He rubbed a hand along his jaw, a huffed laugh leaving him. "I was worried that by kissing you I wouldn't be able to let go, and that terrified me. It meant you could become another photo I keep in my nightstand."
You knew what he was talking about—you had opened it while looking for tissues, finding a collection of photographs in the drawer. You tried not to snoop, but you were fairly certain one of them was his wife and a couple others were his old army buddies.
"I get that, I do. The universe has handed you more than enough grief and hardship for one lifetime." You stood up, closing the distance between you and sitting next to him. "But that isn't solely your decision to make, Jack. You've been hurting us both by keeping your feelings to yourself." You brought your knees up, hugging them to your chest and resting your cheek on them. "And, honestly? A girl needs kisses and cuddles after coming four times in one night; a sub drop can be pretty brutal."
Jack's guilt multiplied tenfold. "Shit. Fuck, I'm sorry—I didn't even think about that." He shifted slightly, turning to look at you fully. "I would like to try again, if you'll let me. No casual bullshit, no pretending like I don't think about you all the time. Lots of kissing and cuddling—and orgasms, so many orgasms."
It was then that you noticed the ice pack in Jack's hands, resting over his groin. You couldn't stop the snort that slipped out. "I see you had a chat with Dana."
"Don't know if I would call it a chat. She's got a harder kick than I was expecting."
You hummed. "Just be glad you didn't get to experience her right hook—she gave my dad a black eye when she found out he was cheating on my mom. And she won't hesitate to give you one if you hurt me again."
His eyes were shining, hope swirling around the honey gold and sunlit green. "Does that mean you'll give me another chance?"
"Yes," you replied, letting the small smile break through. "But no sex until I think you deserve it."
Jack nodded, his own megawatt smile putting the sun to shame. "You're in charge here, sweetheart." He leaned in slowly, his eyes flicking between yours and your lips. "Can I kiss you, at least?"
You barely managed a nod before his mouth descended on yours, his lips achingly tender. He moved slowly, basking in the warmth he had been denying himself of for so long. A cold hand came up to cup your cheek and you jerked away in surprise, making him laugh and apologise before diving back in, settling the hand on your back to pull you in closer.
"I was right," he mumbled against your lips. "There's no way I'm letting go now."
GOLDI!!!!! WOAHWOAH OMG I INHALED THIS I DEVOURED THISSSSS jack abbot you are the stupidest man aliveeeee - for some reason manchild jack does something to my brain
this was SUCH a good read omg dom!jack you will always be important to me... i actually felt my feral activate while reading it i need to give him so much attitude it’s INSANE
also did you look in my brain and know that the no kissing rule always makes me go crazy bc omg chef’s kiss !!!! pathetic emotionally constipated jack abbot we have you exactly where we want you !!!
i was giggling so bad watching him realize how badly he messed up like the angst and the smut hit SO well + dana was literally the cherry on top omg mama bear
“You could become another photo i keep in my nightstand.”
Jack nodded, his own megawatt smile putting the sun to shame.
Lots of kissing and cuddling—and orgasms, so many orgasms."
count your days goldi you made me fold for him after he was so mean how did you do this and when’s he proposing - thank you for feeding me this i literally licked the plate clean
Description: You’re spider-man’s closest thing to a friend since the world forgot his name. Helping him with gadgets, cleaning his wounds…all without him ever taking the mask off. His true identity has always been a barrier between you two, but what happens when he gets hit with the pollen, and not only him, but the creature lurking inside him fixates on the only person he gets to call home?
Tags/warnings: sex pollen smut, fem!reader, porn with plot, whiny desperate peter >>>, dry humping, piv, riding, oral fem!rec, fingering, dark!peter taking over for a bit, orgasm denial, prone bone, so much yearning, mask stays on…or does it?
Note: You have no idea how giddy it makes me to write him again. He had NO business looking that good in the movie so I had to get this out of my system. Enjoy 🤍
Masterlist
You've seen spiderman hurt many times. When you signed the lease of the first apartment you could afford as a recent graduate, you never thought that would become your new normal.
The first time it happened was completely accidental. He’d arrived at the building in the middle of the night, bruised, bleeding and too disoriented to realize that the window he’d come through was not his.
That night, the noise of a heavy body collapsing onto the floor woke you up. For one terrifying moment, you believed someone had broken into your apartment, only to switch on the lamp and find the city’s superhero groaning and pressing his hands to his side. His suit was torn there, and blood soaked through the ruined fabric onto your rug.
He barely lifted his head when he heard you gasp, the lens of his mask focusing on your figure standing there with wide eyes, wearing only an oversized shirt.
“Wrong window,” he choked, then tried to hold himself up but immediately collapsed again. “Dammit,” he cursed, waiting for you to freak out any second now.
You could have, but instead you rushed to him and knelt beside him.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” Your hands hovered helplessly over his body, trying to see how bad the damage was in the dark. “You need a hospital–”
“No!” He snapped, trying to turn away but failing miserably. “I’ll be fine, I heal quickly.”
“You still need to stop the bleeding,” you countered, folding your knees under your body so you could rest on your calves. “Listen, I can help you. I took some medical courses last year and I have a kit somewhere.”
You looked at him with pleading eyes. He’d saved the city so many times, the fucking world, it was the least you could do to give something back.
He considered his options for a second, and to be honest he didn’t have many. His body was betraying him, and he couldn’t even get up to fix it himself like usual.
The blood loss made him nod, and you wasted no time in getting up and finding said kit. The blood loss also made him drift in and out of consciousness as you tended to the wounds on his ribs as much as you could.
It did not make him less cautious of you though. When you noticed the rip on his mask over a nasty gash on his neck and reached for it, his hand closed around your wrist and even half conscious, his grip was strong.
“Please,” he whispered. Pleaded. “Keep it on.”
The fear in his voice made you promise you would. Even if you couldn’t get to that gash properly. Even when he fell asleep on your floor and didn’t wake up for six whole hours.
The next morning, he opened his eyes and found you sitting on your bed, still staring at him.
His hands patted his chest, and confirmed his arachnid powers had done its job and healed him mostly. But most importantly, his mask was still in place. With no warning from E.V of it being removed. He learned that you’d spent the night making sure he was still breathing without seeing his face.
That had been one year ago.
After thanking you profoundly for helping him, he’d repaired your window, apologized several times, and disappeared into the apartment next door. He then considered moving into another building, but the thought was brushed away very quickly when he remembered the balance in his bank account.
So he acted more careful instead. For a while, he only turned back home when your curtains were already closed, or he only left the apartment when you had already left for your job (because yes, he absolutely researched the hell out of you after that night.)
Then he moved to the attic of the building. Bigger space, no neighbors, no risks. No you. Or at least he thought.
Because some nights…some delirious nights he still found your window a few stories down, and the accidental visits became less accidental. When he was too badly injured to care for himself, he came to you, even after you confessed your degree had nothing to do with medicine.
When he noticed you understood about his equipment malfunctioning, he’d bring it for you to inspect. When he became too reckless with himself you talked his ear off about how being difficult to kill did not make him immortal.
Somewhere along the way, you became spiderman’s friend.
Spiderman was safer. With you, spiderman was the only part of him he could let you see. Because that was the thing, you only knew the masked superhero.
He’d spent so much time blocking away his identity, making peace with the fact that there was no longer anyone in the world who would call him Peter and know exactly who that person was. That name only belonged to the people that once knew him, and no longer existed, so he never gave it to you.
Never showed you more than a sliver of skin when his mask rode up or glimpses of his abdomen when you tended to his wounds. He always kept that barrier and you respected it, even on those nights he was too weak to stop you. Even if sometimes not knowing the color of his eyes kept you up at night.
A promise was a promise.
Maybe that’s why he kept coming. Why he trusted you with a certainty he couldn’t understand. Why he eventually showed you his new living quarters in the attic and let you spend time with him. Why half a year ago, he added another chair next to his desk so you could work together, or help him when he was out patrolling and needed an extra set of eyes.
“I’m officially the girl in the chair, spidey,” you joked that time as you sat next to him, spinning around in your chair.
He’d gone quiet immediately, his body tensing up enough to make you frown, but then managed a small smile and said you were. You pretended you didn’t notice him being too quiet as he worked on his inhibitor after that.
He was wearing a hoodie, sweatpants and the mask. Always the mask that didn’t quite let you see through him. After a moment of quiet, you rolled your chair closer to his and nudged his arm playfully.
“You know I can’t keep calling you spidey forever, right?”
He snapped out of his trance, and the chuckle that came from under the fabric was unmistakable.
“Why not?” He nudged your arm back, but still focused on the device he was hunched over. “I like spidey.”
You put your elbow on the desk, resting your cheek on your hand so you could lean a little closer.
“I like it too, but it feels ridiculous after having my hands all over your body almost every night.”
The moment the words left your lips, you realized how bad that sounded. He straightened up, turning toward you.
“Wow.” Even if you couldn’t see the smile on his face, the lenses of his mask were quite expressive sometimes. He was amused.
“That came out very wrong,” you said immediately, before he bursted into laughter. He had been laughing more since you entered his life. “You know what I meant,” you whined, laughing too with heat flooding your cheeks.
“I think I know,” he chuckled, making you roll your eyes.
“I’m being serious though,” you added, a little more quietly. “You don’t have to say your real name. Just give me something.”
“Mmm…” he acted like has considering it, going back to tinkering with the piece of metal between his fingers, but then his eyes drifted to the flowers he’d bought that morning, and the name came out of his lips before he could think twice about it. “You can call me Maynard.”
“Maynard?” You repeated, suppressing a chuckle. “You don’t sound like a Maynard. That’s like an 80 year old man’s name.”
“That’s all I can give you,” he shrugged playfully.
You had a feeling it went deeper than that, but you’d also learned not to push it with him.
“Alright. Maynard,” you nodded, “but don’t expect me to use that name unless you’re dying. Guess I’ll stick to spidey for now,” you chuckled, going back to your own work as he hummed in agreement.
The conversation ended there. With him trying not to think about your hands all over his body in…different conditions.
Peter didn’t know exactly when his gratitude became longing. He could not identify the moment the friendship, the closeness, or just your smile, shifted into something he craved everyday.
Despite the mask and the fake name, he knew that after years of being no one to everyone, he had become someone to you. And you had become everything to him. Even if it was behind walls he’d built, you were the person who knew him better than anyone alive.
Which is why, the night he lost control of himself after an unknown dust was thrown at him in a fight, he chose not to crash land into your room.
Peter hit the floor of the dark attic with a loud thud, as his senses went overboard. His suit was sticking to his body uncomfortably due to the sweat coating his feverish skin. The fabric was intact, with no visible wounds in his body, just that burning sensation of something running through his veins.
And that dark part of him he’d managed to lock down with the inhibitor, trying to claw its way out.
“What the…what the fuck is going on,” he cursed, clutching his heaving chest as he panted against the worn wood floors. “I can’t–I can’t breathe…”
The computer’s monotone voice broke through the silence.
“You have arrived injured. I’m letting her know–”
“NO!” He cut the AI off, “EV, don’t tell her–”
“Message already sent.”
He glanced up at the digital clock on his desk. 2:18 am.
He groaned, grabbing his head when a wave of migraine hit him. He knew what came after that. The black eyes. The desire to break. To take. But this time something felt different. It was like a pull, looking for something or someone…for…for you?
Oh fuck.
You were going to come in and you were going to see him like this. No, no–
“Spidey?” You asked from behind the door, knocking exactly twice before opening it anyways.
The air changed the exact moment you walked in, and that something inside him shifted too. It became aware that the only thing it craved to survive was in the room now.
He needed to get to you. He needed to pin you down and–
“Don’t!” He managed to scream, holding his hand up weakly when you scrambled toward him.
You stopped right in your tracks, eyes wide and running all over him, searching for torn fabric, blood, or anything that would explain why he looked like every breath was painful.
“What happened?” You frowned, when you couldn’t find any source. “Did you get hurt?”
You instinctively stepped forward, but he waved his hand in front of him again.
“Stop, stop, stop,” he said quickly, “don’t come any closer.”
The harshness in his voice caught you off guard, but what sealed the deal was him dragging himself further away from you. It was barely more than a clumsy, desperate crawl, but he managed to put a decent distance between you before collapsing against the side of his thrifted couch.
He avoided looking at you. The oversized shirt covering your body, the comfy shorts you were probably wearing, the way your hair looked messy from rolling out of bed as soon as you got EV’s warning even if you had work the next morning.
You stayed right where you were, watching him. His suit had always fit him like it was painted on his skin, but every pant made his chest rise and fall beneath the fabric so violently that you wouldn’t be surprised if it ripped at the seams.
This reminded you too much of the changes that happened in him months ago.
It started with a sharpened temper, then the heightened sensitivity to everything, the black covering his eyes, and moments during patrol when his reactions became simply frightening for someone who had as much strength as he did. But you were supposed to have stopped it.
“Is it the inhibitor?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest, “is it failing?”
“I–I don’t know…I was hit with some dust out there,” he breathed. “I think it’s tampering with it…my head is killing me. Everything is too much.”
You nodded, turning toward the workstation.
“I will check the programming. Just hold on.” Not your best attempt at reassuring him, but he groaned in acknowledgment.
“EV?”
The computer woke when you touched the keyboard, illuminating the dark attic in a wash of blue light.
“Online.”
“Please run a diagnostic on the inhibitor and any possible interference.”
“Beginning diagnostic.”
You waited impatiently for the results, tapping your fingers on the desk while you watched him from the corner of your eye.
Over there, he…he was doing his best trying to breathe.
This obviously wasn't his first time having sensory overload. When the animal tried to take over the human part of him, everything in the city became impossible to escape. Not a single movement, or sound, or simple existence within miles was unnoticed by him.
But this time? The rest of the city had disappeared. There were no sirens in the distance, or voices coming through the walls, or every heartbeat in the building pounding in his head.
There was only you.
Your rapid heartbeat echoing inside him. He felt every tap of your fingers against the wood, every slight catch in your breathing each time he made another involuntary and pathetic sound from his spot on the floor.
Your scent…God, your scent filled the entire apartment.
The scent he found himself coming back to so often that it scared him. He didn’t want the attachment. The possibility of having someone again only to risk losing them again.
That same scent was making every muscle in his body react in a way he didn’t understand. It made him, and the other him, wanna do things to you he had only dreamed of in his wildest fantasies. Things he wasn’t proud of, things he wouldn’t dare to say out loud, even if he looked at you through the lenses of his mask and you couldn’t see the black in his eyes.
He pressed the back of his head against the couch harshly.
This was wrong. So wrong.
His senses were supposed to consume everything when the change came. Instead, they had fixed themselves entirely on you.
He could feel the heat of your body from across the room as though you were still in front of him. Could remember with sickening detail how soft your hands looked when they reached for him. Could almost feel the burn of the touch that had never landed because he stopped you.
What if he’d let you? What if he’d felt the way your hands ran all over his body? What if you’d moved them lower, and lower, as your mouth–
“Diagnostic complete.”
Your heads snapped toward the screen.
“There’s no external damage affecting the integrity of the device. I detected a foreign biotoxin in the bloodstream that may be bypassing the inhibitor, activating the suppressed arachnid hormones.”
“What biotoxin?” You frowned.
“Unknown. No matches found in available databases.”
Great. He thought. He had no time to take a bath with Yelena Belova to find out what the stupid dust was.
Tiny, microscopic potato, she would say.
The screen changed, displaying a model of his nervous system. There were yellow bright lines pulsing quickly, running all the way from the base of his brain down the length of his spine. Something unknown was moving through his blood, altering the part of him he had spent months forcing into submission.
He sucked in a breath as he watched you read the screen. Your eyes were focused, and a bead of sweat made its way down the side of your forehead.
He suddenly felt the need to lick it off.
Wanted to run his tongue from the base of your neck to the back of your ear. Wanted to fist your hair and make your heart beat out of your chest from how good he knew he could make you feel–
“The effects remain within his enhanced tolerance. However, prolonged exposure to certain hormones can cause extreme distress without relief.”
“What hormones?” Your voice, worried and unknowing of his thoughts only made him feel guiltier.
It took him a second to realize what you asked, but EV threw him under the bus before he could say anything.
“There’s a significant rise in reproductive hormones. The unknown toxin is inducing a strong mating response in him.”
Mating response. He stopped breathing.
Your eyes slowly moved from the monitor to him, and he saw the moment your attention dropped lower to the tent of his pants.
That suit concealed nothing on a good day. On one like this? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck–
He shifted almost immediately, but the movement only worsened the pressure, pulling a helpless groan from his throat that made your pulse jump. You looked away at once, turning back to the computer.
“Is there a way we can…umm…stop it?” You asked hesitantly.
“The subject is experiencing severe sexual arousal with a fixation on a nearby individual,” she explained, because fuck him if he wasn’t the unluckiest individual on earth. “Acting upon it can be a positive option to relieve sexual tension.”
He wished the floor would open beneath him, swallow him, and never ever EVER spit him back out again.
Your pulse was absolutely hammering after that. He caught the sudden change in your scent. There was a sharp spark of surprise, nervousness, and something else beneath it that his altered senses fed on immediately.
You kept your eyes fixed on the monitor, although the data had stopped meaning anything the moment you heard fixation on a nearby individual.
“Is that what you really feel?” You asked softly after a moment.
His head fell forward, catching it between his gloved hands. He didn’t know how to answer without making everything worse.
Although, after what EV said, could it really be worse?
“…Yes.” The word came out rougher than he expected. Yet still not enough for what was happening inside him. “It’s like…I can only feel you. All of you.”
Heat rose to your face once again.
“What does that mean?”
Don’t say anything, don’t–
“I can smell you.” Great start, idiot. He cleared his dry throat before continuing. “I can smell your shampoo…the lotion you use…the ink on your hands from your favorite pen.”
He chose not to mention he could also smell the adrenaline on you. The heat gathering slowly beneath your skin.
Your eyes dropped to your hands, and under the dim light of the computer, you caught the ink stains in them from your journaling session before bed.
“I can hear your heartbeat changing every time I speak,” he added. Okay, that one slipped out.
You swallowed. And god, he felt that in his own throat.
The suit was suffocating him at this point. He wanted to rip it off as much as he wanted to rip off the fabric covering the goosebumps on your skin.
“Is it only because I’m nearby?” You asked, gathering the courage to turn your chair to him.
White lenses met you across the room. He dragged in another shaky breath of oxygen made of you as he thought about his next words. He could’ve lied. He should’ve lied. But instead, chemically overwhelmed and stripped of every defense he possessed, he gave you the truth.
“No.”
His voice was firmer this time. No hesitation in it despite the thousand red alarms pounding in his head telling him to shut up.
“It picked you–no, I picked you for a reason,” he added. “And it’s not just me. The other…the other me wants you too.”
His voice went lower on the last part, that told you how much it cost him to admit that.
The silence following his confession was heavy. For a moment he wished he could read your mind. For all he could feel of you, your thoughts were unreachable.
His own mind was a mess. The impulses didn’t feel like thoughts anymore, just his body feeding him instructions.
Get up. Cross the room. Touch her. Breathe her in.
His palms shook with the urge to close around you. His teeth ached with the need to graze your skin. His eyes burned with the desire to see beyond fabric.
Every part of him seemed convinced that the small distance between you was a mistake he needed to correct. That he needed to breathe you in until his lungs burned. Drag his mouth along the inside of your wrist and taste the pulse there.
He hated it.
He hated that something inside him could look at the person he cared for the most and reduce her to an answer for his pain.
“EV, how long is this state going to last?” He asked the computer, followed by a weak cough as he clutched his side.
“Your enhanced physiology is struggling to break down the toxin’s structure. I estimate a time between ten to twelve hours before it’s metabolized. However, neurological collapse is expected before that timeframe.”
“What?” You looked at him. “There’s no way we’re letting that happen. Maybe I can–”
“Don’t even start,” he cut you off, shaking his head profusely.
“So what? I’m supposed to sit here betting on whether your body collapses on hour three or hour six?”
“I’ll just pass out, big deal. I’m not putting you in danger because of this. I can handle it.”
“You’re barely handling it now. There’s no danger in trying–”
“You don’t understand what’s happening inside me right now,” he argued, raising his voice. “This other thing, the one the inhibitor controls it’s…awake. That part of me doesn’t think like I do. It doesn’t care if you're scared, or hurting–”
“You wouldn’t hurt me–”
“You don’t know that!” He snapped, his fist struck the floor next to him, hard enough to make the worn wood crack beneath his knuckles.
The sudden noise made you flinch. He smelled the flash of fear moving through your body for only a second.
One second enough.
“Fuck–that is what I mean,” he cursed, covering his lenses with his hands. “I don’t…I don’t know if I’d be gentle. I can’t risk this, I can't…shit, I can’t risk you.”
The words, said with so much pain, and honesty, seemed to settle somewhere deep in your chest.
“Okay,” you nodded, settling deeper in your chair. “But I’m not leaving you like this. I can’t risk you either.”
He shuddered a painful exhale. His head dropped to the couch again, shutting his eyes in preparation of what the next hours of torture would be.
Except…he didn’t even last ten minutes.
The suit was killing him, so he decided he’d be better without it. He reached desperately behind his back, clumsily undoing the zippers that tied the suit together.
He could feel your wide eyes on him as he tugged the fabric off his shoulders, peeling it off his sweaty arms. He groaned when he lifted his hips and the suit grazed his swollen crotch. In a matter of seconds that felt like eternity he managed to break free from the spandex, and threw it away somewhere in the room. He’d undressed down to his dark boxers, mask still in place, revealing the marble sculpture of his body.
You let out a shaky breath from your spot, eyes raking over a body you’d only seen partially. He was covered in wounds most of the time, but this time, he only had faint bruises from the night before decorating his chiseled abs.
His tight muscles flexed with every rise of his chest, his bulge straining harder the more you devoured him, pressing against his pants, making him curse quietly.
You noticed, and returned your eyes to the screen to track his vitals.
He felt grateful that you’d given him that grace, but just you being in that room made it very hard for him to think of anything other than your existence.
Too hard.
Before he knew his hand drifted down the growing ache in his crotch, trying to feel some relief, but every rub he made over the fabric of his boxers sent a jolt of pain through his body instead of pleasure.
It only made it worse when he realized you were tense at the desk, trying very hard to keep your focus on the screen and not on the whines he was letting out.
“…I’m sorry,” he apologized instantly, breathlessly, moving his hand away. “I didn’t–”
“Don’t apologize,” you shook your head quickly, eyes still on the screen. “You…you can do whatever you need.”
He didn’t say anything, just whined in pain again, so you took it as a chance to say it before you regretted it.
“But my offer still stands, spidey.”
What a polite way of saying ‘I’d let you fuck me into next week so you can control your horny arachnid hormones, spidey.’
Fucking hell.
“I’m okay I just–God I didn’t–I didn’t think it would feel this way…” He laughed humorlessly, staring at the ceiling. “But I–I got this. Yes.”
You kept quiet, hearing him mumble to himself about a hundred times about how he had this.
“I’m okay…I’m good…it’s fine…”
He wasn’t.
“Fuck I don’t…I’m going to die…”
For God’s sake.
“I think I can help.”
By the time he registered the words and looked back at you, you had already moved from your chair and shortened the distance between you, kneeling in front of him.
His senses went from one thousand to one million. He forced his hands behind his back, trying to keep the animal from grabbing you and getting it over with.
“What–what are you doing?” He stammered nervously, the lenses of his mask going wide.
“Maynard,” you said quietly, ignoring the way his body tensed up at that name. “Would it make you feel better if I put my hand here?”
You placed your hand right in the center of his chest, and your cold palm met his overheated skin. He gasped, feeling every individual fingerprint on his skin. He wanted them marked on him. Tattooed.
His back arched from the couch, with a strangled gasp breaking from beneath the mask. The relief hit him all at once, through a simple contact that felt like salvation.
Your hand steadied him for only a glorious second, but now that you had touched him, his body knew precisely what it had been denied.
It wanted more.
His own hand closed around yours so suddenly that you almost pulled back, but he loosened his grip the instant he realized how tightly he was holding you.
“Sorry–”
“Don’t apologize.” You pressed harder.
He was burning.
The heat beneath your palm scared you, but what scared you more was the violent pounding of his heart beating against your hand so so quickly.
“Better?” You asked quietly, trying not to bite your bottom lip at the image of him crumbling under your palm.
“So fucking better,” he said breathlessly, pressing your hand tighter against his chest. “I…dammit–”
“Breathe,” you reminded.
His head fell back against the couch. Chest rising up and down, up and down, up and down.
Just take her, man, she’s right there–
Your free hand accidentally brushed his neck, right where the border of the mask started, snapping him right back. He grabbed your hand, not harshly, but firm enough to make your breath hitch.
“Please.” Was all he said.
Leave it on.
It brought you back to that first night he’d crashed into your life.
“I wasn’t planning on removing it,” you whispered, leaning closer. “You can keep it on. But let me help you…I really want to.”
See? She wants it. She needs it so bad.
He hated that the other guy was right. He knew you meant what you said because he could smell the proof pooling between your thighs.
Fuck it.
In a sudden movement he reached for your waist, dragging you forward so you were straddling his lap. The bulge you landed on made you gasp, hands instinctively grabbing onto his sweaty biceps for balance when he let out a broken groan that vibrated against your core.
His hand cupped your jaw, bringing it closer to his face, and your dilated pupils reflected on the white of his lenses.
“I can feel that you want this,” he mumbled, tilting his head to the side. “Please, say it again…”
You shifted your hips, barely, so minimal yet he felt it travel through his whole body. He hissed, tightening the grip on your jaw.
“I want this,” you repeated firmly, moving your head closer to his ear. “You can take whatever you need…”
You moved your hips again, more deliberate this time, pulling a broken whine from him. The toxin made every contact feel like electricity racing down his spine, straight to the heavy, aching weight of his cock under you.
“Yes…yeah just like that…” he panted. “Just let me…”
His hands landed on your waist, moving you back and forth at a quicker pace over his bulge. You gasped at the friction, fingers digging into his shoulders, while he let out a collection of muffled words you could barely understand.
“...M–more…” he whined, throwing his head back against the couch. “I can’t–I need…”
“What do you need? More what?”
“More contact.”
His hands left your waist to grab the hem of your shirt.
“Can I?” He whispered.
You nodded eagerly, gasping when his hands shifted to the collar of your shirt instead, ripping it off your body with a sharp pull.
“Oh fuck,” he cursed when he realized there was nothing under that shirt, and saw your nipples hardening instantly under the cold air.
He resisted the urge to bite them through the mask.
His hands, however, wasted no time to cup your breasts with a broken whine. His thumbs played with your nipples, tugging at them as hard as he could allow himself to without hurting you.
“Fuck you’re perfect…you’re so perfect…” he whispered, more to himself than you, pulling some soft whimpers out of you when he tugged a little harder. His hands drifted to your lower half, to the hem of the last piece keeping your body from his greedy eyes. “These too,” he said, “please, can I? I want to feel you.”
“Yes,” you nodded, already out of air.
You didn’t even know why you tried to get off his lap to take the shorts off properly, when he just did the same as the shirt: ripped it in half where it rested on your hips, yanked it off from your body and threw the ruined pieces far away.
You weren’t wearing anything underneath.
“I can smell you. God, I can smell you. You’re so–oh God…”
Now he could feel your wetness drenching his boxers, dripping onto the fabric. He could almost taste it in his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to drown in it for hours.
“Can–can I–?”
You didn’t even let him finish, you grabbed his hand and placed it right between your legs.
Water. He found water in the middle of the dessert.
His hand moved carefully through your wet folds once, twice, delighting in your warmth, the way you felt, the way you let out the prettiest sound he had ever heard in his miserable life.
“Fuck…” you cursed softly, moving your hips eagerly when he kept stroking slow. Too slow. “Touch me, please.”
He obliged, fingers finding your clit in movements that had you gripping his shoulders tighter, eyes fluttering shut so beautifully he had to bite his lip to not let out a pathetic sound.
“Been wanting this,” he mumbled. “Longer than today. Longer than tonight.”
His finger slid inside of you, making you moan when he curled it just right.
“There were…there were nights I thought about you riding my hand,” he kept going, voice cracking as he added a second finger, stretching you more. “I’ve wanted you for so long–not just because of this shit in my blood. Because it’s you.”
Every word made you clench around his fingers. Every admission pulled another shaky moan out of your throat. You were a mess already, breathless, hips rolling down to meet the thrust of his fingers.
“Oh my God–don’t stop, please don’t stop–”
“Not stopping, baby.”
He kept working you open, the white lenses of the mask never leaving your face. His free hand slid up your chest, settling between your breasts.
“I’m–I’m close,” you managed. “I’m so close–”
“Come on…you’re perfect. You’re so fucking perfect like this.”
The heel of his palm lifted to press against your clit. You were right there, right on the edge, about to come on his hand and drip down his boxers–
“Please,” he begged, unable to keep it in. “Let me fuck you after this…please. I need to be inside you. I’ve needed it for so long–just let me, after you come, please, please–”
The plea undid you.
You came with a broken cry, stopping your movements as your walls pulsed around him. The sound you made against his shoulder nearly finished him right there.
It took you a second to just breathe again, your chest synching up with his in the search of oxygen. He kept rocking his hand slowly, not just to work you through the aftershocks, but because the friction of your pussy in his hand brought the tiniest relief to him.
You just stayed there as the last soft waves rolled through you.
Once you were able to see clearly again, you let out a breathless chuckle and straightened back up.
He needed you. He needed you so badly you really thought he was going to die if you didn’t help him.
You placed one hand on his chest as the other reached under you, slipping inside the fabric of his boxers without breaking eye contact.
The second your bare fingers brushed him, his hips jerked hard under you.
“You said please,” you whispered breathlessly.
You wrapped your fingers around him and pulled him free.
His cock sprang out, heavy and flushed between your bodies, so thick and hard and painful. The head was red and shiny, with precum dripping down the vein that ran along his length. The tip brushed the skin of your stomach, leaving a warm, wet patch that made the hair on your arms go up. He could smell the small flicker of intimidation sparking inside you, but the want that followed was stronger.
You stroked him a few times, slowly just as he’d touched you at first.
“Oh my God, your hand–your hand–”
Another thick bead of precum welled up and spilled over your fingers. Whether it was the toxin or just his enhanced physiology, he was dripping for you.
Flustered wasn’t enough of a word when you had his leaking cock in your hand.
His hands slid down to your hips, gripping tighter, guiding you up as if he was about to lift you then pulling you back down immediately.
Fuck her. Fuck her right now.
“Please, I need–I need to feel you…” he cried out. “Let me…let me…”
You nodded just as desperately, lifting yourself up as he helped, steadying you with shaking hands until the thick head of his cock nudged against your entrance. You both exhaled hard at the same time when you started to sink down, taking him inch by inch.
He was big. Almost too much. The burn of it made your breath hitch, but the way he cursed under his breath multiple times, completely at your mercy, made you keep going until he was buried balls deep.
You sat there for a moment, breathing heavily, and so full of him.
When the initial sting faded away, you started moving. He let you set the pace as you adjusted, holding back his need of thrusting up. His fingers dug on your skin, not lifting just holding you, but the more that you moved, the more that control started to waver.
He could feel it coming. The change.
You kept moaning, bouncing on top of him, completely unaware of his self restraint crumbling away.
His grip slowly tightened when his eyes began turning completely black under his mask. That careful, pathetic boy who’d been begging disappeared beneath something more…primal.
Fuck. Whatever had been holding him back finally snapped.
The next thing he knew, his hands slid under your thighs with sudden strength. He lifted you up in one motion until only the thick head of him remained inside you, held you there for a second as the last part of him tried to remember how to be gentle–then snapped his hips up hard.
That first thrust pulled a sharp moan out of you, but there was no chance to adjust this time. He set a relentless pace almost immediately, using pure strength to bounce you on his cock while he drove up to meet every drop of your body, buried so deep it stole your breath every time he bottomed out.
“Oh my–May…Maynard–” the name you barely used on him slipped out in the middle of the frenzy, but his hand reached behind your head to pull your hair back slightly as he kept thrusting up.
“Don’t call me that,” he snapped, his voice so different from just minutes earlier. “It’s Peter. Call me Peter when I’m inside you.”
He didn’t even give you time to process, still lifting and dropping you onto his cock at the exact hard rhythm he wanted. The only one that satisfied the need inside of him. Your hands instinctively reached for the edge of the arm of the couch he was leaning against, fingers digging into the worn fabric as he hit that spot inside you over and over again.
“Of fuck…Peter–fuck…yes…”
“That’s better,” he approved. “I was right, you’re so so perfect…taking every inch like you need it as bad as I do…”
A desperate sound slipped out of you at the praise, he could feel your walls clenching tight around him as your body went for that second orgasm, your eyes were fluttering shut, almost there–
“Nuh–uh,” he denied immediately, stopping mid thrust, holding you pressed against him as you gasped, surprised and confused.
“What–what happened? I was about to–”
“I want you to hold it for me. I know you can.”
That twisted part of him enjoyed the slow realization on your face.
Even if you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew the same spiderman he’d been without the inhibitor, was the one with your body at his mercy now.
Good.
He stayed buried to the hilt for a moment, breathing hard behind the mask. When your breathing finally slowed down and accepted that the high never came, he stood up. Still inside you, he walked you to the bed in the corner of the room.
His bed.
He pulled out with a wet sound that made both of you groan, then laid you down roughly near the edge of the mattress. He kneeled down, strong hands hooking behind your knees and dragging your legs over his shoulders, folding you open for him completely.
“Look at the ceiling,” he ordered. “Don’t look at me.”
You obeyed, staring up at the wood beams high above you while he tugged the bottom of the mask just high enough to free his mouth.
Peter leaned down and pressed a few soft kisses to your swollen folds. He wasn’t necessarily eating you out, just giving a few loud smooches that felt good enough to make you grip the sheets.
“M’sorry, you were so perfect there…” he mumbled condescendingly against your most sensitive spots. “But I need you to hold on a little longer. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”
You nodded, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. Maybe too eager. Maybe too pathetic. Just like he’d been. Had he pumped that toxin into you?
Either way, you didn’t care. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like this version of him.
He laughed right over your clit when you moaned loudly, after he moved his tongue in a slow, torturous swipe over it.
“Was back there too much?” He cooed. “Maybe I just need to stretch you more...”
Two fingers slid inside you, so easily, but the sudden stretch still dragged a whine out of your throat. He curled them immediately, finding the spot that made your hips jerk.
“Peter…”
“Huh?” He acted coy, pumping his fingers with a rhythm that kept you right on the edge without letting you tip over. He added a third finger, making your back arch from the mattress. “Keep holding it in.”
Every shake of your body fed the stupid toxin inside him. Having you like this…really trying to keep your body from coming apart because he said so.
God. He was never going back.
“You just took my cock. I think you can take three fingers with no problem.”
He kept the same relentless pace, chuckling when your body started twitching again.
“Shhh, you’re perfect, absolutely perfect…”
“Peter…” you called out again, hand dropping the sheet to find his shoulder instead. “I need…need…”
“Need what?”
“Need you inside me…please I won’t–I won’t hold for much longer just–fuck me.”
He stopped altogether, a smirk you couldn’t see stretching the corner of his mouth. He pulled his fingers out with a wet pop, licking them clean before tugging his mask back in place and standing up.
“Yeah?”
Your legs dangled off the edge of the bed for a moment before his hands gripped your hips and turned you over. He moved you higher up the bed, grabbing one of the pillows, and shoving it under your hips, tilting your lower body up for him.
He then climbed onto the bed behind you and knelt between your spread thighs, the mattress dipping under his weight as one hand stroked down the length of your spine.
But something made him stop.
“This fucking mask–” he cursed under his breath. “It’s suffocating me.”
The sweat on his forehead had pooled under the mask, making it so sticky over his eyebrows that it was affecting the lenses he was trying to see you through.
“I need you to be a good girl for me,” he added breathlessly, yet still commanding enough. “Keep your head on the mattress. Ass up. Don’t turn around.”
You nodded. Too eagerly again. Couldn’t care any less again.
He didn’t think twice, just yanked the mask off and tossed it aside. It landed near you, making you bury half your face on the sheets as if staring at the mask alone would be disobeying his commands.
The sound he made when the cool air hit his face was pure relief. He swiped the sweat off with his forearm, finally seeing you clearly. Face down. Eyes squeezed shut. Already clutching the sheets.
“You look so pretty like this,” he mumbled. “All spread out for me…waiting.”
“Peter…” you whined, lifting your ass slightly from the pillow.
“I know, I know. You’re okay.” He couldn’t keep the smirk away when he added, “you said please.”
He reached between you, guiding the thick head of his cock between your thighs until it nudged against your entrance. You were still soft and ready and perfect.
Peter pushed in slowly, letting you feel every inch as he sank deep and deep and deeper.
He braced one hand beside your head and kept the other on your hip, pushing you into the mattress as his thighs hit the back of yours. Slap. Slap. Slap. The position left almost no space between your bodies, with Peter pressing his chest against your back.
“Fuck…you feel so good like this…so pretty taking me.”
He kept going, making the mattress creak and the base of the bed hit the brick wall repeatedly. Your desperate moans ran through his body like electricity, making something inside him crack open again.
What? What is–
The moment his rhythm stuttered, he shook his head, trying to clear it. Beads of sweat flew from his hair to your back.
“God–you…you’re making me–” The roughness of his thrusts slowed down immediately, inhaling a sharp intake of air as he felt the change again. “I can’t, I can’t…”
He lifted his gaze to the window behind the bed and noticed his eyes had turned back to its original color.
“Oh my god,” he gasped, stopping altogether. He straightened up, still kneeling and inside you, but panicking. “I’m…I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened I–“
“Peter!” You cut him off, pushing yourself back, closer to him, without turning around. “Shut up and fuck me.”
The order left your mouth breathless, pushing back against him even more to make the point clear. His hands twitched when they gripped your hips again.
“Okay, okay…” he panted, groaning when you dropped back on the bed and his cock almost left the warmth of your pussy. “I’m sorry–if I was too rough, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
He picked up the pace again, but the words tumbling out of him now were pure pleading Peter again.
“Don’t turn around–don’t turn around–fuck, fuck…” slap, slap, slap. “You can come now. Please. Please, I want to feel it–you’d come apart so pretty on me, I know you would…pleasepleaseplease–”
His final permission and the desperate way he said it made you crash harder than the first time, crying out into the mattress. The second he felt you coming around him, he knew he couldn’t last much longer either.
“Can I–inside…please, can I??…let me fill you up–”
“Yes–inside, Peter, do it inside me…”
He buried himself to the hilt with a strained groan and finally came. The orgasm tearing out of him was harder and longer than anything he’d ever felt, holding you there, filling you up.
You gasped against the sheets, breathless, as the waves of cum seemed to go on forever, flooding you with warm and thick ropes in every spurt as he emptied himself inside you.
“Thank you…thank you…” His forehead dropped between your shoulder blades, sending broken gasps against your skin as he kept coming. “You are so perfect–fuck…so perfect…thank you…”
The pollen wrung him dry until he could barely breathe, and even then he kept rolling his hips weakly, chasing the last of it while he slowly softened inside you.
When it finally eased, the pain, the need, the hunger…he pulled out slowly with a whine, and half collapsed over you. His arms held most of his weight as he planked above you, but you could feel every ridge of his muscles brushing your sweaty skin.
Peter’s eyes fluttered shut, feeling exhausted and aching in the best way, almost lulled by the sounds of your agitated breaths.
You both felt the warm trail of liquid leaking out between your bodies and neither of you moved or said anything for a while. He could’ve stayed like that forever, really. With your naked body under him, no masks, no barriers, just your swollen pussy leaking out his seed–
“Successful ejaculation brought down the arachnid hormone levels immediately. Inhibitor working within regular parameters now. Congratulations, Peter.”
EV’s monotone voice cut through the silence.
It took two seconds of shock before you both broke into breathless laughter. His teeth grazed your back as your bodies vibrated in sync from the amusement and overall flustering after everything that happened.
“Thank you, EV,” Peter muttered.
“You’re welcome. I gathered data and the released semen volume exceeds standard parameters by two hundred and twenty six percent due to the high hormonal concentration. Hydration, clean up and rest are advised.”
“For fucks sake…” Peter cursed under his breath.
“Oh god…” you mumbled against the sheets.
That was your call back to reality.
Peter felt you move under him, reaching blindly to the side until your hand found the mask. You lifted it over your shoulder, offering it to him without looking.
“I don’t want to,” he said, too quickly, then cleared his throat. “I…I don’t want to put it back on.”
“Then I’ll close my eyes,” you offered instead.
“No–I mean…you don’t have to. I don’t want to wear it around you anymore. Not after…all of this,” he admitted sheepishly.
“But you told me to not turn around,” you reminded him, dropping the mask on the mattress again. “And that was you, not the darker you.”
He chuckled, nodding even if you couldn’t see him yet.
“Yeah, because if I saw your face while I was balls deep inside you I would’ve busted before you came.”
There it was. He said it. No turning back now.
At least it got a chuckle from you too.
“Listen I…I meant everything I said. Everything. The wanting, the nights I thought about you,” he confessed. “I don’t want you to feel like I just used you when…when there was always a reason why I needed you like oxygen tonight.”
Your breath hitched, and his hand found your waist, pulling you closer to him, and when you didn’t push away…he exhaled in relief behind you.
“So maybe…you can turn around now. If–if you want to. Know the real me.”
“I would really like that,” you whispered without hesitation.
You tried lifting yourself up to turn around, but he did most of the job, moving away the pillow he had placed under you and helping you roll onto your back. You closed your eyes, at least until you were facing him completely, and took a deep breath. Holding onto his biceps for moral support, you finally opened them again.
Seeing his face for the first time felt so intimate, even after everything you just did.
There he was. The same guy who just fucked you into next week, looking more shy and boyish than you could’ve ever imagined.
Brown eyes. Dark, curly hair sticking to his forehead. A nervous smile tugging at the corner of his gorgeous mouth.
So young. So earnest. So yours.
Not spidey anymore. Just Peter.
Your Peter.
Thank you so much for reading 🤍 I used to write Peter so much back in the day (shoutout to my starktonyx era) and I’ve missed him dearly.
break me down and i’ll call you mine - @flowersforbucky
the light is coming - @flowersforbucky
bad juju - @thatcorporategirlie
answering machine - @love-quinn
handyman!pope - @leossmoonn
just friends - @thatcorporategirlie
before we knew better - @longlostx11
this one shot - @drjohncarters
good boy - @ididcrytoday
take what you’re given - @rr-after-dark
disappearing act - @ofstarsandvibranium
don’t quit - @fru1t4fr0gs
forever - @kisscoabbot
your shadow - @ofstarsandvibranium
flick the tip - @grimgasm
in this corner - @mcybank
good for you - @mparksy
stripper!reader - @goldieloxxxx
stop and smell the roses - @abbotsmyhabit
fresh out the slammer - @holdmelikeagrudgee
I started my dream job today (yay!), so the fic rec lists, and the texts/social media AU’s will be coming out a lot slower than usual, I’m sorry☹️. I will always find time to read, so even though I don’t have time to compile my recs into lists, I will reblog them with the tag #fic recs, whenever I see something I love
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summary: you're J's best friend but you hate his grandma and uncles. you hate going around to their place. but when pope takes you up on the offer to go surfing you realise that maybe he isn't as scary as you thought
content/warnings: NSFW + MDNI! 18+ ONLY! age gap, smurf, unprotected sex, light stalking (it's pope ofc), oral sex (f & m receiving), hidden relationship, light mention of ass play, no use of y/n
wc: 5k
notes: I'm only on season 2 of Animal Kingdom, so apologies for the ooc of it all. pics used just for aesthetic purpose, not a reflection of what the reader looks like.
You hate going over to J's grandmother's house. When he first moved in after his mother died, your parents had banned you from going over there. He was your best friend, so he was more than welcome to hang out at yours after school. But your parents made you promise that you weren't to go over there. And you didn't argue with them. They didn't know you had already been. His uncles creeped you out. They got too close, got too touchy or got too, well, stare-y.
But when you left school and moved out to your own place by the beach, your parents couldn't tell you what to do. And J wanted you to come over - especially to the pool. You argued you could swim in the sea anytime you wanted. But Nicky was always over there as well and you couldn't leave her with those stupid boys. You didn't trust them. And you didn't trust his grandmother.
"How did you get two?" Craig always teases J when both you and Nicky are around.
You always make the same fuckin' face of disgust. You've known J since you two were in kindergarten. You couldn't imagine him as anything more than a brother. He spent a lot of time at yours when his mother was strung out.
You hate spending time at the Codys', but J is your best friend, and you'll do anything for him. Because you worry about him.
One morning you arrive at the house, hoping to catch J early so you two can go surfing. But the place is unusually quiet, and you are greeted not by your friend or his grandmother (thankfully), but by Andrew Cody. They all call him Pope.
Pope has been watching you since you first arrived at the house. He watches how you flinch at the loud noises, how you recoil from his brother's touches. Unlike his nephew's girlfriend, you don't giggle with Smurf. You get in and get out. But he likes watching you. He likes that you sometimes go and sit in J's (his) room when things get too noisy. That you just want to be away from it all.
You're far too sweet to be around him or his family. But he'd like to corrupt you.
"He's not here," he says simply as way of greeting as he stands in the doorway.
"Well do you want the coffee I got for him?" you ask as you hold up the cups you're holding. "I don't know what typa coffee you like but I don't want it t' go t' waste."
Pope's eyes soften immediately, "Do you need money?"
In the last few years, J has started saying shit like that to you. And you don't like it. You're putting yourself through college. You're working in a shitty bar. You don't wanna be like your mother. She never went to college, married your dad right away outta high school. She relied on him for everything. And while you weren't dating and would never date J, you didn't want to rely on him.
"No. I got money. But I don't wanna waste it," you respond before sighing. "Look. If J comes back tell him there's supposed to be a good swell today and I'll be at the beach."
Pope takes the coffee from your hand, his rough fingers brushing over your soft skin, making you shiver involuntarily.
"I can come," he tells you.
You blink in confusion. Pope is a man of few words. You're aware of this from the times you have spent in his presence. Sometimes he'll sit with you and watch TV when J is busy.
"To the beach," he clarifies.
"You surf?" you respond, taking a sip of your iced latte.
He gives you a half smile. A rare sight.
"I'm also from California," he responds simply.
"Okay, well, get your stuff. I don't wanna miss it," you say with a shy smile.
You can't believe that you're willingly spending one-on-one time with one of J's uncles. But all things considered, Pope isn't the worst. Yeah, he's a bit strange. But there's something...calming about him. Maybe it was the time you fell asleep on the couch and woke up to him carrying you to bed. You slightly panicked, but he just placed you down and walked away.
"We'll take my truck," he tells you as he comes back dressed in his wetsuit. He hasn't put it on fully, so he's naked from the waist up. You inhale sharply at the sight of his bulging muscles under his sun-kissed skin. You're not expecting the sight. And you're not expecting your body to react that way. You're not expecting your cheeks to heat up or the heat growing in your stomach.
"Lemme grab my things," you say when you finally catch yourself.
You grab your board and your suit from your car. You're going to change at the beach like you always do. You've never been alone with Pope before. Not like this. He's quiet, stoic, as you make the short trip to the beach. He doesn't play music in his car. He just drives.
"Lemme get changed, and I'll meet you out there," you say to him with a smile.
He shakes his head, "I'll wait."
You bite your lip as you wiggle out of your jean shorts and the crochet shirt you're wearing over your floral bikini top. You don't notice how Pope's eyes wander over your body. He takes you in, hazel eyes examining every inch of you. The way your skin glows under the hot Californian sun. He lets out a soft breath at the way your breasts bounce as you jump to get your wetsuit up.
"Will you zip me up?" you ask him, turning around to offer him access to you.
You both know that you're capable of zipping up your wetsuit alone. But Pope won't argue and gently brushes your hair away from your back, he moves it over your shoulder and then zips you up. He moves closer than necessary so he can inhale your sweet scent.
"Want me to do you?" you ask him nodding to his wetsuit.
Pope gives you that half smile again before shrugging into his wetsuit and turning around to let you zip him up. You brush your fingers up the soft skin of his back and you watch as the muscles ripple under your touch. You shouldn't be doing this. But you zip him up nonetheless and spend the morning in the surf with him. With a man literally old enough to be your father.
Soon it becomes your routine. You and Pope meet on the beach every Friday morning and spend hours surfing and talking. Sometimes Pope will come into the bar during your shift. He nurses a whiskey and tips you far too well. If he comes into the bar, he'll wait for your shift to end to walk you to your car. He's scary. And you don't mind having your little guard dog.
Then, you find him at the entrance of the bar every night as your shift ends. Just so he can walk you to your car. It's just across the parking lot but you like it. Sometimes he'll sit in your car with you and hear you rant about your shift.
"This is gonna be our last Friday surf," you tell him as he carries both of your boards to his car.
He looks so hurt, like a kicked puppy.
"I go back to college next week," you tell him as you shake the salt water out of your hair. He watches as the water droplets slide down the valley of your breasts. "We can try Saturdays instead? Or Sundays? Unless you're busy?"
"Never too busy for you," he says quickly.
You don't expect to meet Pope Cody on your doorstep on your first day of your senior year of college. This time he's holding a coffee, although it's clearly one he made at home as it's in a mug. You can't help but smile at him.
"I thought you might want a ride to school," he says as he looks at you over his sunglasses.
"And how am I meant t' get home?" you respond as you take a sip of the coffee he made you. Just how you like it.
"You call me and I'll come get'cha," he responds.
So this is how the first semester goes. Pope Cody is your personal chauffeur, your bodyguard and your surf partner. He's become a closer friend to you than J. And J notices. Finally. It just took the better part of the year.
J has started to notice that you don't mind coming over for parties anymore. But when you're there, you're more often than not with Pope. Pope will bring you over a drink. Pope will watch you as you speak to whatever girls have been stupid enough to come over. Pope will sit by you when you're sick of standing. And Pope will go inside with you when you get chilly or bored with his brothers being obnoxious.
And J doesn't like it. When the fuck did you become best friends with the scariest of his uncles?
You and Pope are whispering together in the kitchen. He's got new wax for his board and offers to do yours too. You nod, telling him to come around later that evening.
"What are you two talkin' about?" J asks with a little huff on his face.
"Surfin'," you respond with a shrug before you walk out to the pool.
"You screwin' her or something?" J hisses at his uncle.
Pope just looks at his nephew down his nose and walks away following you out to the pool with a towel for when you come out of the water. He's not going to rise to that. And he doesn't want J to know he has been fantasising about you since that first day on the beach. He doesn't want J or you to know that he's been watching you sleep for months. You should get better locks on your apartment door. You look so pretty when you sleep.
You also talk in your sleep. One night as he sits in the corner of your room, you start to whimper. He presumes you're having a nightmare until he hears you whimper his name. Not Pope, the monkier his family gave him. No, you whimper Andrew.
Oh, Andrew, yes! Please!
He had no choice but to grab a pair of your panties. Used panties. He inhales your scent before shoving them in his pocket. He breathes them in as soon as he gets to his own bedroom and jerks off into his hand. Thinking of the way you moaned his name in your sleep.
And he needs to figure out a way to hear it from you for real.
Since J has been an asshole, you've gotten more touchy with Pope. Not when Smurf is around though. You're not that stupid. At first, he's worried that you're doing it to make J jealous. But you'll hug Pope as greeting when he arrives at your apartment. No audience, just you and him. You brush your hand up his arm when he's in the kitchen making a drink while his brothers make noise by the pool. But his favourite thing is when you sit on the same lounger as him by the pool. You're not bold enough to climb into his lap. But you'll sit by him, offer to put sun cream on him. You always ask him to do your back and shoulders.
Sometimes after you settle yourself between the V of his thighs...only sometimes when his brothers aren't around you'll lie back on him. Relaxing against the hard muscle of his stomach.
These moments get added to Pope's fantasies when he's alone with his thoughts at night. The way you shudder under his touch, how soft your skin is. He knows each of your bikinis and he has his favourites. He loves how you wear your bright floral ones when you surf with him. But you go for softer colours when you're poolside with his family. His favourite is a white one that becomes almost sheer when you're in the water. But he doesn't like when his brothers are around to ogle you in it.
"Seriously," J asks you one night as you sit in Deran's bar. "What is going on with you and Pope?"
You look down at your glass and shrug, "You're always doing bullshit. We started surfing together. That's it."
"I heard he brings you to college too. And work?" J pushes.
"What? You got people spying on me? Should I call you Smurf?" you snap.
You don't need this third-degree bullshit. Not from J, who dragged you into this family.
"I even heard he stays over at your apartment," J continues.
"Yea, a few times. He's my friend, J. I don't need you to monitor everyone. Would you be this wound up if it were Craig or Derran?" you ask him.
"It's weird! He's my fuckin' uncle. He was in prison! He's dangerous!" J continues. "And he's old."
You throw your hands up and slam your drink down in one swallow.
"I don't need this bullshit, Joshua. You didn't give your girlfriend this sorta cross examination. Even after she started fuckin' your uncle," you hiss before you storm out.
You don't expect to walk into the wall of thick muscle that is Andrew Cody outside the bar. How did he know you were here? How did he know that you needed him?
"Hey, sugar, you okay?" he asks, steadying you by gripping your waist with his huge, rough hands. You can feel the heat radiating through the flimsy little skirt you wore out.
Pope wonders if you wore this for his nephew. Or some other shithead.
"I just needa go home," you finally answer him.
"Get in the truck," he tells you, firmly.
You just nod your head, the tone he uses goes straight to your core. You press your thighs together and get into his truck. He watches as your skirt rides up and he sees the sweet little floral panties you're wearing. They remind him of the bikinis you love. But seeing this is so much more intimate. Especially because he knows that you didn't mean for him to see it.
Pope is in two minds about going into the bar and beating the shit out of whoever has upset you and going straight to you. But when he sees your face, so open and needy in the truck waiting for him, he crumbles. He goes straight to you.
He drives you home, in silence once again. You're used to it. And you relish it. You needed the quiet. When he parks up, you turn to look at Andrew Cody. Really look at him. His eyes drop after a second of meeting your big eyes.
"Come in, Andrew," you whisper.
He doesn't need to be told twice. He follows you up to your apartment. He's been in your apartment before. By invitation as well as by his own volition. But tonight things are different. Maybe it's because everyone already presumes you're sleeping together. Maybe it's because you're sad and frustrated. Or maybe it's the tension, the touching, the longing glances over the past few months. But you lunge yourself at him. You kiss him hard and messy and desperate. And he kisses you back, tentatively at first but then he gets more desperate. The kiss is all teeth and tongue, you even taste blood as you both devour each other's mouths.
You pull away, "Fuck, Andrew. We shouldn't do this."
You're already so entangled in the Cody family. If you do this. If you cross this line, you'll become one. You know that if you let Pope have you, you'll be ruined. No one else will stand a chance.
"Baby," he growls, pulling you back into a kiss. And you just give in.
You pull at his shirt, needing to see him, needing to feel him against you. His hands are already under your skirt, palming at the flesh of your ass. The two of you are as desperate as each other. You're stumbling around your apartment. Clothes being thrown everywhere...even though Pope wants to fold everything in the back of his mind. But you're pulling him into your bedroom. You fall back onto your bed with his mouth over your breasts. You have no idea when you lost your bra. When Andrew had undressed you to just your floral panties.
You squirm under him as he bites over the swell of your breasts. He's leaving marks that he'll see the next time you go surfing. And he can't lie; he's getting off on the thought alone. You gasp as you feel him rip the fabric of your panties from your body. He lifts them to his face and inhales your sweet scent. A scent he's become addicted to. He grips your thighs and drags you up so you're balancing on your shoulders. He dives into your pussy like a man starved. And he is. He hasn't been dreaming about this for months. At his first taste of you, he cries out in pure desperation. You taste like fucking heaven. He doesn't want to muddy the experience with his fingers. He wants to drink you up. And you let him as he palms at the flesh of your thighs keeping you locked close to him.
You start to squirm harder against him as your orgasm starts to build. You've been dreaming about this moment for so long. But this is so much better than you could have imagined. You cum with a strangled cry, saying his name like a mantra.
Andrew. Andrew. Andrew.
He almost cums in his pants just at the way you moan his name like that. It's even sweeter than how he imagined it.
Pope has had issues getting hard in the past but ever since he started surfing with you, he's been hard enough to pound nails almost constantly.
"Wanna see you," you whisper as he lays you back on your bed. Your voice is still shaky from your orgasm; your whole body feels like an exposed nerve. But you're not done with him. Not a chance. Not when you've finally got him.
Andrew shucks his boxers off and your eyes go wide. You have no idea how he's going to fit inside you. He's huge.
"You okay, sugar?" he breathes, stroking your cheeks.
"You're really big," you confess. Sure, you've seen the print of him against his wetsuits, but you guessed there was fabric and water in the mix. But no...he's just...huge.
Andrew ducks his head shyly, "What? Those other boys were lacking?"
You blush bright red.
"Um...there were no other boys," you finally confess.
Pope's eyes go wide. He looks like the cat who's got the cream. He's going to be your first. He's gonna be the only person who has ever had you.
He kisses you now desperately. He grips the base of his cock, guiding the blunt head of his weeping cock to your entrance. He teases your clit first with his tip. You let out the sweetest little moans for him. And he's not even inside you yet. You're already panting and squirming for him. You're intoxicating, and he's already addicted to you.
Finally, he pushes into you. He has to squeeze his eyes shut at how tight you are. Pope has never been a gentle man. But he's being gentle for you. He'll always be gentle for you. When he finally bottoms out in you, your nails dig into his shoulders. They leave little half moons between his freckles.
"You're so tight, sugar," he breathes, his lips kissing over the shell of your ear.
You just nod, not sure you can form words. You're just so full of him. And when he starts rocking his hips you swear you see heaven. You've never felt this good in your life. Your body is on fire. His hands grip your hips and then slowly begin to explore the rest of your body. He grips your breasts, rough, pulling and flicking your nipples without rhythm. He then slides his hands down your arms, gripping your wrists and dragging them over your head. You both groan as he stretches your body out for him.
His thrusts get faster, harder, rougher. Andrew tried to be gentle, but fuck he needs to carve a path through you. He needs to make you his. No one else has had you and no one else will after he's finished with you. You're his. And only his.
"'m close, Andrew," you whine out as the headboard slams against the wall.
He's pumping in and out of you like a man possessed. The sound of skin on skin fills the room. It's animalistic. It's raw. It's fucking messy. And you cum without another warning. You scream out like a banshee as your orgasm rips through you.
Your pussy grips his cock like a vice and he has to stutter to a stop. He can't move you're so fucking tight, your cunt convulsing around his cock. And fuck, it's the prettiest fucking sight. Andrew presses his forehead against yours as you pull an orgasm from him. He fills you with thick, hot ropes of cum. The release feels like heaven. You swear it spurs on a third orgasm...or it could just be aftershocks from your last one. But it feels so good.
You lay tangled in each other's arms for what feels like hours. His cum seeps out of you and down your legs, cooling against your skin.
Finally, Pope gets up and grabs a wet cloth to clean you up.
"We can't tell Smurf," you say, at the same time as he says, "Smurf can't know."
At least you're on the same page. You both know that Smurf doesn't like it when her boys are distracted. She'll allow it for a time. But not for long. Especially if she sees their loyalty wavering. You're not stupid, you know she did something to Cath.
"Stay," you breathe, running your fingers through Andrew's auburn curls. You love the grey that's appeared by his temple, the greys that pepper his stubble.
You can't help but kiss over his chin and jaw. You give him a little nip as you do. This elicits a rare chuckle from Andrew 'Pope' Cody.
Your relationship with Andrew doesn't change much...bar the sex. The sex is incredible. Mind-blowing. You spend days in bed with him. You've started to wonder if you're a sex addict. Andrew soothes you, telling you this is very normal. Especially at the start of a relationship.
"Who are you fuckin'?" Craig finally asks you when he sees the hickies scattered over your body when he spots you on the beach one morning.
You've been smart, not flaunting your body over at the Cody house now that Andrew won't stop leaving marks on your skin. You can wear one-pieces, sporty ones that cover most of your chest if J invites you over to swim. Andrew gives you a knowing smirk when he sees your more modest swimwear. Knows that he's the reason.
But now you're in your bikini on the beach, not expecting to see anyone who might ask questions.
"Can't a girl have a lil privacy?" you ask putting your hands on your waist.
"Well no, because ever since I've known you, you've been like a nun or something," he responds as he shakes the seawater out of his hair.
"Just cos I won't sleep with you?" you respond with a roll of your eyes. "Cody boys aren't my type. Sorry, sweetheart!"
You give him a smile over your shoulder as you head back to your apartment.
Cody boys, no. Cody men, on the other hand? Well!
You were smart around the Cody house. You didn't change the way you had gotten closer to Pope. You didn't change how you would share a sun lounger with him. But Pope still acted like your touch freaked him out. He didn't soften into it like he did when you were alone.
You were careful. You were smart.
When you were alone in the kitchen or his bedroom or even just passing each other in the hallway, you couldn't help but press kisses to his jaw, he couldn't help but grip the soft flesh of your ass. Sometimes when you knew the house was empty, you would drop to your knees and take his heavy cock in your mouth. You loved making him feel good, making him feel powerful. You loved tasting him as he unloaded into your mouth. He always came so quickly when you got your mouth on him.
You just couldn't get caught.
Even if Andrew's brothers knew they'd soon tell Smurf. And then she would use that shit against you.
So you think you're being smart. Until you weren't.
J has invited you to a party. But he's distracted, playing stupid games with his uncles in the pool. Smurf is watching like an emperor in the Colosseum watching gladiators fight. She presides over the parties and everyone loves it. You have to contain your eyerolls behind the designer sunglasses Pope got you. No one notices when you go inside. No one except Pope, who, as always, has been watching you like a hawk. He finishes his beer before following you inside. He can't make it obvious.
You're hunting in the fridge for a soda. His eyes zero in on the curve of your ass. He places his hand on your waist and you jump before you realise who it is.
"Andrew," you breathe softly, turning to look at him.
"No one's watching, sugar," he whispers as he leans down to kiss you.
You smirk against his lips, stepping onto the boots he always wears to kiss him deeper. His hands palm at your ass, slipping under your bikini bottoms to grip the full globe of your ass. His thumb brushes lightly over your puckered hole.
"Andrew," you scold, pushing him away gently.
You giggle as you drop down to your knees, hidden by the kitchen island, and pull his cock from his swim shorts, taking him in your hot mouth. Andrew has to stay still as you work over his dick without being caught.
One thing leads to another and you're in his bedroom trying to stay quiet as he ploughs into you. He's got you on your hands and knees, on the floor because the bed is too noisy. You learn this when you try to ride him but the mattress springs are screeching. So you let the carpet burn into your flesh as Andrew fucks you. He's already made you cum twice on his face. He clamps a hand over your mouth when you cum, muffling your desperate cries of pleasure. He has to bite down on your shoulder to stop his grunts when he fills you with his cum.
Pope knows that you should get dressed and go back out to the party. But he gathers you in his arms and brings you to his bed.
"Just for a minute," you tell him, knowing that he loves post-sex cuddles. He's never been held, not really. And you intend to fix that. You cuddle him whenever you can. You'll always have you arms wrapped around him when you're alone.
What you don't expect is to wake up to the sun filtering in. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
"Andrew! Andrew!" you hiss, trying to wake him up. "Andrew fuckin' Cody!"
Smurf is always awake so fucking early. You have no intention of her finding the two of you. You pull your clothes back on. Swearing when you can't find your bikini top. You were only wearing a beach cover-up when Pope accosted you in the kitchen. So you can't just wander around like this. That's why you decide to grab one of Pope's black t-shirts. It doesn't hide the fact that you're not wearing a bra. But if you can get out of the house before you meet...
"Smurf!" you say as you walk outside. You thought you could sneak out the back. But of course, you can't.
"You stayed the night," she notes, her eyes dropping down to the fact you're clearly not wearing a bra and then to the carpet burn on your knees.
Interesting.
"Sorry I got a bit overwhelmed by the party and I musta passed out in J's room," you lie.
"In Pope's room," she points out. "And you're wearing Pope's shirt."
"Nothing gets by you, Smurf," you say with a smile. "I was wearing a cover-up and it just didn't seem appropriate in the light of day. Look, I should go. I have work."
Smurf immediately turns to the go to the bedroom but frowns when she finds the room empty. The bed has already been stripped. Oh what a smart girl.
"Pope?" she calls. She's aware that he didn't leave last night either.
Pope has put the bedsheets and some of his clothes in the wash. Everyone knows he's a clean freak. No one will bat an eye at him washing bedding that some girl slept in. Obviously without him.
"You didn't go home last night," she says when she finds him.
He just grunts, "I took a walk on the beach. Couldn't sleep. Came back this morning."
Smurf's eyes narrow. She doesn't like it when people lie to her. Especially not her eldest boy.
Pope makes sure for the next fortnight that he stays at Smurf's or his place. He still brings you to and from class, still surfs with you. Doesn't change that part of his routine. But he doesn't sleep over. He doesn't alert Smurf to you any more than he has to of how much you mean to him.
"This is my last semester of college," you tell him one afternoon as you lay on the couch. Your head is on his bare chest and he's playing with your hair.
"After that, there's nothing tying us to Oceanside. We could go anywhere," you remind him.
"What about-"
"Don't say her name," you whisper, kissing over his chest. "Your brothers can handle their own shit. They're grown men. You can start fresh."
"Where has good surfing?" he asks, then as he runs his fingers through your hair.
You smile and stretch up to kiss him.
"I think we can figure it out."
a/n: thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! any and all feedback appreciated
Summary; Apparently, he's one of the hottest hockey players in the country, and you had just agreed to be his fake girlfriend. Satoru Gojo is hard not to notice. With his coy smirk and rock-hard abs, he's the cockiest of all the jocks.
Tags; satoru gojo x reader, hockey player au, figure skater x hockey player, college au, roommates au.
Warnings; 18+, fluff, angst, smut, college au, partying, drinking/alcohol, weed usage, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, enemies to lovers, cheating.
Notes; Taglist is open!! also this chapter is so short compared to my other fics since i rewrote this like 7 times and this was the one I liked the most..
3.5k words
masterlist! ⤏ next chapter
The sound of ice being scraped by the skates of the hockey players filled your ears, making you cringe at the unpleasant noise.
Crossing your arms, you watched as they skillfully passed the puck to each other, determined not to let the opposing team take control.
You hated hockey, and it wasn't just because of the sport itself. It was the type of men who played it - cocky, entitled, and overly aggressive. Every time you came to the rink after their practice, you would find the ice in terrible condition, thanks to the rough way they played.
The University of Tokyo was notorious for its hockey team, and not in a good way. The players were known for their douchey attitudes and their reputation as "fuck boys." As you watched them play, you couldn't help but notice their ridiculously attractive appearances. It was almost as if the only requirement to join the team was to be a 6-foot-tall, handsome guy. Despite their looks, you couldn't stand them.
You sat next to your friend in the cold arena, her eyes glued to the fast-paced hockey game unfolding in front of you. She munched on her popcorn, a smile spread on her face as she yelled your friend's name, "Go Yuji!!" You couldn't help but laugh at her enthusiasm, even though you weren't a fan of hockey yourself. Suddenly, she exclaimed and started choking on her popcorn, causing you to quickly pat her back and make sure she was okay.
As you looked back at the game, your eyes narrowed at one of the hockey boys who had stopped full speed and scraped the ice so badly it made you cringe. This was one of the reasons why you hated coming to these games - the roughness of the players and the damage they caused to the ice rink. The poor ice rink didn't deserve such treatment. Wondering what the ice rink did to deserve this.
You couldn't help but feel a sense of annoyance as the game went on, the constant yelling and cheering from the crowd only adding to the chaos.
The fans roared with excitement as one of the Hockey boys received the puck, deftly dribbling past the defender with ease. As he stopped momentarily, a wide smile spread across his face before he swiftly went left, skillfully dodging the goalie and scoring a goal for his team.
The crowd erupted into cheers as the score changed from 1-2 to 1-3, with Nobara screaming and spilling her popcorn in excitement. She saw Yuji skate towards her, a grin on his face. "Next one's for you, Kugisaki!" he shouted, before skating back to his original position.
As the team huddled up before getting off the ice rink, you couldn't help but feel bored. Hockey was never your cup of tea, despite your father being a huge fan and dragging you to countless games as a child. But as you watched the boys high-five and congratulate each other, you couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie and team spirit in the air.
The energy in the stadium was infectious, and even though you weren't a fan of the sport, you couldn't deny the sense of excitement and unity that filled the air. As the second half began, you settled back into your seat.
Nobara looked at you with a small smirk on her lips as you both sat in the stands, watching the hockey game below. The arena was buzzing with excitement as the home team took on their rivals.
Nobara noticed your gaze and nudged you, "So Y/N, what about that one?" She pointed towards a tall blonde man, his hair disheveled and stuck to his forehead from the sweat buildup on his helmet. As he lifted his jersey to wipe his forehead, the "puck bunnies" in the stands went wild at the sight of his chiseled abs.
You shrugged and replied, "No thanks, not looking right now." You grabbed your bag and took out your phone, snapping some pictures of the action on the ice.
Nobara pouted and scooched closer to you, placing a hand on your shoulder and shaking it. "Don't be like that, Y/N. You have to get over Toji soon." She was referring to your recent breakup with your long-term boyfriend, who happened to be a hockey player on this very team.
You sighed and leaned your head against Nobara's shoulder, taking in the energy of the game and the cheers from the crowd. Despite your best efforts, you couldn't help but feel a pang of longing for the excitement and passion that came with being in a relationship with someone like Toji.
You couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia as you watched Toji, the man who you used to love before he cheated on you with some random sorority chick, interact with his teammates. You remembered how much you used to admire his skills on the ice and how he always seemed to effortlessly lead his team to victory. But as you watched him now, you couldn't help but feel a sense of bitterness towards him. You were still hurt by the way he had treated you, but at the same time, you couldn't deny the fact that he had genuinely treated you well at some point.
As you continued to watch him, you couldn't help but wonder how things would have turned out if he hadn't cheated on you. Maybe you would still be together, cheering him on from the stands. But now, you were just another face in the crowd, trying to hide your emotions as you watched your ex move on with his life.
Kugisaki, your best friend, noticed your gaze and followed it to Toji. She let out a sigh, knowing all too well about your past with him. But she didn't say anything, just letting you take a moment to yourself.
Toji Zenin, a living legend in Utokyo. He was the captain of the hockey team before being demoted due to the fact that he was the reason why the ice rink was broken during your freshman year. He may have been just a year older than you, but he seemed so mature and confident on the ice. That was one of the reasons why you had fallen for him in the first place. But now, as you watched him interact with his teammates, you couldn't help but see him in a different light. He was just another guy, no longer the perfect image you had created in your mind. And although it hurt, you knew it was time to move on and let go of the past.
You remember the day you met him like it was yesterday, sneaking into the ice rink to practice late at night. You were startled when he caught you, but instead of getting angry or telling on you, he just teased you and then let you go. He was the man who showed you what love was, and you were grateful for his presence in your life.
He was the reason you continued your skating career, the one who motivated you to finish tryouts even when you wanted to give up. And now, as you looked at your calendar and saw the upcoming final, you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. Just 20 more minutes until the game was over, and you could finally go home and take your mind off of everything. But for now, you couldn't tear your eyes away from the man who had once meant everything to you, and still held a special place in your heart.
You were supposed to be studying for your midterm in sports medicine, but here you are, stuck at a hockey game. The players were fiercely competing, their skates gliding across the ice as they chased after the puck. The sound of sticks hitting the ice echoed through the arena, and the cheers of the crowd filled the air. Suddenly, the referee blew his whistle and signaled a roughing penalty, causing the crowd to boo in disagreement. You couldn't help but feel annoyed at the interruption, wishing you were back at home studying instead.
But you knew you couldn't just get up and leave without your friend Nobara dragging you back in. Sighing, you resigned yourself to staying for the rest of the game, trying your best to enjoy it despite the looming thought of your midterm.
One of the players had gotten up from the ice and was now furiously cussing out the referee. His white hair stuck out in all directions, his angry words audible through the mic attached to his helmet. You knew instantly who it was - Satoru Gojo, the star of the hockey team and the most popular guy on campus. Girls flocked to him like "puck bunnies," as they called it in hockey slang. But to you, he was just the man you absolutely despised.
Growing up, you had always been in the same social circles because your parents were close friends. Your father and Satoru's both shared a love for hockey, so you were constantly in the same presence as him. And it seemed like he was good at everything he did - sports, academics, socializing. It was infuriating. As you watched him being escorted to the penalty box, a scowl immediately replaced the look on your face. Satoru Gojo was the last person you wanted to see.
The enemy hockey team slammed into the glass, right where you were sitting, causing it to shake. The sound of their bodies colliding with the glass was loud and jarring. Nobara, who was sitting next to you, looked both amused and thrilled by the intense action happening on the ice. One of the players fell to the ground, but he quickly got back up and flashed a smile at Nobara before returning to the game.
You couldn't help but notice her blushing and giggled at her reaction. "I'm definitely coming to their next game if this is my view," she said, fixing her hair and staring back at the player.
The game continued, the energy in the arena was palpable. The coaches and fans were yelling and cheering, urging the Utokyo team on as they made their way back to the goal. You could feel the intensity building as the clock ticked down to the final seconds. And then, with a swift and powerful shot, the Utokyo team scored another goal, solidifying their victory with a final score of 4-1.
The iconic music of the game began to play, the Utokyo hockey team skated onto the ice, their sharp blades slicing through the smooth surface with ease. Each player had a look of fierce determination on their face, and you could feel the excitement building in the air. As they reached the center of the rink, they gracefully removed their helmets, revealing their sweaty, yet glowing faces.
The girls in the audience erupted into screams and cheers, their excitement and admiration for the team palpable. You couldn't help but feel a surge of adrenaline as you watched the team prepare for the game ahead. Their strong and confident presence was enough to make you believe that they were the best hockey team in the world.
Grabbing your things, you followed Nobara to the front of the gymnasium where everyone was eagerly waiting for the hockey teams to come out. Tapping your foot impatiently, you scanned the crowded room, trying to find your ex among the sea of faces. "When is Yuji coming?" you asked, crossing your arms in frustration.
Nobara rolled her eyes before interlocking arms with you. "He's coming soon, now help me look for that hot hockey player we saw earlier," she said, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Just then, the Kyoto boys walked in, some of them looking dejected and others trying to hide their disappointment after being defeated.
But your attention was immediately drawn to the tall, handsome guy who walked in, laughing at some joke his friend had said. He had a confident stride and a charming smile that caught everyone's attention. Your eyes widened as you realized it was the same guy Nobara had been drooling over earlier. And it seemed like she wasn't the only one, as you saw several girls in the crowd blushing and giggling.
As he made his way towards the group of girls, your heart raced in anticipation. You could see Nobara practically melting as he locked eyes with her and walked up to her. They both looked nervous, fidgeting with whatever they could find in their hands. But before you could even process what was happening, he left with her number and an invitation to one of the parties she was throwing later that weekend.
You were tired and hungry, and all you wanted to do was go home and rest. But you knew how much Yuji loved playing hockey and how important it was to him, so you waited patiently.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Yuji emerged from the locker room with a huge grin on his face. His hair was a mess and he was drenched in sweat, but he looked incredibly happy. He immediately ran over to you and gave you a tight hug, causing you to wrinkle your nose at his sweaty smell.
"You reek of sweat," you said, playfully pushing him away before he could hug your friend Nobara.
"Nice to see you too, Y/N," Yuji replied with a chuckle, his light brown eyes sparkling with mischief. You couldn't help but smile at him. He was like a little brother to you, and you were proud of him for pursuing his passion for hockey.
Ruffling his hair, you couldn't help but praise him for his performance on the ice. "I saw your shot, good job," you said, a genuine smile on your face. Yuji beamed with pride, and you knew that your words meant a lot to him. Despite the fatigue and hunger you were feeling, seeing Yuji's happiness made it all worth it.
His eyes glistened with excitement and his cheeks flushed with a rosy tint as he listened to you compliment him. You couldn't help but giggle at his reaction, finding it endearing and cute. But before you could say anything else, your attention was caught by a certain someone sprinting towards you, looking like he was silently cursing to himself. It was your neighbor , and he seemed to be in a rush.
He came close to you and let out a sigh of relief as he reached you. "I'm stealing her real quick," he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
You raised an eyebrow in confusion, but before you could question him, he grabbed your body and pulled you close. Leaning his arm against your body, he whispered into your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. "Just go along with it, okay?" he said, propping back up with a smirk on his face.
You turned to look at the white-haired male, opening your mouth to say something before being interrupted by the sound of his mother's voice. She let out a loud squeal once she saw the two of you, quickly hitting her husband's arm before coming close to you with a warm smile on her face. "I always knew you two would end up together," she exclaimed, causing you to blush and your friend to avoid your gaze because he knew you would be furious with him for this stunt.
"Y/N, I'm so glad! I've always wanted another girl in my family, besides my baby girl now," she said with a bright smile as her husband propped up Satoru's baby sister. You couldn't help but smile at the adorable sight of the 4-year-old girl with her white hair tied into two small ponytails and her face covered in chocolate.
"I'm glad to be a part of the family," you replied, placing your hand on the back of Satoru before pinching his back, making him wince. "I'm going to invite your family to dinner tomorrow! We haven't had a get-together in years... We definitely have a reason to have one now." She covered her mouth before giggling, and you couldn't help but feel a slight sense of dread at the mention of your family coming over for dinner.
Excusing herself, his mom walked away with her husband and child, leaving you and Satoru alone. You could feel the anger radiating off of you as you stared at him, if looks could kill, Satoru would have been dead long ago.
"You told your parents we were together...?" you asked, your voice dripping with disbelief and rage. Satoru's face fell, knowing he had made a grave mistake. He tried to explain himself, but you cut him off with a smack to the head.
"You're kidding me, right?" you scoffed, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow at him. He looked like a child being scolded by his parents, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at that.
"Uh, about that," Satoru started, a sheepish smile on his face as he scratched his head. Before he could say anything else, you stormed away, pushing open the gymnasium doors and striding towards the parking lot.
This is dangerous. So fucking dangerous, playing this game with you. You know that getting involved with someone like Satoru is a recipe for disaster. He's charming and confident, but you've seen the way he treats women. He'll use them for his own amusement and then discard them without a second thought.
“What if I pay you to date me?” He asks with a mischievous glint in his eye, watching as you stomp towards the parking lot, completely ignoring his request.
“No,” you say firmly, not even turning to look at him.
“But I got plenty,” he says, following close behind you.
“Don't care,” you reply, your tone laced with annoyance.
“All right, so it’s obvious you’re not interested in money,” he muses, as if you haven't spoken. “Has to be something else then.” He pauses for a moment, deep in thought. “Booze? Weed?” he suggests, trying to find something that might interest you.
“No, and no, and get lost,” you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm.
He continues to follow you as you walk towards your car, his footsteps matching yours on the sidewalk. “Okay then. I guess you’re not into party favors,” he teases, a hint of a smirk on his lips.
"How about a date?" he offers, leaning against the doorway of your car.
You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the smug look on his face. "Why would I want to go out with you, the most arrogant and obnoxious guy on campus?"
"Because I'm charming, handsome, and irresistible," he grins, winking at you.
You scoff, not buying his ridiculous act. "Yeah, keep dreaming, Mr. Hotshot Hockey Player."
He laughs, clearly enjoying your banter. "Come on, just one date. I promise to behave."
You shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest. "No way. I have better things to do with my time."
"Like what? Study?" he teases, raising an eyebrow.
"At least I have priorities," you retort, trying to hide the hint of a smile on your face.
"Fine, be that way. But just know, everyone wants to go out with me," he says cockily, flashing you a dazzling smile.
You can't help but laugh at his confidence. "Just out of curiosity, after you wake up in the morning, do you admire yourself in the mirror for one hour or more?”
"Two," he replies without hesitation, causing you to burst out laughing.
"Do you high five yourself and talk yourself up?" you ask, unable to resist teasing him further.
"Of course not," he smirks. "I kiss each of my biceps and then point to the mirror and thank my old man for creating such a perfect male specimen."
You shake your head, trying not to smile at his ridiculousness. "No thanks, I'll pass on that date.
"Three months." He mutters, his voice confident and determined.
"Three months and if I don't convince my parents or get Naomi back, I promise I won't ever bother you or contact you ever again." He sticks out his chest confidently, smirking at you as if he knows he's already won.
"Three months?" you ask incredulously, your voice laced with disbelief. "Seriously? Three months is too much," you say, pursing your lips before letting out a heavy sigh. Three months of pretending to be in a fake relationship with him just to make his ex jealous.
"You're my only option." He pleads, his eyes boring into yours.
"Incorrect." You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. "There are plenty of other women out there who would be more than willing to help you make your ex jealous." You wanted to say no, to turn him down and drive away.
"You're right, but she hates you the most." He says, his voice barely above a whisper. You hated him so damn much, but you couldn't deny the fact that you were intrigued by him.
There was something about him that drew you in, that made you want to know more.
You couldn't believe it. You thought this kind of shit only happened in movies, in books, or in some ridiculous fan-fiction.
But no, this was reality and the touch of his hand squeezing yours made you realize just how utterly fucked you were. You tried to laugh it off, thinking he was just playing some sick joke the hockey guys told him to do. But when you saw the serious look on his face, you knew he wasn't joking. He didn't even have a glint of mischief in his eyes, just pure determination. Your heart raced and your palms started to sweat as he shook your hand, his strong grip making you feel like a limp noodle.
You could feel the pulse in your ears as he squeezed your hand. But as you stood there, feeling like a deer caught in headlights, all you could think was, "Fuck."
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What’s the uploading schedule for this feeling in summer going to be like?
I have it all written out, but MY LAPTOP LIKE BROKE also tumblrs been weird i’ve been trying to post chapter two and some drabbles but my phone won’t let me???
Warning: Language, implied sexual content, abuse, violence: this book will explore topics of abuse further down the line please don’t read if you’re a minor. Also I originally wrote this as a Natsu x Lucy book for Fairytail but I kept it and now it’s an Eren fic. So if y’all saw it on wattpad SHOUT OUT TO U!
Rating: M
SYNOPSIS: -> Y/N L/N wasn't always the most well behaved girl. She got into trouble plenty of times and was constantly on her fathers mind. As a dirt bike racer she plans on going pro but when she makes a big mistake, her father leaves her one choice. Spend the summer with her grandparents with no social media or technology far away from her friends and boyfriend.
Eren Jaeger, a 21 year old pro dirt bike racer who visits Houston Texas for the summer when his grandparents get sick. But when the girl next door catches his attention he cant help but wonder her name.
Can Eren help Y/N pull her life together or will she return back to her old ways and blow it all?
Chapter One: I’m a mess (and I’m gonna blow it all)
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“Y/N L/N don’t you dare!”
“Fuck you!”
“Put the trophy down, damn it!”
The sound of yelling and screaming fill the trailer as voices echo and bounce off the walls, your blotchy red cheeks and hot salty tears blurr your vision. Stinging and aching as you rub them hard, your father holds his arms up in defense as you throw your third place trophy against the wall behind him. Smashing the golden plastic to bits, a golden female racer falls off the tip and rolls under the counter.
You reach out behind you to grab your motocross helmet off the shelf, the sound of old first place metals clattering onto the ground. Your pictures lay shattered against the floor as the helmet hurdles straight for the door. Denting the metallic entrance.
“Fuck!” You scream, crying out and screaming to the dark abyss of the night. Another tournament, but this time you weren’t coming home with a first place trophy and a happy trainer. No, instead, you have a third place shattered trophy, a dented helmet, a messed up dirt bike, and all you could do was scream. Y/N L/N the daughter of Erwin Smith the owner of Titans Motocross Race Tracks partnered with Levi Ackerman, was caught in third place. Motherless you were as you stood up for nights on end since the age of five riding your dirt bike, or at least till you could master turns. Your mother never supported your father's decision to put her eldest daughter in motocross back then.
In fact she was so against it that the time she birthed your baby sister Gabi the two agreed to have her in a more feminine sport.
Of course before the death of your mother, she knew you would one day break. You were competitive, impulsive, a control freak, a perfectionist. Of course you had friends in the titan team, but they were just friends. On the track they were competition.
But everyone understood that, Sasha and Mikasa knew that.
But that still wouldn’t stop you from poking fun at your friends.
But when it came to Aubrey Kelper; oh it’s on. That girl was known for being dirty on the track and off the track.
“You wanna make a scene? Fine by me, you wanna keep racing and go pro? Keep acting like that and I’ll cut that contract right up.” Your father threatened. His stern glare battling with your E/C ones as you battle silently.
Your breath hitches, the dirt and dust on the tip of your nose and cheeks reflect the bloochy tinted skin beneath your sun burn, skin burning from the tears.
You stay silent, your face moving towards the direction your helmet sat. Walking over to it and grabbing it. “Now go shower, I’ll drive the trailer back home. Did you make sure you have all your stuff?” Erwin arches a brow taking a look behind his daughter, his keys jingling in his hands as he tosses them around. He was referring to the bike and gear, “The bikes trashed, I need to bring it into the shop, see if they could maybe fix it up for me again. If not, I gotta get a new bike by next week, tomorrow I won't be able to ride.”
Your father sighs in frustration before going to grab his cowboy hat off the top of his head. “Y/N, I’m really trying here. You need-”
“Yeah yeah yeah, try harder. You tell me every fucking day, I’m not the daughter you wanted me to be I get it.” You snap your head towards him, glaring. In your head, you always believed the reason your parents put Gabi in a much more feminine sport like gymnastics, ballet, and figure skating was to keep her away from being like You. Yes, you had the grades, the beauty, skill and talent. But your father wasn’t always so pleased when you hung out with her current boyfriend, Floch, who also happens to be a Dirtbike for Marley Race Tracks Motorsports.
And, of course your tracks didn’t really collide well with their group of racers. Never did, never will.
But it also didn’t collide well with your father, “You listen up here young lady, I don’t know where this little attitude of yours is coming from. But I don’t like the way you’re speaking to me. So if you don’t wanna be grounded this summer I suggest you keep that smart mouth of yours shut. Now go pick up this mess, and go shower. I’ll go check the back to see if everything is ready to go.” He sneers, walking passed you and slamming the door shut causing you to jump.
A small tear of frustration escaped the corner of your. eyes, mascara smudging underneath your eyes slightly. Turning your body to face the bathroom, you walk in to see your dusty nose and piercing red eyes. Your phone in hand from the counter top she looks at the chipped screen, a picture of you and Floch appears as the wallpaper on the screen. A photo of the two of you your father definitely wouldn’t approve of if he were to happen to see. Levi, who also happened to just be an Uncle figure to you already lectured your ear off when he peered at your phone once. And that was something you simply don't wanna repeat, the photo is of you bent over his bathroom counter - his hand pressed hard against the small of your back as you slightly arch your butt to his pelvis. He smiles so wide as your freshly manicured fingers cover your face partially.
Though the two of you never did anything like what your friends have done. Or what your father thinks the two of you do when you’re alone, the closest you have ever gotten was in his pool last summer. Floch has certainly went for it. Especially when you were pressed hard into the side of the pool, you legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Your father walked in… a memory you want to delete forever. You look straight at yourself in the mirror in front, wiping away the tears. The more you tried the more times you got hurt. There will always be competitions, they will always get harder. You knew that. But what you didn’t know was that your father loved you more than anything.
Even when it seemed like he hated you.
And he’d do anything to save you from the path you were walking down, even if he had to send you away…
Three nights later:
“Shhh! Mikasa! Sasha! You both are gonna get me caught!” You say, struggling to get out your bedroom window, your feet dangling on the right side of the house. Sasha presses her palms against her mouth, as Mikasa facepalms. “You fucking idiot,” she curses as you continue to struggle.
“Just let go!” Sasha whispers, containing her laughter, “Are you kidding? I’m not falling!” You whine, you attempt to gain better leverage but it’s no use. The flower beds would be crushed and you’re father would definitely hear your seeing as you were dangling outside of his window. “You should’ve just went through the front door!” Mikasa scolds you, taking a picture to capture the memory. You give her a slumped look, annoyed, “Sorry,” She apologizes.
You decide to finally let go of the railing, falling into the flower beds tipping over the pots.
The two burst out into laughter, “Come on we’re gonna be late for the party!“ Sasha whines, jogging to pick you up, Mikasa runs to start the car. “Don’t turn on the lights, dad will see!”
Sasha lifts you up and pats down your jeans, the both of you run and throw open the passenger door. Climbing into the car and pressing the gas.
The party is full, crowded, and bumping. Music blaring from the outside as cans of beer and bottles litter the lawn. People smoke on the porch couch and there are two people passed out. But you, Mikasa, and Sasha walk by them and straight into the open house. Body sweat and weed filling your nose, afraid the smell will stick onto you even though you showered. Sasha leaves to find Nicollo, Mikasa holds your hand and leaves you into the living room.
“Hey! Where’s Floch?!” You yell over the blasting music, Mikasa shrugs and let’s go of your hand. “Go find him! I’ll be around, I might go hang with Sasha and her boyfriend!” She exclaims, whipping her black hair over her shoulders. You nod and make your wait upstairs, fishing into your back pocket and dialing his number.
In two rings he picks up, “Babe! Are you here?”
“Yeah,” you say walking down the hall heading to his room, “Are you in your room?”
“Yeah spilt some beer on me, come in, we can go in the pool after.”
You walk closer to his door and turn open the knob, his brown hair covering his eyes as he turns back to look at you. His room covered in racing trophies, photos, autographs, and track signs. You smile at him, closing the door behind you. He opens his arms out, his legs open wide for you to get close. Your body makes it way between his legs, his arms wrap around your waist and his face lays on your stomach. “I missed you,” He says, “Does dad know you’re here? I highly doubt that old man knows.”
You smack the back of his head lightly, “Watch it.”
He chuckles, “Sorry,” his face digs into your stomach. You run your hands through his hair smoothing out the peices that stuck out. Floch has been your boyfriend since freshman year of High School. He was all you knew and your friends sometimes said you deserved better, he in your eyes, was doing the best he could. You loved him. You love him. But, that doesn’t erase the times he’s cheated on you, the times he’s maybe ripped you out his car by your hair and let you walk alone at night, the times he’s cussed you out only inches away when you swore if Mikasa wasn’t there he’d hit you. That is why Erwin Smith, hated Floch, not because he was dating you. But the way he treated you, the fight that broke out at you home in front of Gabi was terrifying, you planned a dinner so maybe your father and him could establish at least a civil bond. But instead the mashed potatoes were thrown, the dining room table was flipped over, glasses were shattered and Floch was kicked out of your house by the hem of his shirt.
He was a terrible boyfriend.
But you don’t see that.
He pulls you in tighter leaving small kisses on your naval, you feel your phone erupt in messages and calls but Floch just slithers his hand to your back pocket and throws the phone to the other end of the room. “You like the party? Even better than my last one.”
You scoff, “Whyd you even throw one after what happened last time?”
“School ends tomorrow, babe. Summer is just getting started.” He smirks, pulling you down on top of him. You feel the mattress between your fingers, you’re straddling his hips, your crotch on his pelvis as he grinds against you. “You and me, all summer long baby.” He smiles, the friction between your thighs intensifying with each thrust. You grind back down, his hard just pocking through the fabric of his jeans.
“We can’t do this here..” You moan as he pulls himself up to meet your neck, peppering small kisses on your skin, biting and marking.
“You never want to do it.” He groans as you slide off of him, you don’t want to tell him that you just don’t feel ready to do it with him. You extend your hand to him, pulling him up from the bed. He kisses your forehead, and grabs you by the neck, his fingers tightening on the sides as he pulls you in. “I love you, you know that?”
You nod.
“You’re mine right? You know your mine.”
You nod again.
You spend the night, drinking, smoking with Floch and jumping into the pool. Your hairs a mess and your mascara is smeared all on your bottom lid. Flochs arm is draped over your shoulders pouring beer into your mouth when Mikasa and Sasha come running to you. They yank you away, leading you into the bathroom. Mikasa quickly rushes to place eye drops in your heavy red eyes, and Sasha cleans your smeared makeup, patting down your hair. Confused, you push off their pestering hands. Scolding them, “What the hell! What’s up with you guys-“
“Your dad is outside!” Sasha yells, cleaning you up and spraying perfume on your chest - spirtzing all over your body. An electric shock waves over you, and panic settles down in the pit of you stomach. “Oh shit-“
You run out and head straight upstairs to Floches room, picking your thrown phone from off the floor. Your eyes widening at the amount of notifications.
Six missed calls from Hitch
Ten missed calls, three voicemails, and 26 texts from Sasha
Ten texts from Mikasa
Two missed calls from Levi
Ten texts from Hange
And 56 text, 23 voicemails, and 52 missed calls from Dad.
Your heart pounds against your rib cage, fear settling in the bottom of your stomach. Your father is outside, most likely with Levi. And you are gonna be the laughingstock of the school, of the track. Nobody will ever let that down. Sasha and Mikasa storm in the room, “Your dads asking for you! He’s inside, what do we do!”
Before you can answer; a tall broad figure stands behind them, a brooding glare from him as he looks down at you. Sasha and Mikasa jump, moving aside. His longs strides and loud boots clank against the wooden floor boards. His blond hair disheveled from sleep. He’s still in pajamas, he’s only got a pair of boots on. You look up at him, “H-Hey daddy..”
“Let’s go. You’re done.”
He pulls you by the arm, throwing you in the back of his truck. Swinging the door closed behind you, noticing another figure in the passenger seat, you see Levi staring down at you. He tschs, “It’s too early for this, you know.” He mutters, crossing his arms. Your father opens his door and climbings in the drivers seat, pressing the gas immediately, leaving the party behind.
Embarrassment settles in as your Father shoots you a glare through the rear view mirror. His eyes making eye contact with you for a spilt second, he doesn’t utter a word. Not even when he drops Levi back home and not when you make it up your driveway. He just pulls his key out roughly, and throws his seatbelt over his shoulder - opening the car door harshly and ignoring you.
You step out of the car sheepishly, walking like a wounded dog up the porch stairs. “Dad I-“
He silences you with a deep glare; “Don’t speak.” He unlocks the front door and disarms the alarm system. You walk behind him and shut the door closed, ready for hell to fall. He turns around, “Do you have any idea what time it is?! The sacrifices I have done for you, to make sure your safe. You could be in a ditch, you could be hurt. And you expect me to stay asleep, let you throw your life and future away- Is.. Is that weed I smell? And beer on your shirt!?” Erwin throws his hands up in anger, “I don’t know what to do with you anymore! Do you not understand i’m fighting everyday to keep you in this sport! This career! This is a family sport - if you fuck up you’ll never race again they won’t let you on the track! What more do I have to do!?” He yells, you wince, his yelling was rare.
You notice Gabi, 10 years old, at the top of the staircase. Tiredly rubbing her eyes as she watches the argument unfold. Erwin tells her to go to bed.
“That’s it, I’m gonna rip up your contract.” He reaches in to his brief case on the kitchen counter, and pulls out a piece of paper. A copy of your signed contract, he holds the paper with his fingers in a tearable fashion. “You don’t have what it takes-“
You throw your hands up, “Wait no! Stop- I’m sorry! Please just don’t rip it up!” You plead, watching intently at his hands. He looks up at you, eyes painted in disappointment before he sets down the paper. “Go to your room. Now.”
You nod your head, placing your hands down on your side.
“And give me your phone, your motorcycle keys, ipad, your laptop and one last thing.” He says sternly, demanding the items in question. You turn around from the second step of the staircase, anger from the embarrassment earlier bubbles in your stomach. You throw yourself around, facing him. “What?! What else do you want-“
“Pack your bags.”
You’re left speechless.
“You’re spending the summer in Houston, hope you can last two months without that boy..” He glares at your frame. You stand in shock, anger spilling over, as you storm upstairs. “Fuck you!” You spat.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Authors Note: Wow, you made it to the end of chapter one! Congratulations! I hope you enjoyed, I’m so excited for this fic. Cant wait to introduce hot cowboy dirtbike racer eren!!! Tag list is open, tell me your thoughts! Inbox me ideas i’m open!
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Summary | You’re a single mom with one very talkative and intrusive daughter. She will not sleep until she meddeled her way into getting you a husband. Her newest target? Her kindergarten teacher- Eren Jaeger
Wordcount | 12K (I’m so sorry omg)
Pairing | Eren x Reader
Notes | DILF vibes Eren, Cabin Eren, MILF reader hehe, language, anxiety, absentee father, Modern AU, THIS IS A LONG ONE, SO MUCH PINING, literally as slow burn as a oneshot can be, SFW, so much fluff, making out, mentions of one night stands
The 21st century is a lawless land when it comes to dating. Most people use dating apps. They spend hours sifting through their best photos from over the years- then they spend another hour trying to sell themselves in a tiny little 500 character limited bio. Some people go the organic way choosing to pry on singles at a bar, cafe, or even the watercooler at their office. If you’re old-school you may turn to the personal ads in the newspaper. There may be some hidden gems amongst the serial killers who still post in the newspaper. Seriously though. Newspaper dating ads? Redflag.
There are tons of options out there! But the most unusual you may wonder? Getting your five-year-old daughter to set you up.
Warning: Language, implied sexual content, abuse, violence: this book will explore topics of abuse further down the line please don’t read if you’re a minor. Also I originally wrote this as a Natsu x Lucy book for Fairytail but I kept it and now it’s an Eren fic. So if y’all saw it on wattpad SHOUT OUT TO U!
Rating: M
SYNOPSIS: -> Y/N L/N wasn't always the most well behaved girl. She got into trouble plenty of times and was constantly on her fathers mind. As a dirt bike racer she plans on going pro but when she makes a big mistake, her father leaves her one choice. Spend the summer with her grandparents with no social media or technology far away from her friends and boyfriend.
Eren Jaeger, a 21 year old pro dirt bike racer who visits Houston Texas for the summer when his grandparents get sick. But when the girl next door catches his attention he cant help but wonder her name.
Can Eren help Y/N pull her life together or will she return back to her old ways and blow it all?
Chapter One: I’m a mess (and I’m gonna blow it all)
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“Y/N L/N don’t you dare!”
“Fuck you!”
“Put the trophy down, damn it!”
The sound of yelling and screaming fill the trailer as voices echo and bounce off the walls, your blotchy red cheeks and hot salty tears blurr your vision. Stinging and aching as you rub them hard, your father holds his arms up in defense as you throw your third place trophy against the wall behind him. Smashing the golden plastic to bits, a golden female racer falls off the tip and rolls under the counter.
You reach out behind you to grab your motocross helmet off the shelf, the sound of old first place metals clattering onto the ground. Your pictures lay shattered against the floor as the helmet hurdles straight for the door. Denting the metallic entrance.
“Fuck!” You scream, crying out and screaming to the dark abyss of the night. Another tournament, but this time you weren’t coming home with a first place trophy and a happy trainer. No, instead, you have a third place shattered trophy, a dented helmet, a messed up dirt bike, and all you could do was scream. Y/N L/N the daughter of Erwin Smith the owner of Titans Motocross Race Tracks partnered with Levi Ackerman, was caught in third place. Motherless you were as you stood up for nights on end since the age of five riding your dirt bike, or at least till you could master turns. Your mother never supported your father's decision to put her eldest daughter in motocross back then.
In fact she was so against it that the time she birthed your baby sister Gabi the two agreed to have her in a more feminine sport.
Of course before the death of your mother, she knew you would one day break. You were competitive, impulsive, a control freak, a perfectionist. Of course you had friends in the titan team, but they were just friends. On the track they were competition.
But everyone understood that, Sasha and Mikasa knew that.
But that still wouldn’t stop you from poking fun at your friends.
But when it came to Aubrey Kelper; oh it’s on. That girl was known for being dirty on the track and off the track.
“You wanna make a scene? Fine by me, you wanna keep racing and go pro? Keep acting like that and I’ll cut that contract right up.” Your father threatened. His stern glare battling with your E/C ones as you battle silently.
Your breath hitches, the dirt and dust on the tip of your nose and cheeks reflect the bloochy tinted skin beneath your sun burn, skin burning from the tears.
You stay silent, your face moving towards the direction your helmet sat. Walking over to it and grabbing it. “Now go shower, I’ll drive the trailer back home. Did you make sure you have all your stuff?” Erwin arches a brow taking a look behind his daughter, his keys jingling in his hands as he tosses them around. He was referring to the bike and gear, “The bikes trashed, I need to bring it into the shop, see if they could maybe fix it up for me again. If not, I gotta get a new bike by next week, tomorrow I won't be able to ride.”
Your father sighs in frustration before going to grab his cowboy hat off the top of his head. “Y/N, I’m really trying here. You need-”
“Yeah yeah yeah, try harder. You tell me every fucking day, I’m not the daughter you wanted me to be I get it.” You snap your head towards him, glaring. In your head, you always believed the reason your parents put Gabi in a much more feminine sport like gymnastics, ballet, and figure skating was to keep her away from being like You. Yes, you had the grades, the beauty, skill and talent. But your father wasn’t always so pleased when you hung out with her current boyfriend, Floch, who also happens to be a Dirtbike for Marley Race Tracks Motorsports.
And, of course your tracks didn’t really collide well with their group of racers. Never did, never will.
But it also didn’t collide well with your father, “You listen up here young lady, I don’t know where this little attitude of yours is coming from. But I don’t like the way you’re speaking to me. So if you don’t wanna be grounded this summer I suggest you keep that smart mouth of yours shut. Now go pick up this mess, and go shower. I’ll go check the back to see if everything is ready to go.” He sneers, walking passed you and slamming the door shut causing you to jump.
A small tear of frustration escaped the corner of your. eyes, mascara smudging underneath your eyes slightly. Turning your body to face the bathroom, you walk in to see your dusty nose and piercing red eyes. Your phone in hand from the counter top she looks at the chipped screen, a picture of you and Floch appears as the wallpaper on the screen. A photo of the two of you your father definitely wouldn’t approve of if he were to happen to see. Levi, who also happened to just be an Uncle figure to you already lectured your ear off when he peered at your phone once. And that was something you simply don't wanna repeat, the photo is of you bent over his bathroom counter - his hand pressed hard against the small of your back as you slightly arch your butt to his pelvis. He smiles so wide as your freshly manicured fingers cover your face partially.
Though the two of you never did anything like what your friends have done. Or what your father thinks the two of you do when you’re alone, the closest you have ever gotten was in his pool last summer. Floch has certainly went for it. Especially when you were pressed hard into the side of the pool, you legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Your father walked in… a memory you want to delete forever. You look straight at yourself in the mirror in front, wiping away the tears. The more you tried the more times you got hurt. There will always be competitions, they will always get harder. You knew that. But what you didn’t know was that your father loved you more than anything.
Even when it seemed like he hated you.
And he’d do anything to save you from the path you were walking down, even if he had to send you away…
Three nights later:
“Shhh! Mikasa! Sasha! You both are gonna get me caught!” You say, struggling to get out your bedroom window, your feet dangling on the right side of the house. Sasha presses her palms against her mouth, as Mikasa facepalms. “You fucking idiot,” she curses as you continue to struggle.
“Just let go!” Sasha whispers, containing her laughter, “Are you kidding? I’m not falling!” You whine, you attempt to gain better leverage but it’s no use. The flower beds would be crushed and you’re father would definitely hear your seeing as you were dangling outside of his window. “You should’ve just went through the front door!” Mikasa scolds you, taking a picture to capture the memory. You give her a slumped look, annoyed, “Sorry,” She apologizes.
You decide to finally let go of the railing, falling into the flower beds tipping over the pots.
The two burst out into laughter, “Come on we’re gonna be late for the party!“ Sasha whines, jogging to pick you up, Mikasa runs to start the car. “Don’t turn on the lights, dad will see!”
Sasha lifts you up and pats down your jeans, the both of you run and throw open the passenger door. Climbing into the car and pressing the gas.
The party is full, crowded, and bumping. Music blaring from the outside as cans of beer and bottles litter the lawn. People smoke on the porch couch and there are two people passed out. But you, Mikasa, and Sasha walk by them and straight into the open house. Body sweat and weed filling your nose, afraid the smell will stick onto you even though you showered. Sasha leaves to find Nicollo, Mikasa holds your hand and leaves you into the living room.
“Hey! Where’s Floch?!” You yell over the blasting music, Mikasa shrugs and let’s go of your hand. “Go find him! I’ll be around, I might go hang with Sasha and her boyfriend!” She exclaims, whipping her black hair over her shoulders. You nod and make your wait upstairs, fishing into your back pocket and dialing his number.
In two rings he picks up, “Babe! Are you here?”
“Yeah,” you say walking down the hall heading to his room, “Are you in your room?”
“Yeah spilt some beer on me, come in, we can go in the pool after.”
You walk closer to his door and turn open the knob, his brown hair covering his eyes as he turns back to look at you. His room covered in racing trophies, photos, autographs, and track signs. You smile at him, closing the door behind you. He opens his arms out, his legs open wide for you to get close. Your body makes it way between his legs, his arms wrap around your waist and his face lays on your stomach. “I missed you,” He says, “Does dad know you’re here? I highly doubt that old man knows.”
You smack the back of his head lightly, “Watch it.”
He chuckles, “Sorry,” his face digs into your stomach. You run your hands through his hair smoothing out the peices that stuck out. Floch has been your boyfriend since freshman year of High School. He was all you knew and your friends sometimes said you deserved better, he in your eyes, was doing the best he could. You loved him. You love him. But, that doesn’t erase the times he’s cheated on you, the times he’s maybe ripped you out his car by your hair and let you walk alone at night, the times he’s cussed you out only inches away when you swore if Mikasa wasn’t there he’d hit you. That is why Erwin Smith, hated Floch, not because he was dating you. But the way he treated you, the fight that broke out at you home in front of Gabi was terrifying, you planned a dinner so maybe your father and him could establish at least a civil bond. But instead the mashed potatoes were thrown, the dining room table was flipped over, glasses were shattered and Floch was kicked out of your house by the hem of his shirt.
He was a terrible boyfriend.
But you don’t see that.
He pulls you in tighter leaving small kisses on your naval, you feel your phone erupt in messages and calls but Floch just slithers his hand to your back pocket and throws the phone to the other end of the room. “You like the party? Even better than my last one.”
You scoff, “Whyd you even throw one after what happened last time?”
“School ends tomorrow, babe. Summer is just getting started.” He smirks, pulling you down on top of him. You feel the mattress between your fingers, you’re straddling his hips, your crotch on his pelvis as he grinds against you. “You and me, all summer long baby.” He smiles, the friction between your thighs intensifying with each thrust. You grind back down, his hard just pocking through the fabric of his jeans.
“We can’t do this here..” You moan as he pulls himself up to meet your neck, peppering small kisses on your skin, biting and marking.
“You never want to do it.” He groans as you slide off of him, you don’t want to tell him that you just don’t feel ready to do it with him. You extend your hand to him, pulling him up from the bed. He kisses your forehead, and grabs you by the neck, his fingers tightening on the sides as he pulls you in. “I love you, you know that?”
You nod.
“You’re mine right? You know your mine.”
You nod again.
You spend the night, drinking, smoking with Floch and jumping into the pool. Your hairs a mess and your mascara is smeared all on your bottom lid. Flochs arm is draped over your shoulders pouring beer into your mouth when Mikasa and Sasha come running to you. They yank you away, leading you into the bathroom. Mikasa quickly rushes to place eye drops in your heavy red eyes, and Sasha cleans your smeared makeup, patting down your hair. Confused, you push off their pestering hands. Scolding them, “What the hell! What’s up with you guys-“
“Your dad is outside!” Sasha yells, cleaning you up and spraying perfume on your chest - spirtzing all over your body. An electric shock waves over you, and panic settles down in the pit of you stomach. “Oh shit-“
You run out and head straight upstairs to Floches room, picking your thrown phone from off the floor. Your eyes widening at the amount of notifications.
Six missed calls from Hitch
Ten missed calls, three voicemails, and 26 texts from Sasha
Ten texts from Mikasa
Two missed calls from Levi
Ten texts from Hange
And 56 text, 23 voicemails, and 52 missed calls from Dad.
Your heart pounds against your rib cage, fear settling in the bottom of your stomach. Your father is outside, most likely with Levi. And you are gonna be the laughingstock of the school, of the track. Nobody will ever let that down. Sasha and Mikasa storm in the room, “Your dads asking for you! He’s inside, what do we do!”
Before you can answer; a tall broad figure stands behind them, a brooding glare from him as he looks down at you. Sasha and Mikasa jump, moving aside. His longs strides and loud boots clank against the wooden floor boards. His blond hair disheveled from sleep. He’s still in pajamas, he’s only got a pair of boots on. You look up at him, “H-Hey daddy..”
“Let’s go. You’re done.”
He pulls you by the arm, throwing you in the back of his truck. Swinging the door closed behind you, noticing another figure in the passenger seat, you see Levi staring down at you. He tschs, “It’s too early for this, you know.” He mutters, crossing his arms. Your father opens his door and climbings in the drivers seat, pressing the gas immediately, leaving the party behind.
Embarrassment settles in as your Father shoots you a glare through the rear view mirror. His eyes making eye contact with you for a spilt second, he doesn’t utter a word. Not even when he drops Levi back home and not when you make it up your driveway. He just pulls his key out roughly, and throws his seatbelt over his shoulder - opening the car door harshly and ignoring you.
You step out of the car sheepishly, walking like a wounded dog up the porch stairs. “Dad I-“
He silences you with a deep glare; “Don’t speak.” He unlocks the front door and disarms the alarm system. You walk behind him and shut the door closed, ready for hell to fall. He turns around, “Do you have any idea what time it is?! The sacrifices I have done for you, to make sure your safe. You could be in a ditch, you could be hurt. And you expect me to stay asleep, let you throw your life and future away- Is.. Is that weed I smell? And beer on your shirt!?” Erwin throws his hands up in anger, “I don’t know what to do with you anymore! Do you not understand i’m fighting everyday to keep you in this sport! This career! This is a family sport - if you fuck up you’ll never race again they won’t let you on the track! What more do I have to do!?” He yells, you wince, his yelling was rare.
You notice Gabi, 10 years old, at the top of the staircase. Tiredly rubbing her eyes as she watches the argument unfold. Erwin tells her to go to bed.
“That’s it, I’m gonna rip up your contract.” He reaches in to his brief case on the kitchen counter, and pulls out a piece of paper. A copy of your signed contract, he holds the paper with his fingers in a tearable fashion. “You don’t have what it takes-“
You throw your hands up, “Wait no! Stop- I’m sorry! Please just don’t rip it up!” You plead, watching intently at his hands. He looks up at you, eyes painted in disappointment before he sets down the paper. “Go to your room. Now.”
You nod your head, placing your hands down on your side.
“And give me your phone, your motorcycle keys, ipad, your laptop and one last thing.” He says sternly, demanding the items in question. You turn around from the second step of the staircase, anger from the embarrassment earlier bubbles in your stomach. You throw yourself around, facing him. “What?! What else do you want-“
“Pack your bags.”
You’re left speechless.
“You’re spending the summer in Houston, hope you can last two months without that boy..” He glares at your frame. You stand in shock, anger spilling over, as you storm upstairs. “Fuck you!” You spat.
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Authors Note: Wow, you made it to the end of chapter one! Congratulations! I hope you enjoyed, I’m so excited for this fic. Cant wait to introduce hot cowboy dirtbike racer eren!!! Tag list is open, tell me your thoughts! Inbox me ideas i’m open!
