In your thirty-seventh week, this secret desire of yours gets even more intense. As Maya said, your baby dropped during one night. When you woke up, you felt it easier to breathe and that something had changed on your pelvis. When you got in front of the bathroom mirror, you saw how your belly was hanging lower. When Maya checked you a couple of days later, she assured that the child was engaged head first and everything was looking great.
You spent twelve more days in this new shape. It made you waddle around, managing the increasing weight of the now lower child and the fact of having her head deeper in your bones. People keep staring at you wherever you go, kind of wondering how a woman looking more than ready to pop is confident enough to keep a normal routine. Every time you see yourself reflected in some store window, you get kind of the same feeling. You also start getting regular Braxton Hicks contractions, which take your breath out for a moment. This, together with the constant need to pee caused by the lack of space left in you, makes the wish of this pregnancy ending turn into a need.
You have to wait, though, until being deep in the fortieth week for your labor to start. The contractions start getting more painful one given morning, coming, at the beginning, thirty minutes apart.
After the third one, you are pretty sure that you might be in labor. You then decide to get a good breakfast and take some more rest, to be ready for what’s about to come. After breakfast, you decide to take a quick shower. Naked in the bathroom, before getting in the shower, another contraction comes. You must take some deep breaths, the pain is manageable but intrusive, and you are excited to see how your belly gets tight.
After the shower, you get out of the bathroom wearing only a sports bra and panties and with your low belly getting out the lightweight robe you are wearing over them. You find Abby getting out of her room, just woken up.
“Abby, good morning, don’t freak out but I’m in labor. I’ve already had about five regular contractions.”
“Shall we make a call to Maya?”
“Oh, no. There’s still time. They are still thirty minutes apart. By now, just get yourself ready, I’m gonna try and get some more rest.”
She comes closer and grabs your exposed belly. Shortly after, without saying anything more, she leaves.
You are side-lying on your bed, trying to fall asleep, but you can’t stop the thoughts coming to your mind. Your life has already changed a lot but, in a matter of hours, you’ll have a little child to take care of. Now, this second chance in motherhood is more real than any time before. These thoughts get blurred when another contraction hits. “Hhhooofff…. hhoofff….” This one is more painful. You grab the cushion your head is resting in firmly with one hand as the other hand goes to your belly. When the tightness fades away, you check the clock. The time between contractions has now gone down to twenty minutes.
The sudden progression of the contractions is concerning. You decide to wait for another one to come to be really sure before contacting Maya, but you also decide to start being active. Abby finds you doing gentle bounces and circular hip moves on the yoga ball.
“The last contraction was twenty minutes apart. If they keep coming closer together, we’ll call Maya.” You inform her.
A minute before the twenty-minute mark, a new wave comes. “A contraction… Oooooooohhhh…” You move instinctively forward, to the floor. In your hands and knees, rocking back and forth, trying to ease the pain. Your belly stays tight around the unborn child for almost a minute, taking a strange shape, almost flat at the sides.
“Alright Mom, I’m calling Maya.” You don’t answer back, still making deep breaths. “Maya? Hi, it's Abby here, Shannon is in labor… Just a few contractions, but are coming quickly closer together… No, her waters haven't broken yet… Yes, so strong. The last one got her to the floor, she made low groans through them…” You need to be part of the conversation with Maya, so after understanding your signals, Abby adds. “Maya, I’m putting you on the speaker, so Shannon can hear you too.”
“Shannon, Abby told me the contractions are strong…” Maya asks you directly.
“Yes, they are not just gentle cramps. I have to focus completely on enduring them once they come.”
“Looks like you are in real labor, but the contractions you just described seem more like the ones you’ll get in active labor. I know it’s odd, but would you let Abby check how dilated you are? It will help me understand where you are in the process.”
“I’ll try to do it myself.” You answer. Abby will do really raw things today, but maybe penetrating her own mother is something evitable.
“Don’t forget to use gloves. Drive two fingers deep in until reaching the cervix, it will be extremely sensitive. Then gently try to feel how open it is.”
You put a glove in your right hand and, while sitting at the edge of the bed, you move it to your pussy. Getting to touch it has gotten harder as your belly grew larger above it, but you manage to get your wrist between your low bump and your slightly spread leg. Then, you push two fingers inside your pussy. Slowly but steady, deeper parts of your canal get opened as your fingers reach their destination. Once you hit your cervix, you let out a gasp, but you fight the discomfort while trying to get the answer you needed.
You get your fingers out and, before your eyes, you open them again as far apart as just have been opened inside you. Looking at the wet gloves, you say to the phone. “It looks like I’m about six centimeters dilated!” You say with both excitement and surprise.
Then a sudden contraction comes. “Aaahh… Ooooooooofffff…..” And a sudden pressure releases in your pelvis as a flush of water soaks the bed and, running down your legs, the carpet. “SHIT! My water just broke! AAAAHHH…” When the contraction is over, you check the clock. “Maya, my water just broke, and this contraction came just thirteen minutes after the last one, please come here, things are going fast.”
“Sure Shannon, I’ll get everything ready and I’ll be on my way there in a few minutes. But you two should be prepared, with the rhythm this labor is progressing and the morning traffic I’ll find on my way, I may not make it there on time. Abby, I know you’ve been learning about the birthing process, now your mother needs you to stay calmed and supportive. Shannon, you know you can do this. You are brave and more determined to have a natural birth than most of my other patients. Trust in yourself, you also know what to do, just remind yourself you're powerful.”
When the call ended, you and Abby stayed in silence for about a minute. This was not the plan, you are getting a bit anxious for the possible unassisted birth that you are about to face. Having a home birth was an experience wild enough even with a midwife to assist but a free birth seems almost crazy. You keep diving in these thoughts as the contraction fades away. Then, while you pant, trying to rest, Abby suddenly steps forward to take some control.
“Well mom, I’m gonna fill the tub for you to face this birth. I’ve read that water might help. Everything will be alright.” She kisses your forehead in a way she had never done before, she is worried about you though she is trying to stay focused, so she is behaving kind of maternal.
The following contractions keep the same accelerated rhythm with increasing pain, so it feels great to sink your body in the warm water of the tub. You lay in it, with your legs spread as wide as the walls allow you to. The baby seems definitely lower now, about to begin descending through your pelvis.
The discomfort of each pain makes you try to find positions to better handle it. You constantly change from side-lying with your back arched, to a semi reclined position with your knees far apart. Though it feels good to be in the water, you don’t like to find your instinct to spread your legs wide to be limited by little space between the walls. Also, when you are facing a contraction, the rapid breathing and the gentle back and forth moves cause the water to get too turbulent for what’s supposed to be a calmed place to be.
Abby doesn’t pay much attention to all your complaints, but she stays by your side, passing a towel over your sweaty face and forehead. Then, suddenly, a new contraction comes just a bit less than six minutes after the last one. This one brings a new sensation, an urge to bear down and push to the pain. You instinctively move both your feet out of the tub, letting them hang from the knees supported at the tub’s edge. Your hands grab your tight belly and your chin goes to your chest. “UUUUNNNNNNGGGGGGHHHHHH…”
“MOM! Are you pushing already!? You can’t!” Abby says when she realizes the change in your response to the constant contractions.
“Hof hof… I must. I need to. This baby is coming!” You reply between deep breaths, recovering from the effort of that first long push.
“Really? Are you feeling it coming?” That question has a terrible answer. In that push you haven’t felt any progress at all.
“No… I have to get back to bed. I can’t do this in the tub.” You consider that you need more freedom of movement to face the following phase of this labor.
The walk to the bed is not easy. Though you do it fast enough to not get hit by a contraction before getting to the bed, the feeling of fullness in your pelvis makes it hard to walk steadily.
Now, being on your hands and knees on the bed, the urge to push comes again. “UUNNNGGGHHHH….” With the gravity by your side, this time the baby begins its descent and it moves down through your bones. “It’s working!” You shout more from the surprise than to inform Abby.
“Alright mommy, you can do it! Keep pushing” She gets convinced that the time to push has come and decides to offer all her support.
The next contraction comes almost immediately after, or at least it's how it feels like. You tightly grab the bedsheets with your hands, but also bite them once the urge comes again. The following powerful pushes bring the baby almost at the exit of the birthing canal. Your pussy bulges in the shape of the head about to be born. And Abby can see it, a little dark teardrop shape in the middle of your folds.
“The baby is here mom! I can see it! Keep pushing, it’s almost done!”
At the next push, your pussy begins to part around the dark shape that’s forcing its way out. Each push and breath you do can be seen in it, as it seems to be beating in and out while slowly becoming larger. Push after push, the shape turns more circular. The painful burning sensation is almost unbearable, so your controlled grunts turn into loud screams. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH…. GET IT OUT!”
“Come on mom, it will be over soon. Just one last effort!”
You can't stand the pain. The baby feels about to fall off from between your legs, but it’s kept in place by your insufficiently stretched pussy. “I fucking hate you! You did this to me!” Shouting at Abby seems to distract yourself from the exhausting labor. It may not be fair but she pays no attention, understanding that your anger is not really true but a result of the pain you are clearly feeling.
“AAAAAAAAAAGGGGNNNHHHHH……” You push again when the next contraction comes. “AAAAAAGGGGGHHHH….. AAAAAAAAAH…. Ahhhhh” The baby reaches full crown and then the head pops out. “Hof…. OH, god…”
“Great mom, you did it! The head's out.”
You drive a hand to the painful spot between your legs to feel it, though it is already clear that something has appeared between your thighs.
“Alright mom, you must not push for the next contraction, or you’ll risk getting the baby stuck”
Easier said than done. The urge to push is more intense than ever, you bury your head in the bedsheets, biting them while doing quick short breaths. The whole baby’s body rotates in you as you feel the head do the same between your hands. It’s the first time you feel something more than pain, you are excited and so proud of your body, you feel powerful.
With the baby ready to be fully born, you give what you expect to be the last push. Your folds, which have quickly closed around the baby’s neck, are forced to be stretched again, to let the shoulders free and the rest of the baby to follow. You push with all your efforts, but it’s not enough and the baby comes back inside once the contraction is over.
“Mom, get upright, let gravity help you. You almost did it!”
Following her instructions, you leave your hands from the baby’s head to help yourself get upright, still on your knees. “I don’t like it. My legs are too close. UUUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHHH….” Your complaints get interrupted, you instinctively raise your right leg, letting it rest just on the foot and you give your last push.
The baby comes out to Abby’s hands with a flush of fluids. Once she has it secured, you let yourself fall to your left, exhausted and joyful.
“It’s a girl mom, I have a sister!”
She gives the newborn to you. You’ve had another daughter. “Look at her, she’s perfect. What do you think about naming her Naomi?”
At that moment the bell rings. Maya has just arrived. Abby goes downstairs to open the door and soon after, she rushes in the room. Apologizing for being late, she checks Naomi and you. After shortly telling her how the birth had quickly evolved, she congratulates Abby for her job and you for your bravery.
She cuts the cord and helps you deliver the afterbirth, then, with no more significant job to do, she leaves, letting you and Abby enjoy the new member of the family.
This pregnancy had a crazy beginning, but the birth has been an unforgettable experience. Despite the pain, you had just what you wanted, a home birth. Even better, and almost unassisted birth with the only help of who had been the only important person of your life.
Even though it may have been risky to not have Maya by your side, you are grateful for having been able to deliver that quickly. You were really worried to face the same birth experience as some other mommies who shared theirs, laboring for a whole day and pushing for several hours just to bring the baby to crown.
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We sit together in our bed, just the two of us in the quiet of the early morning. You trace circles over my skin, your fingers connecting with the muffled, constricted movements of your baby in my belly.
I'm swollen and round, my big belly sitting low. Though my womb is warm and safe, it's growing much too cramped, and it's about time for our baby to come into the world.
The contractions hit fast and hard, and with each blinding ache I bury myself in your warm chest for comfort. You kiss my hair, hold my hand and reassure me the whole way through.
"Oh, god.." I moan. I can feel every stretched muscle constricting down, and I can feel just how low the head is sitting already, the way it settles above the bowl of my pelvis. The sensation is more intense than ever, and I toss and turn in distress.
"I know, I know. It's alright, you're doing so good." You attempt to reassure me. "It won't be long now and then the hard part will be over."
The contraction channels downwards and i suddenly feel a sense of urgency accompanying the pressure. "Ahhhnnggh, fuck, I feel like I have to push!"
"Okay, wait wait wait!" You jump up to reposition yourself between my legs, never letting go of my hand. "Let me check-"
"It's too late, I'm fucking puushhhingg!!"
It hits like a freight train, and by the time you've reached inside to check my dilation, I'm already bearing down. You don't find my cervix, anyway; the slick, bulging forebag of my unbroken waters dams the way through.
"It's coming. Ngggh.. It's fucking coming, I can feel the head entering my birth canal. Oh god, help!"
"It's ok, it's ok! You got this! Just take a deep breath and push!"
I push silently, my eyes shut tight and brow furrowing. I gasp and let got, and then push again.
You move down between my legs to watch, stroking my big belly comfortingly.
"Thats it, good boy. Keep going, while you have a contraction!"
I take a deep breath and the next contraction starts. I tremble and brace through it.
"Good boy.. here, open your legs up for the baby to come."
You gently spread my thighs wider and even without pushing, I feel my hips being opened up from the inside by the pressure of the contraction. I whimper and shake, crying out in pain.
"I feel something.." I reach down and touch the veil of membranes beginning to protrude from my slit. "Oh my god, is that him?"
You slip your fingers in underneath to see how far back the head is. "No, that's just your waters, but that means he's moving!"
I sigh and take a deep breath. As the next contraction comes I start pushing slowly. I pause and breathe, and with each push, the sac emerges from my opening lips.
"Alright, I need you to give me a big one here, alright? Okay, on three. 1.. 2.. 3.. PUSH! Yeah! Big push!!"
I brace and bear down hard with your instruction. "Push push push!"
You watch as the sac becomes more and more taut as it reaches its limit, the membrane stretching thin around the milky fluid within. Just as you think it ought to break any moment, it bursts from just below my clit. I moan at the sudden release of pressure as the water gushes out of my birth canal, surging out through my slit and pooling onto the towels beneath my hips with a splash.
Now you reach inside again and finally feel the head for the first time.
"Good job, there he is! I can feel him!"
I on the other hand am very, very aware of the position of the head inside me. The release of pressure doesn't last, and the tide lurches the head forward to sit firmly inside the narrow of my pelvis. The pain and intensity is immense, I can't even speak through it.
"Hey. Hey." You take my hand. "You need to breathe, long and slow okay? Take a good slow breath for the baby."
I nod and oblige, but it's not long before the contraction returns in force, and with it, the unbearable urge to push. "Nnnghh.. I need him out of my belly.."
"Alright, here we go again." You say, gently running a hand over the bottom of my belly. I'm already pushing, but you continue to reinforce me. "Come on, push push push!"
"Holy fuck! Unfhhhhh- Aaaaghh! Fuck, I have to give birth!"
"You're doing great, i can see hair! I can see the head!"
I grip at my belly as I push. The baby feels so fucking big, stretching me to the bone, unfolding me so agonizingly in its inescapable fate to be born.
"Push! Push!"
My muscles strain, I shake with the effort. Deep in the throes of labour I push, push, bearing down through the pain. The head comes into view but momentarily, and then retreats back inside the moment I stop pushing.
"Keep those legs spread, babe. You can do it. He's coming!"
It's so constant I can't stop. There's nothing but pressure and pushing, through the feeling of that excruciating stretch. I make progress with every push, my pussy opening slowly but surely.
"Nhhhh.. nnnggghhhh.. gaaaaaaahhhh...!" I moan through the pain.
The head begins to crown bit by bit between my legs with each desperate push.
"Keep pushing! Keep pushing! He's almost here!"
The head slowly approaches the crown, having been pushed all the way through my hips and now bulging out my slick, swollen entrance.
"There you go, you're pushing so good! Your baby's crowning, and you're stretching so well.
There's no stopping it now. I gasp and pant, eyes gaping as I'm blinded by the pain. My pussy stretches to its limit around the huge head, and with one more big push, the nose and chin slip out as the head is born into your waiting hands. You promptly check for the cord, which thankfully isn't around the baby's neck.
My whole birth canal is stretched from the inside out around the rest of the body and I feel the shoulders rotate inside me.
I pant and pant for a moment, and it isn't long before the next desperate contraction. Now is the final stretch.
I push and push, the head wobbles between my legs but doesn't budge. The pain and pressure are immense. The stretching feeling is different, deeper, but what I feel is fullness - so much fullness as the baby's entire body transits my body through my pussy.
"Aghhh, fuck, I can't! It's too much! Get him out of me!"
"No, you have to do it. You can do it! You're doing great!"
"I- can't.."
"Take a deep breath. Deep breaths. Now PUSH. PUSH! You have to push your baby out!
"AAAARRRRRGGGHHHHHHH!!"
You push back my thighs with each hand as I bear down, trying to open my pelvis and free the shoulders. Again the head wobbles from the strain but makes no progress towards being born.
"It's stuck, it's stuck!! I can't get him out! Help me, help me I need to birth him!"
You feel around the head and slip your fingers in under my clit and deeper inside. I moan as you finger my poor, swollen, birthing pussy. You don't find the shoulders, like you expected, but manage to hook your finger around an arm.
"Okay, I've got it! Push! Push for me!"
"Nnnnnghh- AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!" I scream in pain as my hole opens wider as I push. This gives you the perfect opportunity to pull the arm free, sweeping it down over the baby's face.
"That's it! He's coming! Come on, big push! One more big push! PUSH!"
I throw back my head and roar, pushing as hard as I can. You pull and pull, and the rest of the baby begins to slide free of my pussy. With a sudden gush the other arm pops free, born up to the waist. I feel the relief wash over me.
I stop for a moment and breathe, the baby halfway out between my legs beginning to sputter and cry. "You did it!" you cheer. "There's our baby, he's finally here!"
I roll my hips and give one more little shove, and the baby comes slithering the rest of the way out. I collapse with exhaustion for the moment, and you gather your crying baby in your arms for the first time.
can you describe REALLY thoroughly how it feels pushing eggs out?
ps. can i be an anon? 🥚 !!
hi honey! of course that can be your tag 🥰
it’s been a little over a week since my last egg birth butttt i can try and explain it from memory 😅
first, i feel like in order to describe the birth you have to talk about the feeling while they’re inside. i typically incubate and birth an entire clutch (or more) when i play so i’m prettyyyy full lol. i don’t have the deepest vaginal canal? and lately i don’t really stretch it besides the eggs soooo it’s a tight fit in there! my record is 5 normal sized eggs and one pretty big one! i have the link to my eggs here! each time i do 3, i can feel them inside of me. anything more than that… it’s a struggle >.< i have to try and stuff more inside even if i’m out of room and that means pushing eggs in side by side instead of one after the other. i always feel them pressing up against my insides and resting there in the pit of my stomach. especially whichever eggs were first—i can always, always feel it ramming against my cervix! >.<
whenever it’s time to push though, it can be so intense!! i typically birth on my back but whenever i birth on my knees or i walk around while incubating, i can feel just how heavy they are and can feel them as they slide down my birth canal >.< i’ve only gone out in public once while incubating and i could feel them shift inside me the entire time, my pussy clenching to keep them inside and the moment i got home it dropped in my panties >.<
but anyways, back to birthing on my back. i usually plant my feet on the bed and spread my thighs, looking down at my belly and bearing down to push from my pussy. it’s so much more fun looking into a mirror/phone, and watching my puffy pussy lips part and stretch as the egg comes into view. i will say though, you can feel them shifting as you’re pushing too and there’s times where one will roll around in front of another and drop first >.< it always makes me squirm feeling them move around inside of me, and i typically jump a little when they finally slip out of me, depending on how much force is behind it lol. there’s times where i’ve sneezed and shot one out of me by accident and it was both parts pleasurable and embarrassing 😅
i think the part i feel the most whenever i push is the eggs pressing against my g spot. you gotta remember, the g spot gets bigger as you grow more aroused and there’s times where it’s so swollen in there it’s a big struggle to get anything in or out! so as i struggle and push and push, i can feel them pressing against my sensitive spots and i, more often than not, squirt as i birth them which is so embarrassing!!
there’s even been many times where the eggs don’t make it past my g spot!! i can push and push until i’m red in the face and nothing budges! so i have to go in with my fingers and press up against my g spot to make room for the egg. i finger myself and push down as long as i can, sliding my fingers along my insides to guide the egg down past my g spot. this is the only thing i’ve find that works when trying to birth after i’ve already cum a few times while being full 😅
but okay, once we’re finally able to birth them they can definitely get stuck at the end whether it be from birthing in my panties, having my pussy pumped up nice and plump, or the egg just being too big. whenever there’s something stopping the egg from falling all the way out, it ends up crowning and stretching me open at the widest point right at my hole so it feels super sensitive 😖
if it’s because the egg is too big, i can feel how much my body is straining to push it out and sometimes you can even see the outline of the egg from the outside of your pussy, showing just how big you’ve got to stretch in order to push it out (i think it’s so hot to see this). if it’s from birthing in panties, it typically gets stuck because of the fabric holding it in and i’m stuck crowning until i can get it to roll around in my panties. if it’s more than one egg, it can get kinda tight in the fabric and the third egg won’t drop until the other ones make room. in these cases, my panties are warm and sticky and it makes me feel so desperate that i’m stuck crowning because i’ve already birthed too much 😖 and with my pumped pussy, that’s just so much fun because my pussy lips get so fat and swollen that it takes some effort to open them up. pushing doesn’t do much once the egg is back down at my hole and i have to genuinely push with force in order to part my swollen cunt open 😖
god i feel so dirty writing this all out like this but it’s genuinely so so much fun to incubate and birth. i love answering any and all questions about it, so if anybody has more, i’d love to talk about it!!!
i cannot emphasize enough how important it is that you should ideally give birth in a fully equipped and staffed medical facility or if you insist on giving birth through an alternative method you should be within minutes of a hospital and i mean under 5 minutes if you’d like me to be really fucking frank
like i can get on board with so much feminist theory and stuff, truly, and i do acknowledge that obstetrics and gynaecology as a field holds blind spots that are egregious (e.g. infant and maternal mortality in the black community) but there is no empowerment in risky birthing practices that our foremothers, and i’m not mincing words, often suffered through. birthing is natural, but it is not “easy” or even “innate”, it is best practiced guided and witnessed by those that know what to do in an emergency. you are not reconnecting to any innate feminine nature by practicing dangerous birthing practices—you are recreating a time when the bodies and lives of women barely mattered and it was expected that death would/could occur at insane and tragic rates.
this is a hill i will spend the rest of my days fighting on because while i am not interested in birthing children myself, i have an incredible passion and interest in the field of labour and delivery. it’s been one of my greatest joys to play even a small part in delivering neonates. i do not want anyone to risk their babies over a deeply, deeply misguided idea of free birth being “the natural way” when natural is not always synonymous with the safest way.
So many people think it's either midwife or doctor. It's not. Have your midwife or doula in the hospital room with you, I promise the doctors don't give a shit. Hell, you can have her do the delivery itself and just have the doctors there as emergency backup! But for the love of your baby, go to the fucking hospital.
yup. a lot of hospitals are willing to work with you to realize your birthing plan as much as they can within safe limits and parameters. my hospital is closely and highly allied with midwives all up and down the coast, with the explicit instruction to call the midwife when we know a labouring patient is about to deliver so we can respect their plan. genuinely, you can have almost any kind of birth you want—just make sure that there are qualified professionals in attendance, and it’s not just midwives or OBGYNS you need. you have no idea when you’ll need a respiratory therapist on call, you have no idea when you will need a blood transfusion within minutes or risk certain death, L&D nurses do not have the same training as NICU nurses if a baby declines rapidly. it’s a literal thousand things that can go wrong and you should be in the best place for them to go wrong.
I highly agree with all of this, I think it’s worth pointing out though that in my experience a lot of women don’t try to have ‘natural’ births or home births in the belief that it will be better due to how natural it is, it’s typically because the hospital experience for many women is so bad and invasive that they do it at home because it feels safer.
My mother’s always gone to the hospital, but I’ve heard plenty of different stories from her friends and their experiences doing hospital births and then switching to home births, and the one unifying factor in all of them is how they switched to home births because of the poor treatment they received while in labour. Hospital staff are often extremely pushy about rushing the birth, pushing a c-section to get it over with quickly even if there’s no medical need for it because they’re in need of the room for other patients, they can force uncomfortable and invasive treatments, and as a whole put the birthing person through a whole lot of medical abuse.
I still agree with your post op, I think the risks outweigh the benefits when it comes to natural vs hospital births, but I do think it’s important to understand where women are coming from to help reduce harm.
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Can you describe what it was like putting the eggs in and them sitting there in you while you were playing video games please? Even your small descriptions of it were so hot
it was sooo good tbh. i could just feel the egg as this constant weight in me, and it was comfy at first but after maybe 15-20 minutes i started getting vague pushy feelings that only got worse the longer i kept it in
when i got up to do stuff it was so so hard to not push because standing means gravity is helping get the eggs lower lol
i kept giving in and doing little tiny pushes that weren't enough to actually do anything, and then when i was ready to birth it i had my legs spread on my bed... but it didn't work so i ended up having to go into a deep squat to really open myself up, and i could just feel the egg going lower until my pussy was bulging out, and then it stretched me wide and it was out <3
I feel at one point you just start noticing how little girl from birth are conditioned into liking the life of the wife and mother down to the point where a common gift for kids who are barely able to use the toilet on their own is literally an infant to take care of as a mother and you are given toys about how great it is to clean and to do shopping and they give you fake make up trousses and are bombarded with stories where the happy ending also includes being married and then as an adult you try to call out how weird and disheartening all of that is and you get swarms of people go. Well what is wrong with romance ❤️ They are being taught at being caring ❤️ Do you hate mothers? ❤️ Let women be feminine ❤️
Imagine a doctor gently encouraging a shy boy to push when he’s in labour.
“Okay my nurses are going to hold you legs back, nice and wide. I need you to push nice and hard for me okay?” The sub nods shyly, face red and exhausted hiccuping and sobbing as he starts to push, voice tapering off into a scream as he crowns.
“Good boy! That’s it keep going sweetheart.”
watching his cunt stretch under their hands as they apply pressure, shushing to slow down a bit, feeling the slow crown as he yells that it burns
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taking screenshots while on ft with sugar daddy!jack abbot to show ur friends who ur yachting for. telling him, oh my friend asked for your number, she said she’d be a sugar baby for you too! while giggling, curled up in his crisp white sheets, right at his side despite him having a california king. he just roll his eyes—his smirk doesn’t go unnoticed though—while his glasses sit on the tip of his nose, playing solitaire on his phone. “give her robby’s number, i’m closed off,” he mutters, taking just a second away from his game to reach over and smack your ass, making you squeal on purpose. “got my hands full already, don’t want anyone else, baby”
(smut) dbf! jack abbot- this is lowkey a wild ask so it's completely up to you if you want to write it or not but... like soft smut where reader is scared of pelvic floor exams. asked jack about pain with penetration and he said he'd examine them if they wanted that. time passes before reader finally agrees, jack coming over to their apartment- let's just say it ends with stubble burns against their thighs.
— I LOVE WILD ASKS please never ever be afraid to send ‘em i really loved this one.
As you had gotten older, you allowed your yearly pelvic exam to come and go. Sometimes you would get the courage to make the appointment and tell yourself this year you’re gonna do it. You’re gonna face the music, anxiety be damned and go get checked out. Then as it inched closer and closer to the date you chicken out and cancel.
You were beyond scared of getting one. You knew exactly why too, losing your virginity had not been nearly as fun as all your friends made it out to be, sex hurt. When you told your girlfriends this they looked at you a little funny and asked maybe he didn’t do it right, it wasn’t exactly supposed to be painful, not the whole time anyway. So you did a few experiments of your own, cause maybe they were right and the guy just i don’t know did it wrong?
You bought a toy, a not too big but average to smaller sized dildo, online as going in store was too much to handle. And one night when your college roommates were out, you tried using it but it hurt just the same, you even tired just using your fingers but that wasn’t much better. From then on for years, you avoided sex as much as you could. All subsequent boyfriends who managed to persuade you into it just told you it'd be “Much better with me trust me baby” and it never really was.
When you bring it up to one of your friends again, they point something out that you had been trying to avoid thinking of. “Hey, isn't one of your dads friends a doctor or something? Why haven’t you asked him about it?” oh that guy. Yeah the one you are kinda a little too attracted to who’s not just your fathers friend but his best friend, who makes your brain short circuit each time he calls you sweetheart? That one. Yeah you’d rather not talk about how sex is painful to the older man, who is the closest person to your father. You just might have to though if you ever wanna actually enjoy sex in your life.
When you see Jack a few days later for your dads weekly dinner night he hosts, you manage to pull him away telling your dad it’s private girly medical related questions, he shuts up shortly after that.
“What's up kid you okay?” Jack asks, concern evident in his voice. You rarely asked him anything medical and he was a bit worried you’re about to ask him how long is it normal for a woman to go without getting her period. “How…” you squeak out. Oh god here it comes. Before you start again you clear your throat. “How um common is, you know pain during sex…” the word sex leaves your lips in a meek and quiet tone, Jack tries his best not to chuckle as to not embarrass you further, but he’s happy it's not the question he was expecting. “Pretty common kid, at least the first time” he explains calmly, his casual demeanor easing your anxiety only a bit. “And how about every time?”
The idea of you having sex multiple times shouldn't be making Jack's chest ache the way it is, you’re a young beautiful girl after all, he tries telling himself it’s only cause it’s apparently painful and he cares for you. This time he straightens up a bit, “if the guys aren’t being rough, it's less common, it shouldn’t be every time” he watches as your eyes go a little wide and shake your head no in response to the first half of his statement. “Have you had an exam lately kid?” This is a purely professional question so it shouldn’t feel as dirty as it does coming out of his mouth.
“I um normally cancel them” Jack can only sigh out in a bit of frustration. “You should really get them regularly sweetheart” he misses the way your thighs lightly squeeze together at the use of the nickname. “I’m scared s’ all, anything going um inside hurts and doctors offices only make me more nervous” you explain. He smooths a hand over your hair, sympathy lacing his voice. “it’s okay i don’t mean to make you feel bad about it kid i swear” “How-” he stops himself, his eyebrows furrowing as if he was debating something in his head. “What?” you prompt, trying your hardest to not buckle at the knees from the way he’s practically petting your head. Physical touch is a quite rare thing between you too minus a few hugs on birthdays or pats on the back. “How about I give you one?’ oh sweet jesus that sounds wrong. He clears his throat, his face a little flush now at his own words but he doesn’t backtrack. “I’m a doctor, that you know, so it’s less scary” “No appointment needed if that makes you more comfortable” as you are processing his words he continues on. “I could do it at your apartment, where ever you feel most comfortable”
Your throat shouldn't feel as dry as it does, but the idea of Jack examining your pussy makes your head spin and slick settle between your legs a little. Maybe you should just see a regular random doctor, not one you have a wildly inappropriate crush on. You leave him with a small “Thank you, I'll think about it” and run off with the excuse of using the bathroom. You leave before Jack that night without much of any goodbye to him, he tries not to dwell on it, he really hopes he didn’t upset you.
You however dwell for days on Jack’s suggestion. Without the underlying nerves you feel because of being attracted to him, it is a good idea. You’d feel far more comfortable, maybe too comfortable being examined by him rather than a doctor you hardly know. You don’t bring it up to anyone as you’re too embarrassed but you think about it for days. When you get a reminder for the last gyno appointment you were brave enough to make, you cancel it without another thought and text Jack.
All he does is thumbs up your message but for the next few hours you are anxious as all hell while waiting for him to knock on your door. You had given yourself the time both to calm down but also clean your apartment. Even though he was literally coming over to give you a vaginal exam and wouldn't care what your place looked like, you wanted it to be neat. Even if this was going to be probably the weirdest event in your life to date.
You are startled out of your train of thought by a knock at the door, you glance at the clock — 3pm exactly. Damn older men and their punctuality or was it a doctor thing? Shaking your head you nervously make your way to open the door, greeting Jack with a little awkward wave. He chuckles softly, the sound calming you as you step back from the open door to invite him in. “It’ll be alright, i’ll be gentle kid” his voice runs over your skin leaving behind goosebumps. You don’t know what you’re more nervous over, the expected pain of the actual examination or, the idea of Jack's hands on you, his fingers in you.
Without wasting much time Jack settled into a semi professional but still comforting balance as he puts down the small bag of stuff he needs on the floor of your living room. You appreciate his effectiveness, as he tells you to sit on your couch facing him. You listen and watch as he sits on top of your coffee table. “This will be a little awkward because we are here and not a hospital, so I don't have a few things sweetheart” he starts to explain. “The no gown won’t be too hard, you have a skirt on so if you could just take off your underwear i can have access without-” he paused a moment as if thinking “leaving you too indisposed” the way he snaps a pair of blue latex gloves on shouldn’t be making as wet as it is, fuck.
“Can-” you stutter out, your face hot but he seems to pick up on what you’re asking, nodding softly he turns his head away to give you some semblance of privacy. Bunching up your skirt you hook your fingers into the waistband of your slightly soaked panties and pull them down your legs. You kick them under the coffee table so they’re out of sight and tap Jack on the shoulder, he shakes his head softly at your shyness before turning to face you again.
“Put your feet up either side of me on the table, won’t be the same as stirrups but close enough” tugging at the end of your skirt to cover yourself a bit more you do as he says and place your feet up flat on the low table. He adjusts them slightly, grabbing your foot one at a time and slides them a bit so they are more half off not so far back. “Scooh more to the edge of the couch kid, lean back ‘n tilt your hips up a lil more f’ me” the way you listen so well to Jack has him smiling softly at you and muttering out a small “Atta girl”
He pressed lightly around on your abdomen through your shirt and skirt, eyes glued to your face gauging your reactions. “No pain or tenderness when I do this, right?” when you shake your head no he stops. “My hand is gonna go under your skirt for a second okay?” your face grows hotter and you nod, your voice has yet to find you again but so far nods are an effective enough communication with him. He reaches down between your legs but only presses around again, this time he is much closer to your pussy but he remains on the outside, pressing over the mound of it and on your pubic bone. “No pain?” Once again your head shakes side to side. His hand pulls away, your eyes follow his movements as he reaches down to grab a small bottle out of his bag.
He holds it but doesn’t do anything with it yet, his eyes find yours again “This next part i have to put my fingers inside, that okay sweetheart?” you gulp softly, nodding yes slowly as your nervousness grows again. “That’s the part that us- usually hurts” you explain in a small voice. It’s Jack's turn to nod now, "Penetration?” you let out a ‘mhm’ in agreeance as he squeezes the clear substance onto his pointer finger. “This is lube to make it easier and I’ll go slow, only one finger” his other hand reaches around your leg to touch the back of your calf, rubbing soothing lines up and down the muscle. “If you’re relaxed it might not be as painful” he explains, waiting on your go ahead before reaching down under your skirt once again.
Pushing his lube coated index finger through your folds the tip of it finds your entrance, he gauges your face, when you nod again he proceeds by pushing it inside.
Your sharp intake of air makes him stop once only the first bend of his finger is inside. “Come on, relax f’ me sweetheart” his low honey dipped voice makes your body go a bit lax, he inches his finger forward again and when you show no sign of pain he goes all the way til it's completely inside. “How’s that kid?” he sounds as breathless as you feel but you try to ignore it. “A little pain” you squeak out. “Give it a second, relax and it might go away”
“Don’t know how to relax more” you whine out, the sound going straight down Jack’s spine and up again, he shivers a bit and wills it away before it travels further south. “I’m gonna try something…do you trust me sweetheart?” you’re already nodding again in response before he fully finishes his question.
Bringing his thumb up he parts the lips of your pussy til it finds your clit. You gasp out and slightly scare him, “That hurt?” “No no m’ sorry surprised me is all” you mumble out, biting your lip to hold in any more noises from getting free, like an accidental moan. Jesus christ why did you think this was a good idea again? If you had to bet you’d say you were soaking his gloved finger, even with the sting you felt from it inside, it felt good at the same time. You never even reached this type of feeling with your own fingers.
His thumb on your clit presses down lightly and starts rubbing in circles, you let out a small little sigh that makes Jack smirk a bit. “There you go honey, come on” “Un-tense your shoulders” your body listens almost instantaneously “Good girl” you can’t help the whimper that comes out at his words, he doesn’t say anything in response. “Feel any better?” he prompts, his eyes remain on your face, no matter how bad he wants to peek under your skirt to watch the way your little bud twitches under his touch. “Mhmm a bit” you answer softly, trying to push away the odd feeling bubbling up in the pit of your stomach.
“Can I put in another finger, we’ll see how that feels?” he whispers, he definitely has enough information that he thinks he knows what’s wrong already but you don’t need to know that. “Yeah” you pant out, shaking your head a little too eagerly, if Jack notices he doesn’t say a word. With ease his middle slips in alongside his pointer, his thumb still circling your clit. “No pain honey?” the motion of your head once again answers his question. “Wanna try something else…can I move my fingers sweetheart?”
“Please” you plead, head to fuzzy to care how desperate you sound. Slowly pulling his fingers back he watches your face as he pistons them back in, repeating the motion. “That feel good?” “Mhm no pain, fuck! feels really good” you whine out, your hips now bucking up against his fingers. He speeds up, still waiting to see if it hurts or if you stop him. “Jack” you moan out, his cock throbs in response.
“Yeah kid?” “Need- Mm” you cut yourself off, pinching your lips in a line and tilting your head back. “Nuh-uh come on honey, tell me what ya’ need” he prompts, curling his fingers up to hit a different spot inside you that has you letting out a pornographic noise you didn’t know you were even capable of. “Need-” you huff out, before he stops you “Look at me when you say it, come on kid” “Use your words”
Lifting your head you look into Jack’s eyes, his breath hitches at the sight of your glazed over lust filled eyes, batting your eyelashes you start again. “Need more” you sob. His stomach just about hurts now from how hard he is in his jeans that feels all too tight. “Yeah? What more honey? Another finger or something else?” he asks, consciences be damned he’s not gonna leave you hanging even if your old man would fucking kill him if he ever found out about this. “Somethin’ else please” you whine, not even knowing what more you want. Jack however seems to when he takes his free hand off your calf and lifts your skirt, his head ducking under it. His fingers don’t stop positioning in and out of your slick cunt even if you squeal a bit at his motion. The noise morphs into a moan, your body melting into the couch when his warm tongue pokes out and makes contact with your pussy, licking at your pussy. “Still feel good kid?” he mumbles out, before his thumb leaves your bundle of nerves only to be replaced by his mouth as he sucks at it.
“Yeah- Yeah feels s’ good” you breathe out, letting go of your skirt, he grabs at your one leg, lifting your foot off the table placing it over his shoulder, prompting you to do the same with your other before his fingers slip out of your pussy.
You whine at the loss, “Jackkk” making him chuckle softly against you. “Hang on sweetheart” he coos as he uses both hands to grab at your hips, pulling you up and half way off the couch to get you closer to his mouth, lapping at you hard splitting your folds with his pointed tongue before sucking at your clit. “Ah- Ahhh ooh fuck” you wail out, your hands frantic to steady yourself. One finding purchase on his shoulder before sliding down his back under his shirt where your nails scratch at his skin. The other holding on for dear life to the edge of your couch cushion, your legs tighten a bit around his head.
“Holy shit” you whisper out in breathless disbelief, the odd feeling from before coming back to quickly build in the pit of your stomach. Jack's large hands cupping your waist squeeze at your flesh, as he shakes his head side to side a little, flattening his tongue against you. Your thighs burn a bit at the friction of his stubbly face rubbing against them. He moves back to harshly sucking at your clit, your pussy and his mouth coated in his spit as he practically slurps at your juices.
“Huu- shit” “Wait wait! Jack- mhm feels like m’ gonna pee” you try pushing at his head to stop him, even if you desperately didn’t want his mouth off you. That feeling in your stomach was teetering on the edge. “Ya’ don’t have to pee sweetheart, that’s a orgasm you feel” he grumbles out, the explain making your hand ease up from pushing instead it rakes through his curls “S’ okay cum for me kid”
“Promse s’ okay” you whine out, staring down at his head between your legs. “Yeah, you can do it” “cum f’ me it’s okay honey” "Promise it’ll feel good, no pain” his reassure is all you need to let your high wash over you, legs shaking on his shoulders, “There we go, fuck” he moans out. Your back arching as you cum on his tongue with a loud wanton moan filling your apartment coupled with his praise, “Atta girl, sweetheart” “Such a good girl f’ me” he laps at your cum. “Taste so fucking sweet, like i knew ya’ would” he mumbles out, that one you think was meant more for himself.
Managing to reluctantly pull his head from between your soft thighs, Jack used his hold on your hips to place your body back onto the couch. You stare at him wide eyed when you notice his face all wet, covered in you. “Got somethin’ on my face kid?” you nod meekly. He chuckles and pinches at the collar of his shirt to bring it up and wipe at his mouth. “No pain after?” he asks. “No, never done that before” you whisper out, flicking your head down to where your skirt now covered your puffy but satisfied pussy.
“Just needed an older man huh sweetheart, help ya’ relax a little and the pain melts away” he states, reaching down to rub at your knee. “Fucking little boys” he tsks but your eyes are glued to the large bulge in between his thick thighs. You’d have to be extra relaxed to take that monster on…
— would the position jack eats you out in, be at all comfortable for that old man's back? fuck no and lowkey it’s a hard to physically imagine it but jack’s strong s’ fineeeee i got a little too lost in sauce when writing clearly oops…this was also only like half proofread.
in which jack gives you unsolicited advice on vibrators and how to use them.
genre: smut!! 18+ mdni!!!
(a/n: can't sleep, feeling weird. deciding to write to get my mind off things. sorry it's kinda filthy lol what can i say.)
You were running on four hours of sleep and weeks of agonizing physical frustration. So yes, technically, sitting in the breakroom with a tab open to a high rated silicone toy review page wasn't ideal workplace decorum. But you were on your break. Off the clock, tired, frustrated, and researching every available avenue to make something happen.
"That one’s no good."
You froze, every muscle locking up. You slowly turned around to see Jack leaning over, eyeing your phone screen.
Before you could scramble to lock your phone or throw it across the room, Jack gave a casual, unbothered shrug and walked right out the door.
The rest of the night was psychological torture. Back on the floor, Jack acting like he said nothing. Not a smirk. Not a lingering look. Nothing. By the time you clocked out, you were convinced you’d hallucinated the entire breakroom encounter.
…
Two glasses of wine later back at your apartment, unwinding on the couch and feeling comfortably tipsy, your phone buzzed on the coffee table.
Jack: I can make some good recommendations for you.
You snorted into your glass, staring at the screen. The wine gave you a reckless surge of courage, and your thumbs moved before your brain could filter them.
You: you gonna show me how to use it?
His reply came back within seconds.
Jack: Yeah. My place tomorrow?
…
So that’s how you were here. On Jack Abbot’s lap, writhing as his thumb guided a small, buzzy, impossibly effective vibrating bullet directly against your center. His hand was around your hip, holding you steady while his hard length pressed hot against you through the fabric of his sweatpants.
"Told you the other one was overrated." he murmured against your neck, his voice raspy.
You let out a breath, hands clutching his shoulders as you rolled your hips into his palm.
"That good?" Jack said into your skin, tightening his grip on your hip as you squirmed against him. "Need you to come all over my lap, sweetheart."
Summary: You’re struggling with feeling beautiful as you get older, and Jack is not amused.
Warning: SMUT(18+MDNI), established relationship (y’all married with teen kids), you and jack are around the same age, jack is the perfect husband and obsessed with his wife, sassy AF dana (love her), pet names, language, alcohol, angst? (low key its just readers internal thoughts being all over the place), insecurity, mentions of aging, mentions of botox and cosmetic procedures, casual dominance (or moreso jack is not gonna let you talk down about yourself), mentions of sex toys, oral sex (m – receiving), praise, dirty talk, flirting, married banter, domesticity, fluff, did I mention jack is perfect!? implied sex (they are gonna have a looooong night y’all)
A/N: Parents deserve hot sex. Ok, real talk, I’ve been really nervous about this one, because I’ve spent way too much on it (pretty sure I started this in November and then paused). I really struggled with dialogue (making Jack perfect takes time), and finally, I spent the last few days wrapping up a scene I was super stuck on. dividers as always by @saradika-graphics.
Jack’s brother was recently divorced and was dating a 25 year‑old, and he had invited her to Robby’s cookout event. You really did try to connect with her. There was nothing wrong with her at all; she was smart, kind, beautiful, and genuinely lovely to be around. But every time you talked, you couldn’t shake the quiet little voice in the back of your mind whispering that she probably thought you were so old. Not in a mean way—just in that unbridgeable, generational gap way that made you suddenly aware of every reference, every memory, and every piece of life you lived before she was even born.
You grew up during one of the most chaotic, colorful, and culture defining periods. It was objectively the best of times. You remember MTV when it actually played music videos, not just endless reality shows. You lived through the TRL era, counting down the top hits and feeling like you knew every artist personally. Bad fashion was a big part of your life too… wearing glitter gel, butterfly clips, chokers, tube tops, and low-rise jeans without shame. You watched Titanic in theaters when it was a phenomenon (not a meme), and you absolutely remember sitting there thinking, Seriously, Rose? You could’ve scooted over an inch. Jack could’ve fit on that damn dresser.
You remember the boy bands fighting for space on every radio station and lived through the full pop‑princess explosion. You were there for the golden age of R&B and hip‑hop, with artists like Aaliyah, and Tupac defining the scene and pushing boundaries. You watched teen TV explode with Buffy saving the world, and you laughed every single time Jazz got thrown out of the house on Fresh Prince. You cried real tears when Ross messed up in the worst way. Sure, he and Rachel were 'on a break,' but it was still complete bullshit.
You lived through the rise of the internet from scratchy dial‑up tones to full‑blown Wi‑Fi, watched Google go from 'a weird new search thing' to the center of the universe, survived AOL chat rooms, MySpace, and watched Facebook launch. Your childhood included witnessing historic moments like the fall of the Berlin Wall, the O.J. trial as a middle‑schooler, Columbine as a teen, and the Y2K panic as a young adult—when everyone thought computers might explode at midnight. And as you grew into adulthood, the world shifted…more dramatically when 9/11 happened. You were old enough then to understand the weight of what was happening and to feel everything change in real time.
You and Jack had lived enough life for your twins to swear you were ancient, yet ironically they thought you were super cool for still having all your original game consoles. They and their friends definitely played with them every chance they got.
You didn’t feel your age at all, but your body loved to remind you every chance it got. Recently, you had really been noticing the fine lines and wrinkles around your eyes and mouth. The laugh lines that once brought you joy now seemed like a sign of aging you couldn't escape. You thought about the cuts and bruises that seemed to take longer to heal now, the grey hairs that stubbornly would appear despite your best efforts to mask them by dying your hair and getting highlights. You knew that you were at a different stage in your life, a stage that came with its own beauty and grace. However, seeing young girls with their flawless skin and toned bodies seemed to mock your own imperfections.
So when Dana drifted over, plate in hand, and nodded toward Jack’s brother and his new girlfriend, you knew exactly where this was going. Dana never tiptoed around anything—years in the ER had carved her into a straight‑shooter with a dry wit sharp enough to cut through steel. You’d known Dana for about ten years now, since you, Jack, and the kids left Boston after he got the job offer at PTMC.
"Let me guess," she muttered, eyes narrowing just slightly. "He’s in love."
You tried not to say much. Who were you to judge their relationship? Sometimes age gap relationships worked, sometimes they didn’t, and it wasn’t your place to weigh in—especially not here, where your kids were not so far away, and had no business overhearing adult commentary about their uncle’s love life.
Dana watched your careful silence and huffed a small, knowing breath. "Relax. I’m not asking you to spill family secrets. I’m just saying…it’s predictable." Her tone was blunt, but not rude. Just Dana being Dana…and very allergic to sugarcoating.
You shrugged, keeping your voice neutral. "They met at work."
Dana rolled her eyes. "Of course they did. They always do."
"What do you mean?" you asked, since you knew that Dana didn’t gossip, but she also didn’t pretend not to see what was right in front of her. Then she leaned in just slightly, lowering her voice. "Robby’s dating a resident."
You nearly choked. "What? Who?" Dana didn’t answer right away. Instead, she tilted her chin toward the cluster of residents gathering near the grill. "Her." Your eyes followed her gesture, landing on a young woman laughing with a group of interns.
"He’s in love," Dana said, repeating her earlier line with thick sarcasm. "That’s all I’m saying." Then she made a zipping motion across her lips. "Secret."
"Does Jack know?"
"Yeah. Probably," Dana said with a shrug.
Why hadn’t he told you?
More residents started drifting into the yard, conversations rising and overlapping as the cookout filled out. You tried to stay focused on Dana, but your attention kept snagging on one person in particular.
Dr. Mohan.
You hated that you’d been aware of her presence for weeks. She was in her late twenties and beautiful in that effortless, unfair way that youth seemed to just fucking provide. She was sharp, confident, and competent, which were all qualities that made her stand out. She was also a doctor who worked with your husband every single day, spending hours with him during long shifts and late-night consults. But more than anything, she was the resident he talked about the most because he admired her work ethic.
You knew she viewed him as a mentor, and you genuinely believed that. But sometimes, in the quiet corners of your mind, you couldn’t help but wonder if she also appreciated what your husband looked like. You weren’t fucking blind…your husband was fine as hell, and he’d aged like the kind of man who only got better with time. Part of it was genetics, but a lot of it was the way he lived. He was ex‑military, disciplined to his core, the kind of man who still woke up early without an alarm and actually liked going to the gym. He took care of himself, stayed strong, stayed sharp, and it showed in every line of his body and every bit of that handsome face. You remembered when he’d been self‑conscious years ago about the grey coming in, and you’d had absolutely no problem showing him just how much it drove you wild. It was honestly unfair how good he looked for a man that was the big 5-0.
And the world noticed. The patients at the hospital definitely noticed. Sometimes, the moms at school would look at him with 'fuck me' eyes that it seemed like their pussy’s were practically melting. And as for younger women? They didn’t even bother being subtle. More than once, you’d overheard someone blatantly call him a DILF, much to your daughter’s absolute horror. She’d practically melted into the floor the first time it happened.
So when Dr. Mohan spotted Jack across the yard and lit up with a bright smile, your stomach tightened. Her skin seemed to glow without trying. No dark circles. No exhaustion etched into the corners of her eyes. She walked straight over to him, greeting him warmly, and the two of them slipped into easy conversation. You didn’t want to be the wife who started side‑eyeing every young, pretty coworker… but here you were, margarita in hand, downing the entire thing in one go.
"You trying to get a hangover?" Dana’s eyes tracked the empty glass as you set it down a little too firmly.
"Hydration is overrated," you muttered, reaching for the salt rim with your thumb like you could somehow lick your dignity back into place.
"Yeah, well, so is vomiting in public."
"I’m not drunk."
"Yet..." she said, folding her arms.
"Ha-ha."
"You only drink like that when something’s chewing on you."
"It’s a cookout," you said, shrugging. "I’m just… relaxing."
"Rough week at work?"
"Long week." It was honest, maybe more than you intended it to be, and it felt heavier than you expected. Working as a PT meant putting in long hours every day. There were always stories to listen to and lists of people who needed your patience and positivity, even when you were running on empty. This week, all of that had finally caught up with you, leaving you completely drained.
"What do you think it is?" you asked, eyes locked on Robby and his new companion.
Dana followed your stare, then looked back at you. "What?"
"Why men," you said, lowering your voice but not your irritation, "…when they hit a certain age, suddenly decide a woman twenty or twenty-five years younger than them is their soulmate."
"Could be a dozen things," Dana said. "Ego boost. Panic about aging. Wanting to feel relevant. Sometimes it’s about control. Sometimes it’s about novelty. Sometimes it’s just plain old insecurity dressed up as chemistry." She took a sip of her drink, eyes still on you. "Or," she added, "maybe they just like being admired again. And having something shiny."
"Hmm."
"And… sometimes it is the real deal." She shrugged, thoughtful. "Robby’s 54. I hope he finds his person soon, honestly. I really do." Her voice wasn’t judgmental…just tired, and maybe a little protective. You looked back at Jack and Dr. Mohan again, the two of them still talking, and you must’ve been staring harder than you realized, because then Dana’s voice cut in.
"Just because some men chase shiny things doesn’t mean they all do," Dana gently bumped your arm gently, as if to offer some silent reassurance.
Jack drove with one hand gripping the steering wheel, while his other rested warmly and solidly on your thigh. Every so often he’d reach over, catch your hand in his, and lift it to his lips to press a soft kiss to the back of it. He and your son were caught up in a lively sports debate, voices bouncing back and forth with a kind of enthusiasm that only they could sustain after a long day. They discussed stats, players, predictions, and they were so engrossed that you lost the thread about thirty seconds in. Still, the sound of their voices was familiar and soothing.
Meanwhile, your daughter was curled up in the backseat, completely absorbed in her book. You had no idea how she managed to stay so focused. You’d always admired that about her because you couldn’t even glance at a text message while the car was moving without feeling nauseous.
Suddenly, your son’s phone vibrated, cutting through his conversation with Jack. He glanced down, grinned, and immediately twisted in his seat to show the screen to your daughter, who immediately abandoned her book to lean in. Whatever teenage drama he had pulled up made her snort with laughter and shove his shoulder playfully. The two of them then slipped into their own little world.
"Hey," Jack said quietly, just for you. "You’re awfully quiet over there."
You turned towards him, pulled from your thoughts. "I’m just tired."
"Yeah?" he murmured with quiet concern. His hand slipped from your thigh and came up to the back of your neck, his fingers warm as they rubbed gently at the tense muscles there.
"Dad," your son said, still scrolling, "Manuel’s having a bunch of guys from the team over tonight to celebrate the end of the year, so I’m probably just gonna spend the night. Can you guys just drop me off?"
The school year had just ended, and the twins had just finished their junior year. Time was flying, and this fall they would be applying to colleges, which felt surreal. Your son was a wonderful soccer player, so senior year would be critical for him, and he had a strong chance at receiving a soccer scholarship since he had already caught the eye of college scouts.
"Who’s going?" Jack asked, eyes flicking to the mirror.
"The usual," your son said.
"A bunch of the guys?" you repeated, lifting your hands to make air quotes around the phrase. "Are you sure it’s not a party?"
Your son groaned. "Okay, first of all, you’re using the air quotes wrong. You’re supposed to use them on one word, not the entire sentence." He shook his head dramatically. "Secondly, his parents will be there, so no, we will not be partaking in booze or drugs. At least not tonight," he added with a smirk.
Jack shot him a deadly look in the mirror. "Not funny," he grunted, in a way that shut down the joke instantly. Jack usually didn’t sweat the kids having a social life, never hovering, never butting in about who they hung out with or their late-night group chats. But because of the things he’d seen in the ER, the things he’d had to treat and sometimes couldn’t fix, he was also fiercely protective. Anything even faintly related to drugs or alcohol made him tense up. One minute, he was the relaxed, joking parent; the next, he was all sharp edges and quiet authority, the kind that came from years of watching preventable tragedies roll through trauma bays at 2 a.m.
"Oh yeah," you said, leaning back in your seat, "because high school 'gatherings'"—you exaggerated the single air‑quoted word—"are known for their sophisticated mocktail menus and engaging discussions on sobriety."
"Yeah, Mom, it’s gonna be super intense. We’re planning this deep philosophical debate on whether Gatorade counts as a performance enhancing drug," you son said, continuing his bit with you and playfully teasing back. He had definitely inherited your husband's sarcasm.
"Sure, bud, we’ll drop you off. Sounds like you boys will have fun," you confirmed.
Your daughter snorted, burying her face in her book again. Jack’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, softening instantly when they landed on her. "Hey, honey," he said, his voice shifting into that gentle tone he reserved only for her. Your daughter was his princess—always had been. She could do no wrong in his eyes, and honestly, you’d gotten lucky with her. She was responsible, thoughtful, and somehow managed to be a teenager without giving either of you ulcers.
"You still going to the movies with Sonia tonight?" he asked.
She looked up from her book, nodding. "Yeah. We’re gonna eat first and then head over." He hummed in acknowledgment, and she went right back to reading. Jack pulled into Manuel’s neighborhood about 10 minutes later, and Jack squeezed your thigh before slipping his hand away and stepping out of the car with your son. He always did the drop‑off properly, never just letting the kids tumble out and disappear. You watched Jack cross the short stretch of driveway, greeting Manuel’s parents who had just opened up the door.
Your son was already halfway inside, calling a quick "Bye!" over his shoulder, which earned him a pointed look from Jack that made him double back to wave properly. "Love you!" he called, this time directing it at you with a real smile before disappearing into the house, swallowed by the noise of teenage boys. Jack jogged lightly back to the car, slid in, and shut the door with a soft thud.
Back home, your daughter hopped out almost before the car stopped, ponytail bouncing as she jogged up the steps. A second later she darted back out, sweater in hand—except it wasn’t hers. It was unmistakably yours, the expensive cashmere knit you had recently purchased. She tugged it over her head as she passed you, already halfway to the driveway again. "Thanks, Mom," she chirped in that sweet, practiced voice she used whenever she wanted to avoid being interrogated about borrowing your clothes.
You raised an eyebrow, but she was already walking towards the shared car she and her brother used. Jack had wanted to get each of them their own car the moment they turned 16. They were going to be 17 this fall. Honestly, you could have done it; financially, it wouldn’t have been a stretch. But you were trying to raise kids who didn’t expect everything to be handed to them on a silver platter. It was a delicate balance. You’d grown up with so little that giving to your children felt almost like breathing. You and Jack loved spoiling them (well mostly Jack). You loved watching their faces light up when they received something special, and you cherished the opportunity to offer them the things you’d never had. Yet, at the same time, you wanted them to stay grounded. So, the compromise you arrived at was sharing one car. They had to alternate, negotiate, and learn to plan ahead, and in doing so, they grew a little more responsible every day.
She tossed her book into the passenger seat of her car, checked her phone, and called out, "Sonia’s already on her way—I’ll be back by eleven!"
Jack leaned out the window a little. "Seatbelt," he reminded, gentle but firm.
She rolled her eyes in that affectionate teenage way, then jogged back over to the driver’s side, leaned down and kissed Jack on the cheek, then crossed to your side and pressed a quick kiss to yours too.
"Love you both!" she said, hopping into her car and buckling up before pulling out of the driveway.
Jack locked the car while you followed him up the walkway, and as the door clicked shut behind him, the quiet of the house wrapped around you. Inside, Jack barely made it three steps into the house before veering straight toward the couch instead of the entryway bench. The shift in his gait was subtle, but you knew him well enough to recognize it instantly—his prosthetic was bothering him. Probably had been for a while, and he just hadn’t said anything with the kids in the car.
He lowered himself onto the cushions with a quiet exhale, already reaching to unclip the socket. You were moving before he even asked, crossing to the cabinet where you kept his extra balm. By the time he eased the prosthetic off and set it beside him, you were kneeling at his side with the jar in hand. You scooped a bit onto your fingers and gently worked it into the irritated skin, slow and careful, the way he liked it when the spot was tender. His shoulders softened almost immediately, the tension easing out of him as your touch soothed the pressure point.
When you finished, you grabbed his crutches from where they leaned against the wall and brought them over. He took them with one hand and reached for you with the other, pulling you in just enough to press a warm, grateful kiss to your lips.
"Thank you, baby," he murmured.
You brushed your fingers along his arm in response before heading for the stairs. Halfway up, you were already tugging your shirt over your head. By the time you reached the bedroom, you were shedding the rest and kicking off your jeans, unclasping your bra, letting everything fall into a small pile on the floor.
As you stepped into the bathroom, the overhead light flickered on automatically. You caught sight of yourself in the mirror. It wasn’t that you didn’t recognize the woman staring back; rather, you suddenly saw her so clearly. You noticed the faint stretch marks at your hips and the way your stomach wasn’t as flat as it used to be. Lower down, barely visible unless you looked closely, was the thin line of your cesarean scar, tucked beneath your pubic bone, yet tonight it somehow felt more noticeable.
Steam filled the bathroom as you stepped under the hot water, letting it beat against your shoulders until your muscles finally loosened. The shower was the one place you could hide for a minute—no kids, no noise, no mirrors. Just heat and the hope that it might wash off the heaviness clinging to you.
A few minutes later, you heard the bathroom door open, and Jack’s familiar footsteps and crutches moving closer.
"My love," Jack called over the sound of the water. "What do you want to do for dinner tonight?"
You pushed wet hair back from your face. "Honestly? I’ve got a headache. I’m not really hungry."
There was a brief pause, then the shower door cracked open just enough for him to peek inside. He wasn’t trying to invade your privacy, just checking in because that’s what he did. You startled at the sight of him, instinctively crossing your arms over your chest. You didn’t even know why since he had seen you naked like this a million times…but your reaction was immediate, almost panicked.
Jack froze, his eyes widening in a way that wasn’t harsh, but definitely hit with more force than you expected. If anything, there was a flicker of something almost like hurt there, quickly swallowed by concern. He didn’t step closer or push the door open any farther; he actually eased back half an inch, like he was trying to give you space without making a big deal of it.
"Sweetheart, look at me for a second. What’s going on?"
"Nothing," you replied quickly, lowering your arms. "I think I just had a little too much to drink at Robby’s. That’s all."
He studied you through the steam, his brow furrowing. "Are you sure?"
"I’m fine," you insisted, forcing a small smile. "Just going to take some Tylenol and try to sleep early."
"Tylenol’s fine, but I want to know what you’re actually feeling. Is it just a headache? Or are you feeling any nausea? Any vision changes?"
Having a doctor for a husband meant concern was Jack’s default setting. He couldn’t not assess. He couldn’t not worry. He kept scanning your face for clues, and so to ease his concern, you leaned forward just enough to press a light kiss to his mouth. Warm droplets from your hair and eyelashes landed on his cheeks and nose. You reached up and brushed your thumb along the water on his cheek. "It’s just a headache, Dr. Abbot," you said, letting the teasing edge into your voice.
A small sense of relief washed over him, just a hint of it. His shoulders relaxed slightly, and the tension between his brows eased. You reached out and gently cupped his cheek, and he leaned into your touch. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and he tilted his head enough to press a slow kiss into the center of your hand.
"You know I worry. Especially when you don’t look like yourself.
Something in his phrasing hooked into you before you could stop it. You don’t look like yourself.
You knew what he meant. You knew. He meant tired. Off. Withdrawn. Not your usual energy. That seemed like the logical explanation. Yet, somehow, your mind twisted the meaning, distorting it into something else.
You don’t look like yourself. Meaning what? Older? Less put‑together? Less… attractive?
Fuck, you hadn’t been working out the way you used to. Between the kids, work, the house—your routine had slipped. And you’d told yourself it was fine, that you were fine, that Jack didn’t care about any of that. But the second his words brushed against that raw place inside you, your mind went spiraling somewhere else entirely.
Perhaps you really didn’t look quite like yourself lately. Maybe you did appear a little older, more tired, worn down in ways you hadn’t really noticed until now. Once that thought crept in, other doubts and ideas started to follow.
Maybe it was time to do something about it. Not necessarily for Jack (at least, that’s what you told yourself). A spa day sounded tempting…maybe a facial or some kind of treatment to help you feel refreshed again. Something simple, but effective. Or perhaps, in a way you’d never seriously considered before, maybe a little Botox wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Some of your friends were doing it, swearing it wasn’t about vanity but about feeling like the person they still believed they were inside.
You’d always brushed off the idea, but now, it seemed like maybe you could use a little boost. Just something to help you look a bit more awake, a little more like yourself. It was a small step, perhaps, but one that might make a difference. Though you drew the line at that filler bullshit because one mom at the kids school had her face so botched with it, she looked completely unrecognizable and fucking insane.
You didn’t even notice you’d fallen silent until his voice pulled you back.
"Baby? Where’d you just go?"
You blinked, suddenly brought back to the conversation, the warmth of his face just inches from yours. His voice was gentle, cautious—like the way he’d speak to patients who were dissociating or drifting away. And for some reason… it was pissing you off. It felt like he was 'handling' you instead of just fucking talking to you.
"Just—" you hurried to say, a bit too quickly. The word sounded sharper than intended, clipped and jagged at the edges, "let me just… finish up. I’m not dying, Jack."
You shut the shower door on him, just firm enough that it created a thin barrier between you and the look on his face. The glass fogged almost instantly, blurring him out, and somehow that made everything worse. You wanted to cry, and the pressure sat right behind your eyes, hot and insistent. But he was still right there, just a few feet away, so you refused to make a sound. You heard the faint shift of his weight and the soft scrape of his heel as he stepped back. He lingered for a heartbeat on the other side of the fogged glass, and you could tell he was caught between staying and giving you space. Then the bathroom door opened with a muted click, and his footsteps faded down the hall.
A few tears finally slipped free, and a small, broken sob escaped before you could stop it.
You were halfway through getting dressed when you finally checked your phone on the nightstand. A handful of missed notifications lit up the screen, but your attention went straight to the family group chat with the kids.
Your daughter had texted earlier:
im just gonna spend the night at sonia’s
Jack had already given his approval in the chat. You tapped a heart on the message, keeping the exchange simple. Scrolling down, you saw she’d sent you a separate message too—just to you, not the boys.
sonia found out her boyfriend’s been DMing some girl…like not okay stuff
she’s freaking out 🥺 why are boys horrible?
What the hell were these kids DMing each other? When you were their age, the most scandalous thing anyone sent was a winky face on their Nokia phones. You thought for a moment before responding.
Oh honey… Sonia can definitely do better. High school boys are basically half‑formed humans. Their brains won’t finish cooking until they’re like… twenty‑five. Tell her this is why we don’t take boys seriously until they can rent a car without an extra fee.
You could see the four messages pop up one after another at a rapid‑fire, which was usually how she texted.
lmao mom please 😭
"half‑formed humans" is sending me. im stealing that
tell dad I’m never dating until im 30
actually no, don’t tell him that, he’ll take it seriously and then cry when I bring someone home
You could almost hear her voice in the messages. She always tried to play it cool, but you knew when she appreciated you, and this was one of those moments. You quickly typed back a heart and felt a warm tug in your chest. Despite the chaos of raising teenagers and all the nights you lay awake worrying, you couldn’t help but feel grateful that your children still came to you with things like this. It made you realize just how lucky you were that you were all close, and that they trusted you and Jack enough to share the messy parts of their worlds.
You padded down the stairs, the house quiet except for the low hum of the microwave. The smell hit you before you even reached the kitchen; it was leftover chicken tikka masala warming up.
Jack stood in front of the microwave with his arms crossed, leaning casually against the counter. You could see that he had put on the prosthetic he typically wore at home. This one was gentler on his limb, lighter, and easier on the skin below his knee. But even so, you didn’t love seeing it on him after how much discomfort he’d been in earlier. You bit back the urge to tell him to take it off right then; you didn’t want to to be a nag. You’d give it thirty minutes, then you’d say something. Jack looked up the second you stepped inside the kitchen.
His eyes flicked over your face, then he smirked, just a little.
"I love you, but you have a very specific face you make when you’re mad at me and pretending you’re not."
"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you earlier," you apologized sincerely, "and I’m not mad at you."
"Okay, not mad at me," he said slowly, nodding once. "But…" He pointed at you with the hand not holding the microwave handle, "…you’ve got the eyebrow thing happening." He stepped closer, eyes narrowing in exaggerated analysis. "And the 'I’m fine but absolutely not fine' posture. Plus, you walked down the stairs like you were trying not to stomp but still kind of stomping." He lifted a brow, amused. "So, no, maybe you’re not mad at me. But you’re definitely mad about something. Or stressed. Or overthinking. Or all three, because you like to multitask."
The microwave beeped behind him, but he didn’t look away from you.
"Seriously," he asked, walking towards you, staring down at you, and rubbing soothing circles over your arm, "what’s up?"
"It’s not important," you said, trying to look away, but he gently guided your chin back toward him.
"Use your big girl words."
"Why didn’t you tell me that Robby is dating that R2?"
He looked at you with a mixture of surprise and something that almost resembled guilt, his eyebrows lifting slightly as he hesitated before answering. You could tell he wasn’t entirely sure how to respond, maybe caught off guard by the question or unsure if he should reveal what he knew. You crossed your arms, feeling a twinge of disappointment and hurt bubbling up inside you.
"I didn’t keep it from you on purpose. It’s just… recent. And they’re not exactly broadcasting it. It felt like it wasn’t my news to tell."
You let out a frustrated breath. "So basically your best friend and your brother—the two people you’re closest with—are both fucking hot young girls?" Jack blinked in surprise at your outburst, and his mouth parted slightly as if he’d just walked into the middle of a conversation he didn’t realize he was having.
"Whoa—okay," he said, hands lifting slightly in a slow down gesture. "I’m gonna need a map for how we got from point A to… whatever point this is." You kept going anyway, the words spilling out faster than he could catch them.
"And I swear," you continued, throwing a hand in the air, "every time I visit you at the hospital, the residents are just getting younger and younger and younger."
"O-okay?" he said, completely perplexed.
"I just… I feel old, Jack. I feel like I’m aging in fast forward. Menopause is around the corner, my body doesn’t look like it used to, and I don’t feel…" you hesitated, the word catching. "Pretty. I just don’t feel pretty anymore."
In an instant, Jack’s face changed instantly, as if the ground dropped out from under him. A look of genuine distress washed over his face, as if the very thought of you not feeling pretty pierced him deeply and caused him pain. He opened his mouth, perhaps to say something comforting or to respond in some way, but before he could get the words out, you pressed on, the momentum of your words carrying you forward without pause.
"And you have these gorgeous young residents like Dr. Mohan that are fucking brilliant," you blurted, gesturing vaguely. "And I know it’s ridiculous, but some days I just feel invisible to the world. Like I’m just… fading into the background because I’m not in my twenties anymore. I miss 2005. I miss feeling like I am the young one in the room." Your head began to throb, so you pinched your nose and closed your eyes. "Fuck…I don’t recognize myself sometimes… so yeah, maybe I worry you could… I don’t know. Fall for someone like her."
"Okay, I gotta stop you right there," he lifted a hand, cupping your cheek gently, his thumb brushing your skin. "Because I’m married to the sexiest woman who brought me back to life after the worst thing that ever happened to me."
He rarely referenced that time so directly. And suddenly, the memory of how you met flickered through your mind—the version of him who’d come home from deployment after being honorably discharged, the man who’d walked into your PT clinic with a new prosthetic and a look in his eyes that said he wasn’t sure he’d ever feel whole again. You’d helped him relearn balance, relearn movement, relearn trust in his own body. You’d watched him fight for every inch of progress. And months after he was no longer under your care, when he finally asked you out, you’d said yes because by then you’d seen the strength beneath the brokenness, the humor beneath the pain, the man beneath the soldier. You finally opened up your eyes again to find your husband looking at you with that intense, fucking eye contact he was so good at.
"You think I’m going to fall for someone because they're young? You think that’s all it takes for me to forget the woman I’ve spent twenty years loving? I chose you. I still choose you. And I’m not going anywhere."
You swallowed at the serious tone in his voice.
"Dr. Mohan is a young physician at the start of her career. I respect her work, but she’s not someone I see through any lens other than professional. I’m her attending. Her supervisor. My job is to guide her, not… anything else. That’s the beginning and end of it."
Pleased to see that your bad mood was starting to fade, he leaned in with a smirk. "And", he added, tapping your chin lightly, "you’re acting like I’m over here high-fiving my brother and Robby for dating girls who were probably in middle school when we started paying our mortgage." You let out a reluctant huff of air—not quite a laugh, but close. "We’ll see what happens with those relationships. I’m not exactly putting money on either of them lasting. But who knows?"
You simply nodded, and Jack’s eyes searched yours, his fingers drifting from your cheek to trace along your jaw. "Listen," he said quietly, "I know getting older feels heavier for women. You’re judged harder, expected to look perfect, and expected to stay young forever. It’s fucking unfair. Men are rewarded for aging, and women get criticized for it. You’re carrying a weight I’ll never fully understand, and I hate that you have to deal with that. I mean look at you—you’re a knockout."
"You don’t have to exaggerate. I know I don’t look the way I used to."
"Excuse me?" Jack’s voice was sharp as he glared at you. "You are objectively beautiful. And not just 'for your age.' You’re just insanely drop dead gorgeous. I have no idea how I landed you. You are so out of my league, and trust me, enough people remind me every day."
You rolled your eyes, ignoring how his brow lifted in challenge. "Did something about what I say sound unclear?" he growled, and you hated the way your belly pooled with heat at his tone.
"No," you mumbled.
He stepped back ever so slightly, putting his hands on your hips. In one fluid motion, he let his fingers linger before giving your ass a light squeeze. "I mean… have you seen your ass?"
"You really think you’re so smooth." The corners of your mouth couldn’t help but lift. "And unfortunately… it’s working."
"Good," he said, before pulling you in for a deep kiss, temporarily silencing you. His tongue dipped inside your mouth for a few seconds before he pulled away, leaving you wanting more. "I love you," he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours with a seriousness that made your head spin. "And… I’m sorry if I’ve been doing a bad job of showing it lately. If you’re feeling this way… then I’ve clearly been doing something wrong."
Your lips parted, but he kept going. "Because if you’re standing here doubting yourself…" he shook his head, jaw tightening with that familiar self blame, "then I haven’t been showing you what you mean to me." You opened your mouth to protest, but he gently cupped your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks. "I’m not saying this to make you reassure me," he murmured. "I’m saying it because it’s true. You’re the most perfect woman I’ve ever known…inside, outside, all of it. And if you haven’t been feeling that lately?" His voice cracked just slightly. "Then I’m a shit husband."
"Jack… no. Don’t say that. You make me feel loved in ways I never thought were possible. You haven’t done anything wrong." You took his hand and placed your palm in the center of his chest, your fingers splayed over his heart. "I just had a moment, and got in my own my head. Honestly, it’s probably just hormones." You gave him a helpless little shrug. "My emotions have a mind of their own lately."
"Are you sure? You can be honest with me. If you feel something’s been off with us… I want to know."
"I’m sure. I promise. If something was wrong, you’d be the first to know. I love you, too. So much."
Jack studied you for a moment, his eyes searching your face the way he always did when he needed to be absolutely sure you weren’t just telling him what he wanted to hear. And when he finally decided that you were telling the truth, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.
"Alright," he murmured when he pulled away. "Then let me remind you of something. There are a lot of perks related to getting older, and we’re about to enter a very fun phase of our lives."
"Oh yeah? What’s that?"
"The kids being out of this house."
"Please. You’re going to cry when they go to college. You’re going to be a mess."
Jack pouted, not even pretending to deny it. "Maybe. Probably." Then he grinned, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. "But I’m also looking forward to more alone time with my wife. More nights like these. More quiet mornings. More dates. More vacations. More uninterrupted sex. More… us."
"They’re such cockblocks," you giggled.
"They really fucking are."
You would be lying if you said you and Jack had the same sex life you did from when you first started dating. Things had shifted, but you still maintained a healthy dynamic. It was harder to have spontaneous moments, and the problem with teenagers is that they had comprehension of what sex is. When they were younger, if they walked in on you and Jack, they didn’t understand what they were seeing at ages three or four…so you could quickly shoo them away. But once they reached a certain age, you and Jack had to get creative, especially since they were night owls, and you two usually waited (or passed out) until they were asleep to enjoy private time in your bedroom. Sometimes it was fucking in the laundry room during a very loud load. Recently it had happened in the garage. And the car. If you were honest, you two started having a lot more sex in public places during dates after having kids. A restaurant toilet could surprisingly feel romantic—and fucking hot as hell.
"Speaking of…" Jack’s fingers brushed against your cheek, a gentle caress that sent shivers down your spine. "Empty house."
Your husband loved it when the kids had sleepovers.
"Oh… I hadn’t noticed," you teased, and your breath hitched as you noticed his eyes flicker down your shirt. Jack leaned forward, pouncing on you and kissing you, and it was messy and all-encompassing. Your lips parted, and his tongue curled around yours, making him groan low in his throat.
You responded by leaning into him, deepening the kiss, your hands instinctively finding their way to the sides of his face, drawing him closer. Jack’s hands found their way to your waist, fingers pressing into your sides as he pulled you in, his hands were hungry, greedy in their exploration. Jack’s arousal was very evident by the tenting of his jeans. Your fingers trailed down his torso, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt, and you could hear the sharp intake of breath he took as you brushed against the waistband of his jeans.
With a rush of adrenaline, you dropped to your knees, hands moving to the front of his jeans, your fingers deftly working to unbuckle the clasp. Jack’s breath hitched, a low growl rumbling in his throat as he pulled back slightly, leaning on the counter.
"Sweetheart, wait."
You pursed your lips, frowning. "What? Why?"
"What about your headache? Your head was killing you earlier," he grunted.
"It’s gone. The shower helped," you confirmed, a playful smile forming on your lips. Your fingers squeezed his thighs, feeling the strength beneath the fabric. "I just want to take care of you," you cooed.
"It’s supposed to be the other way around, baby," he groaned, looking pained.
"Since when do you turn down head?" you smirked, tilting your head slightly to the side.
Jack breathed out a long sigh, nostrils flaring. "I just… want to make sure you’re okay.”
He always, always put your comfort before anything else. And fuck, it was one of the most attractive things about him. Your fingers continued to work his jeans open and pulled them past his hips. "I’m fine. Jack… I’ve been thinking about this all day."
"Oh yeah?" Jack spread his legs a bit wider, clearly getting more used to the idea.
"Yeah," you whispered, pulling his boxers down, as he helped pull his cock free. You wet your lips, tongue darting forward to flick teasingly at his slit, and looked up to find him staring.
"This was all that you thought about?" he taunted. "Sucking my cock?"
You shook your head. "No."
"What else?" he asked, his voice shaky, his fists tightening.
You chewed on your bottom lip.
"Tell me," he growled.
"You using that new toy on me," you admitted, your face feeling hot. You had recently purchased this clit-sucking vibrator that your friend raved about. Her review was literally: Let me tell you, this will absolutely suck your soul through your lady parts and bring you to heaven. You and Jack didn’t use toys often, but whenever you did, it was always an extremely memorable experience. He especially loved watching you use them on yourself.
Jack looked at you for a few seconds, and then finally made a low, dangerous sound. "Well then, you better make use of that fucking mouth so that we can get to the next part." You nodded in agreement and wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, applying a soft pressure as you guided him into your mouth. It was challenging to take all of him at once, but you persevered, your mouth stretching to fit his leaking and heavy length.
He barely stifled a groan, choking out muffled curses. With each movement, you felt more confident, your tongue swirling around him as you slowly took him deeper into your mouth.
"That’s it. Take the whole thing. Just like that," he urged, his voice thick with lust as his hand found the back of your head. "Such a good girl. You’re doing so fucking good."
You looked up at him, moaning at his praise, and then focused your attention back on your task. You hollowed your cheeks, taking him in deeper, the weight of him filling your mouth as you bobbed your head up and down. His hips flexed with each bob of your head, his lips parting as he panted. You could feel the tension building in his body, his thighs flexing beneath your hands as you squeezed them tighter.
"Fuck," he hissed, his voice strained. "You look so good with your mouth full. You—" he gasped when he felt the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat.
You gagged, but you kept going because you loved hearing him like this, the sound of him feeling good because of you pushing you further. You pulled back slightly, swirling your tongue around the tip before sinking back down, taking him as deep as you could manage, with tears filling your eyes, but you quickly blinked them away. The perfect taste of him was overwhelming, and you could feel the slickness pooling between your thighs, the heat radiating from your core.
His jaw clenched. "You’re gonna make me come." He tried to pull you off from him, but you kept going, stretching your mouth wider for him, and winked at him.
When he realized what you were insinuating, a guttural moan slipped from his lips, and he chuckled darkly. "Dirty girl."
You whined, causing your throat to vibrate along his length, which caused Jack’s eyes to roll back, and his head to tip back. His neck was straining as he fucked your throat with a feral grunt while you stroked the parts of him you couldn’t reach with your hand.
"Shit—" he started, but before he could finish, you felt him tense beneath your hands. With a few more deep thrusts, he found his release, moaning out your name and filling your eager mouth with his warmth. You met his hazel eyes as he watched you swallow his hot sticky release down your throat.
Jack groaned, melting against the counter, an arm thrown over his eyes as he caught his breath, and you kindly shimmied his boxers and jeans back on him. You were slowly getting up when Jack grabbed your waist, and he kissed your temple. It was a gentle gesture, yet charged with an unmistakable intensity, then his lips were back on yours, feverish and desperate. His hands roamed your back, fingers tracing patterns, and you melted into him, your hands tangling in his hair as you kissed him back.
You pulled away slightly breathless, and he started trailing soft kisses down the line of your jaw, pausing just above your collarbone.
"Oh shit, your leftovers," the thought hit you when the smell of chicken tikka masala suddenly filled your nostrils, and you realized his food was probably cold at this point.
"Don’t give a flying fuck about that right now," his lips brushed against your neck softly before he pressed a gentle kiss against your pulse.
"Thought you were hungry?"
"I’m hungry for something else."
Your giggled.
"I think it’s time we go play with that toy now," he grunted, his teeth scraping along the curve of your shoulder. You probably had about an hour or so before Jack would be able to have sex with you since he had just come, but luckily, your husband was very skilled with his fingers and mouth and could give you an orgasm…or two before then.
"Better be careful not to strain yourself, old man," you said playfully.
His strong arms grabbed you, and before you knew it, your body was lifted and thrown upside down over his broad shoulders as you got a lovely view of your husband's denim-clad ass as he dragged you to your shared bedroom.
If you liked this, I’ll be writing a prequel series of these two love birds! Find the Masterlist here.
Thanks for reading! I want to be clear that I’m not criticizing age gap relationships at all. Most of the time when I write Jack with a reader insert, there is an implied age gap, even if I don’t spell it out. It makes sense since Shawn Hatosy himself is almost twenty years older than me, and so his characters are in that age demographic. But for this story, I wanted to push myself and explore something different: Jack in a relationship with a woman his own age. Especially since I don’t really see stories like that in this fandom. Age gap stories are fun, romantic, and absolutely valid, but I think writing age appropriate relationships matters too, especially for readers who want to see themselves aging and still being deeply desired. Women are constantly told (implicitly and explicitly) that their beauty and sexiness have an expiration date. Seeing a man in his 40s or 50s still obsessed with a woman his age pushes back against that narrative. And writing a story about Jack, who is devoted to his mid to late 40's wife, and who still sees her as the center of his world, was powerful to me. Also, Shawn being married to a woman his age makes me very happy inside. They are stunning together.
Thank you for listening to my Ted Talk.
Signed,
A woman in her early 30’s (who still struggles with the concept of aging because of the number of ads I get for anti‑aging products, which makes me want to scream)
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: attempting to kill your husband didn't go as planned
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cursing, cnc, choking, mentions of murder, attempted murder, mentions of death, CHOKING!!!, corruption, power imbalance, etc
𝐀/𝐧: shawn hatosy is my new fixation so...........also I'll edit this later maybe i'm extremely burnt out
Having a husband that ruled the world came with its ups and downs. Who wouldn’t want any and everything they ever wanted when they wanted it. Clothes, trips, businesses, parties, it was a glamorous life for a woman like you, but then there was Titus. He was sweet when he wanted to be, but when he got angry, everyone was going to feel it. You tried your best to satiate him. Make love to him when it seemed like he had a rough day, indulge in his occasional drug splurge. yes, yes, never no because when you told the holder of the High Seat no, then you subjected yourself to one of his tirades.
The first few months of the marriage was rough. He wanted to see how much he could get away with. Chester, his father, had never let his trivial stints of power show in such a public manner like Titus did. Titus would begin stupid wars and cease them to win stupid, petty bets. He wanted to build a skyscraper bigger than the one in New York just to trample the record under his leather-clad boots. He even took advantage of being a devotee of Le Bail and caused superstitious happenings just to get in a “I told you so.” To his friends who were oblivious to his involvement with the devil.
As the wife of the man who held the High Seat you did your best to right his wrongs through charity work and hospitality. You became known for donating to foundational causes, building wells across the world, building schools in impoverished places, paying people livable wages, many people didn’t even know you were responsible for the resurrection of the Applachian. You were a saint, aside from your dealings with the devil.
There's no rule about killing a family member.
You never forgot the sound of Ursula’s neck snapping the day of your wedding. When you found yourself alone, or in the dark, you heard it echoing around you. Her face. Her blue lips. It was etched in your eyelids, and everytime you laid next to your fateful husband you were reminded of his bout of strength.
You wondered if you would be able to fight back when he snapped.
Surprisingly, he had never laid a hand on you. He’s subjected you to some harsh, unloving words and petty punishments like cutting off your cards, but he hadn’t hit you, not yet.
The anticipation of when was killing you, and you began to keep your eyes open when he slept next to you. His sleep schedule was so irregular. Some nights you expected to fall asleep before he returned, and other nights he was already in bed before you even made it home, but Titus always made a habit to sleep anywhere you were.
After a long day of consultations and meetings for your next humane project, you saw Titus fast asleep in the master bedroom. He was in his trousers and a t-shirt, laying on top of the covers rather than under. You huffed in annoyance but disappeared into the bathroom to wash the day away. By the time you finished in the ensuite you would’ve expected him to undress and properly go to bed in time with you, but he didn’t.
“Titus.” You stood over him in your night gown. He didn’t move.
The bed was annoyingly small for how big the room is. A california king should’ve been the standard, but he insisted on a queen bed, so he could keep better track of you. You pulled the covers back and got under what you could, half the comforter was trapped by his weight.
“Titus.” You said again, louder.
Titus let out a snore, then lulled his head to the side so he was facing away from you.
“Titus!” You shouted more annoyed. He didn’t move, you didn’t know if he was being an ass or if he was deep in sleep.
In defeat you had to lay ontop of the covers like he did. You turned on your side to face him, angry face ready. But he was still. Had it happened? You placed your finger under his nose. You felt the warm air. Damnit.
There were some nights where you had hoped he would bite the dust in his sleep like his father.
You would have the High Seat. You would make things better.
The next morning at dinner he sat across from you reading a newspaper.
PRESIDENT OF MEXICO IN U.S CUSTODY!!!
“Finally I was sick of that fucker.” Titus grumbled. He coughed a few times and sniffled. Your head jolted up.
“Not feeling so well, darling?”
Titus closed the newspaper and set it on the table. He shifted and took a sip of his coffee from his mug. “I’m fine. Just a little backed up.” He strained against another cough.
“Shall I call-”
“You’re not calling anyone.” He snapped. “I’m busy today and I’m not spending the day hooked up to a machine.”
“It’s good for you. It’ll help you feel better.”
He rolled his eyes and began eating his breakfast. You had finished before him, leaving the table and walking over behind him. “Let me know if you change your mind.” You placed the back of your hand against his neck, then his head. He was warm. Getting sick.
Even those who ruled the world weren’t safe from illness.
Days passed, Titus got worse. He still didn’t want to call his doctor or get set up with an appointment with IV fluids to make himself better. He was determined to beat this head on. You played the caring wife, feeding him cream of wheat with butter in the mornings, soup for lunch and dinner. This carried on for two days before he got pissy.
“I don’t want this shit.” he growled, knocking the bowl of hot soup out of your hands. You hissed when the contents singed your hand for a moment. You stood. “You need something warm and hearty.”
“I’ve been eating that shit for three days. It’s clearly not fucking working.”
You sighed, “I’ll have them make you steak. Rare. But you need to drink the miso soup to help with digestion.”
“I’m a grown ass man. I don’t need help with my digestion.”
Every word he spoke lit another match in your system. He was pissing you off terribly. Keeping out the way, the thing you were best at, is what you did, and you watched him wait for his food. It was late, it was rude to have the chef cooking at this hour, but he never cared.
You mouthed ‘sorry’ to the servants when they entered a few moments later with fresh food for him. Luckily Titus didn’t notice or else he’d scold you for apologizing. The servants left and he started eating. This was similar to most nights when the two of you turned in early. Classical music, you with a book by the fire, him eating his dinner while scrolling on his phone or watching you.
Immersed in your book an hour passed. You had shut out everyone and thing from your senses. Without looking at him you closed your book and stood. “I think tonight you should sleep in-” He was asleep on top of the covers again, this time in his underwear.
You grumbled and walked over. “Titus!” You shouted. He didn’t move. You pressed your fingertips into his shoulder to see if he’d move, he didn’t. “Titus?” You leaned closer to him. He was still. You extended your finger under his nose to see if he was breathing. The warm air caused no shock to your system. He was being an asshole.
“Titus, please.” You huffed, “It’s cold as hell in here.”
He still didn’t move.
You felt yourself getting annoyed again, but this time you weren’t going to sit and take it. Getting in the bed on your side didn’t disturb him at all. Your knees sank into the mattress as you scooted closer to him. He was sick, defenseless, stubborn in his ways, but vulnerable. The frilled pillow found itself in your hands, you leaned over.
The High Seat. You would take him for everything. You’d never killed anyone on purpose before, especially not for something as trivial as this. He was rubbing off on you.
“Titus.” Him waking up would’ve been a sign for you. To not go through with this, to just take the guest room and leave him be. But he didn’t
When he didn’t move, you placed the pillow over his face. You put your body weight into pressing the pillow against his face. He wasnt struggling. You leaned further, knuckles turning white as you put your strength into suffocating him.
Titus’s hand gripped your wrist and without much effort he yanked you down to fall across his lap. Your heart wasn’t in it. Not enough pressure. You lost your handing on the pillow and was faced with a very angry-looking Danforth.
Fuck.
He grabbed you by the nape of your neck and pulled you up, quickly overpowering you. He threw his weight on top of you and pinned you down to the mattress. His hand went from the nape to the front, squeezing you, strangling you.
“You fuckin kidding me?” He scoffed. “I don’t want your shitty soup and you try to kill me?”
You gasped for air and used both hands to hold his wrist, attempting to alleviate the pressure.
“You didn’t think I noticed you shoving your finger in my fucking nose every night?” His grip got tighter and the adrenaline pulsed throughout your body. He was going to kill you, just like his sister.
“Fuck I can’t-” He huffed and released his hands from your neck, but he still hovered over you.
The coughs that filled the room after came from asphyxiation and illness.
“You make your wants so fuckin obvious.” He wheezed. “I knew you wanted me fuckin dead but you had to wait until I was sick?”
You held your neck and looked at him, shellshocked.
“Oh don’t play shocked now, wife.” He tilted his head. “I’m not gonna kill you…if that’s what you’re afraid of. But you will get punished for that.”
His eyes darted to the pearls that rested across your collar bone. The pearls he had bought you, most expensive on the planet. A wedding gift. The fucking audacity you had. He yanked the necklace, snapping it against your neck. Pearls dancing across the mattress and floor. He reached for his discarded pants and took the belt from the waistband.
“Sit up.” he barked.
“Titus-”
“Shut up, and sit up!”
Mindlessly you let him wrap the belt around your neck. He whistled as he looped the strap around your neck and tightened it on the last hole of the buckle. You let out a cry of fear when he tugged on the strap. He had you trapped. You believed him when you said he wasn’t going to kill you, but he was gonna make you wish you’d never wish him dead.
“Not so fun now, hm?” He mocked you with that high-pitched voice. “Face the frame.”
You closed your eyes and did as told, hoping he wouldn’t snap your neck during this. Cool air hit your behind before the shuffling started. Titus wet his lips with his tongue looking at you. “Don’t fuckin move.” He lined up at your entrance and pushed into you. The warmth and his thickness gave you another kind of satisfaction that material items couldn’t. Biting, your lip, you had forgotten that this wasn’t any other night. Suddenly, he tugged the belt strap, yanking your head back.
“Shit!” You exclaimed in fear.
“‘Shit’, is right.” He rolled his hips to gauge the pace he wanted to go. When he found it, he inhaled through his nose and bucked his hips against you at a steady pace. It wasn’t rough, not yet, but it was enough to make you forget the predicament you were in. Whether it was him or Le Bai, Titus had a way of getting people to let their guard down. Your brain was throttled between cumming on him and fighting back against him.
“Sh- you feel so fuckin good.” He muttered, using his hand to hold your waist. The sounds of your ass bouncing off his pelvis echoed throughout the room, it was no secret to the servants what you two were doing. Falling victim to his minstrations, you bit your lip and dropped your head down again. “Stop that!’ He snapped, yanking the belt strap towards him once again.
The bedframe was just in reach. You grabbed it like it was the lifeline saving you from damnation. From his torture.
“I fucking told you, you’re gonna pay.” He wrapped the strap around his fist once, securing his grip. He pulled so you lost your handing on the rail.
“Titus!” You cried out, but he ignored you. A tickly feeling filled your stomach while your vision got spotty. His grunts got more pronounced, more monstrous. The metal ends of the buckle dug into the skin of your throat, sure to leave a bruise.
“Touch that strap and i’ll kill you.” He growled seeing your hands pry at the metal buckle.
“It hurts!” You cried out.
“Oh it hurts, yeah?” His voice always went high when he was mocking you. “You didn’t think it hurt me? Trying to suffocate me in my fucking sleep?” He punctuated every word with a hard thrust.
“I'm sorry!” Your thighs trembled as you began to leak all over him. He fucking loved when you lost control.
His orgasm came crashing over him simutaneously, spilling inside you and knuckles whitening against the leather strap. When his dick stopped throbbing he let go of the belt strap. “Fuck, that was so hot.”
Titus ignorantly got off the bed and stood, holding his lower back and bending backwards while you coughed and caught your breath, defeated. He turned back seeing your exhausted state. “Come here.” He kneeled on the bed again and unlatched the belt buckle. The belt loosened from its restraints.
Your eyes locked with his as he inspected your face. Watery eyes, reddened neck, soiled nightgown, a masochist dream. He wrapped his large hand around your neck, not squeezing, but still prompting a jolt from you. “That wasn’t nice.” He said, “I actually like you. So don’t do that again. Okay?”
“Okay.” You rasped.
No one was really sure what transpired that night, but they could only assume based off of the black lace chokers you wore around your neck the following weeks. Titus finally agreed to that IV treatment you were talking about even though he was feeling better. He ‘put his sickness in you’, so the IV treatment was a coupled activity.
The shock from that night hadn’t left your body, he knew this. Everytime he passed his finger grazed the choker, reminding you both of what he’d do the next time you tried the occupant of the High Seat.
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Engaging in kink is a form of being vulnerable—regardless of your role—and vulnerability should always be treated with a certain amount of reverence. It’s an honor and a privilege to be able to play with people, not a right or a given.
