“Okay. Are you ready, Dex?”
“Um…yeah.” It was him. Young, unsure. Scared.
“Good. Now, tell me what we were talking about.”
A pause. The table creaked. “We were…we were talking about the ‘North Star’.”
“That’s right. And what were we saying about the ‘North Star’?”
“That it’s…good. For me. To have one, I mean.”
Mercer hummed in agreement. “Sometimes people need something outside themselves, Dex. A person. A purpose. Something to look toward when everything else feels unstable. Something that makes us feel seen.”
benjamin poindexter does not believe in fate. he believes in structure, routine, and predictability. but then, he meets you. his new next door neighbor.
warnings: 18+ (mdni!), DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, this fic includes stalking, obsessive behavior, invasion of privacy, unhealthy attachment, emotional manipulation, coercive behavior, possessiveness, abusive relationship dynamics, trauma, mental health conditions, violence, canon-typical Daredevil/DDBA violence, references to psychiatric institutionalization, sexual themes, and explicit sexual content. North Star also explores the progression of a relationship that becomes increasingly toxic and abusive over time.
PLEASE NOTE: this is a dark romance and is NOT intended to portray a healthy relationship.
I’ve never heard of this man before, but I just binged this entire thing and cannot wait to read more! Your writing is so good, it had me completely immersed.
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"m'sorry, m'sorry..." Dex sobs, voice muffled against your neck, his words dissolving into broken breaths.
He won't pull away from you, not even when your nails rake down his broad back, drawing red lines and tiny beads of blood. The slap of his hips against yours is relentless, drawing filthy, broken sounds out of both of you.
"Can't stop — don't want to—" he whines, hips snapping harder, chasing the feeling. The wet noises of your cunt echo through the room, slick and obscene.
"Dex!" you cry out, back arching off the sheets, oversensitive, shaking, “ m'so close, too much, pleaseee stop—"
He shakes his head like he's the one falling apart, a choked sob breaking out of him. He can't stop, not when you're squealing out his name so prettily, not when your cunt is trying to milk him for all he’s worth.
His grip on your hips tightens enough to bruise, fingertips digging in like he's terrified you'll vanish if he loosens them for even a second. The rhythm of his thrusts falters, his balls slapping heavily against your ass, hips stuttering as desperation overtakes the control he had moments ago, bleeding into every messy, uneven snap of his hips. His breath hitches wetly against your skin, and you realize he's crying again, silent tears dripping hot onto your shoulder.
"You never—" he gasps, voice cracking, "—never made those sounds with me” The words spill out between ragged breaths, raw with something that isn’t quite anger but aches just as deep, “Not once. Not like you did with him “ he spat.
His words were swept away, lost somewhere between the ringing in your ears and the white-hot haze still clouding your head. You blink up at him, dazed, lips parted, trying to catch up to whatever he just said.
“Huh?"
Dex's face is wrecked above you — flushed, lashes wet, that same broken sob still caught in his throat.
"Your window," he pants, tongue dragging wet over your pulse point before his teeth sink in again, sucking another bruise into your skin, “ South side. The blinds were— fuck— always crooked “ His hips jerk forward again, slower now but no less insistent, grinding into you with a groan as he felt your cunt squeeze around him, “ Every Tuesday. Thursday nights too”
The realization creeps over you slow, sick, like cold water seeping into your bones. You go rigid beneath him, fingers twisting tighter in his sweat-damp hair, “ Dex—"
He whines, high and desperate, rutting against you like an animal, his cock twitching inside you, still sensitive, "Saw everything," he confesses, breath hot against your jaw, “ Every time— Every fucking time” His voice cracks open on the last word, ragged, raw, “ The way you— the noises—" He shudders, eyes squeezing shut, and you feel the fresh spill of tears against your cheek, “ Never with me. Never once”
You're pulling at his hair now, nails scraping his scalp, and he just moans, loud and broken, hips stuttering against yours. His lips are slick and messy against your skin, spit-wet kisses that trail down your throat, his teeth catching on your collarbone, “ Stop— Dex—" you gasp, but your voice comes out weak, trembling, because your body's still clenching around him, still squeezing him tight, betraying you.
"You squirted for him," he mumbles into your shoulder, delirious, hips jerking shallowly, “ Twice. I saw—" His fingers dig into your thighs, spreading you wider, and you sob, oversensitive, shaking as another wave crashes over you, “ Wanted to— fuck— wanted to make you—" He breaks off with a groan, burying his face in your neck, shuddering as he spills inside you again, hips twitching weakly.
The squelching 'pop' of him pulling out echoes obscenely in the quiet room, followed immediately by the warm spill of his cum trickling between your thighs. Dex doesn't give you a second to breathe—his hands are already dragging your hips up, his mouth latching onto you with a desperate, messy hunger.
His tongue swipes broad and flat through the mess he left behind, tasting himself mixed with your slick, and the broken sound he makes vibrates against your oversensitive cunt, “ m'gonna— fuck— m'gonna make you," he slurs between wet, open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, his grip bruising-tight as he spreads you wider.
"Nonono— Dex, stop—" Your legs jerk uselessly against his shoulders, heels skidding against sweat-slick skin, but he pins you down with the full weight of his body, tongue working relentless circles where you're oversensitive and trembling.
The vibrations of his groan against your clit send another jolt of pleasure-pain up your spine, your thighs clamping around his head instinctively even as you try to squirm away.
"Taste so fucking good," he mumbles into you, voice wrecked, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass dragging you closer. "Gonna make you— fuck— gonna make you cum right—" His words dissolve into a wet, obscene noise as his tongue dips inside you, fluttering shallow and fast, and your back arches off the bed with a punched-out whimper.
You claw at the sheets, toes curling, breath coming in ragged gasps—but Dex just growls against you, the sound dark and possessive, and doubles down. His lips seal around your clit, sucking hard enough to make you yelp, and suddenly his fingers are there too, pressing in deep, curling just righttt— "Dex, please—" you sob, but it's too late, your body betraying you again as heat coils tight in your belly, your hips jerking against his mouth uncontrollably.
The orgasm hits you like a delayed aftershock—sharp and sudden, tearing through you with enough force to leave your vision momentarily white. Your thighs clamp around Dex's head instinctively, heels digging into the small of his back as you arch off the bed with a choked cry, but it's not the same.
Not the gush of wetness he'd confessed to watching through your crooked blinds, not the mess he'd fantasized about for weeks. Just a shuddering, ordinary climax that leaves you twitching beneath him, breathless and spent.
Dex pulls back immediately, lips swollen and wet, his breath coming in ragged bursts. His eyes dart between your face and the space between your legs like he's waiting for something—some proof, some sign—but when nothing comes, his expression cracks, “ Why?" he rasps, voice raw, hands tightening on your thighs hard enough to leave marks. His cock twitches weakly against his thigh, still painfully soft, the flush on his skin deepening with frustration, “ Why not with me?"
The question hangs between you, jagged-edged and desperate. You reach for him, fingers brushing his sweat-damped cheek, but he jerks back like you've burned him. "Dex, it's—"
"Don't “His laugh is brittle, fingers dragging through his own hair as he sits back on his heels, his cock bobbing against his stomach, red and leaking, “ Don't fucking say it's fine. It's not “ His throat bobs as he swallows hard, eyes darting away from yours, “ I saw you. I know what I saw. So why—"
His voice cracks, fingers digging into his own scalp now like he's trying to physically pull the thoughts out, “ Is it me? Am I not— fuck— not good enough? Not rough enough? What is it? “
You push yourself up on shaky elbows, still catching your breath, “ Dex— baby please”
" Do you still love him?," he interrupts, voice breaking, and suddenly you understand the wet shine in his eyes isn't just sweat, “ You let him. You— fuck” His hand fists around his own cock now, stroking roughly, his hips jerking into the tight circle of his fingers, “ But not me. Never me “His breath hitches, his strokes turning punishing, “ What's wrong with me?"
Your stomach twists, “ Nothing's wrong with you “You reach for him again, but he flinches away, his jaw clenching, “ Dex—"
"Then what?" His grip on himself tightens, precum smearing over his knuckles. "Tell me what to do. Tell me how to— fuck—" He cuts off with a groan, his free hand dragging down his face, smearing tears and spit, “ I watched you. Every time. The way he touched you, the way you—" His breath stutters. "I did exactly what he did. Exactly! “ he cried out
"So why—" His voice drops to a whisper, raw and shattered, “Why aren't you giving me what I want?" he whines
Dex doesn't let you mutter another word out. His hands clamp around your wrists, pinning them to the mattress with a force that makes your breath catch. His weight presses you deeper into the sheets, the heat of his body scorching where it touches yours. You can feel the tremor in his grip—the sheer restrain he was holding from lashing out at you.
"You don't get to lie," he grits out, voice ragged. His thumbs dig into the delicate bones of your wrists, not quite painful but close enough, “Not when I saw it. Not when I fucking counted” His breath hitches, wet against your cheek, “Twice, you did it twice— for him!” he cried out.
His hips jerk against yours, his cock dragging through the mess between your thighs with a filthy, wet sound.
You lift your hands gently to frame his face, thumbs brushing away the wet trails on his cheeks as you press soft, feather-light kisses to his trembling lips, “Shhh, baby," you murmur, the words warm against his skin, your voice honey-sweet, "It's okay, I'm right here. I love you so much, Dex—look at me, sweetheart” His breath hitched when your fingers slide into his hair, scratching soothingly at his scalp the way he likes, and you lean in to nuzzle his nose with yours, grinning when his lashes flutter.
Your thumbs trace slow circles along his damp cheekbones, to the scars on his skin, pressing delicate kisses to each eyelid, the bridge of his nose, the corner of his quivering mouth.
"Love you," you whisper against his skin, lips brushing the shell of his ear as your fingers card through his tangled hair, "Love you so much it hurts, Dex. My sweet boy” His breath shudders when you nip playfully at his jaw, grinning against the stubble as he instinctively tilts his head to give you better access, “ That's it, baby. Just breathe with me, yeah?"
His fingers twitched as they slide towards your palms intertwining your fingers together. You squeeze gently, bringing his knuckles to your lip, kissing each one while his chest rises and falls in uneven bursts, “Think we've had enough for today, hm?" you murmur, stretching up to peck the furrow between his brows, smiling when it smooths under your mouth, "Got all tomorrow to—"
"No. No, no, no—" the words tumble rapidly out of his mouth, desperation cracking through every syllable.
His hands tremble where they're clutched around yours, gripping tighter instead of letting go, like he needs the anchor of your fingers laced through his to keep himself from spiraling.
"You don't—you don't get it," he chokes out, shaking his head violently, strands of sweat-damp hair sticking to his forehead. His pupils are blown wide, dark with something frantic and wounded, “I can—fuck, I can do better. Just—just let me—" His hips jerk forward involuntarily, still achingly soft despite his wants, body too spent to follow where his desperation wants to take it.
His words dissolve into a wet, desperate whine as he presses his forehead against yours, trembling fingers scrabbling at your hips like he’s trying to carve himself into your skin. "Let me—" His voice cracks, raw and broken, "Let me be enough, just this once—"
You barely have time to inhale before he’s pushing into you again, his cock still half-hard and oversensitive, the swollen head dragging against your walls with a shuddering gasp.
His whole body shakes with the effort, muscles twitching under sweat-slick skin as he forces himself deeper, teeth gritted against the overwhelming sensation. His fingers dig into the bruises already purpling your hips, blunt nails leaving crescent moons in their wake.
"Dex—no” you start, but he cuts you off with a ragged groan, his hips jerking forward in shallow, uneven thrusts. His breath hitches wetly against your neck, his lips brushing your pulse point in something that might’ve been a kiss if it weren’t for the way his teeth catch on your skin moments later.
"Please," he whimpers, the word muffled against your collarbone, his voice so small it barely reached your ears. His cock twitched inside you, still soft enough that every movement draws a broken noise from his throat, his body trembling with the strain of chasing a pleasure that’s just out of reach. "Please, please, pleaseee—"
His plea dissolves into a wet gasp as his hips stutter forward, the swollen head of his cock dragging against your oversensitive walls.
The sound is obscene—wet, squelching—as his cock drags in and out of you, still half-hard but relentless in its pursuit. Each thrust is uneven, desperate, his hips jerking forward with a broken rhythm that makes his breath hitch.
His fingers dig into your hips, dragging you closer, as if he could fuse himself to you if he just pressed hard enough. "Fuck, fuck—" he whines, voice cracking, forehead pressed to your collarbone as his cock twitches inside you, still oversensitive but refusing to stop. His hands scramble upward, palms rough as they grope your tits, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp.
"Feel—feel so good," he slurs against your skin, tongue laving over the sweat-slick curve of your breast before his teeth sink in, sucking a bruise into the soft flesh. His cock pulses inside you, still struggling to stay fully hard, but he pushes deeper anyway, hips stuttering as he grinds against you with a choked sob. "Wanna—wanna make you—"
His words dissolve into a wet moan as his fingers pinch your nipples sharply, twisting just enough to make you arch beneath him, your cunt clenching around him reflexively. He groans, loud and wrecked, his hips snapping forward like he's chasing the sensation, even as his body trembles with exhaustion.
Dex's body gives out all at once—his arms buckle, his knees slip, and he collapses onto you with a ragged groan, his sweat-slick chest pressing flush against yours. His breath comes in harsh, uneven gasps, his muscles trembling with exhaustion as he nuzzles weakly into the crook of your neck, lips brushing your pulse point in a silent plea.
“m’sorry, m'sorry," he slurs, voice thick with tears, his hips twitching weakly against yours even now, as if his body refuses to accept defeat, “ I'll—I'll be better, swear it, just—just lemme—" His words dissolve into a broken whimper, feeling your pussy clamp around his spent cock, jizz oozing out of your dripping hole.
You pant beneath him, your own limbs heavy, skin tingling from oversensitivity, every inch of you aching in the best and worst ways.
Your thighs quiver where they bracket his hips, your cunt still fluttering around him in aftershocks, and you wince at the sensation—too much, too soon, but Dex doesn't pull away. Instead, he presses closer, his fingers tangling in the sheets beside your head as he shudders, his entire body wracked with exhaustion.
“Gonna—gonna be good," he mumbles, lips dragging wetly along your collarbone, his voice wrecked. "Gonna—fuck—gonna make you—" His hips jerk again, but it's weak, pathetic, his body betraying him as a fresh wave of tremors wracks his frame.
Dex's voice scrapes out dry and cracked, throat raw from overuse— every whine and broken syllable he's spent the last hour pulling out of himself leaving him parched, "We're gonna go again”
His hips shift weakly against yours, a half-hearted grind that barely stirs him inside you, “ I’m gonna get it right this time”
The ceiling stares back at you, blank and indifferent, while something heavy settles low in your ribs, cold and creeping.
Summary: Jack Abbot decided to take a yoga class, what he didn’t expect was to fall for the yoga teacher.
MDNI 18+ ONLY
Tags: smut, jack abbot being a simp, Jack also being kinda a creep, yoga sex, implied age gap, fem reader, no condom (don’t be like them practice safe sex guys!), sex on yoga mat
WC: 3.7k
a/n: I couldn’t resist hehe, NOT PROOFREAD, just a quick write after Robby's joke about Abbot doing naked yoga during sunrise ;)
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Men were never attending your yoga classes. Much less at 9:15 in the morning. So when you had walked in, greeting some of the women who had come in last week, you had to do a double-take when you spotted the man sitting in the corner.
He has chosen a small spot, away from the other women. His leg was stretched out in front of him while his other was tucked into his side in a makeshift pigeon pose. You thought you were hallucinating before you realized half of his leg was in a prosthetic. You pull your eyes off him, not wanting to scare away a new student as you walk to the front of the class.
“Hello everyone, I will be your instructor for today's power yoga class, I am so glad you’ve joined us,” You face the class, grabbing your mat and rolling it out as you speak. Your eyes catch on his, and for a second you lose your words. His arms flex as he stands himself up. His eyes are on yours watching your every move as you start the class.
Jack Abbot has never felt more ridiculous in his life. His therapist recommended branching out, maybe getting more movement than just running and weights into his routine. Ellis had recommended your studio, and after one grueling shift, he decided to sign up. He specifically chose one a bit outside his normal circle of life. He knew his body would be on full display, including his prosthetic and didn’t feel like having someone he might know recognize him. What he didn’t expect was how intense this class would be.
He lifted his head at times just to see all the people around him absolutely killing it. When you had said standing split, he could barely lift his leg over ninety degrees. He was watching you, fully in a split as if it were the easiest thing in the world. He looked away as you lowered your leg down, going around the room to offer motivation. As you walked towards him he lifted his leg a little higher feeling embarrassed by his lack of skill. You noticed and smiled to yourself.
“You’re doing amazing, and pull your leg to your chest, into a standing lunge, anddd back up to the split, we will do that five more times,” you were standing right next to him, watching. He’s been under pressure before, but never once has he felt like it had made him struggle. Yet, right now, with your eyes watching him as he has to stand up on one leg he felt his balance waver. You walk away and he lowers his leg to the ground, steadying himself before continuing.He could see from his lowered head, your feet approaching him again.
“If you lean your left hand on the block it’ll make it easier, I do it all the time.” You gave him a smile before setting the block down at his feet. He takes it with a nod, placing his hand on it as you suggested. It had made it easier and he felt a little bit better about himself and his balance.
The rest of class was just like that. You offer support to modify positions and he listens, balancing just like the rest of the class. By the end of it, his legs had felt like jelly and sweat was dripping down his face.
“Namaste,” You spoke to the class, the last five minutes just resting in meditation. Your eyes open from their closed position finding him. You offer a smile, and for the first time, he smiles back. As you say goodbye to the girls in the class, your gaze can’t help but linger back to him as he packs his things up. You make your way to his mat before he can get a chance to sneak out.
“Good work today, I didn’t catch your name,” You greet him, startling him a bit as he turns around. He nods his head, holding his hand out to shake.
“Jack,” He offers a small smile while you take his hand. You can feel the calluses beneath his palms and ignore the sensation a single touch offers you.
“Well, you absolutely killed it today, hopefully we can see you next class!” You let go of his hand despite everything in you wanting to hold on longer. He shakes his head.
“Yeah, see me fall over,” He tries to crack a joke at his own expense. He’s been good at everything he's done. Of course, he hasn't tried anything new lately, but he’s not struggled with physical exercise until now.
“My first class teaching, my foot slipped out from under me while in downward dog, fell right on my face and chipped a tooth, so I promise, it’s totally fine if you fall, even us seasoned teachers struggle,” You can’t resist it. You know you shouldn’t flirt with students but you see the way he looked away when he spoke. How nervous he seemed this whole class. So you offer support, your hand reaching for his shoulder, giving a soft squeeze. He looks down at your hand before back up to you.
“And if you did fall we have cameras you can get the footage from for a good laugh!” You try to ease up the tension you created, pulling your hand from his shoulder. The edge of his lips lift slightly, your smile alone enough to make him smile.
“I’ll hold you to that,” He jokes back. Your cheeks flush a bit, but you ignore it playing it off as a normal post workout blush.
“So I guess that means you’ll be coming back,”
“Only if you’re the one teaching,” Despite your teasing, his words are very serious. You realized neither of you have moved from the back corner and the class has already cleared out. You look around, taking a step back to collect yourself.
“Well, my class schedule is posted online so you can take a look when you get a chance, it was very nice meeting you Jack,” You take another step back, allowing space for him to leave. He picks up his mat, offering another very small smile before walking out. You stay back in the room taking a deep breath silently praying he will come back for another class.
Your next 9:15 class you may have spent a little more time than usual getting ready. Picking out a set that showed off your body, and instead of just throwing your hair up, you spent time making it look nicer. All of this because you had checked the class roster, eyes scanning for one name ‘Jack’.
When you had greeted everyone coming in, you offered him the same hello, but your body resisted your nonchalant demeanure and you couldn't help but smile even bigger when you had seen him walk in.
“Glad you could make it Jack,” You wave at him, turning a few heads as he responds back with a small hello.
You didn’t make this an easy class. You wanted to keep your mind off the very sexy man in the back corner, so you opted for a more workout focused class where you would have to stay in the front. You noticed the way this was much easier for him. You also noticed how when he picked up the weights, his biceps somehow got larger as he flexed, the freckles dancing on his skin as he moved. You also noticed the way the other women in your class had begun to check him out as well.
At the end of class, one of your regulars had gone up to him to compliment his form. You try to ignore the bubbles in your chest as he smiles at her. You decide to go up to him after she walks away, offering him a cheeky wave.
“Everyone here is so strong, You’re a great teacher,” He speaks out to you before you reach the edge of his mat. You laugh, ignoring his praise as you finally stand face to face with him.
“Thank you, you did a lot better this week,”
“I knew you thought I did poorly last week,” he teases, loving the way he can make you blush and laugh from a few words. You continue to laugh, head falling back as you try to cover yourself.
“Now you're twisting my words,” You joke trying to ignore the way he smiles at you. You see his shoulder relax as he looks at you, his arms down by his side, calmer than he was last class.
“You’re the one who said it not me”
“I hope my ‘very twisted and out of context words’ don't stop you from coming next week.”
“I’ll be coming next week, don’t worry,”
The next month flies by. Jack keeps coming back to your yoga classes. You can’t help but feel giddy every time he walks through the doors. His strength keeps getting better but his balance stays a little rough. You offer him blocks until eventually he picks up the blocks before class begins without a word from you. You’ve learned from the other girls who talk about him that he’s single and a doctor. He is the talk of the studio, and you’re just glad that you know he keeps coming back to your classes just for you.
“Unfortunately, this is going to be my last class for the next two weeks, it was so great being with you guys, take care of yourselves,” You nod your head to the class before standing and gathering your things. Jack's attention is strong on you. You hadn’t mentioned previously about leaving and curiosity gets the better of him. This time, he approaches you. You turn around to see him right in front of you, hands by his side, his presence towering over you.
“Where are you off to?” He tries to play it off as a casual question. He’s unsure where to look as you bat your eyes at him. You opted to only wear a sports bra and shorts to class today showing off your body in a way that he can’t help but look at.
“There's this retreat in California, practices a lot of soul healing and nude yoga, it was the highlight of this past year for me so I couldn’t pass it up again,” Jack’s eyes widen ever so slightly at your words. Sure he knows yoga is pretty vulnerable, but nude yoga seemed that much more vulnerable. His head starts conjuring images immediately, you in downward dog, fully nude, your pussy open and exposed. You notice the way he looks away for a second, shaking his head before looking back at you. Your cheeks flush a bit, you’ve never been embarrassed of your practices, but telling Abbot felt like something more raw.
“Nude yoga? Sounds nice,” He squints his eyes. For the first time, Jack has been at a loss for words. It makes sense. You have always spoken highly of respecting your body, speaking about self love and respect. It would make sense that a way of self love for you would be nude yoga.
“You should try it sometime, it’s honestly the best thing I’ve started doing for myself… super grounding,” You feel something in the air shift as you continue to speak. A lightness as your words process into Jack's head.
“I think I'd feel too stupid to do that alone,” His words are quiet, like a confession to himself rather than to you. Your words come out faster than you process.
“I would be more than willing to teach one on one if that makes it easier,” You watch as his face turns red, his lips lifting a bit.
“I don’t know if I'd be able to focus if your hands were on me while naked..” He jokes, releasing some of the tension.
Your breath stutters for a second, the implications of his words sending jolts through your body. The small coil that has been building between the two of you for the past month and half unraveling faster than you can stop it.
You look around the classroom, seeing if any students are still lingering behind who could overhear your words before speaking slowly.
“ I’m a good teacher… besides yoga is about releasing tension…maybe that’s what you need,” You don’t even try to hide the second meaning to your words. Jack redistributes his weight, ignoring the way his pants have gotten a little tighter.
“How about I give you my number and you can call when I get back and you need that release?” You hold your hand out as he pulls his phone out. He takes a step closer, looking down on you as he lowers his phone into your hand, fingers brushing your palms.
“Sounds good,” He smiles cockily as you put in your number, your eyes leaving him for the first time since he walked up to your mat.
You chat a bit more before walking him out the door. He sends you a quick wink before waving him goodbye. You were shaking, excited to get back from your trip before you had even left As soon as you were back in pittsburg, your phone lit up with a message from an unknown number.
“About that lesson?” You had to bite your lip to stop the smile forming. You didn’t want to get your hopes up after your flirty interaction three weeks ago, but like clockwork he was counting down the days just like you were.
You had agreed to meet at a bar by your place, opting for some drinks after one of his shifts. Despite him being on his feet for twelve hours, he looked gorgeous. His curls framing his neck, a black t-shirt and jeans oppessed to his usual scrubs. You were both healthily tipsy by the time you suggested going back to your place to show him some of the new flows you had learnt while away.
Jack couldn’t think of a time he has laughed so much in one night. His whole body felt lighter with you, like he can breathe easily for the first time in years. You always had a joke or something to say that when silence had settled brought in a new conversation and a new wave of laughter.
You're laughing your ass off by the time you walk into your house. Leading the door open for Jack as he walks inside. He steps at the doorway looking around your house, taking it in for a beat. You’ve got anything and everything on your walls, plants around every corner, and a yoga mat where a dining table should be. It looks like you.
You watch him as he looks around, admiring the way his shirt clings to his pecs.
“Are you a vampire or can you come inside without permission?” You walk up to him, grabbing him by the hand and leading him into your living room where another mat resides. You walk away for a second, grabbing another mat and laying it out next to him.
“Very funny,” His voice shows no amusement, but his face is full of it as he walks next to where your mat is.
“Ok, you might have to catch me because it’s not the best right now,” You look over at him as you scratch your shoulders.
“Wait, I thought I was getting the full effect,” He teases you, tugging at your baggy shirt as he walks flush to you. Your face is inches apart as you lean in. He pulls back, edging you before sitting on the mat you rolled out for him.
You strip off your shirt and bottoms shamelessly. After three weeks of being naked, it seemed like nothing new. Jacks draw drops at how effortlessly you complied. You had no shame which only made him fall harder for you.
“Alright, this is the scorpion," You place your hands flat on the mat, elbows down. You lift your hips in the air using your core to pull your body up. You tuck your knees in before lifting them fully. His jaw drops as he watches you in awe. You were fully upside down now, not shaking just content. Your knees bend as your back arches forward. You shoulders start to shake as he positions himself closer to catch your fall.
You topple from the headstand, landing on the floor. His hands reach out instinctively catching you into his lap.
“Jesus, you're gonna break your neck sweetheart," He masks his worry with a chuckle as you grab his shoulders lifting yourself up onto his lap. You settle your hips on top of his, positioning yourself in front of him. Your hands move from his shoulders to the back of his neck. He hides a smile as one hand settles to your hip while the other moves to your face. For one second you hold your breath, just watching as his eyes move from your lips back up to your eyes.
“Can I kiss you?” He asks, his eyes moving back to your lips. You nod your head, breathless as he leans in. You connect, his lips slow, savoring this moment. You can taste the beer in his mouth and he continues kissing you. You sink down on him, your hands moving to run through his hair.
Things start to get heated as he moves a hand down to your ass, grabbing it causing a moan to bubble out of your throat granting his tongue access to your mouth. You grind your hips on his ear, earning a groan as he continues to explore your mouth with his tongue. You’re nearly dizzy by the time he pulls back, moving his lips down your neck, his stubble tickling your skin as his soft kisses pamper your skin. You move your hands to his shoulders, pushing his shoulders as he pulls back.
“Lay down, let me treat you,” You whisper against his ear, biting it slightly. He obeys immediately, laying down as you position yourself on top, grinding slowly onto his growing bulge. He moans into your mouth as you move back to kissing him. You move down, kissing his neck. Your hands slide under his shirt, nails dragging on his skin. He sucks in his breath as you lift his shirt.
Jack sits up, letting you take off his shirt before you go back to kissing his skin, each freckle getting attention from your lips. He watches as you move closer and closer down his chest to the now aching bulge in his pants. Your hand palms him, his hips lifting at your touch.
His hands grab your face, stopping you from moving.
“I will come too fast if you do that baby,” He pulls you towards him sitting up, his arm behind him for support. He pulls your face back in for a kiss. His hand pats your waist signaling for you to move.
“Get into downward dog,” He whispers into your lips. You smile, pausing and pulling back.
“Youre the teacher now huh?” You tease as he rolls his eyes. He lifts your hips off of him, standing as you get on your hands. You shake your ass in the air a bit as he pulls his pants down, stroking his cock a few times.
“Is this okay?” He asks as he bends down, rubbing his tip between your folds. You moan reflexively already knowing he is going to stretch you out. You breathe a helpless yes. He pushes the tip in for a second before pulling out.
“Use your words,” His voice is ragged, breathless as much as you are. You speak a loud yes, cut off by a moan as he fully enters inside you. The angle makes him enter deeper, fully bottoming out before slamming back in.
He grips your hips, using your full momentum to get even deeper. Your head is flooded, upside down and throbbing from pleasure. Your moans come out staggered and broken as he continues to slam into you. A hand reaches from your hip to your clit, rubbing slow circles as he rams into you.
“Taking me so good baby, not gonna last long,” He groans out, continuing to pull you into his hips. You feel your core tighten, tingles forming around your hips.
“Fuck im close,” You struggle, hands now bouncing off the ground as he lifts you a bit to somehow get even deeper inside you. You feel the snap, please flooding your senses as your walls clench around his cock. Your eyes roll back as he fucks you through your high, his pacing getting sloppier as he gets close.
“So good baby so fuck” He leans forward into you as his hips stutter as he fills you with his cum. He pulls out, grabbing your chest to lift you upright. Your knees buckle for a second as he holds you close, moving to the couch behind the two of you.
You collapse onto his chest as he sits down. You stay there, skin to skin, both breathing deeper from your high. His hands travels to your hair and your stomach, rubbing circles as you steady your breathing.
“You’re beautiful,” He whispers as if you weren’t meant to hear. You position yourself on the couch, stretching out, resting your head on his chest, warping your legs around his.
“You’re not too shabby yourself,” You laugh as his eyes start to drift close. He had taken a day shift to be able to go out with you tonight but that meant he was exhausted as you dragged your nails up and down his chest in soothing patterns. Before he could stop himself his eyes drifted close, falling asleep peacefully for the first time in years.
When Jack had awoken he saw that his clothes were folded next to him, you were sitting on the floor, a incense burning as you meditated. The sun glistened on your skin, practically glowing in the warmth. He sat up smiling, deciding that this is what he would like to wake up to from now on.
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need to see jack when chubby baby is getting their first vaccines and jack literally wants to die because baby is crying and in pain and he feels like it's his fault even though he rationally knows it's not #getvaccinatedyall
Jack struggles to keep his cool as he watches the chubby, perfect baby you've given him get her shots...
// fic directory // crash!au tag // wc: 2.2k // jack's naked yoga // jack wolfs down ur brownies // tw: needles and a baby in pain, medical inaccuracies, dad!jack is very protective, and his self-confidence suffers from it. He's respectful to his fellow healthcare workers, but his baby is his heart, and he's kinda dying here…Jack noooo....but get vaccinated y'all
It's not always healthy, the intensity of him, but today, it's just the thing to make your heart swell.
Jack, considering he’s Dr. Jack Abbot on paper, is more than aware that having his kid vaccinated is just one moment of needled pain traded for the safety of her health. He knows that. He. Knows. That.
…But no amount of awareness can do anything to stop him from thinking there are too many cartoon animals on the walls. It’s an effective lure, sure. He’ll give the clinic that.
For the kid, only, of course. He can see right through the mural of 2D giraffes.
“You’re gonna sleep so well after this. Gonna tire yourself out from crying, I can see it now.”
Baby sits in your lap with her chubby softness decorating her wrists and thighs as they flap and kick. Usually, the sight’s a tug on his heart. It’s a bullet now.
The needle will feel like a bullet to her. You’re gonna fucking cry, aren’t you? It wasn’t even becoming a dad that imploded your emotional regulation, it was her mother to do you in.
“You okay, Jack?”
“...Fine.”
He knows the vaccine matters. It’s gonna protect her. It’s necessary. Loving if he wants to lessen the irrational guilt. It’s not like he’ll stop believing in medicine and evidence to get out of watching his daughter get jabbed for a moment.
But he’s pretty sure she, a 3-month-old who is busy trying to eat her fist, couldn't care less about how rational getting jabbed in the first place is. She doesn’t have the ability to understand medicine, even though you plan on buying her doctor-themed board books. She only knows how to shit, eat, and butcher his insides every time she smiles her gums at him.
At best, she knows that Mommy and Daddy took off her cozy sweater for some reason.
“It’s too cold in here. They need to turn down the AC.”
“It’s no colder than the Pitt.”
You bounce Chubby lightly on your knee, and she blinks up at you with a dumb trust as your mouth pulls into a thin line.
You would’ve been surprised if Jack wasn’t impossible in his paternal panic, but it’s still funny to watch him suffer like he’s next in line for a firing squad. Or something that's as much a march to death.
“You okay, dad?”
“This is torture.”
You snort at his very casual, gruff-throated statement. You can only let your head fall onto his shoulder in the second after.
“She’s gonna be fine.”
“...I know.”
Your baby makes a happy little sound, kicking a leg, and it’s ridiculous and endearing how Jack’s face actually pinches with the grimace of his voice. Whether or not he truly does know, he’s telling on himself.
The doctor, the pediatrician, comes in with a smile. She looks like the type of MD that was right to specialize in kids' medicine. She’s probably survived projectile baby vomit, panicked parents who trust Google, or god fucking forbid, ChatGPT more than anything else. You could throw toddlers who have the strength of ten thousand men in the mix, too.
…And fathers who are unraveling before he even parks his family in the lot.
“There’s our brave girl.”
Jack could laugh as much as he could shoot himself in the head. He should probably stick with the former. The latter, he would never do in front of you or Chubby. His laughter startles her a little less, he’s sure.
…Sorry. Bad humor. A bad coping. Could be worse. He could be an asshole and use his own degree the way other parents use Google. That would completely ruin the cordial atmosphere you’ve worked hard to create.
Dr. Peds does a quick exam and pronounces the baby, in all her softness, as she stares up at her with wide eyes, as healthy and thriving.
She pulls up the tray that the nurse set up before. It’s got alcohol wipes, syringes, and band-aids with cartoon bears on them.
It’s a mockery, really. If he wants to be even more annoying than he already is about this.
“She’s on track, quite beautifully, I might add.”
“Yay! You heard that, pretty? You’re the most on track baby there ever was.”
That should soothe him more than it does. It helps a little. She’s healthy. As big as she needs to be. Damn right.
“All right, time for the vaccines. Would one of you be okay with holding her steady if she starts squirming?”
Somewhere before, it’d be ridiculous how his stomach drops to his ass. Somewhere, he didn’t have to have the most perfect kid in the world. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
Still, that truth doesn’t keep his insides where they’re supposed to be, and that’s where he can’t even stop himself from shaking his head sternly and once.
“No.”
You turn your head toward Jack as the pediatrician stills.
“Well…I was just going to say we could always bring the nurse back—”
Jack forces a slower breath out of his lungs.
“No. I mean—I can. Obviously. Sorry. I just—”
He looks at Chubby.
She’s pushing the back of her foot against your stomach, knawing on the forearm you hold her with.
“I can. I’m just preparing for the kid to hate me.”
He’s not gonna look at you, because he doesn’t have to. He knows your face is softening, and although he’s sure it’s not with mockery or surprise, there’s already too much he’s experiencing in this happy-animal-painted room to handle that you’re more than aware his love can curdle into guilt.
But of course Kiddo is. She was the one to ruin you first. Why wouldn’t she know how you’re burning when she was the one to set you on fire in the first place?
“She’s not gonna hate you, Jack.” You turn to the doctor. The other, more rational doctor. “I’ll probably be worse than him, sorries in advance if I start crying when she does.”
“It’s all understandable.”
You know how to set the kid down. You settle her in position on the exam table, and the paper crackles under her precious baby weight. She tilts her head at you.
He’s fucking condemned.
“Jack, come here.”
He listens, coming over to the table, because you’re unfortunately the easiest thing, person to obey. Besides him, when you’re in the mood to obey and be nothing but something for him to love and take care of and be ruined over for the rest of his life.
Jack’s even allowed you to ruin him with a plump, little, toothless extension of yourself.
He places his hand over her arm, gently, while you murmur calming claims at her cheek.
…How does she feel so small? She’s bigger. She’s as big as she’s ever been and will only get bigger, but beneath his palm, baby feels so fucking tiny. Even after these weeks of feedings and diaper changes and midnight panics, where he has to make sure her chest is rising.
…Can she feel my hand shaking? Can Chubby feel how weak her dad is?
Dr. Peds swabs one thigh. Jack swallows when the kid startles at the cold, face scrunching.
“Alright, here we go.”
The syringe is ready too quickly, and the first injection happens in the seconds after.
The sound that comes out of his kid is immediate.
Outraged and terrified.
Jack’s nose flares, and his sights harden on her as her little body goes rigid with eyes squeezed shut.
“...It’s alright, Chubby. It’s alright—”
He might as well have been shot. He'd rather be fucking shot.
The doctor moves efficiently to the point where she’s already on to the next one, and Jack has to keep holding still while his little, crazy girl screams.
“I know, I know, I know, baby. Mommy knows.”
While you keep telling her “I know, I know, I know,” in that brokenhearted mommy voice that makes him want to make way to the stool and rope. If he weren’t so dramatic, he could just admit that your pain, harmonizing with hers, just makes everything worse.
His face is probably white. Whiter than it usually is as he commits to his math of psychosis and the need to never not be guilty.
He knows this is love. Prevention of what could hurt her that’s been in practice for decades, but those cries shoot right past rationality and into the fucked place underneath his skin, the place that keeps score of the suffering of the people he loves.
You and her. Robby occasionally. It’s a small population.
The second the Doctor’s done with the bear band-aids patched on her thighs, Jack pulls his hands. You scoop the kid up, and she’s screaming so hard that she’s not really breathing between her shrill sobs.
Her little, rolled legs kick furiously, and her face is blotched with tears and snot. You press your cheek to hers, rocking and bouncing with what Jack can name as instinct.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s over. It’s over.”
“She did great! I’ll be right back.”
Dr. Peds leaves, and when she does, Jack turns his head to find his—your, his and your baby looking at him with her wide, teary eyes.
She’s probably too overwhelmed to realize she’s focusing on her dad, it’s not a look of accusation. It can’t be. She’s too young for that.
But it’s practically judgment of God. Hell. Even worse. He stopped caring about what the guy thinks of him a long time ago, but he’ll always care about what baby does. And unlike a judgment raining from whoever’s up there, that’s not a punishment.
“You wanna go to Daddy, pretty? I think you—”
“I think she’d like to stay away from these hands for a while—”
“Don’t be insane.”
He is. He knows he is. Maybe one day that will help to keep his heart out of his throat every time she cries. One day. When pigs fly.
Really, you have to bite back the laugh that’s trying to rise through your sympathy for Dad Jack.
“Look at her, you think she’s giving me a look of love?” He tilts his head down. “Did Da-da betray you?”
“You’re so funny. Ha. Ha.”
You basically force Chubby into his arms, and with how quickly you do it, he doesn’t have the energy to drag the guilt out to the point where he invents some excuse as to why he can’t hold her.
“She knows nothing except that she’s mad, Jack. That’s it. And I think even if she was old enough to realize what just happened, she’d probably forgive you.” You kiss her cheek. “But you’ll never get old, right? Right.”
Slowly, his one broad palm cups the back of her head, the other spans her back, patting. He kinda…folds in how he always does. His shoulders hunch and his chin drops.
“You’re fourteen pounds of tears. Did I do that?”
It’s meant to be a joke, but it breaks the way her screams do as she presses them into his collar. It lessens into hiccuped distress with her hands curling into dimpled fists against his chest.
“Did Dada do that?”
Go ahead, sweetheart. Grab onto Dad. Hurt him at the same time. Do whatever you want.
With how he’s only focusing on the way he breathes into the back of your and his daughter’s head, Jack doesn’t know that his eyes glassing over gets you almost more than her crying did.
“I’m sorry, beautiful.”
Jack’s blaming himself, even though you’re sure he knows that the baby has no idea what happened. You don’t know how you’ll stop him from carrying an awful amount of guilt. One day, you’ll love him long enough to. You just wish how harshly you love him, as a man, doctor, and dad, would make it so much easier.
“Dad’s sorry.”
“Jack.”
You rub slow circles over his back. Chubby gives one last cry that you think is the last, which is proven true by the next moment, made up only of miserable sniffling. She pouts.
You smile.
“...I think she’s forgiven you.”
You may not be able to lift the load of guilt that he’s built his body for today, but you can meet him in the middle.
She hiccups again, but now she’s rooted her face in his chest. She’s simply seeking comfort from her dad, and he adjusts to her instantly. He murmurs under his breath and rocks her.
You watch them, and your heart swells to the point it might explode into overwhelmed mommy confetti. Stupid, but Jack’s the one who was so eager to make you a mommy in the first place. So…
“You’re getting a brand new toy after this. Me and Mommy think you deserve compensation for such terror.”
“You don’t think you’re spoiling her?”
“Says you. You’d be feeding her ice cream for lunch and dinner if she could have it. I'm gonna catch you sharing your popsicles with her once she hits the six-month mark. You'll enjoy that, huh, baby?"
…Yeah. Dad’s so right.
Baby’s head settles heavier on him. He kisses her head again, soft now. Soft. Okay, and over the guilt. Maybe that’s it. It’ll just take the two to beat it out of him.
With love, of course. She’s half of you, and if she’s anything like you, you’re sure she has all the love for her dad in the whole wide world.
“I’ll remember this on your wedding day. Not that you’re ever getting married.”
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Paring: executive chef!jack abbot x chef de partie! fem!reader
Summary: Late nights in the kitchen can take a rather interesting turn.
Tags/warnings: smut (mdni), semi public sex (it's the kitchen of a restaurant), unprotected p in v (please don't), oral f!receiving, brief finger sucking, power imbalance (he's her superior), yes chef (that's the warning), author (me) can't cook for shit and it shows, my reference was "the menu" tbh
A/N: Shawn Hatosy for Quinn, what a great day for horny and annoying people. English is not my first language and this was not proofread (I hate proofreading smut). Enjoy!
masterlist
Every movement is measured. Spontaneity stopped being a part of the equation a long time ago. But passion? That's still there, or you wouldn't be working in the best restaurant of Pittsburgh.
Cooking is an art as much as it is a science.
You like to think that there's a secret third element, but you can't pin it down. You just know that you have it.
Everyone can follow a recipe, chop some ingredients, and throw them in a pan. The result might come out well in the end, but it doesn't compare to what you and everyone else do in this kitchen.
From the outside, it might look like complete chaos — with all of the shouting, the people crossing paths, and the nervous energy, so thick that it feels like one of the flames could make everything burst at any moment.
But once you find yourself in the eye of the hurricane, you memorize the patterns. Everyone has a designated station and task. You will never find one person in charge of the appetizer and the grill. That would not end up well.
The inner organization is extremely hierarchical, which is essential to keep things moving smoothly.
At the very bottom you have the Kitchen Porter, who's in charge of maintaining things as clean as possible. It might sound like an easy task, but it's not. You would know, considering that's where you started. Then you worked your way up to Commis Chef, who's in charge of helping one of the Chefs de Partie — specialized in a specific sector of the kitchen.
About a week ago, you finally got promoted as Chef de Partie, and your next goal is to become the Souce Chef, second only to the actual chief in command of the kitchen: the Executive Chef.
They're the ones who pick the menu, dictating what everyone else will do, and that gives them a great power. The greatest of them all, in the culinary world.
You're working on prepping your station, when you feel the energy of the room shift. Even before you hear his voice, you know the Chef just walked in.
"Hello, everyone."
"Good evening, Chef," you all respond simultaneously, your voices blending together.
Then the routine starts.
The Executive Chef — Jack Abbot, as you found out only after a few months you started working here — begins to walk around each station as he illustrates the menu of the evening.
He doesn't spend too much time at a singular station. If everything's alright, he'll just give you a quick nod. And if he sees something that's out of place, you'll know by the look he'll give you.
Some Chefs you worked with in the past would take advantage of every excuse possible to start shouting at people, almost as if they took pleasure in the glassy eyes they would cause.
Instead, Abbot rarely raises his voice, but his silent disappointed glances have a much more devastating effect. Especially on you.
Once he gets to your station, you avoid his gaze, knowing way too well what meeting his eyes does to you. Instead you start polishing one of the already extremely clean knives, and wait until you see him nod from the corner of your eye to finally start breathing again.
After everyone has gotten the Chef's approval, the show begins.
You totally immerge yourself in your element, and for the rest of the evening, all you think about is making the best meals you can possibly make.
Cooking always manages to make you feel alive, and the thrill you get while you're in the kitchen is what makes worth it giving up on having the same experiences as people your age.
You rarely get days of, and when you do, you would much rather spend them at home than in a crowded bar.
This lifestyle is not for everyone, and that applies also to the people around you. Your job has been the cause of many arguments with your past boyfriends, and, ironically, it was what helped you get through your break-ups.
You realize how deep you've fallen when the shift has ended and you find yourself looking for excuses to stay longer, dreading having to enter you empty apartment and face how lonely you are.
The kitchen is almost empty at this point, and the few people left are clearly trying to finish as soon as possible. They're talking about their plans for the weekend, and when they notice you standing by your station — cleaning a spot that has already been cleaned by a Kitchen Porter — they ask if you want to join them.
You pretend to think about it, but your mind was made up as soon as the words came out of their mouths.
They don't take it to personally. They just tried to include you to be nice, but every single one of your colleagues knows that your job is your life.
Once you're alone, you start gathering all of the ingredients to try recreate a sauce you've tasted in a restaurant abroad you've been to a few months ago, during one of your rare vacations.
Taking advantage of the fact that you're alone, you put on your headphones, playing an old rock song that manages to isolate you from the rest of the world.
When you're done, you dip your pointer finger in the sauce, having a taste, but there's something off, and you can't tell what is it.
As you're trying to figure out if maybe you should have added some paprika, you hear a noise behind you. You quickly take off you headphones before turning around and finding Abbot standing by the backdoor of the kitchen.
His arms are crossed over his chest, and the white t-shirt he's wearing — with the short sleeves rolled up — makes his freckled biceps look particularly good.
You expect him to be furious at you for being in the kitchen after closing time. Instead, he grabs an apron and starts walking up to you as he puts it on.
The muscles of his arms stretch in a delicious way as the ties the apron, and it's distracting enough to make you forget for a second about the situation your in.
"Chef, I-" you gulp, suddenly feeling your mouth dry. "I'm sorry. I just- It's that I don't have the right supplies at home, and I-"
You suddenly stop talking when he's now standing in front of you, way closer than usual. The proximity makes your brain short circuit, and a heavy feeling settles deep in your stomach.
"Can I have a taste, Chef?"
You almost let out a whimper at the sound of his gruff voice, and you're pretty sure you'll think about him calling you Chef for the next couple of months — or maybe for the rest of your life — as you touch yourself late at night.
It takes you a moment to regain control over your own voice before you finally say something.
"Yes, Chef."
Something shifts in his eyes, but you don't have enough time to think about it before he, without moving from his spot right in front of you, extends his strong arm by your side, his warm skin brushing over yours, and dips his finger in the bowl. He puts it in his mouth, and while maintaining eye contact, he licks it clean.
You have to bite your lip to avoid letting out any sound, but a part of you thinks that's exactly what he wants.
He notices the way you look at him. He must have noticed by now. You tried to be discreet about it, but over the months, the forced proximity that often formed in the kitchen only made your crush grow stronger.
He then smiles at you — that smile that makes you go crazy, the one where he only lifts one side of his mouth.
"You can guess what's missing, can't you, Chef?" he asks, and his condescending tone makes you clench your thighs.
"Yes," you mumble.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, Chef."
He gives you a nod, a satisfied look settling on his gorgeous face.
You turn your body to face the counter, and you can feel the air move around you as Abbot moves his face above your shoulder, to be able to get a good look at what you're doing.
This is not the first time you've found yourself in this position. He often does that with his Chefs, and you still remember how warm the skin of your face got when he first did this to you.
But now it feels different, and the fact you're the only people in the kitchen might be why.
After thinking about it for a moment, you reach for the paprika, but stop before putting it in when you hear a sharp tsk above your shoulder.
Abbot's warm breath hits your cheek, and you have to restraining yourself form rolling your eyes right to the back of your skull in pleasure when he speaks.
"You're sure that's the best approach, Chef?"
You shake your head, not trusting your own voice, and put back down the paprika. The last thing you want is to disappoint him, so you try to think harder.
You remember the sauce having a spiciness to it, but it was warm and welcoming, making you crave a second taste.
"Focus on the feeling, not the taste," he intervenes, almost reading your mind.
Then it hits you: cumin.
Without hesitation you add some and mix it, but before you can taste it, Abbot beats you to it.
He gets some on his thumb, and when you turn around to see his reaction, he, instead of moving his hand up to his mouth, moves it in front of yours.
"Open up," he commands, looking down at you with an invitation in his eyes, almost daring you to do it.
Your lips part slightly, and he slides his thumb inside your mouth.
The taste explodes in your mouth, and despite all of the different spices, the taste of him overpowers them all.
You roll your tongue around his thumb, maintaining eye contact, and when you're done, you take his hand in yours and let his finger slide out of your mouth with a slight pop.
When you've completed your little show, the gravity of what you just did hits you. You're not sure how you got so bold. All you know is that you shouldn't have.
But then, just when you're starting to think that he's the one who initiated this whole... thing in the first place, Abbot takes your face in his callused hands and pulls you in for a kiss.
Your lips part immediately as you let out a moan that you've been suppressing ever since he showed up looking this good, and he takes advantage of it by sliding his tongue and starting to explore the insides of your mouth.
Your taste mixes with the cumin, making his tongue tingle slightly, but to be honest, he's pretty sure it's the natural effect you have on him.
The kiss intensifies when you bite his lower lip, becoming more passionate, if that's even possible.
A string of spit connects your lips as you try to pull back to get some air, but he's not having it. His mouth follows yours, like a predator stalking his prey. His lips seem to be bruising yours, but you don't care.
The whole kitchen could catch fire and you still wouldn't care as long as his hands — which have moved low on you hips, getting dangerously close to your ass — keep squeezing you like this.
His low groans and your desperate whines echo through the otherwise silent kitchen, making you crave more. You want to feel his skin on yours.
Your hands move on his back, and blindly look for the knot of his apron. Abbot understands what you're trying to do, and once you undo the know, he momentarily brakes the kiss to take the apron off.
Next, you want to take off his shirt, but before you can sneak your hands under the fabric, he places his hands back on your hips and turns you around.
"Your turn," he whisperers in your ear before taking off your apron as well.
Goosebumps cover your arms, and the warmth in you belly becomes impossible to ignore as his hands sneak under your shirt and his palm cups one of your tits from over your bra.
His lips begin trailing kisses from your jaw to the point where your neck meets your shoulder, occasionally biting the delicate skin before licking it.
Your knees threaten to give up any moment now, so you have to put both of your hands on the counter to regain a sense of stability. But it doesn't last long.
Abbot moves one hand past the waistband of your jeans, and places his digits over your soaked panties.
You can feel him smiling against your neck, and it only grows bigger when he moves your panties to the side, and drags one finger from you needy hole up to your sensitive clit. It draws a high pitched moan out of you, and you feel the earth beneath you shake.
He keeps teasing you with his fingers, even sliding one in just to torture you, and before you can complain, you hear him take a step back, before he places a hand between your shoulder blades, and pushes you forward, so that you're bent over the kitchen counter.
You help him unbutton your jeans, and slide them off together with your underwear. The cold air hits your wet core, only to be replaced by Abbot's warm breath, once he drops to his knees.
"Fuck," you hiss after his mouth connects with your cunt.
"You're the best thing I've ever tasted," he says against your pussy, making your hole clench around nothing.
He begins to eat you out like a man starved, and the sensation is so good that you don't even try anymore to bite back your moans.
The heavenly sounds slipping out of your lips only seem to turn him on further, so he slips in two fingers, determined to make you cum at least once before he even begins to think about his own release.
The combined sensation of his mouth and his fingers quickly bring you over the edge.
You don't have much time to recover after your orgasm. Behind you, Abbot raised himself back to his feet, and is now unbuttoning his own jeans and freeing his painfully hard cock.
"You have no idea how many times I've dreamed of bending you over this counter and fucking you in my kitchen," he says.
You're about to respond — or at least, that's your intention — but before you can get even a syllable out, he slides inside you and knocks any coherent though out of you.
What's left of you is a moaning mess, who's now babbling nonsense about how good it feels.
He's pounding inside you with a steady rhythm, and it feels like you will never get enough of him.
You push your hips back to meet his thrust, and in response, he tightens his hold on your hips with one hand — which will probably leave some bruises — and takes a handful of your hair with the other.
"Am I making you feel good?" he asks mid thrust, as his cock is kissing your cervix so nicely.
"Yes, Chef" you whine out, resting your boiling cheek on the cold counter.
After being called by his title, he lets out a guttural groan, beginning to bury himself impossibly deeper inside you.
You won't last long you realize, as you feel your second orgasm coming closer, and you think the same can be said about him.
The hand that was in your hair moves around your throat. He drags you up so that your back is resting against his chest, and begins kissing you deeply.
It takes you both a few more thrust to fall over the edge.
His hot cum spills inside you, painting your insides, and you are quick to follow, making the prettiest sound he's ever heard.
He rests his sweaty forehead on your shoulder, as he tries to catch his breath, and you try to do the same, after having the best orgasm of your life.
How you'll manage to keep working in the same kitchen where that happened is something that your future self will have to deal with.
A/N: This was the fic! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, even if it's criticism (as long as it's constructive). I love talking with you angels, so my dms and inbox are always open!
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Why hello there, so you've stumbled upon my masterlist! Welcome! This is the second one. You can find the original linked below. The first one hit its limit, plus back from hiatus, so on top of a new name and fresh work, you get a new Masterlist!!
Due to my blog being strictly 18+ it's safe to assume there is NSFW content, be it some sort of drugs, smoking, liquor, smut, etc activity. So if you're curious if it is or isn't, click the fic, and read the trigger warnings provided in the fic.
Masterlists
►Original Masterlist
►Hannibal Masterlist
►Henry Cavill Masterlist
►Stranger Things Masterlist
►Aaron Taylor-Johnson Masterlist
Divider & Header Credit to @nyxvuxoa
►The Terminal List - Ben Edwards - White Knuckled & Low Battery - Request
►Hemlock Grove - Roman Godfrey - Perfectly Imperfect - Request
►American Gods - Bilquis - Worship Me - Request
►You - Love Quinn - Take em Off - Smut Prompt Request
►The Boys - Soldier Boy - Fuck The Quiet Game - Smut Prompt Request
►The Stand - Randall Flagg - You Should Be So Lucky - DARK!FIC
►The Boys - Soldier Boy - Where You Belong - Request
►Outer Banks - Rafe Cameron - Back Off Asshole
►Sons of Anarchy - Jax Teller - Can You Come Over? - Smut Prompt Request
►The Boys - Soldier Boy - Kama Sutra - Smut Prompt Request
►Elvis (2022) - Elvis - The Company He Keeps - Request
►The Invitation (2022) - Walter Deville - Beg For It - Smut Prompt Request
►The Bikeriders (2024) - Benny Cross - Be My Old Lady - Smut
►The Fall Guy (2024) - Tom Ryder - Begging You - Smut Prompt Request
►The Bikeriders (2024) - Benny Cross - Backseat Pleasure - Smut Prompt Request
►The Bikeriders (2024) - Benny Cross - Under Pressure - Smut Prompt Request
►The Bike Riders (2024) - Benny Cross - Feel Good Tears - Smut Prompt Request
