Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
previous part
cw: 18+, MDNI. age gap (22 & 50), dad's best friend, professor at college, fauxcest, brat/brat tamer relationship, possessive AND SUUUUUUPER JEALOUS jack, daddy kink/daddy issues, power dinamics, smut, ANGST, masturbation.
gif credit: sammy-bryant.tumblr.com
synopsis: you’ve always had an unrequited crush on your dad’s best friend, jack abbot. it only got worse when you started attending the same college where he is your professor. eventually, he begins leaving you little notes after class.
a/n: did someone ask for jacob content? we’ve got it, bby! this episode was mostly about introducing new characters (JACOB ELORDI and his glorious height) and setting the stage for the next episode (for which if you got to read the fic on my tiktok you already know what is going to happen…). fyi: jacob is not famous here, he's just a student. i hope you enjoy it, and thanks for being here! ♡
Your first week at Pitt flew by like a beautiful dream. That is, if Jack and your dad hadn't ruined everything.
You can get along with anyone, but you felt like you finally found a friend you could truly trust. Anna is the daughter of neurosurgeon parents who were disappointed when they learned she wasn't going to Harvard. She understands what it’s like to be rejected by your parents because of your choices, just like you do. She matches your sense of humor and loves partying just as much as you do. You two have been inseparable ever since the moment you happened to sit next to each other.
On Saturday, Anna decided to take you to the biggest party on campus: the Freshman Welcome. Despite being born and raised in Pittsburgh, you had no idea what that party was all about. But the moment you stepped into the Alpha Epsilon Pi mansion, you understood: the house was massive and majestic, done in a Mid-Century style, the furniture looked incredibly expensive, there were tapestries everywhere. All of this stood in stark contrast to the paper decorations, the plastic cups littering the floor, and the disco ball in the living room. It all screamed "old money" and "frat party" at the same time.
Inside, Anna grabbed you a drink, and you soon found your group of friends by the outdoor pool. There was Juan, sharp-tongued but with a heart of gold; Leah, the 365 party girl; Julia, the mystical soul who loved tarot; and finally, Lucas, serious, tattooed, and mysterious.
But that night, there was one more person joining your group. As you and Anna approached, Juan introduced him.
"Girls, this is Jacob," he said, resting his hands on Jacob's shoulders.
Well, at least trying to. The guy was nearly two meters tall, with broad shoulders and thick legs. He had dark hair and a razor-sharp jawline. You remember thinking he was one of the most masculine-looking men you’d ever seen. One of them, though not the most…
The sensation of having to crane your neck all the way up to speak to him sparked a little flame in your stomach, uncontrollably so.
“Boy, you are ridiculously tall. It’s almost comical,” Anna said, making everyone laugh.
“I know, my dad gave me way too much Monster energy drink when I was little,” Jacob replied, bringing a hand to his forehead and scratching it sheepishly.
“My family would say you had too much ‘Biotônico Fontoura’,” you say.
“What’s that?” Jacob asked, holding your gaze.
“Oh, it was this Brazilian supplement parents gave kids who wouldn't eat, it was meant to boost their appetite. It got discontinued later because they found high levels of alcohol in the formula. Kids were getting drunk!”
Everyone in the circle laughed, Jacob included. With a subtle movement, he stepped closer to your side, effectively shutting out the rest of the group. He seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say.
“So, you’re Brazilian?” he asked, raising the cup he was holding to his lips.
“No, my mom was. Well, is, right? She didn’t die,” you corrected yourself, feeling slightly embarrassed.
“Hmm, but you guys aren’t in touch, then? The way you put it…”
“We aren’t, but hey! Let’s not bring down the mood,” you said, raising your cup.
Jacob let out a soft laugh through his nose.
“I don’t talk to my dad either, so let’s not bring down the mood twice over.”
You both laughed. And for a moment, it felt as if the loud music and the room full of young adults singing and chatting didn't exist. Everything else faded into the background, leaving just the two of you.
You suddenly became acutely aware of the outfit you were wearing. Anna had helped you pick it out before coming to get you for the party. Her only rule: it had to be short and tight. And, stupidly, you went along with it. You were wearing a form-fitting black strapless dress and tall leather boots. To balance it out, and keep your dad from complaining until the next generation, you threw a brown leather jacket over the top.
You’d always been a party girl, but you’d never been overly concerned with clothes or fashion. You wore what you liked, regardless of whether it was trendy or not. But for the first time, you’d dressed to suit the setting and please Anna. Which was strange.
And then you thought: “Jack would hate this outfit.”
He’d hate it for two main reasons: other men would see 50% of your legs, and he’d want to strip that one-piece garment right off you in a single motion.
Oh, Jack.
You spent that whole first week exchanging notes.
When you didn’t have class with him, he’d meet you in the parking lot just to hand over everything he’d written about you that day. When you did have class with him, you’d be one of the last to leave the room, you’d walk past his desk, and he’d already have the folded paper between his fingers, ready for the hand-off.
And those notes covered everything.
His:
“Next class, wear your hair in those braids from the barbecue day. I love seeing you in them.”
“It’s ridiculous how hot you look when you’re taking notes.”
“You seemed a bit distracted today. Was that all because I rolled up my sleeves during class?”
Yours:
“I want you to tell me to be quiet, just like when you made those two guys shut their mouths during class.”
“You’re so bossy in class, when are you going to be like that with me too, daddy?”
“Wear that shirt every day we have class. I’m begging you. I’d get on my knees for it.”
Despite the content of the notes, nothing else really came of it. That was your new exercise: trying to dampen the desire, trying to be in the same room without completely losing your minds.
The reality, however, was that you didn't have any real chances to be alone, just the two of you, behind closed doors, with no one watching or interrupting. Your schedule was too hectic for visits to his office, and he didn't usually come over to your place on weekdays. So, there was no way to actually put the theory to the test.
And that Saturday, you thought: “If Jack and I can't be together, can't even kiss, then why shouldn't I have some fun with a guy my own age?”
Jacob spent the entire party with your group of friends, specifically, with you. He talked about his passion for Bossa Nova and collecting records, his love for photography, and how he’d wanted to go to NYU for theater before ending up at Pitt. He was a upperclassman, going to Pitt had been more about the pressure to stay close to home, even though his dream was to attend an art school.
You mentioned that you’d loved painting since you were little but had simply stopped during high school.
"Why?" he asked.
"Oh, I don't know. My dad had just come back from the East, and my mom had left. I sort of decided to throw myself into my social life."
"That makes sense, but you should get back into it. It’s a way to deal with all that unresolved trauma regarding your mom."
"Come on. I thought we weren't going to bring the mood down."
You both laughed and kept talking. Before you knew it, the party was winding down, and Anna was pulling you away to leave. It wasn't until you got into Anna's car that you realized you hadn't asked for Jacob's number, and he hadn't asked for yours.
On the other hand, you had five missed calls from Jack and fifteen from your dad.
When you walked into the house, slightly tipsy from the alcohol and the good conversation with Jacob, your father was sitting on the sofa in the dark, arms crossed, the TV turned off.
“What the fuck, Batman?” you said, startled.
“Watch your language!” he warned.
He stood up, hands on his hips. The classic “you’re my daughter, I’m mad, and I want to look authoritative” pose.
“It’s almost five in the morning. Did you know that?”
“Yeah, Dad. I own a watch,” you said, mockingly mimicking his stance by putting your hands on your hips. “And I’m twenty-one, remember?”
“So that’s it? You start college, but you’re going to keep acting like a teenager?”
“I went to one party, a freshman welcome event”
“That doesn’t matter. It’s five in the morning on a Sunday. What about your homework? Assignments?”
“Are you kidding? I just finished my first week of classes. I don’t have any homework or assignments. You’re blowing this way out of proportion, old man.”
“Don’t talk to me like that. I’m not paying for a expensive college tuition just for you to slack off.”
“Dad, for God’s sake, it’s not exam week, and I don’t have any overdue homework. Everything is fine!” you said, agitated, raising your voice.
“Everything is fine? Coming home drunk just as the sun is about to rise? You call that fine?”
Your shoulders slumped in total defeat.
“Nothing is ever going to be enough for you, is it?” you said, your voice weary. “Being at a good university studying for the career of your dreams isn’t enough. Getting in even after taking some time off after high school isn’t enough, either. I’m exhausted, Dad, really.”
You decided to simply leave him there in his ridiculous pose. You were, in fact, exhausted. It seemed there was nothing you could do to make your father calm down about you, or to make him forget the ghost of your mother that clung to you, and to your future.
You slammed the door shut, letting the sound reverberate painfully through the house. You threw yourself onto the bed in your clothes and fell asleep.
***
You wake up to your phone vibrating under your pillow. You’re still wearing that ridiculously tight dress, your hair a tangled mess. You rub your eyes and grab the phone. Jack is calling.
“Yeah, Jack?”
“Wow! ‘Yeah, Jack?’” he says, his voice playful. “Where’s all the love from those notes? I want my girl back.”
His voice soothes you and clears the fog in your head.
“Sorry. I just woke up.”
“Big night last night, huh? Your dad called me around two in the morning to complain about you.”
“I can imagine. I got home and he was waiting for me.”
“Hands on his hips?”
“What do you think?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Did you guys fight again?”
“Yeah, but I’m exhausted, Jack. I’m not going to try to make up anymore, fuck him.”
“Hey, don’t talk like that.”
You sigh.
“Of course you’re going to take his side.”
“It’s not about taking sides. I know your dad too well, I know he does what he does out of love and concern. He doesn’t want you to turn into…”
“My mom, right?”
“Sweetheart, that’s not it. He’s just afraid of losing you. If he loses you to the world, who will he have left?”
You fall silent.
Why did your dad have to be so complex? Why couldn’t he just go to therapy like everyone else? Talk about your mom, the divorce, his time in the East, and how witnessing death and destruction and losing friends had shaped him into an insecure, lonely, fearful man. And why did he have to drag you into all this mess? You were trying the best you could.
“I just wanted a vote of confidence. I’m not that bad.”
“You’re not bad at all, princess. You two just need to find a way to communicate, that’s all.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
This time, you both fall silent. There’s tension in the air, as if he knows about Jacob and how you felt talking to him. Talking without caring who was watching, without the age taboo, without a worry in the world.
“So, how was yesterday? Did you go to that frat party?”
“Yeah. According to Anna, it’s a tradition.”
“It really is. Back in my day, though, it was the event where the athletes picked out the freshmen girls they wanted to… well, hook up with. It was basically a parade of women.”
“Oh, really? But back in your day, dinosaurs roamed the earth and Homo sapiens didn’t even exist yet.”
On the other end of the line, Jack takes a deep breath.
“Yeah. Did you behave yourself?”
“Define ‘behave,’” you say, teasing him.
“Didn’t drink, didn’t talk to any upperclassmen, didn’t kiss anyone, and dressed modestly.”
You burst out laughing.
“My God, what century do you live in?”
“Answer the question. Now.”
“Hmm, yes to one, no to the rest.”
“No to which ones?”
“I drank, I talked to an upperclassman, and I didn’t dress modestly.”
Jack says nothing, as if trying to control his breathing.
“Which upperclassman, and what outfit did you wear?”
“Jacob Elordi. A black strapless dress.”
“Holy shit,” you hear his breathing turn ragged. “How short was the dress?”
“Hmm, a hand’s breadth below my hips.”
“Fuck,” his voice turns dark. “You bring out the worst in me, I swear to God.”
You loved it when he spoke like that. Jack Abbot had always been the perfect boy-next-door, always. Kind, helpful, affectionate, and attentive. The perfect doctor. He knew exactly when to crack a joke and when to be serious. To an untrained eye, Jack was the type to have vanilla, missionary-style sex with his wife every Tuesday while Two and a Half Men played lazily on the TV, sex always in the bedroom, with a set start and end time.
But you saw him for who he really was, right from day one. His dominance was too palpable, too ever-present. It lay hidden beneath that "nice guy" mask. And you loved that you could draw that controlling side out of him, even though he seemed so ashamed of it.
“I knew you wouldn’t like it.”
“And you wore it anyway, why?”
“You’re not my owner, Jack. Or at least, you don’t want to be…”
“Sweetheart…”
“I know, Jack. My head is pounding, I need a shower and an ice-cold Coke. Can we talk later?”
“Well, yeah. Okay, sure. Bye, princess.”
You hang up and go back to sleep. Sunday, and your dad downstairs, and Jack with his excuses, all could wait.
***
Monday arrives, and with it, the rain.
You didn’t speak to your father for the rest of Sunday. In the afternoon, he went golfing with Jack. That night, you left the leftover pizza you ordered for the two of you in the microwave and went to your room. From that moment on, that’s how it would be. You’d be roommates, not father and daughter.
You pull into the Pitt parking lot, letting the wipers clear away the heavy rain. You rest your head against the steering wheel. Letting the situation with your father affect you this much was suicide, and, honestly, pointless. Yet, it seemed inevitable.
What Jack said kept playing over and over in your mind all Sunday. “If he loses you to the world, who will he have left?” It was ridiculous for him to put that kind of pressure on you. Getting lost in the world was part of being alive. Keeping you inside that house under his rules was killing you. He needed to understand that.
You jump, startled by someone knocking on the car window and snapping you out of your thoughts. It’s Jacob, holding a ridiculously large umbrella. You can’t help but smile as you roll down the window.
“Want a lift to class?” he asks, flashing his dimples.
“Sure. Do you park cars too, or just offer umbrella escorts?” you tease.
“Depends, if the pay is good...”
He steps back from the car door so you can get out. You grab your bag and step under the umbrella, which is held so high, thanks to Jacob’s height, that it’s barely doing any good.
“Sorry, let me crouch down a bit,” he says, looking embarrassed.
“Relax. Sometimes it’s easier if you just carry me.”
You both share a laugh.
“Or you could just step a little closer, I think that works too,” he says with a wink.
You step closer to him, pressing your shoulder against his torso. Together, you walk to the building where Jack’s class is held.
“Want to sit with me?” Jacob asks.
“You’re taking this class? It’s only for freshmen.”
“It’s embarrassing, I know. Abbot failed me last year, I have to retake it.”
“Oh, no. Is the subject really that hard?”
“Actually, no. Abbot just hates me. He’s a total pain in the ass. An old pain in the ass”
You don’t laugh. It bothers you when people badmouth Jack to you, you simply change the subject.
“Sure, you can sit with me. But try not to be too impressed, okay? I’m really good at it.”
"At what?"
"Classes and stuff", you bring both hands to your face, making an angelic expression.
“You’re just full of yourself, that’s all.”
It seems like you and Jacob are laughing the whole time. It makes you feel light, you forget about your situation at home for a bit.
You sit side by side, letting your arms brush against each other. Some students have already arrived and are settling into their seats.
Jack arrives right on time. He’s wearing a black suede jacket that looks incredible draped over his broad shoulders, like it was made just for him. His curls are damp from the rain, as are his dark jeans. It’s unfair how handsome he looks without even trying.
Jack scans the room, and when his gaze finds yours, it quickly shifts to Jacob beside you. His expression briefly turns puzzled, but he looks away. He opens his laptop, turns on the projector, and asks for quiet to begin.
Throughout the class, Jacob tries to get your attention in various ways. He traces lines on your hand, strokes your arm, and presses his leg against yours. Eventually, he wraps his arm around you, pulling you firmly against him. This catches Jack’s attention, who had seemed to be avoiding eye contact with you until that moment.
You hold your breath, knowing this will get you in trouble. But it feels so good to be held, to feel the warmth of Jacob’s body without guilt. You can’t help it.
When class ends, you don’t immediately remember to grab Jack’s note. As you’re walking out the door with Jacob, bypassing Jack’s desk, he calls out your last name. Fuck. Then you remember.
You let Jacob head on to the cafeteria while you take the note from Jack’s fingers, he is giving you a piercing, and irritated, look.
As you walk to meet Jacob, you unfold the note:
“You didn’t pay attention during the entire class. Jacob distracted you the whole time. We need to talk. Meet me in my office today at 5 p.m.”
prev & next
cw: 18+, MDNI. age gap (22 & 50), dad's best friend, professor at college, fauxcest, brat/brat tamer relationship, jack has pervy thoughts about you, possessive jack, daddy kink, power dinamics, smut, angst, masturbation.
gif credit: sammy-bryant.tumblr.com
synopsis: you’ve always had an unrequited crush on your dad’s best friend, jack abbot. it only got worse when you started attending the same college where he is your professor. eventually, he begins leaving you little notes after class.
a/n: THIS IS MY FAVORITE CHAPTER SO FAR, OMG! alsooo, it's my first time writing smut (not suuuper smitty here, but it is a start). let me know if you have suggestions on how i can improve my writing. thank you for being here, bby ♡
Jack knew your first day at Pitt would be intense.
After the karaoke and barbecue incident at your father's house, everything seemed to have calmed down. Much more because he partially disappeared from your house and ignored your messages? For sure. But even so, in Jack's mind, things had calmed down.
A few months passed between then and now. During these months, Jack made sure to keep a safe guard on you. No post-insomnia calls, no messages with double meaning, no visits to your house when your father wasn't there. Everything started to revolve around keeping Jack's head in the right place, making the right decisions.
When dawn arrived, the time of day when he thought about you the most, he tried to police himself. If the thought of the curve of your mouth invaded his stream of consciousness he would quickly press his brain's panic button. He would go for a quick walk, take a cold shower, listen to the saddest Radiohead album, put on the most outrageous action movie he could find. The main rule was: don't think about you. And if it happened: do something else. Except: jerk off to the thought of you, calling you, going to your house late at night, breaking into your room, taking off one piece of your clothing at a time.
Which is what he’s doing right now: one-armed push-ups at 2 a.m. because he’s thinking of you. And about your first day of class tomorrow. And what you’ll be wearing. And you meeting new people, new men. And how beautiful you’ll look. You, in your likely knee-high socks and white Converse. You carrying books in both hands, getting tired from the weight, needing help. And Jack showing up, taking the books from your arms, walking you to his office.
No, no. Push-ups. Right now.
When he feels his body reaching the point of exhaustion and his T-shirt has become nothing but a sodden rag, he decides to take a shower. But once again, you invade his thoughts like a jet moving at breakneck speed. He begins to imagine your scent lingering on the leather sofa in his office, he pictures tangling his fingers in your hair, your face pressed against the fabric, your ass arched high, and himself buried deep inside you. Deep.
Jack looks down and sees his erection. He sighs in frustration.
How on earth is he going to survive whatever happens tomorrow?
For the first time in months, he decides to let go. Gently, Jack wraps his fingers around his cock, stroking back and forth with excruciating patience. He lets the pressurized spray of the shower massage him, too.
He picks up the train of thought again.
You in your ridiculously short denim skirt, lying across the arm of the sofa, perfectly arched so he has full access to you. You fully dressed, except for the lack of your panties, as if you’d planned it all. He pulls you close by the neck so your back feels the heat radiating from his chest, making you arch your back even more. As if you were the bow and he the arrow. He has free access to your neck and ear, where he whispers little praises. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Oh, this feels so good, princess. I’m not stopping now; you’re going to come with me inside of you.”
Within a few minutes, Jack comes in the shower, the hot water having already turned his chest red. He lets out soft whimpers and incoherent moans.
“This is getting ridiculous. I need to get a grip.”
***
The next day arrives too soon.
Jack lingers in bed longer than usual. He stares at the ceiling, ignoring the minutes ticking by faster and faster. He needed a plan, a contingency, something.
If you’re wearing a skirt: try to imagine your legs are perfectly covered.
If you’re wearing braids: find a way to convince you to let your hair down.
If you speak to him: don’t look at your mouth or your eyes. Stare off into the distance, avoid eye contact.
If you touch him: pull away as fast as possible.
The idea is to anticipate absolutely everything you might do, so Jack can protect himself and avoid ending up with an erection in the middle of campus.
He decides to get up, shower, and get dressed.
Jack chooses his usual outfit: jeans, sneakers, and his Pitt sweatshirt, practically a uniform. He lets his curls air-dry. He slowly brews some coffee, pours some into a travel mug, and gets into his pickup truck. He turns on the radio and tries to distract himself.
Okay, freshman orientation day: there’s the welcome session, the campus tour, the faculty introduction (shit), and the social mixer. Jack is required to attend the first three events, and then he’s free to go. It can’t be that hard. And surely things can’t be going that badly.
He parks in the faculty lot, grabs his coffee, and walks slowly across the campus.
Pitt in early autumn. The leaves haven’t fully changed color yet, and there are still traces of summer; the temperature remains pleasant. Jack tries to take in every detail of the campus so his mind can find a moment of rest. The wind, the scent of coffee, redwoods, and oak, the sound of students’ footsteps, the dry leaves crunching underfoot. And the scent of jasmine…
No, fuck, no.
“Jack?”
Of course. He can smell you anywhere, from any distance. And there you are. Wearing light-wash jeans pants (thank God), a blue long-sleeved top, and your Converse. Your hair is loose, except for two small strands braided and pinned back behind your head. In Jack’s plan, you’re safe, theoretically. But in practice, he quickly realizes, there is nothing you could do, or fail to do, that would stop him from wanting you.
Jack breathes sharply through his nose.
“Oh, sweetheart… hey,” he says awkwardly, caught off guard.
“No ignoring me now, huh?” you say, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, I guess not.” Jack looks up at the sky. “Look, I’m sorry for disappearing like that, okay? I was trying to…”
“Be the adult in the situation, yeah, I know. I’ll get over it, seriously,” you say, walking slowly toward him. “Anyway, we’re here now, and you’re my professor, right?”
Jack swallows hard as you close the distance between you. He tries to remember how to breathe.
“I’ll behave, okay? I promise.” You hold out your hand to him as a peace offering.
Jack looks at your hand.
“The problem was never you, you know that.”
“I know. But I don’t want to fight anymore, and honestly, I miss my second dad.” You wink, and Jack immediately tries not to blush.
“Right.” He takes your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Friends and father-daughter again?”
“I can live with that… daddy.”
Jack laughs, looking down at his feet.
“Don’t say that. You know I love it too much.”, he whispers.
“Okay, sorry. I’ll behave, from now on.”
You stand there like that for a few seconds, your hands still clasped in that strange, warm greeting. A connection so close you can hear each other’s heartbeats.
“Let’s head inside before you miss the day’s activities, sweetheart,” Jack says, finally letting go of your hand.
You start walking, your shoulders brushing lightly.
“So, what do you think so far?” he asks, his eyes fixed entirely on you.
“From what I’ve seen, it’s beautiful. Some upperclassmen already came over to talk to me, which was nice. My dad insisted on bringing me, the old man has been walking on air ever since I told him.”
Jack frowns, focused only on the beginning of what you said. Which upperclassman talked to you?
“Hmm, I bet. Who was it that spoke to you?”
“I don’t remember their names, but they were tall guys. They were nice.”
Shit. Probably the athletes.
“Yeah, well, don’t go trusting just anyone out there yet, okay? Stay alert and never assume someone is nice without a reason.”
“Jeez, Jack, you sounded just like an ex-military man there.”
“That’s because I am one, kid. And you tend to think everyone is good and trustworthy.”
“Oh, that’s not true, not at all.
You both share a few quiet laughs as you arrive at the event center. Jack says goodbye, wishes you luck, and rejoins the rest of the faculty. Gradually, the freshmen crowd together. But Jack can only focus on you, as if you possess a glow that sets you apart from the rest.
He finds it both amusing and infuriating how quickly you fit in wherever you go. With just a few words, you make friends, people start laughing at your jokes, and a small crowd quickly gathers around you. It makes Jack happy to know you aren't alone, yet it also makes him jealous and worried, his protective instincts blaring loudly in his mind. Every male freshman who looks at you with hungry eyes, or laughs a little too hard at your joke just to get your attention, puts Jack on high alert.
He tries to focus on what the dean is saying, but it’s practically impossible.
He crosses his arms over his chest, legs slightly apart, his eyes locked on you. His breathing grows uneven, and he feels half-crazed with jealousy. You, right there in the midst of all these men, like a piece of fresh meat. He’s grateful he didn't feel this way about you back when you were constantly partying and kissing a different guy every day. He wouldn't have been able to handle it.
Jack feels the urge to scoop you up, throw you over his shoulder, and spank you. Just look at you, all giggles and jokes, gazing with those doe-eyes at those punks who wouldn't even know what to do with you. Fuck, you so deserve to be punished for that. If you belonged to him…
No, damn it. Don't think that, fuck. Focus.
The dean finishes his monologue and directs the student guides who will show the campus to the students. Jack notices you walking with the crowd but occasionally glancing back, looking for him, as if you already knew to whom you belonged.
Jack lets out a quiet sigh. He needed therapy. Or help. Or an exorcism. Something. Anything.
***
Once everything requiring Jack's presence finally wrapped up, he practically ran to his office. His safe haven.
It was a modest space with small windows, yet Jack had decorated it perfectly to create a peaceful atmosphere. His centuries-old wooden desk had been a gift from the dean himself, a fellow veteran. He tried to keep it organized, though that didn't come naturally to him; there were always papers, folders, and pens scattered about, a total mess. There was also a small bookcase and a leather sofa. That leather sofa, the leather sofa from his fantasies.
Jack sat in the chair facing the desk and took a deep breath. So far, things were going reasonably well, no outbursts, no unwanted erections. His thoughts were uncontrollable, sure, but nothing had crossed the line from fantasy to reality. He was still reliable, after all. He could do this.
Jack decides to grab a notepad and a pen. He remembered his old therapist saying that writing things down, transferring thoughts from the mind to the paper, could help, and an idea immediately struck him. His finger clicks the pen, and he writes on the lined paper: "She wasn't wearing the denim skirt, thank God. Too many freshmen around her; it drove me crazy with jealousy. She looks so beautiful when she's talking to people."
That makes him feel better. It could be a way to exorcise his perverted thoughts, writing them down and then tossing them in the trash. Jack feels satisfied and manages a smile of relief. Part of the problem was solved.
He starts to take off his sweatshirt to get more comfortable when he hears the office door open. Jasmin, again. Fuck.
"Hmm, hello, Professor Abbot," you said playfully.
There he is, the T-shirt beneath his sweatshirt riding up slightly to reveal part of his abdomen. He quickly pulls the sweatshirt over his head and adjusted his shirt.
“I didn’t know professors could take their clothes off on campus.”
“Smarty pants,” Jack says, his cheeks flushing. “How did you find my office?”
“I took the tour, remember? This is the faculty building, I just had to look for your name on the door plaques.”
“Right.”
Jack tosses his sweatshirt onto the desk and stands up, leaning lightly against the wood. He crosses his arms as he watches you sit on the sofa opposite him. This becomes the greatest exercise in mental control he’s ever had to perform.
“It’s nice in here. Did you decorate it?”
“Yes. Do you like it?”
“I love it, especially this sofa.” You lean back, stretching. Keep it cool, Jack. “Why don’t you have one like this at home?”
“I spend more time here, I want it to be comfortable.”
“You work too much. You should spend more time at home than at work.”
Jack shrugs.
“I enjoy it, so it’s fine.”
You look around and notice the small library.
“Homer, Kafka, Tolstoy, Ernaux, Didion, Joyce. Where are your medical books?”
“I can be pretty eclectic, you know. I like to read while waiting between classes, or just to give my mind a rest.”
You look him up and down, making Jack’s heart race.
“Such an intelligent man…”
“Not as much as you…” Jack says, uncrossing his arms and bringing a hand to his face to stroke his stubble. “Are any of the freshmen bothering you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You were surrounded by them the whole time during the tour. Laughing at your jokes, standing way too close to you.”
You give a half-smile.
“No, it’s fine. They were just being friendly. Everyone was really nice.”
“Okay. If you have a problem with anyone, let me know.”
“Sure, Jack”
You stand up and join him at the desk, sitting right up on top of it. You rest your head on Jack’s shoulder, and he promptly kisses it. A gentle kiss on the top of your head, a fatherly kiss.
“Tired?”
“Not really. Actually, I…” you hesitate. “Well, I don’t even know how to say this, honestly. I don’t even know if I should.”
“Go on,” Jack encourages you.
“Really?”
“I can handle it. Let’s hear it.”
“Okay,” you take a breath, gathering your courage. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you these past few months. I was worried about today because I didn’t know what it would be like to see you.”
“I get it…” Jack turns his body to face you.
“I really wanted us to go back to how things were before all that. But at the same time, I think about you, sometimes late at night, and I can’t help but imagine…”
“I know,” Jack interrupts. “But we can’t, princess. Okay? I respect you too much, and your dad, too, and honestly, if I had you for myself, I’d turn into a version of myself that scares me.”
“What do you mean?”
Jack moistens his lips while watching your mouth intently. His eyelids lower slightly, giving him the look of a hunter. And you, right in front of him, looking like a prey. He sighs.
“It’s complicated to explain. But it can’t happen. Let’s just be civil and friendly, like always. I’m begging you.”
“I know, Jack. But I feel like I’m losing my mind,” you say, almost whining, moving closer to him. “What do I do?”
Jack shifts his gaze to the notepad he’d used just a few minutes ago. He reaches for it, picks it up, and hands it to you.
“I’ve been doing this.”
You take the pad and read it, blushing slightly. Inevitably, you smile.
“Jealousy, huh?”
Jack runs a hand to his neck, scratching it lightly.
“I tried it today; I wrote it down and felt better. Less… desperate.”
“I get it,” you said, looking up at him and devouring every detail of his face. “Can I keep that note, Prof?”
Jack lets out a delightful laugh.
“You want it?”
“I do. That way, you can hand them to me whenever they come up. What do you think?”
“That would be a tease.”
“Or it would help me. Don’t you want to help me, Jack?”
His sense of responsibility seems to fly out the window when you ask like that, looking so beautiful, playful, and wheedling. He knows it’s a terrible idea, that it would feed the monster of what you feel for each other, not to mention create physical evidence of your indecent thoughts.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
prev part & next part
cw: age gap (22 & 50), dad's best friend, professor at college, fauxcest, brat/brat tamer relationship (kinda, just a little), pervy thoughts?, DADDY KINK, power dinamics, smut, angst.
gif credit: sammy-bryant.tumblr.com
synopsis: you’ve always had an unrequited crush on your dad’s best friend, jack abbot. it only got worse when you started attending the same college where he is your professor. eventually, he begins leaving you little notes after class.
a/n: hiii, guys! omg, 300 of us here, thank you so muuuuch! i'm loving writing this. this one has a little bit of brat tamer jack, just a little. oh, and also: a little bit of brazilian cuisine because i can't help it. hope you like, comments always make me happy! ♡
You wake up feeling like an axe is splitting your skull, not literally.
The bedroom curtains you left open last night fill you with a sense of outrage. You try to force your eyes to adjust to the light and your head to come to terms with the amount of beer you drank last night.
Fuck, last night.
Jack. With his scent of cassis, white florals, and galbanum. Those damp, graying curls. The fact that he was wearing a brand-new pair of jeans. Looking completely out of his mind when he saw you in such a short skirt. His sweat almost mingling with yours when you were so close in the booth. The closest you’d ever been, a complete, deliberate crossing of the line.
And the end of the night: you apologizing to him, and him to you, two pathetic souls unable to own up to their own desires.
You let out a low groan as you touch your throbbing, hungover head.
“It was just the alcohol. If we hadn’t been drinking, none of this would have happened. Jack is a middle-aged guy who’s been single for decades; he must have been lonely. And me, well, I’m not exactly surrounded by the best company,” you think.
The light streaming through the window is blinding. You just want to burrow under the covers and never come out. But your phone buzzes with a message.
“Water as soon as you wake up. Eat something before taking 200mg of Advil. Ice-cold Coke. Doctor’s orders.”
A message from Jack.
“Yes, Doctor,” you reply.
The smile spreading across your lips isn't welcome. In fact, it’s infuriating.
You spent years making peace with the fact that Jack would never be yours, only to get a sudden, vivid taste of having him right there, so completely given over to you. So willing to touch you, to kiss you.
You try to push the feeling away, shoving it into the back of your mind.
Today was going to be chaotic enough as it was; you didn't need any more reasons for it to get worse. After all, today you had to talk to your dad about college. There was no escaping it now.
But first: water, food, Advil, Coke. Just like the doctor ordered.
***
You take a shower long enough to turn your skin scarlet, putting off the moment of confrontation for as long as possible. You wish your father had gone out to do anything, run errands, play golf, anything at all. But it’s no use.
You hear his footsteps moving through the house, hear him turning on the blender to make juice, hear him switch on the TV downstairs. His presence firmly anchored within the walls of your house.
You walk down the stairs like a defenseless animal, the acceptance letter is damp from the sweat on your palm, and your heart is pounding so hard it’s deafening. He’s sitting on the sofa in front of the TV, a cup of coffee in hand, watching the news. You clear your throat to get his attention.
“Oh, good morning,” he says, caught off guard. “You haven’t joined me for breakfast in a few days. There’s bread, eggs, juice, and coffee on the kitchen counter.”
You walk around the sofa, keeping the letter hidden behind your back, and stop in front of the TV, swallowing hard. Without saying a word, you simply hand him the letter.
“What’s this?” he asks, taking it from you.
His eyes quickly scan the paper, his expression softening with every word his brain registers. You can almost see the electrical impulses firing behind his gaze.
“Medical school? Pitt? Sweetie, this is…” He finally looks up at you, his eyes welling with tears.
He stands up and hugs you tightly. It takes you a few seconds to return the embrace, confused by his reaction.
“Wait, are you happy?” you ask, your head buried against his chest.
He pulls back from the hug to look at you.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because it’s just another debt for you, me asking for money for college when I should have had a scholarship,” you say, unable to stay as composed as you’d like. “Because I’m always disappointing you.”
“No, sweetheart, no,” he gives you a quick hug again. “I’m sorry. I was always too harsh with you. Forcing you to do things on my schedule... that’s just how I’ve always been.”
He looks you in the eye, trying to convey as much sincerity as he can.
“I’m truly sorry if I made you feel that way. I’m so proud of you.”
“It won’t be cheap, Dad. And I won’t be able to work at the café; the program is full-time...”
“It doesn’t matter, sweetie. We’ll make it work.” He tosses the letter onto the sofa and hugs you again, so tightly that your feet lift off the ground. “My daughter, a doctor, at one of the best universities in the country... My God!”
You bask in that shared closeness for a few more minutes. You feel like his little girl again, before you became the woman he never wanted you to become.
There were moments when you’d catch your father watching you, as if your face were transforming into your mother’s for a split second. You’d concluded that his greatest fear was that you’d turn into her, running away from responsibilities because you only cared about yourself. That thought distressed you because there was no one you detested more than your mother.
The idea of becoming her was simply unimaginable, both to you and to your father. When your father would lash out at you for mysterious reasons, the only thing you could think was that you were becoming the unimaginable. And that drove an even deeper wedge between you and him.
But not in that moment. That moment was the pinnacle, it was your happy cloud.
“Med school, huh? I’ll pretend Jack didn’t have a hand in that,” he says, teasing you.
“He did inspire me, it’s true.” You can’t help but smile at the thought of him.
“Then it’s only fair we invite him over to celebrate here tonight. I can make that Brazilian barbecue you love.”
Fuck. Jack, here at the house? After last night?
Your smile falters a bit. Jack being at your house was routine; you were used to it. Jack being at your house after that near-kiss was something else entirely. Your dad didn’t know you’d gone out with Jack last night, nor that he was the first person you’d told about college. The truth coming out, spectacularly and unavoidably, wasn't just a possibility; it was a certainty.
“Oh, it’s a weeknight, he’s probably busy,” you say.
“Sweetheart, it’s Friday. I’m sure he’d come. I’ll call him right now.”
“No!” you say, almost shouting. “I mean... let me tell him. I want to break the news myself.”
“Okay, you’re right. You call him, and I’ll head to the store.”
Your dad plants a lingering kiss on your forehead before grabbing his car keys and heading out.
You sit on the sofa, soaking up the silence. You pick up the letter and rest it on your lap, thinking about everything you’re about to experience. How everything turned upside down in just a few days. Was it possible for everything to change so quickly, and for the better? You bring your fingers to your lips, trying to suppress a smile.
And then you remember: you need to call Jack.
It takes him a few seconds to answer.
“Hey, sweetheart,” his voice sounds sleepy.
“Why does it seem like I always call you when you’re asleep?”
“Actually, I was dozing off while grading some papers before class started. You did me a favor,” you both laugh.
“Who was the crazy girl who took you out on a Thursday?”
“Hey, I was the one who took you out. I drove, and I took you home.”
You fall silent, memories of the previous night flooding back.
“Hmm, so…” you begin. “I told my dad about college.”
“Oh, wow. So?”
“He was really happy, actually. Pretty proud.”
“I told you he would be, sweetheart.”
“And now we have a problem.”
“What is it?”
“He wants to celebrate here today and wanted me to invite you. He said I chose medicine because of you, so you should be included.”
Silence falls again.
“That makes sense…” he says, sounding distant. “Sure, I’ll be there. What time?”
“Around eight, I guess. My dad’s going to have a barbecue for us.”
“Great…”
“Jack?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“I didn’t tell him about yesterday… I mean, that I told you and that we went out. So… if you could not mention it… I mean…”
“I get it. Don’t worry,” he lets out a faint laugh. “I couldn’t tell him anyway…”
“No?” you try to get something out of him. You want to know if his thoughts about you changed once night turned into day. If there was any chance for the two of you to…
He takes a deep breath, letting out a sigh.
“No, and you know exactly why,” his voice drops a few decibels.
“I know, but that didn’t stop me from thinking about it.”
He clears his throat.
“Let’s not talk about this anymore. It was a near-mistake on my part, I don’t want to relive it.”
“Oh.” You bite your lower lip, trying not to let it hurt you.
“I’ll see you tonight, then. My class is about to start. And congratulations, again.”
“See you, Jack.”
You let your phone slide down your arm, feeling stupid for thinking something might happen. It seems that, deep down, you really are just a little girl.
***
You spend the rest of the day trying to settle on a mindset.
Trying not to be too clingy with Jack, trying to play it cool and act aloof, trying to ignore him all night long. But it all feels like a string of terrible ideas. You try to focus on being exactly who you’ve always been, as if that karaoke night never happened, as if you couldn't list the exact number of veins on his arm or describe the precise scent of his sweat mixed with his cologne...
You need to focus.
You decide to help your dad with the food. He’s making white rice, tutu de feijão with plenty of cilantro, garlic bread, and pineapple vinaigrette, while you prepare your specialty: mixed-berry cheesecake. Spending the afternoon by his side helps take your mind off things, you cherish this rare moment of peace between you two.
When night falls and the temperature plummets, you go upstairs to get ready. You pick out a gray sweatsuit, you don’t want to look like you tried too hard for Jack. You tie your hair into two loose braids and head downstairs to wait.
Your dad comes in from the backyard through the kitchen, grabbing his car keys.
"I forgot we’re out of kerosene, I’ll be right back."
"No, Dad, I’ll go for you. You stay here."
"No, sweetheart. It’ll be quick, just welcome Jack if he gets here. I’ll be right back."
Shit, shit. You and Jack, alone? So soon? It’s all so fresh.
You start praying he’ll cancel, or run as late as possible, or that your dad will get back in record time. You watch the clock in a frenzy of anxiety. You consider suicide, fleeing the country, changing your name.
Then the doorbell rings.
Shit.
You open the door and there he is, standing there with a bouquet of blue peonies in the crook of his arm. He’s wearing a Pitt sweatshirt, light, worn-in jeans, and sneakers. Holy shit, how does he manage to be like this?
You stand there looking at each other for ages, afraid someone might break the silence. His eyes are dark in the dim light, yet you notice an unusual glint in them.
“Are these for me?” you ask.
“Oh, yes, they are.” He holds out the bouquet to you.
“They’re my favorites, but it’s not peony season.” You smell the flowers. “Where did you find them?”
“It took some digging, I admit. But it’s worth it.”
Jack puts his hands in his pockets, and you fall silent again.
“Oh, come in, sorry.” You step aside to let him through the doorway. “My dad went to buy kerosene, but he’ll be back soon.”
You close the door and walk to the kitchen to look for a vase. Jack follows you and settles against the counter, his hands clasped as he watches you open the cupboard, grab a vase, fill it with water, and arrange the flowers. Your neck burns under his steady gaze, and you pray he doesn't notice. You also pray he breaks the silence.
“You seem a bit nervous,” he says, trying not to smile.
“Do I?” you ask, your voice pitching up a little too high at the end of the sentence.
“You do, sweetheart.”
He pushes off the counter and walks closer to you. His shadow looms over you, and you try to steady your pulse, try not to breathe in that scent of home that clings to him. On impulse, he touches one of your braids, winding his index finger around it. He lets out a deep sigh.
“I don’t want you to be nervous with me here. I’m nervous too, but I’m trying to…” he stops himself, locking his gaze with yours. “Trying to be the adult in the situation.”
“I’m an adult too, you know,” you say, your voice wavering and barely a whisper.
“I know, I know. But I’m the authority figure here, whether you like it or not.”
Fuck. You close your eyes and let your head drop forward, biting your lip.
“Say that again, please,” you beg, unable to look him in the eye.
“Say what?” Jack moves the finger that was on your braid to your chin, forcing you to look at him.
“Say that you’re an authority figure,” you say softly.
Jack lets out a sound, something like a low groan, from between his lips.
“Do you like it when I talk like that?”
You’re a picture of embarrassment; your cheeks are scarlet, and he’s seeing the flushed mess of your face up close. You simply nod.
“Use your words, I want to hear.”, he says, demanding.
“I do like it, Jack.”
He flashes a mischievous smile as he brings his hand up to your cheek. You let your face sink into his large palm, letting his calloused hand send tiny shivers across your skin. Impulsively, you press your lips to his palm, leaving delicate kisses there. He caresses your mouth with his thumb. Jack stops breathing.
“Fuck, you’re making this so much harder,” he says hoarsely.
You stop kissing his hand to look at him.
“You aren’t helping, either.”
In a flash, he pulls his hand away and brings it to his face, as if snapping out of a trance.
“Yeah, you’re right. Damn it.” He’s looking down, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. “I did it again.”
“Stop that,” you say, annoyed.
“Stop what?”
“Talking like you’re the only one who wants this. I’m here. I want it too.”
“No, this is wrong, and you know it. If you don’t, then I’m even more worried.”
“Jack, please…”
Outside, you hear your father’s car pull up, and you quickly step away from each other.
“Look, I’m sorry. I’ll get a grip, I need to get a grip,” he says, almost to himself. “I need to use the bathroom.”
You notice the bulge growing and swelling between his legs in his jeans.
“Fuck, fuck,” he mutters, walking toward the bathroom with an clumsy limp due to his prosthetic leg.
A few seconds later, your father opens the door.
“Alright, we’ve got everything. Is Jack here?” he asks.
You’re too stunned to speak at first, but you force yourself to answer.
“Yeah, he’s in the bathroom.”
“Great, tell him to head to the backyard. I’m going to light the grill.”
You turn back to the flowers in front of you, remembering that your first semester of college includes classes with Jack three times a week. You wonder how long the two of you will be able to keep ignoring each other.
Hey, sorry this is really random but how do you do your headers with the pictures and little like design things, like get it formatted so nicely, for your dbf work?
heyy, bby! not random at all, i was super confused when i first started.
i basically use tumblr's own text post creator. i add three images and drag them so they're side-by-side. the fonts are from tumblr itself, the title font is Lucille. i use PNG dividers to separate the text, use the hashtag "png dividers" here on tumblr and you'll find several.
i think that's it. i write the rest of the text in google docs and just copy and paste it here.
let me know if you have any specific questions, sometimes i can help! <3
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
prev part & next part
cw: age gap (22 & 50), dad's best friend, professor at college, fauxcest, brat/brat tamer relationship (kinda, just a little), pervy thoughts?, power dinamics, smut, angst.
synopsis: you’ve always had an unrequited crush on your dad’s best friend, jack abbot. it only got worse when you started attending the same college where he is your professor. eventually, he begins leaving you little notes after class.
a/n: hiii, everyone! new part is here, yay! I’m still going to post more on tiktok, i promise, but I’m much more invested in this here. and i don't know anything about the university application process in the us, so take it with a grain of salt. i hope you like it! ♡
Jack was very clear on two things when autumn arrived.
First: the teaching job at the University of Pittsburgh was no longer for him. The hours dragged on endlessly, he spent more time grading papers than actually teaching (which was what he loved), and, overall, he was bored. He needed something new to do with his time.
Second: he needed to get his best friend’s daughter out of his mind as soon as possible.
You occupied his every thought. Upon waking up in the morning, he’d imagine what it would be like to have you wake up beside him. While making breakfast, he’d think about how you liked your coffee: with cinnamon, vanilla extract, more milk than coffee, and a pinch of salt. When getting dressed, he’d think about how your hands would adjust his shirt, or how your fingers would feel against his bare skin. When he got into his truck for work, he’d picture himself picking you up too, imagining your scent of passionflower and jasmine filling the vehicle. Upon arriving at the university, he could see you right there in the front row, watching him with your inquisitive eyes. When returning from work, he could sense your presence right at his doorstep, waiting for him to open the door. And when he lay down to sleep, he’d imagine wrapping himself around you, breathing in your perfume, feeling goosebumps rise on your skin.
Clearly, the effort put into that second point was minimal, yet he still had to try.
And you, almost as if it were a punishment, were becoming an increasingly constant presence in his life, thanks to your father. The problems you two were facing were becoming more frequent and more profound. In Jack, you found a familiar comfort, someone who was always there for whatever you needed, without judgment. A calm presence, as steady as a rock.
But for Jack, that made everything harder. With every call you made to him, every time you stepped into his house or spoke to him, he found it increasingly difficult to maintain a neutral, fatherly demeanor toward you.
That night when he took you to the market, he came home and tormented himself with the thought that he had suggested the University of Pittsburgh as an option for you. It was obvious you’d get in, you were the smartest person he knew. The real problem was the prospect of having you in his class, with your penchant for short outfits, your sharp, witty tongue, and your timeless, feline beauty. Just imagining you there, in his workplace, felt like a complete perversion to him.
Not only were you his best friend's daughter, but now you could be his student. The power dynamics were far too delicious for him not to let his mind wander. The scenario couldn't have been more perfect, or more torturous.
When he went to bed, he prayed you’d forget about Pitt and focus on other universities. Carnegie, Point Park, even Penn State. Any school that would take you to a different classroom, far away from him and the dirty thoughts he harbored about you.
But fate wouldn't leave Jack alone.
A few months later, his phone rings, a message from you. A photo of an acceptance letter, an acceptance letter from Pitt.
“I think you’re going to be my professor next semester,” followed by a winking emoji.
Holy shit. No. No.
It was happening. It was actually happening.
Jack stares at his phone for a long moment, savoring the instant before reality fully set in, that brief window where it might or might not be real. He knew that if he asked, “Are you serious?” and you confirmed it, the outcome would be sealed, as concrete as time itself.
Fuck. “What the fuck am I going to do now?”
Jack hovers his fingers over his phone screen, unsure of exactly what to type. He decides to call you, you pick up in less than a split second.
“Is this for real, or are you kidding?” he asks, his voice clearly nervous.
“I swear on everything, Jack,” you let out an adorable, high-pitched squeal, and something inside Jack tightens, like a star imploding into its own light. “I’ll be at Pitt next fall!”
The air rushes out of Jack’s lungs in a violent burst.
“Jack? Are you there?”
“I’m here, sweetheart,” Jack clears his throat. “I’m just too proud to say anything.”
You let out a laugh.
“Well, here are a few things you could say: congratulations, you’re amazing, I always knew you’d pull it off, I’m so happy for you, and so on,” you say, with a touch of irony.
“Yeah, yeah, of course. I’m just…” Jack tries to compose himself, the last thing he wants is to ruin this moment for you. “Fuck, babygirl... This is phenomenal. I never doubted you. You’ve always been incredible. I’m just completely blown away by how proud I am of you.”
“Don’t play the daddy card now.”
“Fuck. Why does everything she says seem to have a double meaning?”
Jack chuckles.
“No, I’ll leave that part to your real dad. Have you told him yet?”
“No…” you hesitate. “He won’t even care, I wanted to tell you first.”
“I’m honored, sweetheart, but you need to tell him. You’ll see how proud he’ll be, too.”
“Yeah, yeah.” You sound distant now, as if talking about your father is still too painful a subject. “I want to celebrate today, but it’s a weekday and my friends are all busy.”
You use a pleading, pitiful tone.
“So… how about… you and me and karaoke?”
“Just you and me?” Jack asks softly.
“Well, yeah. Is that a problem?”
Jack has to remind himself to stay calm. It’s a lot of new information at once, and it all involves you being very close to him. He feels his chest tighten as his heart races wildly.
“Okay. I have class until about six in the evening, but I’m free after that.”
“Great, let’s go at seven-thirty then,” you say excitedly. “Will you pick me up?”
“You know I will, sweetheart.”
“Thanks, Professor Abbot,” and you hang up.
Jack tosses his phone onto the floor and sinks onto the sofa, his hands lightly gripping his graying curls. He needed to pull himself together by seven-thirty, or it would be a disaster.
***
Jack managed the phenomenal feat of being late for every single class that day. He kept finding himself staring too long out a window, or at his coffee, or at a graffiti-covered wall on campus. His mind was elsewhere, focused on the future awaiting him, both the short term and the long term. A karaoke date with you, and then seeing you every Monday, Tuesday, and Friday in his classroom, where you would be his student.
How much more of this torture could he endure?
All day long, he tried to steel himself, to put on the armor of a father figure, telling himself he’d show up and act like the older adult he actually was. No touching your feet, no caressing you, no stealing lingering glances. It was meant to be a serious affair where he’d keep his distance.
That was the mindset he cultivated all day long, until he saw you.
You. Wearing a denim skirt that was far too short, a long-sleeved white top unbuttoned at the neckline, and your usual white Converse. Jack couldn't help but notice that this was the kind of outfit you wore when going out with the usual jerks. And he wondered if you saw this as a date.
"God, help me."
You get into the truck, leaving him feeling nauseous and insanely aroused.
Jack gives you a long, tight hug and congratulates you again on getting into the university.
“So, you’re a Pitt girl now,” Jack says, starting the truck. “How does it feel?”
“Honestly, I still can’t believe it. I think it’ll only sink in once I actually step onto the campus,” you say, blushing slightly and looking happy.
“Did you tell your old man?”
Your smile immediately turns into a look of worry. For a few seconds, Jack fears he’s ruined the moment.
“I’m going to tell him tomorrow. I want to enjoy today, be happy, without his judgment hanging over me.”
Jack gets the message.
“Great, no talking about your dad today, then.”
You catch his eye, making Jack shiver.
He suddenly becomes hyper-aware that he’s too dressed up for you. He spent over thirty minutes picking out the perfect outfit: a black long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a new pair of dark jeans, and his usual combat boots. He even used a bit of gel to tame his unruly curls. Before leaving, he’d studied himself in the mirror, hating how eager he was for this.
Which was ridiculous. It wasn’t a date. And even if it were, you were the one who’d invited him — something that, to an old school man like him, simply wasn't supposed to happen.
“You look… handsome,” you say, looking out the window. The words come out so softly that Jack almost mishears them.
“You think so?” Jack asks shyly.
“I do. New jeans?”
“Oh, no. But it is the first time I’ve worn them, yeah.”
Neither of you can suppress a smile. You’re both smiling at nothing, avoiding eye contact, afraid of what you might find, or how much self-control it would take to keep from pouncing on each other.
“You don’t look too bad yourself,” Jack says playfully. “Though I do think that skirt is a bit too short.”
“Too short, daddy?” You give him a mischievous look.
Jack swallows hard and stares intently at the windshield, trying to keep his instincts in check. A half-smile involuntarily plays on his lips.
“Yeah, too short,” he says, gritting his teeth. “If you were my daughter, you’d never go out looking like that. Your dad is way too permissive sometimes.”
“I think so too. Here I am, in the car with a fifty-year-old man who’s taking me to karaoke,” you retort.
“You’ve got a really dirty mind sometimes.”
Jack avoids making eye contact with you. He’s terrified that watching you might be the thing that finally makes him snap.
The atmosphere inside the truck grows tense as you both avoid saying anything else. You gaze out the window, letting the wind hit your face. Jack bites down hard on his lower lip, exerting an unimaginable amount of effort to keep him from pulling you onto his lap and letting you kiss him while he drives. The bulge in his jeans begins to throb painfully.
"Focus, Jack. Karaoke, making sure she doesn't drink too much, ensuring she has a good night, not doing anything to dishonor her, yourself, or her dad. Focus."
“I was thinking we could do this: a karaoke competition,” you say, trying to bring some excitement back into the air.
“I’m listening.”
“We’ll split it between songs from your era and current songs. Whoever knows the lyrics to both categories best wins.”
Jack throws his head back and laughs.
“What do you mean, ‘from my era’?”
“You know, music for old people.”
“Careful now, kid.”
You finally look at each other again. Jack’s smile lines are crinkled tight. He can’t help it, he loves everything you say.
“Okay. And what’s the prize?” he asks.
You lift one foot onto the seat and tie your Converse shoelace.
“I’ll think of something.”
***
Since it’s a weekday, the karaoke place is nearly empty; out of ten booths, only two are occupied. The bored attendant hands you a menu:
“There’s a mini-fridge stocked with drinks in every booth, but we have other options too. Just scan the QR code to place an order, and one of our staff members will bring it right to you,” she says, and you two thank her.
The booth is painted entirely black, with fluorescent neon lights on the walls. There’s a small stage with two microphones facing a plasma TV, set opposite a sofa and a small table. To the left, there’s a mini-fridge and a small bar counter with stools.
Jack notices that the booth door has a lock on the inside. He tries to suppress the thought that inevitably pops into his mind.
You step right up onto the stage and start browsing the song catalog.
“Okay, ‘old people’ music first, or ‘cool people’ music first?” you ask.
Jack sits on the sofa with his legs spread wide, draping his arms across the backrest.
“Kid, I think I’m gonna need a drink before I do this,” Jack chuckles softly.
“Getting a little shy, huh?”
You walk over to the mini-fridge and open it.
“I can get you water, Diet Coke, or Heineken.”
“Heineken it is, then.”
You grab two and sit down next to him, letting his left arm lightly brush against your shoulder. Jack raises his green glass bottle.
“To the newest med student at Pitt,” he says.
You clink bottles and take a long sip, never breaking eye contact.
“You know…” you say, looking at your bottle in your lab. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”
Jack watches you with wide, attentive eyes.
“The last few months have been hell; I don’t know if I could have made it through without you, Jack. Seriously. Thank you.”
Jack doesn’t fight the urge to gently stroke your temple, brushing a strand of hair aside and tucking it behind your ear. The gesture takes you by surprise, but you like it.
“No need to thank me, sweetheart,” he says, his voice low and husky. “Now let’s down these beers and get started.”
You both tip back your bottles, laughing at each other. A bit of beer spills from your mouth and trickles down your neck. Jack immediately looks away. In a flash, you’re up on stage.
Hours pass, and Jack is humbled by his lack of knowledge regarding modern songs. You, on the other hand, seem to know all the bands he loved most: Smashing Pumpkins, Pearl Jam, Whitesnake, R.E.M., Radiohead. As you sing, you two drink more and more. The promise he’d made not to let you drink went out the window fast.
Jack feels confident, his control over his desires gradually slipping away, but the alcohol won't let him fight it.
In that moment, he lets himself simply be. He lets himself watch your body, the way your hand grips the microphone, the beads of sweat trickling down your shirt. You are utterly mesmerizing.
Jack knows he’s losing the game, so he decides to just watch you.
During your performance of Katy Perry’s “Teenage Dream,” he steps off the stage and sits on the sofa, his eyes locked onto every inch of you. You quickly realize you’re being watched and can’t hide your shyness, you start singing more softly and moving less, all while holding Jack’s gaze.
“No, sweetheart, keep going. Just like you were doing before,” Jack asks.
You can’t stop the flush rising to your cheeks, but you decide to be bold, the alcohol having long since clouded your better judgment.
You step closer to him, climbing down from the stage and singing more softly, just for him. Slowly, while still standing, you tangle your legs with his. He watches you from below, mesmerized. You sing the lyrics much slower than the beat, completely lost in Jack’s shadowed face.
“Let you put your hands on me in my skin-tight jeans
Be your teenage dream tonight”
On impulse, Jack pulls you onto his lap, throwing you off balance; the microphone drops to the floor. His breath is too close; you can feel it against your neck. In a surge of boldness, you ask:
“Did you like what you were seeing?”
“Liked it a little too much, kid.”
You tilt your head back, letting Jack bury his nose there and breathe in your scent, closer than ever before. Jack’s large hands grip your waist urgently, pressing you even tighter against his leg. You lower your face, letting your noses almost touch. You’re breathing the same air, far too close. Jack brings his hand to your face, lightly caressing your cheek.
Suddenly, you hear the booth door opening.
You jump onto the sofa, scrambling off Jack’s lap.
It’s the attendant.
“Your two hours are up. Do you want to extend?”
***
The two of you are in his truck, both overcome by shyness and the feeling that you’ll never forget that moment. Jack is still too drunk to drive, and so are you, so you just sit there, watching time pass as your heart rates slow down.
“Sweetheart, I…” Jack begins, but you cut him off.
“There’s a McDonald’s just a few meters away. Want to go?”
“Are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
Jack lets out a quiet sigh.
“Okay, it’s still early. Let’s go.”
You hop out of the truck and walk side by side. Your hands brush against each other accidentally more times than you can count, sending shivers through both of you.
The cold air stirs your hair, carrying a hint of your scent toward Jack.
It’s a moment of peace, of introspection. Each of you is lost in thought, searching for the right words to describe what happened just minutes ago, and failing miserably at it.
The McChicken with extra bacon significantly sobers you both up. You eat in silence, which starts to bother you.
“Did McDonald’s exist when you were a teenager?” you ask, trying to make him laugh. It works.
“You need to stop being such a brat,” Jack says, hiding a smile.
“You like it.”
“Just finish eating; I promised myself I’d get you home before eleven.”
“Yes, sir. Any other demands?”
Jack looks at you, his smile quickly fading.
“Yeah… I’m sorry about what almost happened in the booth. It would’ve been inappropriate.”
Your heart starts pounding again.
“Yeah, I agree. I’m sorry too.”
You share a long look that stretches out for what feels like hours. You try to keep a straight face, but both of you break into smiles.
Under the table, your legs lightly brush against each other.
Jack can only think about how painful it’s going to be to go home without you and replay the whole night in his mind. And how much he needs to grab his cock and think of you while he does it.
next part
cw: age gap (22 & 50), dad's best friend, professor at college, fauxcest, brat/brat tamer relationship (kinda, just a little), power dinamics, smut, angst.
synopsis: you’ve always had an unrequited crush on your dad’s best friend, jack abbot. it only got worse when you started attending the same college where he is your professor. eventually, he begins leaving you little notes after class.
a/n: hiii, everyone! this is the au fanfic i started on tiktok (hatosykitten). i got so invested in it that I just had to start writing it out. it’ll be split into parts, i’m not sure how many yet. i’m going to change a few things from the tiktok version but nothing too drastic. and english is not my first language, so bear with me!!!! thanks for being here!
In the autumn of your twenty-one birthday, you decided your life needed to change.
You had lost your way since high school ended. While all your friends were busy with SATs and college applications, you were focused on staying up all night with a drink in hand, kissing strangers, sleeping in unfamiliar places, and giving your father plenty of headaches.
The freedom of adolescence was intoxicating, limitless. There was something about holding onto youth that way, a stubborn refusal to let yourself grow up. You didn't want to give up that moment to think about the future.
After graduation, things slowed down. Your friends headed off to their respective colleges; some moved out of state, while others became too busy for the usual parties. You found yourself alone and, for the first time, left behind. You decided to take a part-time job at the trendy neighborhood coffee shop, an attempt to feel useful and stop relying so heavily on others.
Yet, there was still the feeling that your life could be your own, on your own terms, even if that meant not living up to what was expected of you. Especially regarding your dad.
Your dad, an ex-military man and a single father since returning from the Middle East. Your mother had stayed with you just long enough for your father to serve the country and come home. After that, the responsibility was entirely his.
The minute your father’s feet touched the doorstep, your mother exited the scene, like a supporting actor vanishing when they are no longer needed. She would call occasionally, saying she needed time to think things over, that she was tired of being the household provider while your father was away, and that she longed for some time alone. That went on right up to the present day. You never saw your mother again.
Your father, on the other hand, was too present, too suffocating. His way of coping was always an attempt to make up for your mother’s absence and his own, back when he was away on duty.
He would get lost in the demands of the moment, obsessing over insignificant details of his day while forgetting that you were waiting for him to pick you up from school. Like your mother before him, he was trying to keep all the plates spinning with just two hands: fatherhood, housework, and the job he’d chosen to take on even after retiring. All of this made him a dad who tried hard but lacked balance.
That autumn, the tension in your relationship reached a breaking point.
It was a Saturday when you made your move.
You had invited a few coworkers from the coffee shop over to your place, just some harmless fun. You bought a case of beer and some ready-made snacks, then waited for everyone to arrive. But before you knew it, your house was packed with people you didn’t recognize. Teenagers, adults, even the lonely neighbor from down the street decided to show up. Things quickly spiraled out of control, but you didn’t care. You were with people you liked, drinking the right kind of alcohol, and having a good time, for the first time in months.
That party reminded you of simpler times, back before your mind got caught up in the race for achievements and the future.
But the aftermath is rough.
You wake up in the home of a stranger who was snoring right next to you. Your hair is sticking up at odd angles, your head is pounding, and your phone won't stop ringing. You clutch your head before finally grabbing the device. The screen lights up your face; the contact name "Dad" glowing brightly.
"Where are you?" — his voice is deep, irritated.
"Hi, Dad."
"Don't 'Hi, Dad' me! Where are you?"
"I don't know, but I'll find out soon."
"It’s funny. I got back early from my golf retreat and walked right into a house that had been completely trashed. I was terrified, I thought we’d been robbed. That is, until I saw the condoms and liquor bottles all over the kitchen counter." — He tries to sound ironic, but his irritation bleeds through his words. — "Oh, and the best part: I go looking for you, worried sick, and you’re nowhere to be found."
Fuck, fuck. He came back early. He wasn't supposed to be back until Monday.
"Dad, calm down, I’ll explain everything."
"Oh, I bet you will. Go ahead, I’m listening."
In the background, you hear the muffled sound of laughter, but you ignore it.
"Dad, it was only supposed to be a few people. I don't know how this happened, seriously. People just started showing up."
"For God's sake, you know what? Just be quiet. You’re just making me angrier."
"I’m on my way back, I’ll clean everything up."
"Oh, really? Coming back from where, exactly?"
The sound of laughter gets closer.
"Who’s there with you?" — you ask, unable to bear the thought of someone else listening to the conversation.
"Jack."
Oh. Jack.
Jack had always been a sensitive subject for you.
Your father’s best friend, the guy who had always been there since your dad returned from the East, the one your dad turned to in every situation. Jack, however, was also the first man you were truly attracted to, the first one you fell in love with.
You remember that first day perfectly. A few days after your mother left, your father showed up with him.
Him, with his magnificent physique, broad hands, wide back, and curls just starting to turn gray; dressed in simple jeans and a white shirt. Him, with his slightly crooked, rounded teeth and the smile lines that framed his face so beautifully. And you, having just turned fourteen.
“Ah, you must be the princess of the house,” he said the moment he saw you, giving you a long, tight hug. “It’s so good to finally meet you! Your dad won’t stop talking about you.”
“He exaggerates,” you replied, blushing slightly and looking down at your shoes.
“I doubt it,” he said, smiling.
You spent the day together in the backyard while your father manned the barbecue.
He asked you questions none of your friends ever did. Asking about your mother without being intrusive, asking about school without being nosy. Everything he said felt genuine, as if kindness came naturally to him. There was no pretense; he truly wanted to get to know you. Jack was the first person to really pay attention to you, to actually see you, without making assumptions.
You harbored that crush for years. You’d blush whenever he was around, write his name in your diary, circling the ‘J’ with a heart, and lose interest in all the boys at school. You longed for the days he’d come to see your father, yet you never rushed downstairs to greet him. You liked the feeling of watching him first. A stunning, magnificent grown man who moved like a lion with the grace of a flamingo.
Everything about him seemed instinctive, beautiful. The way he held a beer can, the way he’d throw his head back to laugh at your father’s silly jokes. So beautiful.
But it was painfully obvious that Jack didn’t like you that way. He saw you as a) a brat and b) a daughter. There was no point in keeping up that madness, you needed to get over Jack Abbot.
“Is Jack there? Can I talk to him?” you ask, using a spoiled tone.
“No, you’re talking to me. Jack isn’t going to save you from this one,” your father replies.
You hear a protest in the background.
“Please, daddy?”
There’s a silence. Your father has likely covered the phone’s microphone. Then, quickly, you hear another voice, his voice.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Jack says, his voice slow and husky. “Where are you? I’ll come get you.”
“Jack, I don’t know where I am,” you let out an ironic laugh.
“Send me your location, I’m on my way.”
“Is he really pissed at me?”
Jack lets out a delightful laugh.
“Yeah, but he’ll get over it. It’s just... you really messed up this time, even I can’t defend you.”
“Yes, you can. Come on.”
“I’m leaving right now, wait for me outside.”
You hang up the phone, completely oblivious to the guy in the bed. Your heart races, as it always does when you hear Jack’s voice. No matter how hard you try, your body will always want Jack. Jack. Jack.
***
Jack arrives within minutes.
He steps out of his pickup truck to open the door for you. It’s always been that way, his chivalry is practically in his DNA.
Jack offers his hand to help you climb into the massive truck, his finger lightly brushing the back of your hand. You shiver instantly, even knowing it was an involuntary move on his part. He closes the door once you’re inside and walks around to the other side.
Through the windshield, he shoots you a playful look, letting out a soft laugh as he glances down. He gets into the truck and starts the engine.
“So, a tip: don’t tell your dad you were at some random guy’s place, okay? Say you were at a girlfriend’s house.”
“How do you know it was a guy, Jack?” you ask, amused.
“Because I know you, and I know the type of men who entertain you. I know they’d never take you home or even wait outside with you for a ride to arrive,” he replies, a smile still playing on his lips.
“You’re an idiot, you know that?” You give his shoulder a playful punch. “And another thing: you’re paying way too much attention to my life.”
“I’ll always pay attention.” He tears his gaze away from the road for a few seconds, washing over you with his hazel eyes. “I just look after what’s mine.”
“What’s yours?” you ask, surprised.
“Yeah. I mean, regarding my family...” He looks uncomfortable for a moment, shifting in his seat and clearing his throat.
You and Jack often have these moments where words seem ambiguous, where meaning straddles the line of interpretation, a space where you two meet in secret. But he is always quick to steer things back to the literal, leaving no room for double meanings. That was something that kept you aware of your place in his life: the daughter of his best friend, and nothing more.
It used to hurt you, back when you still hoped he’d see you as more than just a kid. But now, you simply savor that fleeting moment where a world in which Jack Abbot might want you for himself, as something more, exists .
The drive is filled with silence, and within minutes, you arrive at your house. Your father is waiting for you, arms crossed over his chest, a stern look on his face.
Jack parks in front of the yard and turns off the engine.
“Just apologize, don’t take the bait, okay? He was just worried,” he advises. “If things get too heated, call me, I’ll come pick you up.”
You smile and give him an awkward side-hug. His body heat is almost unbearable, far too alluring.
“Thanks, Jack. For the ride and the tip.” You wink at him.
Jack holds his breath for a split second, moistens his lips, and smiles, catching his lower lip between his teeth. God, how does he manage to be so sexy without even trying?
“Bye, sweetheart”
You step out of the truck and walk toward your father, who waves at Jack from a distance. When his gaze shifts back to you, you know you’re in deep trouble.
***
“You know what I’d like?” Your father’s voice echoes deeply through the walls of your house. “A daughter who cared, even a little, about her own father. Or if not her father, then at least the house he worked so hard to buy.”
“Dad, calm down.”
“You know what else I’d like? For her not to invite strangers over to drink and have sex in this house without permission.”
“Dad, I know. It wasn’t my fault, I swear. I only invited my coworkers from the café, we were just going to have a beer and watch a movie, that’s it. But then a bunch of people started showing up"
“Do you know what the worst part is?” He interrupts you. “It’s just that I trusted you, for one weekend. For one weekend, I thought you’d handle everything, no stupid behavior, no childishness.”
“I swear, none of this was supposed to happen.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
You quickly realize your father’s tone is different from the one he used in previous arguments. He sounds tired, exhausted, even.
He sits on the sofa and puts both hands to his head, rubbing his temples, and falls silent. He seems to be debating whether or not to keep talking.
“You know, I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” he says.
“What do you mean?”
“Ever since your mother left, I’ve made excuses for your behavior. Thinking maybe you were just looking for attention, I don’t know. Maybe you were feeling lonely. That made sense when you were fourteen, so I went along with the way you acted.” He looks at you, disappointed. “But now, at twenty-one? I don’t know if I can do it anymore.”
“Dad…” you begin, but he immediately raises his hand to silence you.
“I’m tired, too tired. You’re twenty-one years old, you have a dead-end job, you didn’t go to college, and you still spend your weekends getting wasted and getting in trouble. It’s disappointing.”
That hits you like a missile. It was one thing for people to judge your life, but hearing it straight from your father, your only family, was something else entirely. You fight back the tears welling up in your eyes.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” you say, mixing sadness and anger in a single sentence. “I wish I could be more, do more, but unfortunately, this is all I have to offer right now.”
He watches you, a whirlwind of emotions racing through his mind. He lets out a long sigh and stands up from the sofa, the upholstery springs back as his weight lifts.
“Unfortunately, it hasn’t been enough,” he says, walking past you into the other room.
You are left alone. Just you and your thoughts, attacking you.
***
By the time you finish tidying up the whole house, the sun has already set.
You’ve scraped mustard-covered hamburger buns off the ceiling, removed used condoms from the bathroom sink, and cleared countless liquor bottles off the floor. The fridge had been completely emptied, there was nothing left inside. Luckily, the upstairs was intact, but the ground floor was in a deplorable state.
Your father has locked himself in his room ever since your argument ended. That’s always how he handles tense situations: he isolates himself and then goes back to talking to you as if nothing had happened. When you were a teenager, you handled it calmly. It made sense to want your father as far away as possible. But now it was irritating, the isolation made you feel even more alone.
You decide to call Jack, who picks up quickly.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, with a sleepy voice.
“Hey, are you busy?”
“Never for you. What do you need?”
“The crowd that came over ate all the food. Can you take me to the store to restock?”
“Sure, I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”
Jack arrives right on time, 20 minutes later. His eyes look puffy from interrupted sleep, but he smells like he’s just showered, and his hair is still slightly damp.
“Oh no. I woke you up,” you say, feeling guilty.
“No, no. It was just a nap.”
He starts the car.
“So, was the lecture bad?”
He asks playfully at first, but when you don’t say anything right away, he starts to worry.
“It was bad…”
“It was the worst one yet, actually.”
“What did he say?”
“Basically, that I’m a disappointment,” you let out a weak laugh.
“He didn’t really mean it. He was just angry, he said it in the heat of the moment.”
“I don’t think so. To be honest, I think he’s been bottling that up for a long time.”
Jack looks at you with concern and pity. He understands your father’s temperament better than you do, he understands why he’s so demanding. Your father had become much more complicated since returning from the East years ago. To him, mistakes caused catastrophes. Absolutely anything that didn’t go according to plan could ruin a life.
You let the silence stretch on, and Jack does too. He seems unsure of what to say.
“You know, when your father and I were away from home, we avoided talking about the life we had before all that. Remembering was too painful. We made a habit of pretending there was no one waiting for us back home, it made things easier.”
You watch him closely, noticing how his eyes change color as the light hits them. He seems far away, his mind wandering.
“But you were the weak spot in that routine. He couldn't help talking about you, mentioning how much he missed you. It upset him that he was missing out on such precious years of your life.”
You notice his fingertips turning slightly white as he grips the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the road.
“Be patient with him. He’s still carrying a heavy load, a lot of trauma.”
“I know, but I can’t help wondering...” You look away from Jack and back at the radio. “Do you find me disappointing, Jack?”
“Of course not, sweetheart. Never,” he replies, glancing back and forth between you and the road. “Don’t let that get to you, he didn’t mean it.”
“But I’m not doing anything with my life. I didn’t go to college when I was supposed to. Everyone else has their lives so mapped out, and I…”
“Shh, don’t say that. You made different choices, and that’s okay; life isn’t the same for everyone. Besides, going to college doesn’t mean everything.”
“Says the guy who was a veteran, then a doctor, and is now an emergency medicine professor at the University of Pittsburgh.”
“Yeah, but I chose my own path. No one chose it for me.” He gives you a powerful, wise look. “You have to do what makes sense for you, sweetheart. All I know is that whatever you decide to do, you’ll do it well.”
“Maybe I should go into medicine, like you.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Maybe?”
“Great. I’ll help you with the applications, if that’s really what you want.”
You let out a little laugh at the absurdity of it all. You? Medical school?
You’d always been smart. The annoying kind of smart, the sort that didn’t require much effort. Your biggest problem was always a lack of focus, anything could throw you off track.
“Really? You’d help me?”
“Absolutely. You can count on me.” Jack flashes a wide smile. “Who knows? You might even get into the University of Pittsburgh. You could be my student.”
The thought makes you freeze. Seeing Jack a few times a month was already an overwhelming experience. It required a massive amount of self-restraint. Imagine seeing him several times a week, watching him on campus or at work, places where he was likely even more commanding and confident. You feel your neck burning.
“Yeah, that would be cool. But you’d get accused of favoritism,” you joke.
“Oh, for sure. You’re already my favorite student.”
Fuck. Why would he say that?
You both start to laugh, in sync.
Like a breeze, you feel your worries drift away in the wind. The arguments, your lifestyle, your plans, everything seems small. Jack has that power.
You watch the suburban lights drift past and lean your head partly out the window, slipping off your flip-flops, propping your feet up on the seat, and feeling the autumn air hit your face. You close your eyes, but sense Jack’s curious gaze on you.
“You used to do this when you were younger, remember?” he says, his voice dreamy. “You’d call me in the middle of the night when you couldn’t sleep. I’d pick you up, and we’d just drive around. You’d always fell asleep like that, with your head practically hanging out of the car.”
You feel your stomach turn into a mess.
You rest your head against the window frame, looking at Jack with your chin tilted slightly up, and let the memory wash over you: the wind lifting your hair, Jack letting you pick the music (Lorde, always), the streetlights slipping by, the quiet neighborhood, and the sleep that came so gently when you were with him. Safe, never alone.
“I’d never forget that,” you say, holding his gaze.
In that moment, you catch a spark of electricity in his eyes. You wish you could stay in this "now" forever, a place where he looks at you without caring where the road leads, where you share a secret.
You expect him to break the spell, to slice the time between your dreams and reality. But he doesn’t. He just looks at you, from head to toe, his eyes turning dark.
Suddenly, Jack pulls your feet onto his lap and turns his gaze back to the street. He traces delicate circles on your insteps and massages one foot at a time.
The sensation of his fingers against your skin is new, unfamiliar and unsettling. You feel everything inside you turn to molten lava, your heart screaming against your ribs. Every stroke he makes sends a long shiver racing through your entire body. It’s terrifying.
A sound like a moan escapes your throat before you can stop it, Jack presses his fingers lightly against your skin in response.
“You shouldn't do that. I might get used to it,” you say, surprised by your own boldness. He chuckles.
“Oh, yeah?” He shoots you an enigmatic look.
“Yeah. When I get into your class, I’m going to tell everyone that Professor Abbot likes to touch his female students.”
“Not female students. I like touching you,” he says, his voice so low.
Jesus Christ. You wonder if you heard that right. You almost ask him to repeat it, closer this time. But you notice you’ve arrived at the grocery store parking lot, and he turns off the truck.
And you wonder if you should tell him that that moment was the most erotic and arousing of your life.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
