A girl your age doesn't know any better. Naive little thing. All you see is the handsome man that stands in front of you, who foots the bill when he takes you out to a nice restaurant or on a shopping spree. You see the way he stares down a guy who looks in your general direction a little too long and the way he walks just a step in front of you in a public setting, clearing a path of safety.

What young girl wouldn't want a man like that?

But what they don't see is the way you don't even flinch when you're riding shotgun in his truck and Andrew sets his pistol in your lap. They don't see the blade he'd bought for you—sharp and small, wedged right between your breasts every time you leave the house without him.

They don't see the way your skin prickles when he teaches you the proper way to shoot a gun, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, pointing the barrel at your reflection.

His hands are at your hips, thumbs resting at the elastic band of your pretty, red panties. Andrew's voice is low and slow in your ear. "Mm. Tuck your elbow in. Squeeze the handle a little harder. Yeah, there you go. Now put your finger on the trigger, baby. Just like that. And when you're ready, you just gotta pull it."

You breathe in slowly, and your finger presses down on the exhale.

The gun clicks.

"Yeah, that's it," he says, sliding his hands lower, beneath the crimson fabric. What he finds is unsurprising to him, of course. Arousal pooling between your thighs, your clit slick and swollen and desperate to be touched. He circles it slowly, tentatively, lovingly. "Again, sweetheart."

Andrew doesn't speak much on the rumors that go around about the two of you. He's sure even his brothers believe some of them.

It's to be expected, really, with that mousy demeanor of yours.

You put your hair up a different way one day and when Craig compliments you on it you get all shy, hiding behind Andrew's shoulder with your cheeks flaming.

He thinks it's real cute. The way you act all timid in front of them, murmuring a thank you with that soft voice of yours, unable to meet Craig's eyes all because he complimented you.

But only an hour later, Pope's undoing the clips in your hair while you look up at him from down on your knees, saying—begging, "Hit me."

And Pope does. Smacks you hard, one good time with his palm against your cheek. The sound is like lightning through the open air. He doesn't do it because he wants to, he does it because of that misty look in your eye, because of the way you moan at the impact.

Because of the way you look up at him through your lashes and smile real wide, giggles falling off your kiss-swollen lips, like there's no place you'd rather be.

He gives you just what you need, fucking your mouth until you're crying for it, burying himself at the back of your throat.

Each little gasp for air you make pushes him closer and closer to release, but what really does him in is the way your hand finds his thigh, tracing a little heart-shape into the denim of his jeans while you choke on his length.

Andrew finishes at the back of your mouth without warning, filling you until his release spills from the corners of your plush lips.

His cock still aches when he pulls himself out of you. Your pretty makeup that you spent all that time doing this morning runs down your cheeks now, and sticky webs of saliva and cum connect his cock to your tongue.

"You look so pretty, swallowing me down like that. My beautiful girl. Say it."

Your eyes are bloodshot and watery but filled with love as you look up at him. "I'm your beautiful girl," you say, smiling wide, sticking out your tongue to show him the mess he's made of you before swallowing hard.

"Yeah you are," he murmurs. "My sweetheart."

You've even got Smurf fooled.

They're having a family meeting one afternoon, planning out the details on how to rob a marijuana dispensary that pays its employees exclusively in cash.

While you're moving around easily in the kitchen, Smurf watches you from the living room with a drink in her hand.

Craig and Deran are bickering, trying to figure out a way to distract the night shift security guards that stand watch at the front entrance.

And then Smurf suddenly says, pointing with the rim of her crystal glass, "Her."

Pope shakes his head. "No. Not happening."

"Think about it," Smurf says. "You go in right as the last employee walks out. She walks up, begging to be let in, and says she'll pay extra. Girl like her? They won't expect anything. Just a pretty sweetheart looking to end her day with a little indica."

His brothers are quiet, looking between you and Pope, toeing the line of choice.

In the end, Andrew lets you choose. Makes it clear that if working a job with them makes you feel uncomfortable in any way, they'll figure something else out. He lays out the risks and the reward and reminds you to be honest about your feelings.

But you agree almost immediately and no amount of talking on Andrew's part sways you. It's over the moment you take his big hand, press his palm to your cheek and say, "I love you, Andrew. Even this part of you. Especially this part."

It melts his heart and fills him with this almost uncomfortable level of tenderness. He would kill for you, die for you—all to keep you here by his side.

The job goes perfectly. Andrew and his brothers are able to slip through the ceiling vents unseen, all because you're batting your eyelashes and making your shy little jokes to the guards out front.

They leave the warehouse with duffel bags full of cash and get away clean and undetected.

You're waiting three blocks away in Pope's truck, sitting casually behind the wheel, coating your lips in that pretty lipgloss while looking in the rearview mirror. But your phone is clutched tight in your hand waiting on a text of confirmation.

Pope makes Deran drop him off so he can set his eyes on you sooner rather than later.

And the moment you see him, your eyes light up in this way he knows all too well. Pope nods, adrenaline high as he lifts the clear plastic mask over his face just enough to set it on the top of his head. "We're good," he says.

The hesitant look on your face turns into a grin, soft giggles flitting off your tongue. You slide back across the cab to make room for Pope behind the wheel. You look past him, to Craig and Deran in the car with no plates full of stolen cash. "We'll see you at home," you tell them.

And maybe they don't understand at first, but Pope does. Of course he does—he can feel the way that wanting, lustful energy buzzes beneath your skin.

He puts the truck in drive and pulls out of the lot, but he doesn't make it two blocks before you're wrapping those sharp, painted nails around his bicep.

Pope just smiles as you kiss his shoulder repeatedly, nuzzling the cords of muscle through the fabric of his black hoodie. It seems like such an innocent, sweet touch. But he knows the truth—knows it's not only sweetness in your heart, it's hunger.

"Hang on, baby," he says, hand resting on the inside of your thigh, squeezing tightly. "Lemme pull over."

He finds a secluded alleyway that offers just enough darkness to remain undetected. And the minute he puts his truck in park, you're climbing into his lap.

Pope welcomes the taste of your hungry tongue. Lets you slide it into his mouth, over his teeth, licking and sucking like your life depends on it. He's already half hard in his jeans, but the second you tilt your hips, grinding yourself down against his bulge, he's done for.

"You look—god, you look so good," you whimper, hands around his neck. You don't squeeze, but rather just rest them there, thumbs feeling the quickening beat of his pulse through his jugular.

"Did such a great job today," Andrew says, fingers flexing hard around your hips. "My perfect girl. Such a sweetheart."

You whimper at the namesake, a term he'd coined just for you, his shy, gentle girl. "Andrew, please."

He knows what you're asking for. And who is he, after all, to deny a girl like you? Someone good and soft and so very desperate.

He reaches beneath you, between your legs to find the buckle of his belt. In one swift movement, he undoes it with a clink, and pushes his jeans and boxers down.

"Wait."

Andrew freezes.

At first he fears he might've done something wrong. Assumed wrong or maybe gone too far or pushed too hard. Like usual. Like usual.

His mind starts to spiral, because who could ever hurt you if not a monster? Sweet girl. Sweet heart.

He's a monster. He's a fucking—

And then you smile, and those invasive thoughts disappear as quickly as they'd manifested.

You bat your eyelashes at him with this innocent look on your face, and tug the plastic mask on the top of his head down.

Pope understands then. Of course he does—because you're his filthy, sweet girl. His.

Your clit pulses and he can feel it against his cock, even through the cotton barrier of your underwear.

Andrew tilts his head, watching you through slightly plastic-obstructed vision. He waits for you to move first.

And you do so by leaning forward and laying a wet, open-mouthed kiss against the mask, right over his lips.

It's the most erotic thing Pope has ever experienced.

Because he knows you want him—the awkward, quiet Andrew.

But right now, you're asking for a different version of him. A much more violent version of him; you want Pope.

The part that thieves and breaks and kills. The very worst of him. And not only do you want it, you're twitching for it. Breath coming out like a sigh, hands clutched tight, pussy aching for him.

And the realization—God. He could die. He could fucking die from how much he loves you.

He takes you right then and there. Pulls your underwear to the side beneath your skirt and sinks his cock into you in one hard, claiming thrust.

Pope holds your wrists together tightly behind your back and makes it hurt, because he knows good and well that's what you want. All the while your tongue laves against the plastic of his mask, breath fogging up the surface, a sick, perverted indulgence that drives him insane.

He circles your clit with his free hand, reveling in the way it throbs beneath his rough hands.

It doesn't take long. It never does. He feels the slick velvet of your center squeeze his cock like a vice. Pope doesn't let up, rubbing your clit until you lean back with your eyes squeezed tightly closed, chasing the release you've needed since the moment he'd asked you to help them on this job.

"Look at me," he demands. It's not a request but an order.

You do, mouth open to make room for the cute moans that echo in the cab of his truck. "I'm gonna—god, please please I'm gonna fucking cum—fuck—"

He doesn't say anything. Just tilts his head and watches you.

It hits a second later, and it's beautiful. The way you fall apart in his lap, thighs shaking, fingers flexing beneath his hold, fighting desperately to keep your brain tethered to the earth.

Andrew fucks you through it. Circles your clit until you're squeezing your thighs together, running from the sensitivity.

He finishes inside you a moment later, cock twitching as his orgasm settles low in his belly. And when he's finished, spasming with the aftershocks, you lift the plastic mask from his face and discard it on the floor of the passenger seat.

You smile and kiss him softly and say, "Let's go home. I'm hungry now."

Andrew knows the two of you will take one step into that house and they'll all know what you've gotten caught up doing. They'll see the mess of his curls and the flush on his face. They'll see your swollen lips and the spit drying at the corners and they'll think, 'Jesus, Pope. You can't get off that poor girl for even ten minutes?'

And he won't say anything, of course. He'll just let them go on believing the rumors, believing that he's the one who's insatiable for the shy girl who's gotten caught up in his gravitational pull.

────────

“That’s it, baby!”

The headboard smacks against the wall again, in rhythm with his deep, punishing thrusts as he continues pounding you- face down, ass up into the mattress.

“Fuuuuck yeah…you love it when I fuck you like this, don’t you?”

“Eddie p-please!” You whimper, fisting the bed sheets beneath you as his hips slap against your ass- forcing his hard cock to brush against your cervix with every thrust.

“Please, what? Use your words, sweetheart.” He tsks, a devilish grin spreading across his face as he looks down where both of your bodies meet- watching himself slide in and out of your drenched cunt.

“H-harder.” You sob, tears wetting the sheets as your body shook with pleasure. “Please fuck me harder!”

“Oh, you want it harder?” Eddie asks, his grip on your hips tightening hard enough to turn his knuckles white. “You sure you can handle that?”

You gasp, nodding your head helplessly as the tears keep flowing- choking on desperate sobs and moans.

“I c-can t-take it!” You cry out “Please!”

“Alright.” Eddie smirks, looking down at his slutty little plaything as you writhed and cried out beneath him. “Whatever you want, gorgeous.”

Before you have time to react, Eddie leans his body forward- putting all his body weight on you until you’re on your stomach, lying prone on the mattress as he pounds into you at a brutal, punishing pace.

“Oh my fucking god!” You cry out, another onset of hot, thick tears take over you as you sob out in pleasure.

“That feel good?” Eddie growls, snapping his hips against you as he drives his hard cock into you as deep as you could take it. “Is that what you’re fucking crying about, sweetheart? Yeah? Fucking…answer…me.”

“Yes!” You squeal “Yes, Eddie! Oh fuck yes! Thank you!”

One of his hands snake up to your neck, wrapping around it as he pulls your head back towards him- lightly squeezing your throat.

“What was that, angel?” Eddie patronizes, his voice hot against your ear “I didn’t quite hear you.”

“Thank you, Eddie. Fuck- thank you!”

“Oh baby, you’re welcome.” Eddie coos “Anything for my little cocksleeve. My cock hungry whore with such good fucking manners. Right, baby? You keep using those manners for me and I’ll keep giving you this fucking dick just how you fucking like it.”

“Thank you!” You gasp, your voice hoarse and desperate as he thrusts into you hard enough to jolt you forward. “Oh god! Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Fuck, baby. Such good manners.” Eddie praises “You know what you get with manners like those? Hm?”

“Oh fuck, please!”

“That’s it. Atta girl!” Eddie chuckles darkly “With manners like those, you can have anything you fucking want.”

“whatcha doin’ there?” he’d ask finally, turning the tv off. he was watching jaws on mute (he was pretty sure you’d picked it earlier, back when you still liked him), which was its own kind of torture. it only made your silence louder. jack wondered if he was more interested in self-flagellation than he’d initially thought.

scroll. scroll. scroll. you leaned further into the arm of the couch, further away from him. he never knew what was so damn interesting on your phone – he was pretty sure you could scroll all day, and would if he wasn’t there. it seemed like you were just preparing yourself for your night without him, a first.

“i asked–” he made a sound low in his throat, because this was immensely grating on his nerves. he just hated when you didn’t give him attention.

he hooked two fingers in the waistband of your denim shorts, and reeled you back a few inches with his strength, almost snapping the fabric right off. he just wanted to prove to you he could. “what’re you doin’ there, baby?”

you locked the phone and set it face-down on your chest. “go get ready. you’ll want to look nice for everyone.”

he clicked his tongue and slouched further into the cushions, arm slung along the back of the couch, and looked up at the ceiling in faux-thought. “for all the nice ladies at the bar. it’s jus’ gonna be crawling with them.”

“exactly,” you huffed out, rolling your eyes. “i’m gonna go back to my apartment and hang out with my friends.” when his body stiffened up and he rolled his neck on the couch to look at you, you added, “yeah. the one i pay for. remember it?”

“vaguely,” he murmured. and because he loved the sight of you needy for him too much, he said, “i can drop you off on the way.”

you made a wounded sound, and jack had to bite back the smile at the frown on your face.

“whaat? you go see your friends. i’ll go see mine. we’ll reconvene later and tell each other all about it. it’s healthy.”

“stop.” you smacked his chest with the flat of your hand with zero force. “i don’t wanna go to my apartment.”

“you literally just–”

“i know what i said.” your jaw was clenched, and jack could see the pout forming on your lips that came whenever you’d worked yourself into the corner and hated the fucking view. “it was jus’ a threat.”

“ah.” he nodded slowly. “to make me feel bad.”

“yes.”

“and now you’ve walked it back, so.” he spread his hands, helpless and delighted, shrugging a shoulder. “where does that leave us? seems like i’ve still got a bar to be at.”

you made a sound of pure frustration and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, hauling yourself into his lap. he let you. he’d let you do anything. he got a hand on your lip the second you were in range and his tongue instinctively peeked out slightly between his lips, pulling you in the rest of the way. if you were going to do it, you might as well do it properly.

“hey, look you’re back with me,” he murmured, smiling slightly. finally. “decided to take the scenic route.”

you rolled your eyes, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. he used a hand to tug slightly on your hair to look at him, and when you reluctantly pulled away, he caught your mouth to swallow whatever you’d loaded up and kissed you quickly. your hands uncurled from his shirt and flattened against his chest. which was, of course, the second he pulled back.

“okay,” he said easily.

you chased his mouth halfway again before you caught yourself. “okay, what?”

his thumb came up to drag along your bottom lip where he’d just been. “okay, you’ll get me all worked up. i promised everyone i’ll get the first round–”

“i don’t care about everyone.”

“i know you don’t.” he kissed the corner of your scowl, once, there and gone, just to feel you huff against him. “you don’t care about anyone, baby. it’s one of my favorite things about you. now up.” he patted your hip twice. “go change into somethin’ pretty. we’ve gotta get to a bar.”

he could see the sliver of your smile starting, but you didn’t move. he tried again. “i’d really, really love it if you came to a bar with me and my coworkers and sat on my lap the whole time.”

you pretended to consider it, then breathed out a sigh. “fine. if you say so.”

“attagirl.”

for the record, you did always sit on his lap whenever the two of you went out. it annoyed people to no extent, but he’d say it wasn’t so much PDA as as it just was. and a bar without you on him was just noise and other people’s problems. with you there, he had a place to put his hand and anchoring him to the place itself.

sometimes, jack could admit, he liked to test it. you’d be almost halfway to sleep on the couch, clocking in for you cat nap of the day, and he’d say, into your hair, “gotta go get my haircut.”

you’d groan against him, turning your face against his chest for a second, then turn back. you pushed yourself up by your palm to sit up properly, sleep-filled, and said, “fuck. fine. let’s go.”

you were already scrubbing a hand down your face, blinking yourself awake, reaching for the sneakers you’d left by the couch.

“whoa, hey.” he caught your wrist. “you were asleep.”

“up now.” you yawned wide, tugging one shoe toward you by the heel as your gaze briefly flickered onto him. “you need it. s’getting shaggy. i’ll tell him not to take too much off the top. and to keep it looking as gray as it can.”

suddenly, he didn’t want to go. why? because he couldn’t very well keep holding you while a barber took a few inches off his hair. he was just as bad as you.

“actually,” he tried, “it can wait a week–”

“no.” you stood up, and held your hand out for him, and he felt like somehow, this wasn’t even his idea in the first place. “you said haircut. we’re doing haircut.”

other times, he couldn’t think it’d possibly make sense for you to join him somewhere, but he’d still try to get you to come. or push it until he could make it seem like it was your idea all along. he’d run at the most inconvenient times, pencilling them into the schedule on his nights off at absurdly strange times, especially when he wanted to listen to the police scanner for SWAT earlier in the morning.

which was how how ended up, at five in the morning, standing in the kitchen tying his laces. “headin’ out,” he called out from the hallway, testing. “be back in a bit.”

he waited for a second, one shoe half-tied. then, from the dark down the hall, he heard you muffled and outraged say, “where?”

“on a run.”

the sheets rustled, and then you appeared in the doorway, backlit and squinting at him, wearing his shirt with nothing under it. “jack, please don’t annoy me.”

he huffed out a small laugh. “m’not doing anything. i’ll be back and cuddle and then call in for SWAT.”

a few minutes later, he was jogging the empty dark, and there you were crawling beside him in his car, hazards blinking orange, and his hoodie swallowing you whole.

“you’re going slow,” you called.

“pacing myself,” he panted out.

“slow-guy word.” you kept the car at its faithful pace of four miles per hour.

“i’ve got one leg,” he said. “stop heckling me.”

he groaned, and tried to speed up, though. you leaned your head out the window, chin on your folded arm, watching him with sleepy eyes. “come here. you’re getting ahead again.”

jack breathed through his nose and cut over to the window anyway, jogging alongside close enough to reach in. you turned your face up and he dragged his knuckles down your cheek without breaking stride, thumb catching the corner of your mouth.

“you look good all sweaty,” you said.

“oh yeah?” his mouth pulled into a smug smile. “i like it when you catcall me.”

“if you think that’s catcalling, then you’ve got no idea what i’ve got up my sleeve,” you said, giggling. and then you slumped deeper into the seat, steering with two fingers at the bottom of the wheel. jack made a mental note reminding himself to never, ever let you drive anywhere real.

he clocked two miles like that. every so often, you’d lean out and say something to him. somewhere around the second mile, you got tired and just watched him, eyes half-shut.

“alright, hot stuff,” you called out eventually, voice filled with sleep. “wrap it up. you’ve proven whatever this proves.”

“one more mile.”

“jack,” you whined, and when he didn’t slow. “if we go home now i’ll make it worth your while.”

his steps hitched just slightly, but he continued. “you’re just gonna go to bed.”

“well, we can just cancel it.”

he paused, halting his footsteps finally, breathing hard. “no need to be hasty.”

you smiled tiredly, and was on his way to the passenger seat when you honked, causing him to jump slightly in front of the car. “what?”

you peeked your head out of the window. “well, i’m not driving.”

he put his hands on his hips, staring at you incredulously for a second, then watched you crawl over the console to the passenger seat. he sighed, and dropped into the driver’s seat.

you smiled. “you’re so trainable. you’re like a–”

he leaned over and kissed the rest of the sentence out of your mouth, but you made a soft sound and curled your fist into his shirt. when he finally pulled back, you followed him, and he had to huff out a fond laugh as he physically held you back in your seat.

“belt,” he murmured.

you shook his head at him confused, pointing at the belt. he made a perplexed face and reached across to buckle you in.

“you smell all sweaty,” you murmured. “s’awful. don’t shower.”

“that’s the worst thing you’ve ever said to me,” he murmured, starting to drive.

two minutes seconds in, he had to catch your wandering hand by the wrist – flat against his stomach – and held it there. he had to clear his throat. “you,” he said, casting you a sideways glance, “are supposed to be sleepy.”

“would you like me to be?” your fingers flexed against his hold, and he placed your hand back on his stomach.

he clicked his tongue. “what’s the clock at right now?”

“fifty eight minutes.”

“drive home’s ten. shower’s fifteen, if you’re in it. which you will be.”

“so bossy,” you murmured.

robby had asked jack to grab a drink on one of their only nights off to rant, vent, talk about anything on god’s green earth without having to filter it through workspace etiquette. jack knew that there was probably some rule in the handbook that said you don’t bring your girlfriend to such things, and he hadn’t. it’d truly stuck this time, too.

you’d been scrolling through some streaming service on the tv, tucked under the covers, lips pulled into a frown, and being strangely normal about jack’s night out. well, that was until he saw you let out the tiniest of a groan before you slipped under the duvet.

he placed his shirt on the couch, tilting his head at the shape of you under the duvet, and walked over. his palm pressed over what he guessed was your elbow as you turned to your side.

“can i get a goodbye kiss, baby?” he murmured.

your lump shifted a woeful roll away from him, deeper into the mattress.

jack’s mouth twitched as he sank down onto the edge of the mattress by your hip. he found the top of the duvet and peeled it back slowly. you were frowning and your eyes were pinched shut. “you hidin’ from me?”

“sick,” you whispered, eyes still closed. “can’t kiss. you’ll catch it.”

“oh, that’s a shame,” he whispered back. he laid the back of his fingers to your forehead – cool and healthy as a horse, obviously – and his thumb swept across your cheek. “big bad fever, huh?”

“maybe i should go to the ed?” you hummed, nuzzling against his hand, causing him to cup your cheek.

“you wanna get admitted for this?”

“yeah.” you nuzzled deeper into his palm, and your lashes fanned against your cheek. “might be something bad. you should feel my glands.”

“alright, then,” he murmured. jack had decided if you were going to malinger, you should probably get the full workup. sliding his hand back to cradle the side of your throat, thumb sweeping the hinge of your jaw. “feel perfect to me, actually.”

“thanks, jack,” you murmured, like he’d complimented your outfit. he barked out a laugh at that.

“it’s a shame,” he said, pushing himself forward to lean down to press his lips to your forehead. “was gonna ask you to come to the bar, but you’re too sick. can’t drag you out feelin’ like this. it won’t be right.”

your eyes came open and your nuzzling stopped dead. “oh–”

he clicked his tongue, pressing a frown over his lips. “i’ll swing by the pharmacy on the way back and grab you somethin’ for the fever. maybe some of that tea you like, too.”

you pursed your lips and jack watched you realize that sick girls don’t rally for bars. he moved his hand away to tuck the duvet more snugly around your shoulder and patted it, the picture of concern.

“um–”

“comfy?” he asked, sweetly, tucking a pillow under your head.

“you don’t have to get me tea,” you tried weakly.

“course i’ll get you tea. anything for my sick girl.” he leaned down and pressed another kiss to your forehead, long, a little sloppy, and warm, and you went rigid. “you rest up. text me if it gets worse.”

he stood and he watched your wide, confused eyes track his movements.

“jack?” you said, voice small.

“yeah?” he tugged his shirt over his head, and when it went on him, he was grinning.

you stared at him, and he could see you weighing your options of whether to cop to the lie, or hold the fever. he loved that little look on your face so much he nearly caved right there.

“you look very handsome,” you murmured.

“you think so?” he said, cocking his head to the side.

“mhm.” you gave him a small smile, your eyes tracking down the length of him and back up. you reached out to catch his hand, and your thumb brushed over his knuckles. “the most handsome. robby’s lucky.”

he sank back to the edge of the mattress and brought your knuckles up to his mouth, kissing them slowly as you gazed at him like a woman sending her love off to sea. “you’re bein’ real brave about this.”

you pressed the back of your free hand to your forehead then let it flop down. “you should have fun. tell robby i said hi. don’t think about me being all alone and unwell.” your fingers tightened around his. “i mean it. have the best time. you work so hard.”

god, you were laying it on thick. he leaned in to kiss your forehead, then your cheek, and the corner of your mouth. “i won’t be long.”

“take your time,” you insisted so nobly.

and then you turned your head quickly, trying to convert his kisses into a real one. he leaned back, tutting.

“can’t, sweetheart. you’re contagious.” jack pushed himself up, and with the sound you made, you did sound a little sick.

it should have been no surprise that around the forty minute mark, as robby was ranting about whether or not he should cut things off with noelle for good, jack caught a flash of movement past the bar’s front window. there you were!

you were shuffling down the sidewalk in his hoodie and plaid pajama shorts, a little white pharmacy bag swinging from one fist, walking so casually. jack’s beer landed on the table as his eyes narrowed.

“–i keep going back and forth, ‘cause a part of me thinks–” robby stopped, following jack’s line of sight. “hey, look. your girlfriend’s stalking you now.”

jack’s brows furrowed. he rested his forearms on the table, tracking you through the glass. then you found him, and to your enormous credit, your face jumped in surprise. you pushed through the door on a rush of cold air, the bell jangling.

“jack?” you rasped. “i had no idea this is where you were.”

“i know, angel.” he caught you by the wrist as you drifted close, drawing you out of the cold gush of air. your hand was freezing. you’d walked here. “you’re like ice. what’re you doin’ out?”

you sighed softly, holding up the bag of medicine. “i was feelin’ worse. couldn’t wait until you came back so thought i’d just get it myself.”

he frowned. he folded both your hands between his and brought them up to his mouth to breathe over. “wanna go home?” he murmured.

“can i–” you cleared your throat, looking away from him sheepishly. “maybe after a cocktail?”

jack’s shoulders dropped and he laughed. he pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “for your fever?”

you were fighting a smile. “might warm me up.”

“i can warm you up.” he tugged your wrist and you folded sideways across his thighs, and his arm swept around your back. his hand slid up just slightly under the hoodie to press against your cold skin, drawing a sharp little gasp out of you. “jesus.”

“hi, robby,” you said.

robby picked his drink up with an incredulous look on his face. “you don’t look sick to me.”

“you think i look pretty?”

robby pointed his drink at the two of you. “nothing about this is normal.”

jack shrugged. he didn’t think anything was better for him than a lapful of his little liar.

“hey, maybe she can give you some advice on your love life,” jack said.

“you’re working nights sunday through thursday, right?” you asked one night, thumbing through your phone, tucked into his side.

“yeah.” his hand traced shapes over your hip, eyes on the tv. “why, you plottin’ something?”

“kind of.” you kept typing something away, head tilting at your screen.

“what?” he murmured, leaning over to look at your phone.

“i think i’m gonna stay at my apartment those nights. the girls and i are planning a whole thing – feels like fun. and it’s kinda dumb to keep paying rent i’m never in. figured i’d use it for once.”

jack felt his mouth curve up slightly, and he leaned in to nuzzle his head into the curve of your neck. “you askin’ me to take a night off?”

“no?” you huffed out a small laugh, head tilting so you were resting on his.

“you’re gonna sleep at your own apartment,” he said, smiling slightly. “you’ll last one night, start missing me, and you’ll text me to come get you after my shift.”

you pulled back from him slightly, brows narrowing. hesitantly, you said, “i don’t think i’ll miss you that bad.”

“huh?”

“i think i’ll miss you a normal amount,” you shrugged, lips jutting out slightly at the look on his face. “but it’s four nights, jack. i’ve got roommates that i miss and my record collection i worked really hard on – and spent a ton of money on.” you sighed wistfully. “my friend said the turntable’s got dust on it.”

jack felt his own brows furrow. he was sure he was pouting like a fucking teenager.

at his silence, you hummed, shifting uncomfortably on the couch. “you’re working all those nights, anyway,” you said, trying to offer it as some sort of resolution.

something was very wrong about this, jack thought.

“this is the part where you say, go have fun, baby.”

“you live here,” jack said dumbly.

you smiled uncertainly. “no, i live there. i just stay over at my boyfriend’s all the time.”

“no, you live with your boyfriend,” he corrected.

“when did i move in with him?”

jack opened his mouth, determined to name exactly when, and realized he had no idea. because – technically – you hadn’t moved in. that just won’t do. he made a small sound, got a hand behind your knee, and pulled, dragging you over into his lap. both palms slid up to grip your waist and hold you there as he frowned at you.

“why haven’t you moved in?” he asked, grip tightening on your waist.

“didn’t wanna seem crazy and come here with a moving truck–”

“since when do you care about that?”

“i didn’t want to assume,” you mumbled, and jack’s mouth itched to press against your mouth.

he leaned in, mouth grazing your jaw. “since when do you get shy?”

“since you never asked,” you huffed out, fingers tugging slightly at his hair. “figured i’d just keep my place. just in case.”

he nipped at your skin, eyes fluttering. jack didn’t like that idea at all. his hand went up your spine to pull you flush against him. “get out of the lease–”

“i won’t have a home,” you said, grinning.

“move in.” he said, groaning slightly at how this all turned out. “i thought you’ve been living here for months.”

you made a small sound as your hand smacked the side of his head lightly. “do you know how much stuff i could’ve got if i stopped paying that rent?” then you smacked him again. “asshole.”

“okay, okay–” he caught your wrist, grinning as he ducked from your hand. “will it help if i take you shopping?”

“blow it out,” you’d said, waving a loose palm over the candles.

“s’your cake, angel.”

“it’s your birthday.” then he blew it out, and you asked, “what was your wish?”

“you in my bed tonight.”

“that’s already happening – ”

“i know, right.” he sat back in his chair, thumb dragging along the base of his glass. “m’the luckiest man in the world.”

and because that night had ended so well (the sound he made into your shoulder when you repeated what the cake said, again, into his ear; the box of cake left on the counter he’d begrudgingly brought into bed after tuckering you out), you couldn’t help but want to keep finding ways to keep doing it to him.

even if it was during a dinner with two of his coworkers who also happened to be his closest friends.

“god, i wish i had some salt and pepper right now,” you said through a groan, setting your little ice cream spoon down.

dana, who was sitting across from you, let out a small chuckle into her drink, eyeing you over the rim of her glass.

jack just assumed you were talking to talk. you did that way too often; every time there was a lull in the conversation (even though your definition of a lull and his were vastly different), you’d supply something that was rarely relevant.

he eyed you briefly from the corner of his gaze, before he placed his focus back on his conversation with robby. “gloria asked me for – ”

you let out another dramatic groan, letting your head tip back in faux frustration before cocking it to the side toward jack, speaking directly at him. “i said, i really wish i had salt and pepper right now.”

jack breathed out a sigh through his nose, as he shifted slightly, palm planting over your thigh under the table, as he ran through a quick list of possibilities of what could possibly be wrong with you.

you clearly weren’t in pain or upset. so either this was a genuine craving, which was fixable, or it was one of your Things, which wasn’t fixable but jack found it was worth sticking around for.

“want a dish to go with that, baby?” he asked, raising a brow, turning toward you at last. his thumb swept over your thigh once.

jack watched you as the corner of your lip kicked up, wrapping the end of your hair around your finger. “that is the dish.”

jack’s gaze dropped to your cup of ice cream as he furrowed his brows. “i didn’t know that,” he muttered.

“s’my favourite,” you said, dragging your spoon slowly through what was left of the ice cream. “some people don’t like the salt and pepper.”

“don’t i know it,” he said, huffing and shaking his head, “people have gotta learn to season their – ”

he had one forearm on the table, sleeve rolled to the elbow, glass loose in his other hand.

“i really, really like salt and pepper,” you interrupted, and jack’s head snapped in your direction, brows going almost up to his hairline at your fucking tone.

usually, that tone was reserved for when you told him how good he was making you feel, how much you never wanted him to stop, his name in the sentence somewhere. it usually happened early in the mornings right after he got off work, your mouth an inch off his ear and his body entirely at your mercy.

the tips of his ears heated up and went pink at the onslaught of memories. his palm tightened on your thigh, questioning and also a little bit of something else that was entirely inappropriate at a group dinner. he felt like you’d just deployed a mating call, which was crazy. right?

“i’ll get you – salt. and pepper?” he said, clearing his throat halfway through, already turned toward the chrome caddy at the center of the table.

he rose immediately – one hand flat on the tablecloth, chair legs stuttering back – reaching two slightly-trembling fingers for the pepper mill.

your fist closed in his hair before he could get there, gathering a curl at the back of his head, winding your knuckles once. then, you gently (but with enough force that he let out a wounded “oh”) reeled him down until his butt planted into the chair.

“angel, whoa –!” he let out. his palm reached out over to your shoulder, fingers splaying wide to stabilize himself, despite the fact that you were the cause of it in the first place.

“got some,” you’d say sweetly, tugging the strands back gently so his neck tipped backwards slightly, like you were showing off a prize. which, you supposed, you were.

jack’s chin came up to lean into your hold, throating baring, as he retreated his other hand from the pepper shaker.

he made a sound low in his throat, eyeing everyone and their faces in his line-of-sight as the apples of his cheeks tinted. “i don’t know what’s happening,” he said through gritted teeth.

dana snorted into her drink, shaking her head in amusement. “yeah, but you like it, dont’cha?” she clicked her tongue. “salt and pepper.”

jack’s eyes flicked over to you then, as though realizing that he was being made fun of. “this some joke about me being old?”

“joke about how i love it,” you corrected, saccharine sweet smile playing on your lips as you tugged on his curls softly again.

“pfft.” he took his face out from under your grip, looking down at his lap. “well, i know that,” he murmured.

“your first run with salt and pepper, sweetheart?” dana asked you, still chuckling at the sight of jack.

“and last,” jack said, brows rising. he sat back, arm going along the top of your chair, thumb finding the ball of your shoulder, suddenly radiant with himself.

you jutted your thumb out in jack’s direction, nodding sincerely. “what he said.”

he tutted softly, pinching his eyes shut for a moment. then he leaned, mouth going to the shell of your ear, as he said, “you keep doing things like that.” he pressed a thumb into your shoulder. “you’ll have salt and no pepper by next week.”

when he pulled back, you snorted, forcing yourself into pretending you hadn’t just felt his voice go all the way down your spine. “you promise?”

the corner of his mouth went up at that, then he nodded slowly. so utterly happy to be there, while robby groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“we are right here,” robby said.

dana, on the other hand, smiled. “leave them. it’s sweet.”

you leaned into his side, and he tipped his head down towards yours, and pressed his mouth once to your hair.

“happy now?” he murmured. “you got me. now eat up. gotta get us home.”

“S’this not nice?” you’d asked, frowning, your lips jutting out so sweetly. 

“It’s really nice.” He reached over and tugged your strap up onto your shoulder, knuckles dragging down your bicep once it was fixed, gooseflesh chasing the graze of them. “It’d be nicer if you’d sit still for two minutes.” 

“I’ve missed you,” you murmured, because you had. 

It was almost embarrassing how badly you’d wanted to simply push him onto the bed once you were both ready; your stomach coiling as you watched him spritz on the cologne you liked and roll his sleeves. You’d sat on the edge of the mattress in your robe, watching him. And then he’d told you that your makeup looked just so pretty, how the night was going to be so much fun, and you’d realized there was no way you were going to last through this dinner. 

You’d been starved of him the past week, practically living on scraps of him. You had a feeling Jack knew exactly how much you’d missed him. You weren’t sure what hint you’d ever given him that made him think you were going to play fair.

“Missed you, too,” he said, thumb finding your wrist on the table. “That’s why we’re here. Missed you so much I got us to the place you’ve been goin’ on about for a month. You can do all this at home.” 

Wine-fueled and pouty, you said, “Should’ve just stayed home.” 

“You’re complaining about being taken to the hardest reservation in the city?” Jack’s brows went up to the middle of his forehead and he set his fork down. When you opened your mouth, he shook his head and said, “No. No. You’re right. Should’ve done the couch. Saved myself a fortune.” 

That may have been the straw that broke the camel’s back, because now, you were walking beside Jack – past midnight – trying to find a dessert shop in silence. He’d indulged you when you quietly, hesitantly, asked him if you guys could get something else after trying the tiramisu, which had been – you’d whispered it – kind of dry, actually. His jaw had tensed, and he’d nodded quickly and said, “Sure,” reaching for the check, “let’s get you somethin’ else.” 

Your heels clicked too loud on the pavement and Jack was a half-step ahead of you the whole way, hands buried in his pockets, so silent. He wasn’t holding your hand, and Jack was a hand-holder through and through. A small-of-the-back toucher. A man who steered you like a wheel through the world. And now, it felt like a very, very painful punishment he was doling out on you. 

“Are you mad?” you tried. 

“No,” he said, tossing the words over his shoulder without looking. “Looking for your dessert.” 

“You could hold my hand,” you said, and hated just how small you sounded. “Jack,” you tried again when his hands stayed exactly where they were. “Are you going to talk to me?” 

“When you’ve got somethin’ to say,” he said, shaking his head with a small click of his tongue at a closed bakery. “There’s a place two blocks up that stays open late.”

Two fucking blocks. Your heels clicked, and his footsteps stayed silent. You let the gap between you stretch – a foot, then another, as you slowed and he didn’t – until you were trailing him down an empty midnight street. Groaning to yourself, you bit the bullet, speeding up to catch up to him properly. You slid your hand into the crook of his elbow and pressed yourself into his side, tucking your cheek toward his shoulder. 

“Sorry, Jack,” you mumbled. 

He breathed out through his nostrils, pulling his hand out of his pocket to maneuver it around you now, pulling you in. Still tense, but the relief of being by his side was so immense you sagged against him, still wine-drunk and loose. 

“Woah – ” he muttered, trying to catch you as you tipped into him, your heel skidding a little on the pavement. His arm clamped tightly around your waist, hauling you upright to his side before you could go anywhere, and he huffed out a small laugh. “Who told you to drink this much?” 

“Was trying to match you,” you mumbled. 

“Now, that’s stupid, isn’t it?” He patted the side of your waist once. “Gotta take care of you now. Wound me up all through a nice dinner ‘cause you wanted my attention and couldn’t ask nicely. Congratulations, you got me.”

“You’re being kind of mean,” you mumbled, tucking into his shirt.

“Not getting you out of the doghouse, so don’t try it.” 

“I’m in the doghouse?” you asked, surprised. 

“Oh, you’re in the doghouse,” he said, chuckling, steering you around a crack in the pavement. “Forget brunch and the whole big day we planned tomorrow. We’re on house arrest.” 

You squeaked out something incoherent. “How do I get out of the doghouse –?” Your words trailed off, when your eyes landed on the photobooth – wedged into an alcove between a laundromat and a corner store, a curtained one with the pale blue fabric hanging crooked, its light still buzzing faintly. It was like a star in a cloudy sky to you, your body perking up at his side, feet slowing as the wanting rose brightly, childishly. 

But you were in the doghouse, so you made your lips clamp shut. You’d be surprised if Jack ever did an outside-activity with you ever again, much less indulged a wine-drunk detour into a novelty photobooth this late. You were pretty sure you’d used up your whole allotment of Jack’s patience when you’d stood up on the pretense of the ladies’ room and instead leaned over to whisper something dirty in his ear as the waiter arrived with the entrées. Somewhere in the gauntlet, Jack’s amusement had faded and you were now, a little too late, sure you were the worst, most ungrateful girlfriend ever. 

So you did the hardest thing ever: you said nothing. You looked at it like you were a kid looking at a toy in a shop window – doomed – and you dragged your gaze forward to keep your feet moving. 

Jack, whose open book you were, read the longing off you in an instant. “No.” 

“Didn’t say anything,” you mumbled.

He got four steps forward before he paused, craning his neck down to look at you nuzzled into him. His arm tightened around your waist, and you had a feeling that this time, it was more exasperation toward himself. 

“What is wrong with you?” he mumbled. “You don’t want a picture with me?” 

“I do,” you said, immediately, through a sharp breath. Your shoulders stiffened at your sides. “But I’m in the doghouse.” 

Jack let out a laugh at that, disbelieving. He turned, so the two of you stood across properly, chest to chest, and his face dipped down toward yours. “You know you can ask me for it.” 

Your hands came up to fist at the fabric above his chest. “Can we take a picture?” 

He took his time, eyes dropping from your face, down your throat, lingering on the silk covering just more than a third of you, how the fabric clung and skimmed and gave everything away. Your brows furrowed in suspicion when his tongue quickly dragged over his bottom lip. 

“Why, yes, we can.” His hand slid up your spine as he leaned down to press his mouth against your forehead. “Can’t have you this dolled up and nothin’ to show for it.” 

He pushed the crooked curtain aside and held it, nodding his head for you to go in first, and you ducked into the little box. It was three feet with a lightbulb as the screen flickered awake to throw its glow across the two of you. Jack folded his frame down onto the single stool with a low grunt, one hand bracing against the wall, taking the weight off the prosthesis, settling back against the metal. He worked the ache out of his thigh with the heel of his palm before he spread his knees wide enough that it took up the entire square footage of the space. 

You stood in the vee of them, hemmed in, and looked down at him. His knee bracketed you in, the walls an inch off your shoulders, the heat of them crowding out the air outside. 

Your bottom lip tugged between your teeth as you watched him thumb through his wallet. He glanced up at you through his lashes as he counted coins into his palm, heavy-lidded, a slow curve pulling at his mouth, and he looked suddenly, thoroughly, indecent. He placed the coins into your open palm, then gestured to the slot. 

When you turned to feed the coins and leaned down slightly, Jack’s palms came to the sides of your thighs, sliding up to go up to your bare skin under the dress, and he let out a pleased hum. 

“This is a nice view,” he murmured, his thumbs pressed to the side of your hips before he turned his palm to squeeze the globes of your ass. “Take your time there.” 

His hands filled themselves with no hurry at all, kneading slow, palming you like he’d also been waiting all night for you to shed the layer off your skin. 

You let out a small fuck as the quarter hit the slot and clattered somewhere on the floor. 

“Butterfingers,” he mused, palms sliding up from the curve of your ass, dragging the dress up until it bunched up around your waist, exposing the tiny black lace pair you’d picked out before dinner. 

Before you could say anything, his mouth pressed over the base of your spine, letting out an appreciative hum into your skin. You’d chosen it for this reason, only you hadn’t expected it to be revealed in a shitty photobooth. You hardly had time to think about dignity, or anything dignity-adjacent, because Jack blew out a long breath that ghosted over your skin while pulling away, and his thumb hooked into the delicate band at your hip and snapped it along your skin. 

“Maybe we shoulda stayed home,” he muttered. 

“Thought you wanted a nice dinner,” you said, palm bracing flat to the wall as you tipped your head down, having no space to spread out. 

He clicked his tongue, letting his hands go greedy, spreading his palms wide over the bare curves of your ass. “S’my fault for thinking my girl wants to be wine and dined.” He gave a pointed squeeze, humming delighted as your back arched in response. “No, this is all you wanted.”

On any other day, you would’ve – you were sure of it – had some quick thing to fire back at him, some retort to keep the game going. But the calluses in Jack’s palm were kneading slowly, the roughened skin catching the softness of you with each pass, and the friction of it scattered every thought you’d ever had. His hands were so functional – so broad, innately warm, scarred at the knuckles – and they moved over you so achingly slowly, and the wit just drained straight out of you and pooled right about where your dress was shamelessly resting on his wrists. 

The box had gone humid, the air thick with the warm cedar of him and the wine, your breath fogging on the glass every time you exhaled. You managed to shove a coin in with wobbly hands, determined – for what? You didn’t know. 

“Hey, look at that. Cat finally got your tongue.” He let one of his palms drift down, finger reaching out testingly where the damp fabric sat between your legs, tracing one feather-light stroke along the lace, and your knees buckled slightly, your head pressing against the cool, glowing glass of the screen, your reflection – completely undignified – swimming an inch from your face while his breath fanned against your back. “This the off switch for your mouth now?” 

“Jack–” Your hips went to chase the touch before you could think better of it. 

His hand went to splay wide and heavy over your hip, pulling you back slightly closer to hold you steady as your legs shook. His other finger hooked the lace aside – one blunt finger easing the sodden fabric out of the way – and pressed the pad of his thumb through the bare, slick heat. You let out an embarrassed whimper, teeth digging into your lips as your eyes pinched shut. 

“Did all this to yourself thinkin’ about me at dinner while I was right across from you, huh?” 

Letting out a low groan, he dragged you back in one motion, tumbling you into the sprawl of his lap. His arm wrapped around your waist to hold you right there, and he ground you down against him, so fucking mean with it, slow and fast all at once, so you felt every inch of two hours’ worth of tormenting him pressed against your legs, the blunt drag that made you chase more, more, more.

His free hand slid beneath your thigh, fingers digging the soft crease on the inside of your thigh, and pulled it outward, patting your skin once. “Open up.” 

He rolled his hips up when you did, and your eyes snagged on the screen in front of you, catching your faces from the neck-up. His head tipped back against the metal wall, hands sliding up under the silk bunched at your waist, up over the bare plane of your stomach, and closed over your breasts, palming them full and greedy – the band of his watch a shock of metal against the warm underswell of you – as his thumbs grazed over the hardened peaks until you arched back into him with a broken sound. 

“Jack,” you said, trying to force a hiss as you looked down, noticing how your dress had bunched into nothing but a few inches of fabric sitting shamelessly over his forearms like a tiny towel. “Someone could walk in –” 

“Mhm – they could, couldn’t they?” His chin fell onto your shoulder to watch your face on the screen. His tongue dragged over his lips before his mouth found the shell of your ear. “Someone could see my pretty girl fallin’ apart on my lap.” He shifted his hips forward, pressing against your core with a groan. “Wanna take the risk?” 

Your teeth gritted together as you tried to focus on him, focus on the screen, focus on his hands that had seemed to already have done a clean sweep of your entire body. “Thought I was –” you started, and his brows furrowed in amusement, “in the doghouse.” 

“Oh, you are.” He slid his fingers back down, bumping his hip against yours to slide his fingers down the lace, thumb finding your aching and circling it. “You love it here, too.” 

“I don’t–”

“No?” he drawled, thumb circling while his teeth nipped at your throat. “Coulda fooled me.” He let his fingers drift down, the pads of them gliding through the slick heat you’d made for him until two fingers pressed against your entrance while his thumb rubbed over your clit. The lace was now clinging in a dark, translucent patch against your inner thigh. He tapped his fingers against your entrance. “You’re soaked for me, baby. I could slide right in here.” 

You let out a small whimper at the words, and like you’d done a magic trick for him with the sound, his fingers sank deep in one broken press until his knuckles rested against you. On the screen, you watched your own mouth fall open, watched how he smiled against your throat like he’d won something. 

He curled his fingers, dragging them over a spot that made your whole body seize in Jack’s cage, the sound following was filthy enough to make the entire booth feel smaller. His smile widened, and he pressed a lazy, open-mouthed kiss right under your ear. 

“Got myself such a pretty girl,” he murmured into your skin, the lower half of his face nuzzling into the flush emanating off your neck. He kept dragging his fingers in you, always knowing your body better than you knew yourself, until your thighs trembled against his. 

He shifted behind you, free hand pressing flat between your shoulder blades, folding you forward until your palms hit the glowing glass of the screen and your spine curved down.

“Hold there,” he rasped, the new angle somehow driving his fingers deeper. “Attagirl.” 

Your eyes flickered up to catch him on the screen as he worked his shirt open one-handed, thumbing the buttons loose. The fabric fell away from the broad stretch of his chest, exposed in the wash of the screen, and you watched him move behind your own reflection with your breath picking up. 

“See somethin’ you like?” His hand gathered a fistful of your hair and tugged, drawing you up back against him in one motion. Your spine hit the heat of his chest, the sweat sticking to you, and your head tipped back. “Got warm in here,” he said, smiling when you tried to press even closer to him.

Your hand awkwardly reached up to his neck, manicured nails raking up the hot column of it, scraping through the short hairs at his nape and holding on for life as everything in you wound tighter, brighter, and turned completely unbearable. “M’close,” you said, words slurring together, and your head nuzzled the side of his face. 

“Aw,” he cooed softly, fingers continuing their rhythm. “S’that what that is?” He curved them inside you pointedly, and you bit down a sound. His thumb pressed into making quick, merciless circles. “That why you’re squeezing my fingers, huh? Spoilt girl.” 

When you pulled at his hair, he tsked, amused, and brought his free hand up to wrap loosely around the front of your throat, thumb resting against at the hinge of your jaw, dropping your head back against his shoulder where he wanted it. His thumb, pressed at the corner of your mouth, and your mouth just felt so empty, so achingly unoccupied, so you turned your head and drew it in – the blunt salt-and-soap of him, slightly rough against your tongue – and the weight of it in your mouth settled the frantic-ness in you, gave your restless want somewhere to wrap. 

Jack’s face in the reflection had gone hooded, brows drawing in together at the sight. His pupils swallowed the last of the color from his hazel eyes as his jaw clenched. His hips rolled helplessly beneath you. 

His thumb pressed down onto your tongue, forcing your mouth open, then dragged his thumb along your bottom lip, pressed it back in, out, and every second your throat worked around a sound or your lashes fluttered at the overwhelm of him, his fingers stuttered still buried in you. 

And fuck, the relentless attention of Jack tipped something in you. You’d spent all night starving for exactly this – his eyes, his focus, all of it aimed at you, selfishly – and now you had it completely that it made you drunk in a way the drinks hadn’t managed.

“I think you like watching us,” you said around the shape of his thumb. 

He chuckled, and his thumb slipped from your mouth to trace along your jaw, tilting your face just so, and his lips curved into a crooked smile. 

“No, I think I like you,” he said, fingers still working you through the peak. His mouth pressed to your temple. “Love you.” 

“Jack,” you said through a small, cracked whimper. You almost hated how he could do that, how easy it was for him to reach past with two plain words and disarm you so thoroughly. You turned your face to nose against his jaw, greedy for him. “Love you, so much. Even when you’re mean.”

He laughed at that, fingers moving your jaw so you could face the screen again. “So mean to you, huh.” He tilted his head in the reflection, amused as he watched your face scrunch up. “Looks like you’re suffering real bad.” 

He pulled his fingers out of you completely, and they came away slick. He dragged them up over your clit in one small smear, then pushed back in almost as quickly as they were gone. 

Your hips ground down into the heel of his hand, chasing that unbearable brightness winding tighter and tighter behind your stomach. And Jack, watching you on the screen with such naked curiosity, chose the exact moment to reach with his free hand and jab his thumb against the plastic of the machine. 

Your eyes, hazy, barely caught the countdown on the screen. Behind it, your head was lolled against the crook of his shoulder, throat damp with sweat, your mouth slack and parted, the hints of gloss coating your lips and around. Jack’s jaw shadowed your temple, his eyes hooded with pupils blown out, fixed on your reflection, one hand a clear hard line where it disappeared beneath the dress bunched underneath. A loving couple, from the collar up. A postcard, and below the frame, his fingers buried deep, your lace panties shoved aside, and his whole length straining against his pants and rubbing into you.

The countdown blinked, and Jack’s fingers curled for the final few pumps so knowingly, your vision had started going white at the edges.

Attention was a word Jack had gotten used to in the last two decades of his life. There were inevitables when he was out in public and decided to wear shorts, or when he was in scrubs picking up milk from the gas station on his way home. The awkward, less frequent words of “thanks for your service” he’d get from older men and the very frequent, immensely awkward stares he’d get from the women.

Those were things he didn’t ask for.

When women ogled him, it hadn’t been an inevitability all of his life—even if you told him, time and again, that he was attractive and handsome.

He believed you. You and only you for the longest time. Jack had a hard time believing that many other people shared your same opinion. That was until he met the 6 ladies of the Allegheny YMCA’s 8:00 AM Water Aerobics class.

It had all been harmless at first.

Initially, he sought out the practice of swimming at the suggestion of his physical therapist three years after his amputation. The water helped him say afloat without many supports and as his muscles grew stronger and his confidence of being a BKA increased, the number of laps he did after a shift were a testament to his determination.

The repetitiveness of laps helped ease Jack’s mind before he went home too. The consistent back and forth of the strokes leveled him out from a difficult night. It functioned as an additional therapy to one he did four times a month and you let him have his space.

Most days the pool was relatively empty. Modern exercise eliminated most water activities from a daily routine and early morning runs to the gym often excluded getting one’s hair wet. Chlorine and its drying effects came second to the avoidance of swim time. It wasn’t feasible for everyone, but on Wednesday’s there were 6 others who simply didn’t mind.

And he could hear it through the door as he reached for the handle.

Paula Abdul’s voice rang loudly against the brick interior of the pool room. It bounced off the walls, cannonballing into the deep end to keep the women on beat as they did their buoyant repetitions.

With their weights in hand, the fifteen minutes since they began felt like seconds.

“Alright ladies,” their instructor, Susan, called out to them in an echo. “Now we are gonna take those weights and put them high above our heads.”

Susan mimicked the movement to which all the ladies copied to the best of their abilities. However, as people got older, the arthritis that plagued wrists and elbows and shoulders kept them from reaching as high as her. It didn’t kill their motivation, nor did it distract them from the men’s locker room door creaking open just like it did every Wednesday at the same time.

8:15. Susan glanced at the clock across the pool.

Like a well-oiled machine, the women began to drop their arms and their heads turned toward the door.

Mary-Ann was the first to pipe up today.

“Hi Dr. Abbot,” she called out immediately in a sweet tone. Jack’s face blossomed into a smile. With one hello, a plethora of them followed.

“Ladies,” he greeted back just as nicely. “Looking lovely as always.”

“You too, Jack!” Cheryl swooned. “You’re as handsome as always.”

“Are you tryin’ to make me blush, Cheryl?”

“I can make you feel a lot of things!” She laughed, loudly and only egged on the other women.

Jack’s eyes pinned themselves on the pool deck in case of splashes or puddles as he knew the risk of walking out on his prosthesis. In another world, his insurance, or the VA, would kindly provide him an Össur-pro so he could save himself time.

But it also gave him an escape from the redness working its way up his neck. Without a shirt on, he was bare to show off just how much flattery worked on him. He kept an eye on his leg to distract himself.

The women never made a deal out of him taking off his prosthetic. They didn’t stare, they didn’t jeer, and for that, Jack was more welcoming to Wednesdays. As he rounded the corner, he picked up a chair with his free hand and carried it with him to the end of the pool. Sharon whistled at him.

“We’re working on our biceps too, Jack. You should feel mine—they’re like steel!”

Jack scoffed, shaking his head at the floor. “Maybe another day, Sharon. But good for you. That’s a really important thing to work on.”

“Did you have a good shift today?” Mary-Ann asked. She was the only one to really care about his job.

No. He didn’t. But he didn’t want to ruin their mornings with tales of a two victim MVA, a meth overdose, or a GSW to the head.

“Oh,” he shrugged. “Same as it always is.”

“Deflection,” one of the ladies said as he passed. “Must’ve been bad.”

Their heads followed him comically to the lane closest to them. Jack settled his stuff onto the ground and used the chair to help him slip his prosthetic off before doing a couple hops to sit on side of the pool. As he fumbled with his goggles, Lisa waded over to him.

“So, Jack, I was wondering if maybe after our session today you could take a look at—”

“Lisa!” Susan called from the deck. “Stop propositioning Dr. Abbot during the session.”

“I’m not!” She defended. “I’m just asking him to look at my—”

“Yeah,” Cheryl nagged. “That sounds a lot like a proposition to me.”

“Don’t you think if he was the slightest bit interested in you he would have said something by now?” Sharon backed up Cheryl. “Jack’s not interested!”

“Hey,” Jack scolded Sharon jokingly. “I never said that…”

“Didn’t you just ask him to feel your arms?” Lisa accused and Jack slipped fully into the pool.

“That’s different.”

“No, it’s really not.”

“Ladies!” Susan yelled out and Jack gave her a thumbs up as if to say, “it’s alright.”

“You know,” Trudy paddled up beside Lisa. “My daughter is in town for the holiday and she’s single looking to mingle.”

“Is she?” Jack laughed. “I think I have some friends that might be interested. She can have her pick: doctors, nurses, police officers, vets… a few firefighters.”

Trudy shook her head with a smile. It was the same wide, pearly grin he got from all of the women of the class except for Susan who just wanted to teach.

“You’re too humble, sweetheart,” she replied. “I’m talking about you. What do you say? Can I give her your number?”

“I’m flattered, Trudy.”

Jack turned around, reaching for his bag to grab his hand paddles when he paused. Where the hell was his bag? Shit. He must have left in the car.

“She’s a nice girl. She just turned 37—is that too young? I know you just had a birthday.”

“Tru—” Jack started but she kept going. Persistent was Trudy Davis’ middle name.

“But she lives in Reading with her son. He’s 10. Do you have a problem with kids? Oh!” She laughed at herself. “Of course not. You’re a doctor.”

“The ones that are good with kids are called pediatricians, Trudy,” Lisa clarified. Trudy shook her off.

“I wouldn’t mind having a little eye candy for a son-in-law. I’d bet you would make a mother-in-law very happy.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Jack murmured. “I think mine sees me a little differently.”

While Jack thought back on his bag, the ladies paused. Their eyes caught one another in a wide revelation that opened a new door of knowledge about their weekly friend. Lisa put her hand on Trudy’s forearm, aghast at the news that their silver fox doctor was married.

Somewhere in the distance between the water lapping and the music changing over, Francis, the oldest woman of the group at 92, held a hand by her ear and asked:

“What did he say?” She couldn’t wear her hearing aids in the water.

“He’s married,” Sharon informed her.

“Yeah,” Francis smiled. “To me.”

“Jack?” Sharon called out to him. He pulled his goggles onto his head but still looked over at the woman.

“Are you married to Francis here?” She asked.

“No,” he chuckled. “I’m pretty sure I’m not.”

“We didn’t know you were married.” Trudy was slightly offended that no one did.

This was their Jack. The same one who, every class, made sure to say hello and goodbye and let them make their silly jokes about him and took it with a brave face. Jack never wore a ring—or at least none of them had ever noticed. Many of the women themselves were married to partners for decades and thought they had a grasp in knowing when someone else was.

“You never asked.” Was Jack’s simple answer.

“Does she get mad you don’t wear a ring?” Lisa followed up and felt suddenly like she didn’t understand his generation at all.

“I do.” He rose his left hand and the smallest, tiniest, tan line reflected a thick band. “I don’t want to lose it in the pool.”

“Why haven’t you ever said anything?” Mary-Ann spoke up after having been uncharacteristically quiet. She had a glimmer in her eye, mischievous one that sent an invisible string glowing between herself and Jack.

Jack shrugged, his leg bending as he got ready to set off the wall.

“Like I said, you’ve never asked about her.”

Twenty minutes from the YMCA, you scrambled in the kitchen trying to butter toast and rush out the door.

The middle of the week always felt a little chaotic—especially when Jack wasn’t there to help in the morning. You’d gotten used to it, no choice but not to be, but it didn’t help ease the stress of trying to make sure the house was in order before you left.

You stuck the piece of toast between your teeth, shouldered your bag, and rushed to the door when your feet caught a bag at the bottom of the steps and tumbled.

Your hands fumbled for the banister as your feet twisted. The piece of toast you were excited for fell onto the floor, butter side down, and your eyes landed on Jack’s work out bag as the culprit.

“Oh, come on,” you whined to no one. “Just one fuckin’ day, I swear to God.”

You hated Wednesdays. They were the bane of your existence.

There wasn’t a day longer than it. It dragged, unceremoniously, to the two days that always gave you better hope that the weekend would be relaxing and with Jack off the next few days, it would be. You just had to get through Wednesday first.

You bent down to pick up the toast only to notice that Jack’s gear was still in the bag. He hadn’t simply just left the bag, he didn’t take any of his supports with him. His paddles, the buoys, his goddamn kickboard.

But like Wednesdays were bad for you, sometimes his night shifts were too.

Jack forgot. It happens.

Digging out your phone, the last exchange you had with Jack was an hour ago where he replied “K” to a “don’t get hit by a car” from you. It was fruitless trying to call him because he was bound to already be inside and he wouldn’t answer if he was in the pool. But you peered back at the paddles and knew Jack needed those supports. Your peace of mind would depend on him having them, even if he never ended up using them.

You swiped both the bag and toast off the floor and sighed.

“What would he do without me?”

For fifteen laps, the women of water aerobics minded their business and listened to Susan’s instructions.

They still talked, however.

“What do you think she’s like?” Trudy asked.

“A nurse,” Francis said shakily as her exertion was starting to show. “Like one of those old war movies. A soldier and a nurse… how cute!”

“He’s not a hundred, Francis.” Cheryl shook her head. “I don’t think she works in healthcare. Probably in an office, maybe a teacher, or a manager of some kind.”

“Do you think she bosses him around?”

All the ladies looked back as Jack swam past the last 15 meter marking down on the opposite end. They thought on it, imagining what a domestic Jack looked like but the man they knew and created an image for wasn’t domestic. He was just a charmer. A kind hearted night shift doctor who listened to their problems.

“No,” Mary-Ann said. “I think they probably have a really nice relationship.”

“Women can be bossy too,” Cheryl defended.

“Yeah it’s kind of… what’s that thing they say? Kinky.” Francis laughed. Her face lit up in red as a result.

They turned back to Susan who changed out the weights for foam tubes. The sea of colors changed the space as they held them in arches above their heads.

Lisa sighed disappointedly. “Is it bad that I’m kind of sad he’s married?”

“Yes,” Sharon deadpanned. “He’s young enough to be your kid.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be a cougar, Sharon. I can provide a really nice life and hey! I’m a really good cook too!”

“Keep telling yourself that, honey.”

Susan cleared her throat and demonstrated an exercise with the tube. She counted them down like dancers as they began another set to round out their session.

“He’s just such a nice man,” Lisa continued on.

“Then we should be happy that someone found him,” Mary-Ann concluded. “Not everyone gets to find their special someone and we know he deserves one.”

The women agreed in staggered murmurs.

As they let the music carry their repetitions away, the women’s locker room door opened with a sharp squeak. The music was almost deafening as you entered the room but a lifeguard perched on their towers blew a whistle in your direction.

You looked up, the old women in the pool stopped, and Jack paused halfway down the lane thinking the stoppage was his fault.

“Ma’am,” the lifeguard spoke. “You can’t be in here.”

You chuckled nervously. “I’m just dropping something off—I am not staying.”

The lifeguard pointed to the sign beside the doors you barely moved away from. “You must be wearing swimwear and appropriate footwear while being on the pool deck.”

“Can I just take off my shoes?” You asked. “I’m just dropping off his bag.” You pointed to Jack who clung to the lane divider.

“Go ahead.” The lifeguard returned their attention to the pool and so did you.

But no one was looking at him. They were all looking at you.

Jack treaded water in the middle of the lane with a small smile fighting its way onto his face. With his bag in your hand, he was happy to have a few unexpected minutes with you before you were whisked away for the day. His chest was rising and falling rapidly but he lifted his hand in a single wave, pointing to the chair at the end of the lane.

You slipped off your shoes and followed along the edge of the pool.

“Ladies!” The aerobics instructor called out to them. “Why don’t we take a break, huh? You’ve earned it, great job.”

Like a thousand eyes piercing your body, all the old women in the pool stared at you as if you were a vision. You gave them a polite nod in return and kept going out slight embarrassment for getting called out by the lifeguard.

“Hey,” Jack reached the edge and tugged off his goggles. “I thought I left that in the car.”

“It almost killed me this morning, actually.”

“Well I’m glad you’re still here.” Jack swiped a hand over his hair before shaking it out. The water made the color go darker and it reminded you of what he looked like before he went gray.

“Thanks me too,” you said slyly and put the bag down at the base of the chair. “How was work?”

“Pretty bad,” Jack sighed, folding his arms in front of him and leveraging himself on them.

“I can tell.”

There was a gaze Jack fell into when the days turned sour. A light that never caught his eye, devoid of true amusement you could feel across a room. He looked drained.

“I’m only gonna do a few more and then I’m heading out. Can you text me what you want for dinner? I’ll go to the store after I sleep.”

“Sure,” you nodded and bent down in front of him. “Are you okay?”

Jack’s mouth got smaller, pinching onto one side of his face in thought. “I will be.”

“I can stay until you’re done,” you told him. “I can be late.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Mmm…” You titled your head. “I think I can.”

“Honey.”

“Jack.”

Your audience grew every second you stayed. Holding out your hand to Jack, he accepted it and held your hand over the end of the pool.

“You know, I was goi—”

“Excuse me?”

The interruption made Jack’s shoulders tense. Trudy led the women to the divider that started Jack’s lane and they hovered like animals preparing to be fed.

“Hi,” you replied. “Yes?”

“Are you his wife?”

Your eyes flicked between Jack and the women and your husband’s bashful avoidance peeked your interest immediately.

“I am. Jack didn’t tell me he made friends here.”

You swung his hand gently in yours.

“Have you known him long?” You asked them and a couple of the ladies nodded.

“He’s our Wednesday snack,” the oldest one said. “Jack the Snack.”

“Jack the Snack?” You beamed with hilarity.

“Oh yeah,” she continued. “He’s the only reason we keep coming to this class so early in the morning.”

“That’s pretty good motivation if you ask me.”

“Please don’t encourage them,” Jack said lowly and the women immediately complained. Their words muddled together in one giant, half-hearted complaint that was ignored. You winked, squeezing his hand in yours.

“He is a snack, isn’t he?” You agreed. “He’s tolerable, though, right? Sometimes he’s a real pain in my ass.”

“I knew I would like her,” one of them said to another.

“He’s a wonderful man. You sure got lucky, sweetheart. Jack’s a keeper.”

“Good.” You said definitively.

And then, the comments just went flying.

“Did you know he answers all of our questions about our ailments?”

“He helped me connect my phone to the WiFi here!”

“Sometimes, he helps me out of the pool when my knees give out.”

“Jack referred me to an Ortho for my broken finger once!”

“He’s the one who made management increase the pool temperature for us!”

“He changed my tire in the parking lot when I got a flat!”

Every comment they made, Jack had to look away. It’d been months since he started coming on Wednesdays consistently and he never thought to keep track of all the things he’d done for them. It was never a hassle, it was just another part of his day.

“Ladies,” Jack spoke up. “Can I have a minute with my wife alone please?”

“You get her alone all the time. We barely know anything about her. We don’t even know her name!”

“Well you weren’t asking about her just now.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Lisa brushed him off. “What’s your nam—”

“Lisa,” he said firmly. “If I get just a minute with her, I’ll look at what you wanted to show me.”

“Susan!” Lisa shouted. “We’re ready to continue!”

One by one, the ladies of the aerobics class returned to their spots in front of their instructor and Jack’s shoulders deflated.

“Jack,” you hummed and he knew what was coming next. “Do you have… a fan club?”

“I think so.”

“Did I see Mary-Ann here? From next door?”

“Mhm,” he hummed. “She’s the only tolerable one.”

“You love it.”

“They love it—or me, I guess. I don’t know. Maybe they just like my muscles.”

Your laugh made some of the difficult night harbored inside of him chip away. “Oh my. I might need to come here on Wednesdays.”

“No.” Jack shook his head harshly. “I cannot handle any more comments from them. They’re insane. Do you know how sexual those women are?” He said it like it was some dirty secret. “They say the most absurd things.”

“Like the absurd things we did after I got home from work yesterday?” You lifted a brow. “I bet they’d love that hot gos.”

“I think you’re going to be late for work.”

“Maybe.” Your eyes trailed over his tired face again. “You sure you’re good?”

“Yeah. I’m glad you came.”

“I can’t have you drowning on me, sweetie. How could I live with myself knowing you left kickboard was at home?”

Jack rolled his eyes at your joking tone and dropped your hand. “Okay, goodbye.”

“Jack,” you laughed.

Before he plunged back into the pool completely, he lifted up on his arms and placed a quick, soft kiss on your lips without warning.

The chatter of the women struck up again.

“I’ll see you at home.”

“Could we ask them all to come for dinner?” You whispered and he kissed you again. “I think they’d all really like that. What do you say, Jack the snack?”

“Never.”

Yet when summertime came, those same six women sat in Jack Abbot’s backyard listening to stories of your marriage and knew that the man they had silly, schoolgirl crushes on, was simply perfect.

a/n: i would bet good money that the old ladies in the water aerobics photo never thought they’d be featured on a jack abbot fanfic.

sorry grandmas!

Jack Abbot, above all else, was a man who got shit done. So when he told you about Baby Jane Doe, and you mentioned how you had stopped taking your birth control, you should’ve known he’d make good on his promise to give you a baby.

You just assumed that he would wait a little longer than 5 fucking minutes to try and give you one.

He had you folded like a damn lawn chair against the couch, and honestly you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Knees to your chest, soft belly folding in on itself, your swollen tits piled up on your chest. Your hips ache from the stretch, you never wanted it to stop.

Jack was hypnotized looking at the sight before him. His sweet girl, all pliant and needy just the way he’d been craving all shift. Her skin slick and shiny with sweat, her hair sticking to her forehead, her beautiful breast rising and falling from the amount of times he’d made her cum already.

You look like an angel, and Jack makes sure that you know it.

“Fuck pretty girl, look at you.” He breathed out. “You look just about good enough to eat.”

You had that glazed look in your eye, the look you saved just for him. Heat thrummed under your skin like a live wire, nipples hard and heart racing, everything he did turned you on more and more by the second.

“Nnngh.”

Nice. Real coherent. You think that while trying to conceive a whole ass baby you’d come up with something a little more poetic. Jack’s cock has never been good at making you smarter. He smirks at that.

“Oh, baby, you’re drooling everywhere. Such a dumb little thing for Daddy’s cock.”

While he was just as eager as you were, Jack knew everything that made you tick. Every coax of his thick fingers had made you cum twice already. If he was going to give you the baby you always wanted, he was gonna make sure this moment was unforgettable. Even if you turned into a drooling, needy brat every time he made you come undone.

“Daddy… please,” you begged.

“I know baby I know. I'm gonna make you a mommy. Be patient, pretty girl.”

His hand gripping the base of his cock, Jack’s thumb and pointer finger guides his tip as Jack takes his sweet sweet time tapping the leaking head against your puffy folds. He maneuvers his cock through the folds, up and down agonizingly slow, just to pull out that sweet high pitched mewl only he can draw from you.

“Daddy please please I need it. Need you to fill me up. Please Daddy I wanna be a mommy,” you plea, hoping your pathetic whimpers will breakdown his will power and give you what you want.

Jack lets out a humorous laugh before leaning over you, pushing your knees to be an inch closer to you head than they were previously.

You gasp at the weight of him on top of you, his strength making your thighs shake in anticipation.

His cock slaps against you with his every movement. The honey sweet smack of your bodies barely touching over and over is as dizzying as it is infuriating. Your fingers leave crescent indents on your thick thighs as you close your eyes and use every bit of self control to not cum again. Not before Daddy gives you permission.

“Nuh uh. Keep your eyes open for me.”

He cups your face as you sleepily attempt to follow his directions, belligerently and thoroughly cock drunk. He lightly smacks your drool covered cheek, smiling as you finally wake back up.

“That’s it. You’re such a good Mommy aren’t you?”

You bite your lip, moaning as your back arches at his words. Your pussy was basically crying from how overstimulated and eager you were, your thighs a sticky mess. You can feel your creamy hole drooling for even an inch of his length.

Jack being the tease that he is, lets the ridge of his tip catch onto your opening as his drags his cock up towards you one last time.

A high pitch squeal leaves your lips, making you breathless. You wiggle your hips subconsciously, before Jack corrects you.

“Shush, stay still for me baby, I’m not going anywhere. Daddy’s gonna give you want you need.”

Finally, Jack smoothed his large hands over the back of your thigh, just as he lines up his flushed cock with your weeping hole. In a sudden move, Jack buries himself inside of you.

“Fuuuuck,” you both exhaled as he rolled his hips and filled you to the hilt.

“God, you feel amazing, baby girl. You were made to take my cock.”

Your calves rested on his large freckled shoulders, his sweat covered curls bouncing with every thrust. Jack’s graying public hair touched your glistening cunt, making a mess of you both as your hair mats to your skin. You feel every vein, every pump of cum waiting to be released the moment he enters you.

The slap of his balls against your ass is music to your ears.

“I love you so much Daddy.”

Jack speeds up only to rub his thumb over your throbbing clit, cooing at the way you clench around him at the feeling. A string of your arousal connects to his thumb as he releases the pressure on your clit.

“I love you too honey, you’re gonna be the best Mommy.”

He takes his pointer and middle finger to rub unhurried circles on your clit once more, before dragging them down your folds and onto his cock while he continues to pound into you.

“Look how good you take it.”

You look down at where you touch, eyes welling up at the sight.

He strokes his cock for a moment while fucking you, only to rub your clit again to ease you through the sensation. His wedding band is covered in your mixed juices. He decided in that moment that he’d marry you all over again if he could.

He looms over you until your tummies are pressing against one another, his calloused hand brushing you hair away from your face. He kisses your tears away before pressing a kiss against your bit swollen lips. He flicks his tongue against your lips, licking into your mouth the minute you open up for him.

Every grunt that came from Jack made you clench around him a little tighter, as you feel the coil in your stomach get closer and closer to sending you to the edge. Jack notices immediately, smiling into the wet kiss.

“God, you love it like this, don’t you?” He murmured into your flushed skin.

“Yes Daddy, can feel you everywhere. Can feel you right here, fuck!”

You grab his hand and move it to the bulge in your stomach. He pressed just enough to make you gasp, your nails immediately going to mark up his back and shoulders.

“Ohhhh my baby I know. It’s ok. Cum one more time for me, I know you’ve got it in you.”

“Daddy, please cum with me. Gonna make a baby together.”

You were trying to kill him. He was sure of it. The most perfect girl in the world was folding as his every command, begging him to give her a baby. He couldn’t possibly deny her, even if he wanted to.

So with a squeeze of his heart, and a final drive into your warm womb, he gave you every last drop of his cum.

Your vision filled with stars as pleasure washed over you both, leaving you reeling at the warm pooling of his cum inside of you. You pulled him on top of you as he moaned, relishing in the connection you felt with your husband.

After a few silent moments of sweet kisses and wiping away each other's tears, Jack moves to sit up.

You whine at that, obviously.

“Noooo…” you protest quietly.

Jack rubs your clit once making you jolt at the sensitive bud, making him chuckle.

“It’s ok baby, Daddy’s got you. Gotta make sure it sticks, yeah?”

You nod, trusting him completely.

Slowly, he removes his softening cock from you, only to tilt your hips vertically, holding you there so not an ounce of him leaks out. You take it a step further, pushing two fingers into yourself, despite the ache, just for extra protective measures.

Jack’s head hangs for a minute in disbelief, licking his lips before speaking.

“Like I said, You’re gonna be such a good Mommy.”

You collapsed onto the couch next to him with a huff, knocking his crutches to the floor as you ripped your bag off your shoulder with more force than necessary.

Jack had never seen you like this. In the four months you had been dating, he'd seen you cry more times than he could count—videos of dogs reuniting with their owners were your kryptonite—and had seen you lose your cool less than a handful of times. He couldn't help but feel a flicker of trepidation stepping into this unknown territory.

Before he could start running through any events or anniversaries he may have missed, you found your rightful place—wrapping your arms around his right one, curling your body into his side with a sigh. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, closing his eyes as he inhaled your comforting scent.

Some of the tension eased from your shoulders, your body conditioned to relax in Jack's presence. He rested his cheek atop your head, his affection diluting the annoyance thrumming through your veins.

"What's going on, doll?"

"My bra broke. Right at the start of my shift." You grumbled, nuzzling further into his warmth.

"Okay," he dragged out hesitantly. "That's annoying."

"Yeah, you could say that," you huffed. "The wire was digging into my skin for twelve hours straight," you whined, resembling a petulant child. "I could feel it every time I moved. Do you know how uncomfortable that is?"

He lifted his head off of yours, tilting your chin up to shoot you a look. You had massaged his leg enough to know that was a stupid question.

"Right, sorry, don't answer that." One hand moved from clutching his bicep to his right thigh, tracing patterns with your index finger. You let out another sigh, resting your head on his shoulder. "It was my last decent one. Now I only have sports bras that aren't even near the realm of sexy."

"So just buy a new one."

Jack regretted the words as soon as they slipped out, his body tensing and eyes squeezing shut.

Your annoyance returned tenfold. You ripped away from his body, levelling him with a scolding glare.

"Do you know how expensive bras are, Jack?" You started, diving into a gesticulating monologue. "Especially if you've got big boobs—it's just capitalism once again profiting off of women's struggles! The bigger you are the more expensive everything is because they're trying to make us feel bad—"

"Honey," Jack tried, his voice dropping to the authoritative tone that never failed to make your ears perk up like an obedient puppy. Well, that never failed until now.

You pressed a finger into his stupidly beefy chest. "You're a man, you don't get to speak right now."

He held his hands up in surrender, his dick twitching from you giving him attitude—at the thought of fucking it out of you. An interesting revelation that he was looking forward to exploring later.

You removed your finger, continuing your rant. "No bra ever fits right—unless you go to a boutique and spend at least three hundred dollars on a custom made one."

Jack was drawn in by the fire in your eyes, the outrage and passion you were exuding making you even more beautiful.

"The amount of money I waste on fabric that barely does the job it's meant to do is insane. At this point it'd be fucking cheaper to get a breast reduction." You fell back against the couch, your chest heaving slightly from your tirade.

He rested an arm over your shoulders, his thumb rubbing circles on your upper arm. "You're not getting a breast reduction."

A searing glare burned the side of his face. "Oh, so now you're telling me what I can and can't do to my body?"

A thrill raced down Jack's spine—another side effect of your newfound attitude.

"No," he said placatingly. "I'm just remembering the conversation we had last week." His mouth ticked up with the beginnings of a smirk. "Y'know, the one after I made you look at yourself in the mirror while you came on my cock."

The hand on your arm slid away slowly, featherlight fingers caressing across your chest before making their way to your nipple, circling the pert bud lazily. Your breath stuttered, a whine lodging itself in your throat from your boyfriend's touch.

He dipped his head towards you, his husky baritone filling your ear as his lips brushed along the sensitive skin. "You remember how good you looked, baby? Couldn't stop staring at yourself, could you?" He tugged your earlobe between his teeth. "Looked like a fucking goddess—you always do."

Heat blossomed across every inch of your body, a familiar insatiable need jolting your core at the memory. You had been entranced by the image in the mirror—lidded, glazed eyes staring back at you, Jack's hand around your throat keeping your attention secured on your reflection, your tits bouncing as he drilled into you from behind.

Jack's keen eyes caught the way your plush thighs squeezed together, how your chest was rapidly rising and falling beneath his hand.

"You've made your point," you whispered, lust thwarting your annoyance.

He hummed, pressing faint kisses along your jaw. His free hand trailed up your thigh—a fingertip tracing the seam of your pants inducing a shiver. "I'll pay for it, for the bras. I'll buy you a whole closet full of 'em."

"Okay," you relented, suspicion rising in Jack at your quick response.

He moved his head away from yours, an eyebrow quirking up and deepening his wrinkles. "…That's what you wanted all along, isn't it?"

"No," you murmured, pressing your face into his bicep. He would've believed you if it wasn't for the smile he could feel stretching against his skin.

"Uh-huh, sure."

He grabbed your chin, pulling your face away from your hiding spot and seeing the twinkle in your eyes instantly. He huffed a laugh, leaning in to kiss you softly.

"You know you could've just asked," he mumbled against your lips, teasingly nipping your bottom lip.

A giggle slipped from your mouth into his. "Where's the fun in that?"

"So you admit this was all just an act." He grasped your hips, effortlessly lifting you to straddle his lap. You gasped out at the bulge pressing against your core. "You think threatening to take these away from me is funny?" His hands drifted from your hips, creeping underneath your top and up your sides until they cupped your heavy breasts.

You whimpered at his calloused fingers stroking and pulling; one of them brushing along the tender, irritated patch the wire from your bra had left behind.

Jack noticed the spot straight away—he had every inch of your skin memorised, his fingers knowing your body better than your own. "Let's look at the damage, hmm? Can't have my pretty girl hurting."

You nodded, your brain already turned to mush from his light teasing.

He moved his hands back down your body to reach the hem of your scrub top—a whine leaping out of you from the brief loss of his touch. He lifted your top over your head, moaning once your tits were on full display for him.

He swore he died and went to heaven whenever he saw you like this—sat prettily on his lap, hazy eyes fluttering, full breasts begging for his hands and mouth. He revelled in how your hips would grind against his absentmindedly; his pretty, needy girl desperate for her silver fox from the smallest touch. Your unyielding desire did wonders for his ego.

He brought his hands back up, relishing the sight of your tits overflowing in his large hands. Your eyelids drooped and your lips parted, breathy sighs falling from them. His thumb moved to brush along the tender spot on the side of your boob.

"Poor thing," he muttered, leaning forward to press light kisses to the irritated skin. "Won't happen ever again—not while you're mine." Molten gold eyes stared into yours. "And you're always going to be mine."

His tongue licked the sensitive skin before he blew cold air on it, causing goosebumps to erupt across your body with a gasp slicing the air. Your hips rocked harder against his, your core growing wetter with every touch.

He covered your boob in kisses and spit, sucking and biting to leave behind marks he adored—his marks. His rough hand pawed at your other tit, pulling and twisting the nipple—making you mewl above him, your hips moving faster as fire raced down to your pussy, igniting embers along the way.

His mouth latched onto your neglected nipple, his tongue drawing circles around it and sucking harshly. You let out unabashed moans, his own starting to vibrate against your skin and through your chest. He was rock hard beneath your hips, precum leaking into his boxers as your movements grew frantic. He could feel the flutter of your pussy, the heartbeat in your clit, even through your layers of clothes.

His free hand moved to your ass, giving it a smack. Your responding yelp dissolved into a moan, your hips jerking forward and finding the perfect position that had your clit pressing directly onto his bulge.

He pulled his head away from your chest, admiring his perfect girl using him for her pleasure. He wanted to spend the rest of his life worshipping at your altar—to bask in your divineness until his dying breath.

His hand trailed up from your breast to cup your jaw, his thumb tracing your bottom lip, catching a bit of drool. God, he loved how he could unravel you just as you did him.

But before he could help you reach your release, he needed to remind you of something—to correct a statement you made earlier, one that had been eating away at him.

He tilted your head until your unfocused eyes meet his—his cock jumping at how utterly fucked you looked from a bit of dry humping.

"Let's get one thing straight, doll. The lace and bows are nice, but they're not what are sexy. That's all you, baby."

── ⋆˙⟡

"mhm," you huff. the divorce paper was real enough! just because it didn't have his or your name on it and was issued by the internet as opposed to an attorney didn't mean anything.

"and what was your reasoning again, baby?" jack mused.

"you don't love me anymore!"

jack sighs. "i tell you how beautiful you are before i leave for work, bring y’flowers everyday, and take you to dinner every friday, and you think i don't love you?"

"yeah, but those are the routine things!" you said. "so, you obviously don't love me anymore!"

jack put the paper down on the nightstand and approached you, backing you into the bed. "say it again, sweetheart."

you gulp at his proximity, sweat trickling down your face from the way his thumb tilts your chin upwards. "you. don't. love. me."

"yeah, okay," jack hummed. “if you really thought that, you wouldn't be wearing the shortest little skirt," he says, promptly hiking the garment in question up and making your breath hitch, "when you're trying to fucking divorce me."

"jackie-"

"mhm, there she is," jack said. he pushes you down onto the bed without further warning and pulls your skirt down your body, revealing your pussy to his hungry eyes. "and already so wet,” he tsks.

"hmph," you say with a huff. you turn away from his gaze, but it's short-lived as jack cranes your face back towards him.

"ah-ah. what do you have to say?"

you roll your eyes. "sorry."

"like you mean it."

"sorry," you say again.

jack doesn't have it in him to correct your attitude from that look on your face. god, his wife is just too cute.

you don't say anything else as he frees his cock from his slacks, slipping inside your aching cunt. jack is gentle with you as he rocks into you, whispering the sweetest praises that you'd needed for reassurance.

"tell me i love you. tell me how much daddy loves you, baby," jack coos as he cups your cheek, his thrusts slow as he fucks you deep.

"d- daddy loves me," you relent. "so much."

⋆ ꩜ ⋆

"What would you say to a date?"

You turn to find none other than Dana Evans being the one with the absurd question. You're not even entirely sure where she came from. Suddenly she's propped up, hip against the desk, crashing your peace with that certain gleam in her eye that means trouble. 

This wasn't the first time Dana's complained about your singleness. The way your life consisted of the commute to work, the commute home, a cheesy romance movie, and bed. On the occasional wild day maybe you'd take a trip to a coffee shop, or an in-person trip to the grocery store instead of DoorDash. That is if you were feeling really adventurous. Somehow in those times though you've never managed to have some rom-com meet-cute like in all the movies you watched. 

"As flattered as I am, I was under the impression you were married!" You dodge not only the question but also her. Turning on your heels, you walk to the leftmost side of the desk, keeping your eyes down. 

Sure, a date sounds nice in theory. The same way a leading man chasing you through an airport seems nice in theory. But, if it actually happened you'd most likely pepper spray him. 

"Not me." She says dryly. "Maybe in my younger days though." 

You give her a sideways glance, which she's already giving you. The thought intrigues you more than you care to say. What you would give to know more about Dana's college days!

"I've got a guy for you."

"Dana, really I'm good. I don't have time to even fantasize about a date right now."

To you, a date was never a fantasy. They just never turned out right. Men would speak over you, or you'd intimidate them and it's a night full of awkward silences and bad company. 

However, you find the occasional times to fantasize about Jack Abbot.

Your crush on Abbot started slow and accidental really. A night off work for the first time in months. Which of course you spent doing the one thing you love most: turning off the lights, drinking wine in your pajamas, and watching whatever rom-com popped up first in your recommended tab. This night just happened to be Two Weeks' Notice. You'd seen it a thousand times and could probably quote half of Sandra Bullock's monologues. 

But, there was something different about it this time. Something about the way she was falling in love with her charmingly sarcastic boss. It seemed less like something you'd laugh at and instead it started making perfect sense to you. 

I mean Sandra Bullock is falling in love with her boss. Why can't you?

Somehow by the second glass of red, Hugh Grant's face somehow started to morph into Jack Abbott's. 

But, most of all it was the mistake of falling asleep during the fourth glass and the dreams that followed, guest starring a sexy doctor. 

As quick as this crush started, it was anything but quick to leave. No matter how much you willed it away. 

Sandra Bullock-esque rom-coms don't happen to people like you. Hot boss or not. 

"It won't kill you." Dana's arms thud against the counter as she lays them down with purpose. 

"It might." A voice that belongs to Shen interjects into the conversation you already wish you weren't having. "Have you seen how awkward she gets when hot dads bring their kids in?"

"I do not!" You half-yell. "I'm a professional. I don't think about things like that at work."

"Yeah, and that's why you eye fuck Abb-" 

"OKAY!" You yell. Prying eyes are on you immediately as your voice cuts through the ED. You give an awkward thin-lipped smile and apologetic wave to the strangers. "Okay. Point received." 

Now the only fantasy you're having at work is ripping the Dunkin cup from Shen's hand and drenching him in it. 

"Ignore him." Dana shoos Shen away. He slinks off slurping what's left of his melted iced coffee. 

You can't miss the small glint in Dana's eye as she bites back a laugh at Shen's accusation. Which is totally false!

"Dinner. That's all I'm asking." Dana pries once again. You shake your head, not even bothering to verbally answer anymore. "An hour, two max."

"Dana when I'm not here I'm sleeping or trying to get all my shit done before I have to be back here. I don't have time." 

"You have time." She responds insistently. 

It's almost impressive how she hasn't budged. 

"Fine. I don't want to make the time then."

"You don't want to go out and just have a free dinner with a handsome guy?" Dana's eyebrows shoot up.

Unfortunately, the idea intrigues you somewhere deep down. That same part of you that smiles and rewinds when the movie finally crescendos with a dramatic declaration of love. But, in reality, the movie would end differently for you. A terrible date with a guy who went to a doctor a few times and now feels confident in his ability to mansplain medicine. No love at first sight for you. 

"Sounds like hell."

You can't even remember the last time you looked at a man that wasn't on your TV. Well, I mean besides the ones you're forced to see every day. Abbot… Who apparently you REALLY look at.

Your mind trails off as he moves from room to room in front of you. That quiet confidence radiating off of him like it always does. UGH, and he's wearing those camo pants tonight. OH. You totally are eye-fucking him aren't you?!

You snap your eyes from him back to Dana immediately. "Tell me about this guy." 

No part of you really wants this, but you've got to get your mind off Abbott. Fully. You one hundred percent, unequivocally, cannot be crushing on Jack Abbot. 

"It's a guy I know. He's been single for too long. Like you." She says pointedly. "I think you'll like him. He's good people." 

"You sure you wanna do this?" It's a genuine question, not a threat. Introducing you to someone could be a bad move on her part. You're not exactly revered as a charmer. "Because, if I don't like him, I'll leave."

You we're strong willed and didn't enjoy wasting your time. There was nothing wrong with it, but some men would disagree. Apparently you could be a quote, "a real ball buster" as your college boyfriend so eloquently wrote in the very text message he dumped you with. 

As time went on, you came to realize you liked love more in theory or in dreams. You were not cut out to be a rom-com star. 

"I know." Dana draws out her words, rolling her eyes at you. "But, I have a good feeling."

"What's his name?" You give a defeated sigh. 

Dana's face lights up with that cocky closed-lip smile she gets when she's won something. She's beaten you down enough and she knows it. Success!

"No names." Leaving no room for rebuttal, she claps her hand flat against the counter to make her point. "I don't want you looking him up."

"Come on-"

"No. You and Santos do that cyber stalking thing and you'll try and find him." She's already turned on her heels before you can get another word out. 

 "It's not stalking!" You yell after her. "It's the way the world works. Get with the times Dana!"

Well, looks like you just got yourself a date you didn't really want to go on in the first place. But if all goes well you'll fall in love and never think of Jack Abbot as anything more than a boss ever again. 

ــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

"Jack, c'mere I gotta talk to you." 

Dana surveys the floor, making sure you're nowhere in sight. Luckily for her, you're tied up in a trauma room with a very chatty guest who, based on their facial expression is not very happy with you. 

His face turns confused for a second, the wrinkles on his forehead deepening before he falls in step.

"You need a date." She says simply. 

For once in his whole life he's actually speechless. He opens his mouth, but the only thing that comes out is an offended scoff. 

"When's the last time you've been on a date?" She asks, crossing her arms over her chest. 

The offended sound comes out once again as he blunders for a second. "I don't know. A year…?"

He tried once, maybe twice after his wife passed. Someone who asked him out both times. He'd never actually pursued anything himself. It wasn't exactly that he was resisting, there was just never anyone who caught his attention first.

Then came you. But to him, that was forbidden.

"That's sad."

"I'm doing just fine for myself-"

She holds up her hand for him to stop before he says anything further. "I didn't ask about that. And, I don't believe I want to know that."

Robby laughs from somewhere behind her. Of course, listening in on the conversation. Somehow his ears seem to be everywhere at once. There's no conversation he misses in this hospital. 

"What?" Jack asks him. The tone of his voice would almost sound offended if he wasn't chuckling. 

"No, nothing." Robby shakes his head. He clasps a friendly hand on Dana's shoudler. "He's doing fine Dana. Just this morning Myrna offered to flash him." 

Alright, now they're just being mean. 

"Tell him he needs a date." Dana elbows Robby. Before Jack can interject, Robby's response is immediate. 

"Ohhh, you need a date brother."

Jack's outnumbered and somehow they're also beating him at his own game. He has no defenses left. No sarcastic comments that'll stop them 

"You know what? Fine." Jack tosses his hands up. "I'll start looking for someone." 

His eyes rake across the hospital floor like he's looking for someone and before he's even made any conscious effort, they land on you. 

One day you were a thorn in Jack's side, a new resident he had to get acclimated to. But, very, very quickly you became something else. The worst part was it wasn't even because you were attractive - which you absolutely were. No, it was the first time you yelled at him during trauma. You, a resident, yelling across the table at your attending.

He was gone. 

Robby and Dana side-eye each other at Jack's obvious stare. He was never a subtle man and even less so when it came to matters of the heart. The number of times Dana's caught him acting like a giddy school boy around you was absurd.

That time you complimented his technique for a chest tube and he walked around like a God for the rest of the night. 

Or, even worse, that time he let his beard grow and asked you, Dana, and Ellis for your opinions. They both agreed it was fine. - not that they cared much either way. - But, you weren't a fan. The next day he was shaved. 

It was just something about you. Something he had never seen in someone else. You had no angle, you didn't play games or hospital politics. You came in to work every day, yelled at whoever needed yelling at, and fixed whoever needed fixing. No ass-kissing or pride involved.You had no ego; it was refreshing. If you thought he was acting like a dick you'd tell him. If you thought he was right you'd tell him. Though maybe a little awkwardly because nice feelings weren't really your thing.

"No need!" Dana says with a satisfied grin. "I've got someone for you."

Robby howls a laugh at how perfectly Dana manipulated Jack into this. 

"Who?" He asks. 

"Someone I've been wanting to set you up with."

"Set me up with? Like a date?" He says emphatically. "Like I'm twenty?"

"It'll be fine. You'll like her."

"Well, who is it?"

"You don't know her." Her face gives nothing away but for a fleeting second Jack would almost swear that seemed like a lie. 

"She's smart and beautiful, you'll like her."

"Well, I can't say I don't like those two things." A small smirk creeps up his face. Smart and beautiful was great but he knew someone who fit that description already. Doesn't much matter though, Jack can't remember a time he's seen you show interest in him. And, he was the furthest thing from a pushy man.

Plus, if you wanted him surely you would've said something by now. 

"She's a little young," Dana trails off. "That okay with you?"

Jack finds himself calculating in his head how old you were. Would that be weird? Wait. First, why would he care? Second, why would it matter? 

"I mean how-" 

"Okay, great." Dana claps her hands with a loud boom, ending his sentence for him. 

She's already exited the conversation before he can ask more of the many pressing questions he has. "What's her name?" He calls out, Robby still beside him, happy to be a non-involved third party to this shitshow. 

"Secrets." She hollers back not turning around, her hands doing most of the talking. 

"Looks like you just bought yourself an appearance on the Dating Game." Robby claps Jack's shoulder with an overjoyed smile that crinkles the skin around his eyes. 

Hopefully she isn't that young because God, they really are old. I mean the Dating Game, really?

ــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

"What are you up to?" Robby asks, narrowing his eyes onto Dana once he's managed to find her alone. 

"Just think he needs someone." She shrugs sounding a little tender, strangely. 

"Uh huh." Robby clicks his tongue. "And I'd swear I heard you giving that same advice to one of our residents earlier.

Dana gives nothing away, just a shrug. 

"Not saying it's a bad idea. Jacks clearly got it bad. It's just ballsy."

"So you'll help me?" Dana asks. 

"Whoa, no." Robby lets out a deep chuckle, shaking his head. "I didn't say that."

"All I'm asking is that you keep them away from each other tonight so they don't find us out."

"There's no us here Dana." He tosses his hands up in surrender. Always the dramatic. "I've got a hospital to run and this is your master plan." 

She gives him a look over the rim of his glasses. He knows he's too grown to be scared into submission by Dana but damn if it doesn't always work. 

"I'll see what I can do."

"Hey, why don't you ever set me up on dates?" He can't help but ask as he's already halfway leaving. 

"Because I've seen you in relationships."

ــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

Somehow as if by miracle, the ER was the Q word you'd never dare utter. So, for now you'll just say slow. It seemed brighter without so many people clogging the place up, not such a terrorizing place to spend your nights. But, on the other side of quiet and peaceful meant all you could think about was this stupid date with some (probably) stupid guy you don't even want to meet. 

Even if it was a leisurely night, there was no such thing for Dana. She paced around the giant hospital centerpiece that was the nurses' desk, doing a million jobs that somehow all belonged to her. 

You came out of nowhere, suddenly popping up on the other side of the desk. "I don't like mansplainers." 

"Okay, and I don't like the Ravens. What're you telling me for?" It always seemed like her accent had a way of getting thicker when she was stressed or angry. 

"For the date." You tap your finger to your temple in a duh fashion. "If they start mansplaining anything to me, I'll leave."

Dana doesn't give you a response, just a curt nod. Because she was definitely going around the city looking for the perfect asshole mansplainer to force you into a date with. 

"And they need to be politically sound. I can't deal with someone who doesn't care about the issues I do." 

As much as you loved Maid in Manhattan, you always found yourself disliking the leading man just a little too much. That was not a rom-com you wanted to star in, alongside a right-leaning politician. 

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" Dana snaps her head up, shutting you up immediately. It's terrifying when she starts cursing in catholic. "He's a non-mansplaining registered democrat. Does that satisfy you?" 

"Yes." You answer quietly tucking your lips into a thin line apologetically. 

She reaches over the desk, gripping your arm and guiding you somewhat forcefully until you're standing under the track board. 

"Work." 

Looking down at the iPad in your hand, you said your patient's name to yourself over and over again. You had this terrible habit of knowing everything you needed to know about someone and then coming face to face and forgetting everything, even down to their name. You've done this with friends and patients alike your whole life. 

"Janet Lawson." You mutter on a loop, scrolling through to see what the nurses had already done for her. 

"Janet Law— Ow." 

Your forehead is suddenly rebounding off a black T-shirt; underneath it is a weirdly muscular back that's actually managed to rattle your brain around. Of course. Who else wears a black T-shirt and camo pants to work and has this muscular of a build? 

"Doctor Abbot! Sorry." You laugh to mostly yourself, running a few fingers over your forehead. Why'd that come out like a giggle? You laugh. You don't giggle. 

"My fault. I should've known better than to stand here when you're running around." He grins.

He's so charming. 

You drop your eyes back down to the iPad, looking at him made your chest pinch. Why does it feel like you're cheating on him by going on this date tonight? He's your boss! People don't usually feel like they need to divulge their dating life to their bosses right?

"You off this weekend?" He asks, tilting his head to be able to better to see your downcast eyes. 

"Yep. Played my cards right and got two whole days."

"Got any plans?" He crosses his arms over his chest casually. He always asks about your life. This isn't weird, this is just the only time you've thought about keeping it secret. 

"Not much." The lie comes out before you can stop it. 

"Me neither."

"Cool." 

Jack Abbot could befriend a brick wall and somehow you've just managed to have an awkward interaction with him. 

"Jack!" Dana's voice echoes between you too. It's so loud and desperate-sounding that he whips his head around immediately. 

"Yeah?"

"I need you in room 3."

He looks to the whiteboard, eyes scanning over it twice. The hospital's calm tonight, what could possibly be this critical?

"No one's in room 3…"

She doesn't even turn to the whiteboard herself to double-check. "Room 4 then."

"Okay…" He agrees. "Catch you later?" He turns back to you with a sympathetic frown, waiting for your confirmation. Once you nod at him, he pulls himself and his lingering eyes away.

Like clockwork, Abbot finds himself in your orbit once again. He's nearly convinced you have some kind of magnetic force he's not aware of because there's no rational reasoning for him to be trailing after you all the time. 

Your shift is officially over and if you're not going to fall asleep behind the wheel you're desperately going to need a cup of coffee. As your hand rests flat against the break room door, you feel a much bigger and stronger hand just inches above yours.

"Together again." He laughs. He's so close behind you, you swear you feel the vibrations in your own chest. He pushes the door open, just enough that you have to duck under his arm to step over the threshold. 

"How was everything with that patient?" You ask, hoping your voice is even and trying your best to keep your face away from him until the heat in your cheeks die down. 

"Fine. Just cut and dry stress hives. Not sure what the big emergency was."

You plop down in the chair around the small table, the one leg that's off kilter shakes it back and forth for a second. "Weird." You stretch your legs up onto the second chair in front of you, resting until he's done making his coffee. 

As the coffee maker percolates in the background he considers mentioning the fact that Dana is setting him up on a date. Do attendings and residents ever share that much personal information with each other? Probably not.

What was he even hoping to achieve? That you'd imagine him out with some (probably) hot nurse friend of Dana's and lose your mind with jealousy that he's never once seen you have. 

It felt weirdly offensive to share his weekend plans with you. He's wanted to ask you out since the second week you worked at this hospital and never has. He couldn't, as the superior here and the man twice your age he wouldn't even let himself think about you too long if he thought it would be disrespectful. It'd be too weird to sit here and talk about his dating life like this. So, he opts for silence. 

You push your chair out once Abbott's done using the coffee maker, groaning from the pain that's popped up in your spine from standing all day. 

"Here ya go." He extends a full cup to you just as your feet hit the ground. 

You stare at the drink for a second. He made you coffee? Coffee you didn't even ask for. He pushes the cup towards you once more, urging you to take it instead of staring at it.

You wrap both hands around the thin cup, feeling the warmth seep through to your palms. "You know how I take my coffee?" You ask, noting the color difference in your cup compared to his. 

"Yeah, milk and two sugars. I've seen you make it enough times." Wow, the world really was never going to let this crush ease up was it? "I didn't give you any vanilla though. Keep taking it like that and you'll end up in a coma." You laugh, noticing the wide smile on your face in the reflection of your coffee. 

"Thanks." Your voice loses the harsh edges it usually has. 

He shrugs as if this was a small gesture and not something that made your entire body feel like it was on fire. He sips the coffee but never takes his eyes off yours. They have a darker look to them as the cup puts a shadow over his face. 

"Heading out?"

"Yep." You toss your bag over your shoulder. "I'm caught up on all my charts from tonight."

"Yeah, I trust you." His words come out smooth. 

You know you're so far gone when these upcoming two days off start to feel like punishment more than a much-needed break. Two days without seeing him might be bordering on eternal torture. 

This is the last time you'll see him until your date with some stranger. You're being so dramatic but it literally feels like you're some Wild West movie heroine seeing her one true love for the last time before heading to her arranged marriage.

Maybe it's just because your fantasy had to end now. You had to live your life, date (annoyingly so), and you could keep falling asleep at night and having Jack Abbot's face pop up in your dreams. It was a fantasy, that's all it was. 

Abbot likes people, not you. He liked to be friendly, wink at nurses, and flirt with the old ladies who were frequent fliers. Even if you weren't his resident, people like you didn't end up with people like him. 

Plus, if he wanted you surely he would've said something by now.

"Want me to walk you out?" He asks, always the gentleman. 

"Sure."

He reaches over and slides the bag from your arm, throwing it over his own shoulder. His arm stays on the small of your back as you pass through the crowded triage area, only dropping when you make it to your car. A small, beat-up Civic you're embarrassed to tell people the year of. 

"Have a nice vacation." He grins, setting your backpack in your backseat for you.

"Yeah, two days is one crazy vacation." 

"Well, either way don't miss me too much."

You laugh, your head lulling backwards as the sound reverberates outside in the quiet parking lot. "Might be too hard. Living in a cold, cruel Doctor Abbot-less world." 

He leans over, enough that you can tell he's not wearing any cologne as the smell of antiseptic wafts off him. And the worst part is, somehow it works. The click of your car door opening is the only thing that draws your eyes away. 

"Be safe." He says, carefully shutting the car door once you're solidly inside. "Come by if you start missing me too much." He speaks a little louder so you hear him through the sealed window. 

You give him a thumbs down as your reverse lights come on. 

He watches you pull out of the parking lot and imagines what that sight would be like more often. Your taillights pulling out of the driveway of his house every day, waving you away while drinking his morning coffee, knowing you'd be back that night. 

Oh yeah He's going on a date with another woman tomorrow. 

ــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

This is horrible

You stand in front of the mirror in the third outfit of the night. You pull at the fabric, like a toddler. It clings to everywhere you don't want it to. You've got to have help for this.

Where's your quirky best friend sidekick that everyone in the movies has?

To: Santos From: You what do you wear on a date?

To: You From: Santos show up naked power move 

Unhelpful. 

A dress feels like too much, but dress pants make you feel like a politician. The place is way too nice for jeans. As Dana specifically told you. You don't even own anything you'd consider a blouse. And to make matters worse, you're beginning to notice you have very little color in your wardrobe. 

This is agonizing. 

The outfit you have on will have to suffice, if only because you're running out of room on your floor for discarded clothese.

The long skirt feels less dramatic than a dress but less stiff than pants. This is the nicest shirt you own and the closest thing you'd associate with fancy. All in all, you clean up pretty well. Everything is black like all the other items in your wardrobe. But, Dana requested you wear black since she told your date that's how he'd recognize you. Your mystery man will be in white tonight 

Your body collides with your bed as you toss yourself onto it like an angsty teenager. You haven't been on a date in months and the last one you went on lasted an hour before you faked and emergency and left. 

Katherine Heigl's voice blares through your apartment as 27 Dresses begins auto-playing after whatever you threw on to begin with. 

What the hell is with these movies and falling in love with your boss?

Rolling onto your back, you're fingers start typing Jack Abbot into the Instagram search bar before you even know what you're doing. It only takes the letter J for his account to come up. You've for sure done this too many time. Maybe Dana's right. This is totally stalking. 

He has three posts and none of them are his face. He's got a picture of Robby and Dana at some fancy hospital event and two pictures of some scenic locations he visited. He's such an old man. The only thing you can see him in is his profile picture. Much to your dismay, you screenshot and zoom in. 

He's so handsome and this is such weirdo behavior.

The more you zoom in, the blurrier the photo gets. Right now, you're essentially looking at pixels that vaguely resemble Jack Abbot and even then he's otherworldly handsome. Some selfie from a terrible angle that he no doubt took the moment Instagram prompted him for a profile picture. 

You scream as the name pops up on the top of your screen, tossing the phone on your bed like it burned you. For a second you actually believe he somehow knows your cyber stalking him right now, but there's no way. On your feet now from the scare, you timidly reach over and in one quick motion flip the phone face up. 

Abbot: Have fun on your vacation while the rest of us are working our asses off. 

You've got to stop reacting to everything he does like some school girl experiencing their first crush. You're more giddy from this stupid text than you are about this date. This is what you're actively trying to avoid!

You click the side button stuffing the phone into your skirt pocket. Yeah, the skirt has pockets. You give yourself one more look in the mirror, closing your eyes and taking three deep breaths to clear your mind. 

No more Jack Abbot tonight. 

ــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

This place is nice just like Dana described. An Italian restaurant that you had to take a taxi to reach. The outside has a deep maroon awning where people waiting on tables are congregating. It's not crowded but there's way more people here than you want to experience a first date in front of. 

The inside is even nicer. Dark walls and romantic lighting. There's even a band playing from somewhere you cant see, but you recognize the sound of live instruments. The tables are all covered in white cloths. This is far from the restaurants you usually eat at where children color on those paper table runners. 

"Hi," You approach the hostess more timid than usual, clearing your throat. "I'm meeting someone…"

Your eyes scan over the many people in the room. Theres way more people seated than you'd hoped. Great, all these people may witness your biggest humiliation tonight. Theres a small, even fancier dining room that's walled in and you wonder if your mystery man is in there. 

The maitre d responds but your ears are suddenly filled with nothing but the sound of your own heart beat. Your eye's zero in on someone, someone sitting in front of the giant burgundy curtains that drape from floor to ceiling. 

A very familiar face.

No. Fucking. Way. 

"Doctor Abbot?" You say standing beside the empty chair at this table for two. 

His eyes shoot up so fast you're afraid he's going to hurt himself. He looks like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out of his barely parted lips. You're mirroring the same expression back to him. Shock and horror. 

He stands up from his chair so fast, the table rocks and sends ripples through the expensive water glasses. "What are you doing here?" He asks, hands flat on the table like he needs to prop himself up. 

"Me?" You say back, clutching the purse strap over your shoulder. "What are you doing here?" You want to dissolve into dust in the huge fancy restaurant that suddenly feels much smaller. This can't be happening. 

"Oh fuck." 

You both speak at the same time. Your sentiment is much more verbal than Abbot who had the decency to whisper under his breath. 

You two go back to staring at each other for another moment. Completely still except for the twitch around Abbots eye. You know your eyes are wider than usual and probably frighteningly so, but you can't make them close. To make matters worse the trumpet crescendos into something romantic from wherever they're playing from. You're a little too busy to look right now. 

How could this happen?

"I think Dana uh—" The words die in your throat as soon as they start. You gesture vaguely hoping to fill in the blanks. 

"Yeah." He speaks gruffly. 

"Yeah." You parrot the same word back, unsure of what else there even is to say. "I could go." You gesture back to the grand entrance of the restaurant. 

That's all it took to shake Jack from the shell shocked state he was in. He reaches out before he even thinks much about it. Not a pull, just his palm flat against your forearm making sure you don't bolt.

"No. Were already here." He shrugs like it's simple. "Plus, I need you to stay and help me plan on how to get Dana fired."

You laugh, your shoulders easing finally, dropping from where they were pulled up so tight. The immediate horror of this situation is beginning to dissipate between the two of you. Despite the knot in your stomach, you actually feel a little giddy. I mean, you've dreamed about this for a long, long time. Maybe it wouldn't be awful of you to at least try and enjoy yourself. 

"We might as well stay and eat." He picks up his menu and gestures to the chair that's meant to be yours. 

"Might as well?" You repeat back with a sarcastically sensual tone. "Well, with an offer that romantic how could I refuse?"

He walks around the table, eyes on you the entire time. He pulls out your chair without even looking at it. When he puts his arm on the small of your back to guide you onto the seat, your actually worried your knees might buckle. 

"You know what I meant." The breath from his nose tickles your ear as leans in close to tuck your chair in. 

"Can I get you two started with anything?" The waiter appears from the kitchen, dressed just as nicely as half the patrons in here. Jack gives him a polite just a second gesture. You've both been far too distracted to look at the menu.

"You want wine?" He asks, flicking his eyes from the menu to you. "I mean… we are on a date." Theres a small smile in the corner of his mouth when he says it, almost humorous like he's enjoying saying that in the presence of the server.

A date. Officially a date.

"Yeah, I'll do a glass."

"A bottle of the house red." Jack speaks to the waiter. A bottle? Big spender! 

The wine the waiter returns with is in expensive glassware. The stems are crystal thin and make you feel like you're back in the OR holding a delicate medical instrument.

Jack makes a polite declining gesture as the waiter goes to fill his glass. "None for me, thanks."

"You're not having any?" You ask, lowering the glass from your lips, suddenly feeling embarrassed of the large sip you've already taken. 

"I've got work tonight. Not everyone has the weekend off like you." He laughs. Oh yeah. It was only 5:30 of course he'd be heading to work after this. Always saving lives. 

"You didn't need to order all that then." You gesture to the still mostly full bottle the server left behind. "I'm not gonna drink a whole bottle myself." Not in front of him at least!

"Take it home then." He shrugs. Damn that's sexier than it needed to be. He orders one of the nicest bottles of wine, doesn't have any for himself, and then tells you to keep it. "I know how much you like your wine. 

"You look nice." He crosses his arms on top of the menu resting on the table so there's nothing that could possibly distract him from you. His words are genuine but a little stiff. He hasn't complimented someone on anything outside of a medical context in a while.

"Thanks " You actually smile. looking down at the fancy outfit you were so hyper critical of in the mirror. "I wouldn't get used to it though."

"You clean up nice yourself." You force out. Not because it wasn't true, it very much was. But, it's always felt awkward to you to compliment someone. 

"Feels weird." He tugs at the black tie resting on top of his white dress shirt. It was quite the site. Under the warm lights of the dining room, at certain angles the muscles under his shirt were highlighted perfectly, especially his arms.

Jack however is more caught of guard by your new look than you are of his. Your hair is fixed and resting on your shoulders in waves instead of pulled back and frizzy from a scrub cap. I mean, you looked beautiful the other way, but he didn't know this was an option. And your clothes. It was few and far between that he saw you in anything but scrubs and certainly never anything fancy like this. Your scrubs were loose and unflattering. These clothes were tight and highlighted all your features well. You'd been hiding all this? But, maybe that's for the better because he wouldn't be able to survive this look day to day. 

"Would you judge me if I had another glass?" You have a small smile just on the corner of your mouth. Your stemware was getting emptier and emptier as the conversation went on.

"I'm not your boss tonight." He chuckles, filling up the glass for you. He holds your eyes when he says it, like it's important to him that you remember that.

"Alright. Let's be honest with ourselves." You finally laugh out, shaking your head. "This is weird." The wine coursing through you is making it a lot easier to say whatever you're feeling. Plus the small drink you had back home to pre game that you're not going to bring up. 

Thankfully, he laughs too. "Yeah. I didn't imagine I'd be sitting in front of you tonight."

"Yeah. I certainly wasn't expecting Doctor Abbot." You gesture widely towards him. "… I should probably drop the "Doctor" on a date right."

"Yeah probably." He nods. "Just Jack is fine." 

You're stomach flips. It's silly, something as simple as a name change getting you this worked up.

"Jack." You test it out, turning the name over in your head a few times. It just felt so intimate for some reason. You've known him as Doctor Abbot for so long, now you get to learn Jack.

"So, Jack" You laugh, using the name one more time now that you've been awarded the permission. "I was expecting Dana to set me up with an Orthopedic surgeon I'd hate or something." You laugh. If your relationships with the Ortho team at work was anything to go on, that date certainly wouldn't have gone well. 

He laughs loudly in the dining room full of people talking softly below the music. "Yeah, God help us all if she did that. I was expecting a nurse or a lawyer or something. Not my resident."

"But, I'm glad she didn't." He says at a lower register.

"Wait!" You completely skip over the romantic thing he said, your brain already locked onto a minute detail you just thought of. "You texted me before I left the house." 

"Yeah? So?"

"So?!" You scoff at him, but you're laughing too much for it to be perceived as upset. "So, you texted me before you thought you we're going on a date with some woman."

He just shrugs. "I was thinking about you."

Your cheeks burn hot and you have to roll your eyes to try and get some of your cool demeanor back. "That's crazy."

"Well, it doesn't matter now does it."

Being on a date with Jack is even nicer than you imagined it could be. You've barely lifted a finger tonight. He pulled out your chair for you, he refills your glass for you. 

Yes, you're now a quarter through your third.

From anyone else, you'd probably get a little annoyed with this, but there's something romantic about the way Jack does it. He's not smothering or chauvinistic about it, just someone who wants to care for you. 

He really is like a man from a movie. 

By the time they drop your food off at the table, you're enjoying yourself more than you ever have on a date. He cuts into the steak while telling you the story of the first patient he ever had, which actually makes you snort. 

"My first patient at PTMC bit me." You laugh, nodding emphatically as you do. The third glass of wine has definitelyloosened you up. Enough to even reach across the table and put your hand on his arm when you laugh.

"Oh yeah! The one with the suppository." He points the end of his fork in your direction as he remembers. 

You make a sound of dissatisfaction between your teeth, scrunching up your face. "Let's avoid saying suppository on a date."

"Fair enough." He laughs, covering his mouth with his napkin. "Man, I thought you were gonna kill that guy." 

"I remember telling Robby when you first started, you we're gonna drop the night crews patient satisfaction scores by half." He shakes his head fondly.

"What?!" You laugh, dropping your mouth open with a jokingly offended expression. 

"You have a real mean streak to you." He shrugs truthfully, but he smiles when he does. He loves that about you. 

"I do not." You roll your eyes, the mean streak showing through clearly. "And, I could say you're not as charming as you think you are." 

He doesn't miss a beat. "Yeah I am." 

Yeah he is. 

You pretend to care about his accusations some more, but he can see the smile you can't wipe off your face. "I can't believe you talked shit about me to Robby." You shake your head. "And to think I actually liked you when I first started. You were my favorite Attending." 

"Yeah?" He quirks his eyebrow up, somehow looking even more handsome with that smug sideways smile. 

"Yeah I did."

"Did it wear off?" He asks, leaning back, tilting his head as he looks at you. 

"Nope."

The words hangs there a moment too long. You expect him to make a joke, tell you that you have good taste, or that he was the obvious choice, but he doesn't. Instead he just looks at you, his smug grin changing into something much softer. 

"Good to know." His voice is maybe as tender as you've ever heard it. Like your statement meant more to him than he's letting on. 

Jack's already reaching into his pocket for his wallet before the check hits the table cloth. In fact, he doesn't even let it sit there. He takes it from the waiters hand so there's no argument about who's paying. 

"I can cover my half." You offer anyways, hand digging around in your purse under the table. This would not be the first date a man expected you to go dutch on.

"No you can't." He rolls his eyes. He knew you'd offer no matter how obvious he made it that you weren't paying this bill. It was just in your nature to be fiercely independent. But, he was here now. "I don't make a habit of asking women out and making them cover the bill."

"Technically you didn't ask me out… Dana did." You raise your eyebrows in a challenge. 

He makes a sound somewhere between a huff and a laugh. "Either way, you're not paying."

Jack opts for cash, pulling out a few bills that you try and count up so you total how much he's spent on you tonight. You can't make out if a few pieces are twenties or fifties, but based on the wad alone it must be a lot. 

"Fine. I'll get the next one." You're eyes widen a little as you catch what you said, your words coming way too freely with your tipsy-ness. "I mean… not, or, If- you know." You flubb, your hands moving quickly in front of you.

"No you won't. But, you can offer, again."

He stands first, extending his arm to you like the gentleman he's been all night. The sleeve of your jacket catches the chair as you stand making you wobble on your already slightly uneven footing. "Alright, let's get you out of here before you hurt yourself." He laughs. His reassuring hand stays flat against the small of your back, guiding you through the beautiful dining room and into the cool night air. 

Jack stands under the awning with you, shoulder to shoulder as he waits for your ride to arrive. Before he has to drag himself back to work and away from you. Through the window, you can still hear the bands instruments playing, on the high notes it rattles the glass just barely. 

"I love this song." You gasp, leaning against the wall and physically feeling the song course through you. Jack listens intently for a second, making out what you're hearing. He jogs his memory and remembers having heard the songs a few times. Something by Louie Armstrong; there was no mistaking that voice. La vie en rose that was it!

Jack stays silent, listening to the song alongside you. He doesn't close his eyes like you do. To be honest, he's far more interested in you than the song. This was what he's thought about so many times. Not this exact scenario, but things like it. You in domestic situations, calm, happy. With your eyes still shut, he roams his eyes over every part of your face without fear of being caught. 

The slope of your nose, down to the curve of your lips. You had a prominent cupids bow that made your lips look sharp in a way he could never stop thinking about. Your eyelashes that now fluttered along your under eye. He wasn't sure in this moment if you've ever looked more beautiful. 

"You know," He says quietly, making sure you we're still able to hear your song over this words. "all thing's considered I think this was a pretty good date." 

You peek one eye open, flickering it over to him with a smile. "So we are calling it a date?"

"Yeah." He grins back at your silly looking one-eyed expression."I mean that's what it was wasn't it?"

"Just making sure." You relax again, back to closing your eyes. You can hide the gleam in your eyes by shutting them, but you can't hide the smile on your face. 

"But," Jack starts his sentence quietly, devoid of that usual sarcasm he carries through every word. "I was always under the impression good dates usually end with a kiss."

Both your eyes open now, quickly. You stay leaned against the wall, putting a few fingers over your mouth to try and cover the stupidly giddy grin. You coyly nod, eyes looking back and forth like you're thinking hard. He crosses his arms over his chest as he waits for whatever response this could possibly lead to. 

"That does check out." You laugh, one finger tapping on the side of your mouth in fake thought. "That's usually how all the movies end."

"Yeah?" He mutters close to your mouth, settling his hands on either side of your face. You floss your lip in between your teeth, not even that hiding the grin. "Yeah." 

La vie en rose crescendos in the background as Jacks lips finally connect with yours. It's perfect. It's like a movie. Like a really perfect rom-com. He's not careful, but he's not aggressive. You can feel how long he's wanted to do this in the way he swallows every breath that leaves your mouth. Your hands trail up his arms, finally feeling how toned they actually are after wondering what they'd feel like under your fingers every time they flexed in the OR. 

You're sure you're getting stares from a few concerned citizens along the sidewalk but you couldn't care less. You feel that same smile grow on his lips as you press a hand to his chest. You're reminded of the scene in The Princess Diaries and swear your leg almost kicks up just the same.

He pulls back for no other reason than breathing which he's almost sure he could live without if he could do that a few more times. But, before he can go too far you chase him for one more peck which he reciprocates with just as much enthusiasm. Your hand is still on his chest and now white knuckle gripped against his tie.

"Yeah pretty good date." You repeat the sentiment, any ability to form new thoughts left your head the moment he kissed you. You smooth down his tie with one hand, straightening out the wrinkles your fist caused. He stops you, enveloping your one hand with both of his, pressing his lips along your knuckles. "I'm glad it was with you."

Once your taxi pulls up, you feel like lying and claiming you never called for it. But you have no choice, Jack's got work and you're under strict doctors orders (Doctor Jack Abbot) to rest and enjoy your one weekend off. 

"Text me when you get home." He says, shutting the taxi door with you on the other side, painfully. "And, swing by the hospital if you have any more wine. We may need to get you on a saline drip." You laugh way too loudly in the enclosed space of the cab. You hold the wine bottle by the neck, showing it off. 

"Goodnight Jack." You say elbow resting on the sill of the rolled down window, smiling up at him. Jack. Not Doctor, just Jack. 

You're phone vibrates in your pocket a few minutes down the road into the silent cab ride. The notification disrupts your staring out the window with a smile that was starting to hurt your cheeks. You figure it must be Jack, way too worried about you commuting home alone and already checking in, but it's not.

"I still say you cheated at the ring-toss," Jack says with a low laugh, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning his elbows back against the bench. "There's no way anyone lands three in a row like that on their first try without some kind of dark magic involved."

"It's called actual skill, Jack," you reply, smiling as you glance over at him. "You just can't handle the fact that I won you that ridiculous stuffed frog instead of the other way around."

"I'm keeping it on my dashboard as a reminder to never challenge you again," he chuckles, turning his head to look at you, his light eyes catching the faint glow of the promenade lamps clicking on overhead. "Honestly, though... I can't remember the last time I had a night this good. I was half-convinced I'd end up spilling something down myself or saying the absolute wrong thing within five minutes."

"You did almost drop your chips on a seagull," you point out gently.

"That was a tactical manoeuvre," he counters without missing a beat, a boyish grin spreading across his face. "Kept the bird away from us, didn't it?"

As the sea breeze picks up, a sharp gust sweeps across the wooden planks of the pier, making you involuntarily shiver and draw your arms tightly across your chest. You try to play it off with a quiet smile, not wanting to cut the night short just as the conversation has turned so warm and easy, but Jack notices the slight movement immediately. His smile falters slightly, replaced by a look of observant concern as he notices your thin sleeves and the goosebumps forming along your skin.

"You're shaking," he says, his voice dropping an octave as he stops mid-sentence, looking at you with a soft, quiet focus.

"I'm fine, really," you lie, your teeth clicking together slightly as another cool gust comes off the water. "Just a bit of a breeze. Don't worry about it."

"Right, of course you're fine," he says sarcastically, though his tone is entirely fond. Without a second thought or a moment of hesitation, Jack unzips his heavy denim jacket, shoulders his way out of it, and leans across the small space between you. "Here, take my jacket."

"Jack, no, you don't have to do that," you protest, reaching out to stop him. "It's getting freezing out here, you'll end up catching a chill yourself."

"I'm fine in a t-shirt, I promise you," he insists, ignoring your mild objection entirely as he gently drapes the heavy fabric over your shoulders. He reaches out, his fingers lightly brushing your chin as he pulls the lapels together so the trapped warmth envelops you instantly. "Besides, if I let you freeze to death on our first date, I'm pretty sure I don't get a second one."

The jacket carries the comforting, grounded scent of laundry detergent, cedarwood, and the unmistakable trace of his cologne, holding onto his body heat so thoroughly that you feel an immediate, deeply cozy relief. As you slip your arms through the oversized sleeves, your hand briefly brushes against his warm fingers, and the lingering touch sends a completely different kind of heat straight through your chest.

"See? Much better," Jack says softly, watching you pull the heavy sleeves over your knuckles.

"It's huge on me," you mutter, a small laugh escaping you as you look down at the drown of denim, though you wrap it tighter around yourself anyway. "Thank you, Jack. Really."

"Looks better on you than it does on me, to be honest," he replies, settling back against the wooden slats of the bench. He seems entirely unbothered by the rising chill in just his dark shirt, a small, satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he watches you get comfortable.

You shift slightly closer to him on the bench, letting your shoulder rest against his, feeling the steady heat radiating off him through the cool evening air. Jack doesn't pull away; instead, he shifts his arm so it rests comfortably along the back of the bench behind you, his fingers lightly brushing against your shoulder in a quiet, open invitation.

"So," he murmurs, his voice low and close to your ear as the sound of the tide crashes rhythmically below the pier. "Since you're nice and warm now... does this mean I can convince you to get hot chocolates with me before we head back?"

"Only if you let me pay this time," you say, looking up at him through the twilight.

Jack tilts his head, pretending to consider it for a second before nudging your shoulder playfully with his own. "Deal. But only if I get to keep holding your hand on the walk there."

As the stars begin to poke through the dusk overhead, signaling the definitive end of the summer season, you find yourself leaning further into his side, breathing in the warmth of his jacket and knowing with absolute certainty that this late August evening is only the beginning.

ALL FICS: @ilocuras24 @the-annoying-fan @paankhaleyaaar @dedicateeverythingtomilkshake @cozyvanillacashmere

ALL PITT MEN: @malindacath @superlegend216 @sapphire882 @challengers4ev @hazydespair @hallecarey1 @teenwolfbitches28 @imabapical @sleepylunarwolf @lacy1986 @thehockeynerd30 @teardropcup @staygoldsquatchling02 @typicalkhani @ibleednavyandorange @cozyvanillacashmere @amacphet @hellsxbellsx @alexxavicry @hellorhightreason @missmillivanilli

You cleared away the dishes from dinner despite Jack’s insistence on doing it. You quickly shut down his argument with the fact that if he kept pestering you over cleaning up instead of him doing it, then he was going to make himself late for his night shift (and would subsequently have to deal with a pissed off Robby and Dana).

Jack gave in, grabbed his coat, rucksack, lunch bag which you had packed with snacks and leftovers for his break, gave you a long lingering kiss, and went out the front door.

The man had only been gone about half an hour before his name showed up on your phone.

Forgot my keys, work is chaos, don’t have time to come back home, can you drop them off please baby  - J

Sure enough, you turned around from your seat on the couch and saw up on the dining table Jack’s keys. Sighing and shaking your head, you got up, retrieved the keys and replied back.

You’re making breakfast tomorrow morning to apologize x

--

You parked up a block or so away from the hospital and made your way over to the entrance to the emergency room. Before even stepping foot inside the building, you could hear the noise and busy commotion coming from within.

The waiting room was jam-packed with people, and you did your best to not step on any toes as you sheepishly made your way over to the reception, trying to avoid scathing glares from waiting patients who -to them- you were seemingly cutting ahead.

“Hey hon, looking for Jack?” Lupe said from her chair beyond the plate of glass as you got close and waved a ‘hey Lupe’ at her.

“Yeah, idiot forgot his keys.” You answered, rolling your eyes at the ordeal. “Would you give them to him?”

“Oh sure thing hon, just-“

“Lupe, in here, I need you! Chart system has gone wacko and I need someone to watch over our little guest in the visitor’s room.” Dana suddenly exclaimed as she swung around the doorway behind Lupe, waving for her to follow.

“Dana I can’t, we’re swamped out here tonight!” Lupe protested, gesturing to the masses sitting, standing and hunched, all complaining in the waiting room beyond the reception desk.

“Just ten minutes, please, I got Robby on a knife edge, hand over to night shift has been stalled because of the charting fuck up, McKay is baby-sitting Santos and Mohan, and I can’t find Ellis or Diaz anywhere.” Dana huffed as she finally came back up for air.

“I can’t, I’m still waiting for cover so I can go on my break that should have happened thirty minutes ago.” Lupe said as she motioned as politely as she could for you to move to the side to get at the patient waiting behind you.

“Oh, sorry” You meekly smiled at the old man glowering at you for standing in his way.

“Jesus Christ I’m gonna pass out and it’s only eight thirty.” Dana remarked as she rolled her eyes and looked around behind her for a free body.

“Jack wasn’t kidding when he said it was chaos in here.” You nodded as you took in the bustling atmosphere of the waiting room. “Listen, I know you guys are swamped here, but can someone just take Jack’s keys and I’ll get outta your hair?”

Dana looked at you, then did a double take, eyeing Jack’s keys, then you.

“Actually…that’s perfect.” Dana said, looking right at you, as if a lightbulb had just switched on in her head.

“What?” You asked, looking from Dana to an equally confused Lupe who was juggling the old man’s paperwork.  

“You’re perfect hon. Oh dear god you are perfect! Hot damn! Wait there!” Dana suddenly exclaimed with a loud singular clap before she sprinted back out of the reception office.

You and Lupe exchanged looks, but before either of you could question what had just happened, Dana practically burst through the double doors to the waiting room and made a b-line for you.

“Come on come on, I need you my little angel.” Dana quickly said as she grabbed your hand and practically hauled you through the double doors.

“D-Dana what are you doing?” You frowned as Dana continued to lead you through the busy ER.

Immediately you were hit with the familiar smell that came off Jack after shifts; the sterile, clean hospital smell that he always insisted on showering off before getting close to you, and one that you recognised when doing his laundry. There was also the slightly not so pleasant, yet faint, coppery smell of blood and body in the air, attributed to several patients laying out on beds with particularly grizzly injuries.

Don’t look

Don’t look

Don’t look

“D-Dana I…Dana I can’t be in here.” You said, averting your eyes to look down at Dana’s trainers as she continued to lead you through the chaos of patients being moved around, doctors shouting and using language that was lost on you, machines beeping and patients groaning and crying out in discomfort.

Don’t look you’ll puke

Don’t look you’ll puke

Don’t look you’ll puke

“For the next ten minutes you are.” Dana corrected over her shoulder to you as she marched you through the ER.

Christ Jack how the hell do you do this? You thought as you attempted to keep up with Dana, eagerly pulling at you to follow her.

“I need you to do something important for me.” Dana said, ignoring your paling demeanour. “I’ll cut to the chase; we got an unattended baby in the visitor’s room that needs just ten minutes of supervision. Just ten, then one of the junior doctors will take over once I get the charting system straightened out.”

“A baby?” You winced. “Dana no, no – I’ve already broken maybe ten rules just by coming in here! I’m not a doctor or staff! I can’t be left alone with a baby! I just stopped by to give Jack his keys!” You exclaimed frantically.

“And you can give them to him! I’ll go tell him you’re here, and whilst you wait, you can keep an eye on Baby Jane Doe.” Dana reasoned as she pushed you towards the visitor’s room.

“Baby Jane who?” You frowned in confusion.

“Baby Jane Doe; got no parents or guardians, left unattended – Jane Doe.” Dana briefly clarified. “Look, we’re jammed in here, Robby is on the war path, I got staff trying to figure out a charting system that’s crappin it’s pants right now. I got day staff who are chomping at my hand to be relieved so night shift can take over.” Dana halted and rubbed her forehead in exhaustion.

“I need all hands-on deck, and whilst I’m usually not in the habit of trusting non-medical staff, particularly with this sort of thing - I know you and I know you will be fine for ten little minutes whilst I quickly iron out this god forsaken chart system.”

You and Dana exchanged looks, and immediately you felt your resolve give way to her stressed demeanour. With a heavy sigh, you shook your head. “Fine. Ten minutes.” You gave in and allowed Dana to smile thankfully at you. “But if you get fired for this, you only have yourself to blame.” You muttered, earning you a tired chuckle from Dana.

“Thank you honey, I’ll buy you a round next time we all go out.” Dana exhaled deeply in relief before she reached for the door handle to the visitor’s room.

It was dim inside, not entirely dark, but just enough to not disturb the little bundle in the corner of the room. As Dana went over to look into the little cot, you shrugged off your jacket and draped it over one of the vacant chairs.

“Sound asleep.” Dana whispered, trying to reassure you.

“Let’s hope she stays that way.” You mumbled pessimistically, but smiled at Dana nonetheless. This wasn’t her fault, not really, and to be honest if Dana truly needed help, you would be more than happy to give it.

“M’sorry for asking this of you, but my hands are tied.” Dana apologized. “When I see Jack, I’ll tell him to swing in.” Dana said as she walked back over to you.

“And tell him he’s lucky to have me.” You grumbled quietly.

“We’re all lucky to have you.” Dana said with a smirk. “Ten minutes. There’s formula on the countertop.” She gestured beside the cot with a wink before ducking out of the room, a brief influx of noise from the busy outside ER filled the room before it went back into silence.

You turned your attention back to the little cot, and slowly approached, curious to peer inside and take a look at all the fuss.

A tiny, sleepy, pink face peered out from the blankets, swaddled up tight inside, the baby’s small rosy lips parted as she snoozed soundly. Your features softened at the sight of her, a complete polar opposite of calm serenity compared to the manic chaos that lay only a few feet outside the visitor’s room.

Several moments passed by, relatively undisturbed as you paced slowly around the room, mindful to keep your steps light and slow. Eventually you settled into the vacant armchair adjacent to the cot, and rested for a moment or two.

That was until you heard a small grumble of discomfort coming from the cot. You got up from your chair and saw the baby’s face beginning to turn and screw up with unease. At the sound of her first whine, you instinctively reached down into the cot to retrieve the baby.

“Hey…hey little lady.” You whispered as you carefully scooped up the unhappy little one. “It’s alright, it’s all okay.” You hummed as you adjusted the baby in your arms to properly cradle her.

You didn’t have much in the way of experience with children, other than the odd cousin, nieces and nephews, but you knew what would work best to bring some sort of relief to the upset bundle in your arms. The baby squeaked out her crocodile tears, and you continued to coo and rub at her little back, patting at her.

“Shhh…shhh…it’s okay…I’m here.” You whispered, bouncing a little at the knees to lull the baby back down into a sense of comfort from her disturbed sleep. “Just ten minutes…and you’ll be in good hands again.” You muttered as you looked over the little human curling up into you.

Ten minutes

Just ten minutes

--

(thirty minutes later)

“That should be fixed.” Mel said with a chipper tone with Jack looming over her shoulder.

“Thank christ for that.” Jack grumbled with relief. “Alright everybody listen up, charting system is back online and ironed out! Make sure you have all your patients and keep em organised. Day shift can finally hand over, thank you for your patience. If I have to do this again, I will quit on the spot.” he threatened and sighed as his focus turned to the computer in front of him.

“Hey, did Dana get someone to watch over the baby in the visitor’s room?” Mohan asked curiously as she retrieved her charts from the desk. “There’s still nothing up on the board…surely Dana wouldn’t have left a baby unattended?”

Jack frowned and turned to look up at the charting board which was now back in order, where sure enough there was the room number and patient name, but no attending. A small wick of panic began inside of Jack, and he exchanged a brief look between Mohan to where Dana was now helping Robby and Ellis with another patient.

“Dana!” Jack shouted over. “Any attending for Baby Jane Doe?” he asked with his hands out to the sides in a questioning manner.

Immediately, he saw a look of realisation dawning on Dana, as if she had forgotten something and was now figuring it out. Jack didn’t wait for Dana to explain what from across the room, instead he quickly left the desk area and marched over to the visitor’s room, whereupon entering he took two steps before he froze. His eyes widened, head turned a fraction as he saw you, sitting with the baby.

“Close the door.” You quietly hissed, frowning at the sudden intrusion.

Jack did as told, and carefully closed over the door to the room before slowly approaching you. The baby was on the cusp of sleeping, her tiny eyes lulling closed every once in a while.

“I didn’t know you worked here.” Jack whispered as he lifted a seat over to sit down in front of you. “You take up a part time shift in the maternity ward without tellin me?” He smirked wryly.

“I expect my wage by the end of the day.” You replied with a quirked brow. “Dana roped me into this. She also promised it would only be ten minutes…that was over half an hour ago.”

“Oh baby…oh sweetheart, I am so sorry.” Jack shook his head, planting his hands on either-side of your knees and bowing his head a little in shame “I didn’t mean for you to get tossed into all this. Next time I’ll duct tape my stupid keys to my chin” Jack added, earning him a bitter chuckle from you which made him smile through the embarrassment.

“S’not so bad. Rather be in here with this one than out there.” You said, nodding towards the door and the chaos out-with it. “I dunno how you manage it, I nearly puked and passed out when Dana hauled me in.” You shook your head in disbelief.

“You get used to it” Jack shrugged. He couldn’t help but feel his heart squeeze at the way your kept your eyes trained on the baby, how delicately you fixed her blankets and little sleep cap.

“Seems you’ve made a friend.” Jack mused as he looked down at the baby, his rough index finger softly ghosting across the little girl’s chin.

That was when you caught it. That particular expression Jack only used for puppies and nieces and nephews. You knew it all too well, and how dangerous it was.

“Don’t.” You quietly yet firmly stated.

“What?” Jack said, looking up at you innocently.

“You’re getting broody.” You warned.

“No I’m not.” Jack argued. “I do not get broody.”

“Yes you do, and yes you are. I know you are, because I can already feel myself getting broody and it’s only been half an hour with her in my arms.” You reasoned. “I dread to think how you feel, you’re a softy when it comes to kids. New borns especially.” You remarked with a quirked brow.

“Am not.” Jack said, his husky voice rousing the baby a little, freezing both yourself and Jack as you waited for her to settle again. “I am not.” Jack said, light and practically wordless as not to upset the baby in your arms.

You sighed and kept a watchful gaze over the little one, your thumb briefly brushing against her tiny forehead and sparse hairs. Jack hated to admit it, but you were right; it was hard for him to not love the idea of you and him with a baby, and the current scenario was only fuelling the matter further. How gentle and tenderly you looked, how his imagination ran away with the image of you loving a baby together and raising it together.

“Where will she go?” You asked, breaking Jack’s train of thought.

“Well, usually after she gets a few urine and blood tests done, and everything comes back in the clear, she’ll be taken in by a foster care program organized by the hospital .” Jack explained, reaching to tuck the baby up a little more into her pink blanket.

“And then what?” You asked. “You guys…just let her go?” You sighed, poorly trying to hide your sad tone.

“Pretty much. Once all the tests are done, we’re no longer required.” Jack nodded, his tender hazel eyes moving from the baby up to you.

“Oh.” You simply said, though Jack could already tell it was weighing heavy on your heart.

“Hey, she’ll be fine.” Jack reassured, his hands reaching out to the sides of your legs and patting you gently. “She’s young, cute, she’ll be snapped up and looked after.”

“Yeah…yeah she will.” You nodded, fending off the stinging feeling of tears as they threatened to gather.

Jack bit his lower lip, contemplating the thought in his head and sighing deeply.

“She is…also available for kinship adoption. Doctors and nurses are eligible.” Jack threw out, his heart picking up a little as he looked from the baby and at you. “We could-“

“No.” You said softly, shaking your head. “I appreciate what you’re doing Jack, but no. M’just…just emotional. Babys do that…puppies too.” You added, much to Jack’s amusement. “Besides…at our age…taking on a newborn?.” You chuckled bitterly. “Unwise.”

“You make us sound wrinkly and senile.” Jack huffed a smile at you.

“You know what I mean” You shook your head and looked back down at the baby. “She needs a young couple, solid and ready, not two fortysomethings taking her in on a whim just because they got misty eyed.”

Jack looked at you and the way your face remained soft with a hint of a smile, all the while watching over the little girl. He looked past your features and to your temple where only a few months ago you had announced the first few gray hairs beginning to crop up at the roots of your scalp. It was a hard truth, but it stood regardless that you and Jack had found one another at an age where certain things just weren’t viable anymore, children namely. That ship had sailed, and both of you were simply content in being aunt and uncle to your family members.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’d be a kick ass Mom.” Jack shrugged.

“You’d be a nightmare as a Dad.” You quirked a brow.

“I beg your pardon?” Jack said with mock offence.

“And as a girl Dad? Forget it, you’d have her locked away until she was forty.” You pressed with a smirk.

“More like fifty.” Jack shrugged, unable to hide his grin as you lightly chuckled at his antics.

Jack continued to look you over. “Hey, look at me.” He said.

You did so, admiring Jack as he angled himself to lean forward over the baby and kiss you, his hand cupping your cheek and brushing his thumb from side to side against your skin.

“I love you.” You said, peppering your mouth with little kisses. “I’d be lost without you. Besides, we wouldn’t have time to look after a baby with how much you spend saving my ass.”

“At the very least you’d be without your keys.” You playfully whispered, kissing Jack once more, as you managed to fish out his keys from your jean pocket and hand them over to him.

“Completely and utterly lost.” Jack agreed with a smirk as he took the keys. “Lemme find someone to take over so you can finally get out of this place.” He said as he turned around and walked to the door.

“Take your time. I’m in no rush over here.” You said as you looked back down at the baby.

Quite the picture…Jack took in the scene before him one last time.

"Now who's super broody." Jack muttered playfully as he opened the door.

"Remember you're making breakfast." You said snidely, trying to maintain a quiet enough tone to not disturb the baby.

"Thanks, maybe later I'm not really hungry."

Jack's head instantly lifts to look at you, with his brows raised. You already know what he's going to say. Something you've heard before, so you speak before he says anything.

"I promise I'll eat later. I just really want a shower right now."

Jack relaxes, but you can tell he won't let it slip your mind. "Promise? Because the 2 protein bars you had during your shift aren't anywhere near enough food."

You nod, going to where he was sitting on his couch. You bend over slightly, just enough to press your lips against his. His hands go to your hips as he kisses you back. When you pull away, you nod. "I promise. Just really want a shower first."

His hand rubs your waist. "Alright, honey."

You leave the living room and go to his bedroom. Grabbing one of his shirts out of his dresser and the extra pair of underwear you keep in your bag for your shift. After Dennis' first day, you've always kept a set or two of a change of clothes, just to be safe.

You enter his en suite bathroom and set your clothes down on the counter, and turning on the shower. You take off your clothes, leaving them on the floor, then step into the shower.

Instantly feeling refreshed as the hot water pours down and hits your body. Your eyes close as you stand underneath his showerhead. Just letting the water run over you for a bit first. You're so relaxed that you don't notice Jack has entered the bathroom until you hear the bathroom door close behind him.

You look through the glass door and watch as Jack wheels his wheelchair further into the bathroom. "Can I join?" He asks quietly in his familiar low voice.

You nod, "Yeah. Was hoping you would, honestly."

He smiles as he takes off his shirt and pants. You watch, shamelessly taking in his attractive body. His large chest and biceps. The freckles that decorate along his skin.

"Enjoying the view?" His voice breaks you out of your trance of admiring him. You step back, towards the front of the show, to give him room to transfer from his wheelchair to his shower bench. You stay standing near the front, but after Jack is sitting on the bench, he motions for you to come closer.

You listen, taking a few steps closer to the bench until his hands land on your hips, and he pulls you closer to him until you're sitting on his thigh. He dips his head against your shoulder as you play with the curls at the back of his neck.

"Well, it was kinda hard not to enjoy it. It's a pretty hot view."

That earns a laugh from him. He presses a few kisses along your jaw and neck. "My view isn't too bad either." Jack's hands run along your body, groping and squeezing your tits in his large hands.

You head tilts back over his shoulder, letting out a moan.

"Jack."

You turn your head until his lips are in front of you. You hold his scruffy jaw and press your lips against his.

"You know." You start, saying in between kisses, before stopping to finish your sentence. "I didn't realize this was a shower bench when I first used your shower." You admit as he continues to caress your body.

Jack's head tilts, both amused and confused. "Oh yeah? What'd you think it was?" He asks.

You plant another kiss on his jaw before laughing. "Don't laugh at me. But I thought it was a really long shelf."

Of course, though he does, you're met with a laugh. "A really long shelf? Seriously?" He cracks another laugh as his hands move across your thighs. "Such a shame you're only book smarts and not street smarts, huh? I mean getting through med school. A breeze. Recognizing a shower bench, though, thats a struggle."

"It's dark in here! And I just didn't realize what it was the first few times."

His lips go to yours, and he kisses you again. His hand travels from your inner thigh towards your pussy. His fingers rub over your cit, then move along your folds before slowly sliding his index and middle finger inside you. He moves his fingers inside you. The hot water from the showerhead adds to your wetness. His fingers move easily in and out of you.

Your lips move against his as he continues fucking you with his fingers. You break the kiss, letting out a few hushed whines and moans of pleasure.

"Jack. Need you in me. Please." You beg.

"What do you want?" He asks, still moving his finger inside you.

"Jack," You whine because you know he knows what you want.

"Say it." he directs quietly.

"I want your cock in me." You say breathlessly. "Please"

He carefully removes his fingers from you and presses a kiss to your temple. "See, that wasn't so hard wasn't?"

An annoyed groan leaves your lips. "You're so annoying."

Jack's eyebrows raise, faking offense. "You're doing a shitty job of convincing me to fuck you, just so you kn-"

You take his cock into your hands, and stroke it up and down, causing him to cut himself off with a moan. You move your hands up and down his shaft. Slowly at first, but gradually increasing your speed. Jack's head tilts over your shoulder as you continue to jerk him off, rubbing his tip with your thumb.

His hand goes over your stopping it. "Sweetheart, I'm in my 50s, and if I cum now, then I'm down for the count."

You let out a small laugh. "I don't know, I think you could manage." You start to move your hand again, and he groans, stopping your hand with his hands once again.

"Baby." He shifts your weight on his lap a bit. "Trust me, I know my limits. 20 years ago maybe. But today, yeah, I'd be down for the count. "

A laugh escapes you. A part of you wants to make him cum, just to annoy him. But the other part knows that he is right.

"You know, they make these little pills. They might be helpful with your situation, as a doctor I'm sure you're familiar with it, Vi-"

He gently pinches your ass to shut you up, and before you can respond, he presses a rushed and aggressive kiss, further shutting you up. His fingers skim across your back and pull you deeper into him. As your lips are on his, he gently lifts your hips, just enough for you to sink onto his cock.

The feeling of him inside you causes you to moan against his lips. You carefully move your hips, rolling them against his.

"Fuck honey, you feel so good," Jack mutters in between kissing your lips.

You moan against his lips as he continues to move inside you. His hand slips between your thighs and rubs your clit.

"Jack…" you moan again, burying your head against his neck.

He whispers your name, caressing your back softly while fucking into you.

"You take me so well, sweetheart. Such a good girl for me, baby." He praises you. His hand moves from your back up to the back of your head that's still buried in the side of his neck, cradling it.

The mix of his cock filling you, his soft low voice praising you, and his thumb rubbing along your clit reduces you to nothing more than a mess of whimpers, moans, and cries of his name.

You continue riding him, while the shower head pours over both of your bodies. Moving your hips with his, chasing your release until it washes over you and your cuming on his cock. Nails digging into Jack's back as he talks you through it.

"There you go, baby. Cum for me." His low voice comforts you as you come down from your release.

His own orgasm happens not too long after yours; he cums inside you with a few moans. His hands squeeze your waist. Both of you are breathing hard.

He rubs your back a bit before reaching over and grabbing his shower gel. "You ready to actually get clean now?"

You think about it. "Can we sit here for a bit first?"

"you're not fuckin' grateful for me, huh? for all daddy gives you?" a harsh slap landed on your ass. "racking up charges to my card?" another slap. "struttin' around in those skimpy little outfits?" your cheek was on fire now. "and you won't even let me touch that tight little pussy." you wriggled against him, kicking your legs, and his arm came down to hold you in place. he hissed in your ear, "settle down. you don't want my cock, is that it baby? you don't need me, huh?" you jumped and yelped at the next spank, extra power behind it. "no, no, daddy, please—" his hand smoothed over your lower back, finally a gentle touch. you relaxed a bit and his hand lightly brushed over your sore ass cheek. "i don't care if you want it or not. you're here for one reason, sweetheart: to be my little fuck doll." as his fingertips reached closer to your drooling pussy, you shook with relief and excitement at the thought of his thick fingers filling you. "you're gonna take what i give you, yeah?" then his rough hand slapped your pussy, sending droplets of your juices flying.

you couldn't remember how many spanks he gave you at this point and wondered if you were supposed to be keeping count. and then before you knew it, he had your face pushed into the pillow with his cock nudging your cervix at a ruthless pace. fucking into you too deep. "you love this don't you, you little whore? knew you would… daddy always knows what’s best for you.” when you moaned at his words he unsheathed his cock so fast it took the breath from your lungs. you felt his weight flop onto the pillow next to you. you whined and turned your aching neck to look up at him. his chest heaving, freckled arms on display as he rested his hands behind his head. "you gonna be good for me?" he said with a devilish smirk on his lips, glancing down at his bobbing cock, coated with you.