Ruflles

Pope notices how quiet you are. Though, it's understandable, given the circumstances. 

You agreed to go on a year-long journey with him and his brothers to a barely canvassed planet. 

Just you, alone, with three much older men. 

You have no idea why you agreed. Titus could've taken any of his researchers. He offered the position to the lot of you. 

So, what compelled you to apply? 

What made you want to ace that interview? To impress the man who funds your research? 

You don't know. It just happened. You didn't think you'd get it. You're barely the best researcher in his many, many laboratories. 

You are smart, but you're also young and have never been on a space expedition before. It would've suited Titus better, at least from an economical standpoint, to pick someone older, with more experience in the field. 

But he picked you. 

Because if Titus was going to be stuck on a spaceship with anyone, at least you're nice to look at. 

A good piece of eye candy for him and his brothers.

Jack scoffs at that. “Don't talk about her like she's a thing.” 

“Oh, get off your high horse.” Titus rolls his eyes. He knows Jack can see what him and Pope see. 

That you're a pretty girl who chose to get on a cramped ship with three men. 

What did you think was going to happen? 

You all share a bedroom. Four bunks. You sleep on top of Jack's. Titus has the one across from you and Pope is below him. 

The beds are like pods, in case of turbulence, so there's a way to close them off when it's time to sleep.

You always close yours off. You'd rather them not be able to see what you look like while you're asleep. 

Sometimes Titus debates opening it. He hopes one day to catch you touching yourself. He's sure you do. There are needs a woman has that can only be fulfilled one way. 

He could give you that pleasure, if you only asked. 

Pope doesn't like the look in Titus's eye when you climb out of bed and sit down with them for breakfast. He can tell Titus makes you uncomfortable. You never choose to sit next to him.

You always sit next to Jack and sit across from Pope. You give Pope a curt nod and a light smile before shifting your attention to the packaged food in front of you. 

As routine as it is, you have every meal with them. It's supposed to keep you all sane, eating together. 

But it only makes you feel a little crazier every time your knees brush against Jack's or Pope's under the table. 

The close quarters are definitely getting to you. There's not much room to walk around the ship, other than in the lab. That's where you spend most of your time. 

You catch up on research papers. You chart out the possible flora and fauna of the planet based on its climate and its surroundings. You grow your little plants, so that you have fresh vegetables to eat. They're growing well, thankfully.

It's been three months since this journey started. Three months in, and none of the triplets have made a move on you yet. 

You're unsure if you're grateful for that or not. 

You shouldn't want any of them to but the forced proximity has you feeling a bit antsy. 

It doesn't help that they're men who, on occasion, like to lounge without their shirts on after a workout. You're certain they do it on purpose. There's no reason for them to show off when it's temperature regulated in here. 

If they were too warm, they could turn down the thermostat. But they just strip instead. 

And you have to go hide out in your lab to avoid staring at them. 

It's worse on the days that they spar because it means you have to be there too. Pope likes to make sure his brothers aren't slacking off. 

Pirates are a thing out here in the depths of space and despite the cramped nature of the ship, it's still a very costly piece of machinery. It would go for a high price on the black market, so Pope wants to ensure you're all prepared for the possibility of getting raided. 

Which means you need to know how to fight too. 

That requires you to spar with each of them… 

Titus always manages to grab you a little too hard or touch you a little too much. Jack is more cautious when it's his turn, but he never goes easy on you and you don't go easy on him despite his prosthetic leg. Pope is the only one who tries his hardest to level the playing field. He spars with you carefully and does his best to make sure you're always improving. 

But every time he drops you onto your back and climbs on top of you, you have to tap out. Because your heart can't take the feeling of his body pressed up so close to your own, the weight of it making you think thoughts you shouldn't. 

He helps you up and checks your skin, ensuring he hadn't thrown you down too hard.

“I'm fine, Andrew.” You shrug him off. “I'll go shower first.”

You get your sparring done before they go at it. That way, you can shower and be all cleaned up before they're done. Lessens the amount of time you have to spend in their sweaty presence. 

Titus chuckles to himself when you leave, telling his brothers, “don't you think she's so cute when she acts all shy like that?”

“You're too aggressive with her.” Pope scolds his brother. “You could hurt her.” 

“She's a tough girl.” Titus doesn't pay any mind to Pope's worries. “She disarmed me without too much effort, even with me grabbing her tight.” 

“You'll have to stop being a distraction once we land.” Jack has been preparing for the field and he doesn't need his brother to slow you all down. 

The ship will land on the planet soon. It took three months to get here. It'll be six months of research, finding and documenting as many valuable resources as possible, then the journey back home. From there, Titus can have a larger crew do the heavy lifting of extracting the resources from the planet. 

You're thankful that you'll be landing soon. It means you all can set up camp and the camp structures will provide much more space than the close quarters of the ship. You'll have your own section to rest, no longer needing to worry about sleeping beside these three men. 

“Have you decided where we should land?” Jack asks you now that the ship is hovering close to the atmosphere of the planet. 

“Ah, yes.” You picked a corner of the planet where the elevation isn't too high. Less atmospheric pressure, meaning it'll be easier to breathe. 

A lot more natural resources will be abundant as well. You'll likely be able to chart many new plants. From initial scouting, there aren't any large animals on the planet. It hasn't reached that evolutionary stage just yet. The only predator these flora and fauna have is the environment itself. 

A rather peaceful environment, with breathable oxygen. 

The ship lands in a patch of a prairie where it will be easy to set up camp around it. You help the men unload the ship. There's a reason the living quarters were so small. The ship had to use the rest of the space for equipment, like an all terrain vehicle that fits four people, field research supplies and many autonomous helper drones.

“We should scout for water and food.” You grab some gear, like testing devices to make sure nothing is poisonous, and throw on your hiking pack. 

You're well dressed for field research and the climate of the planet is quite mild. Not too hot. The three suns in this solar system aren't overbearing, given their distance. 

There is enough food and water to last you all three years, which is about the time it should take for a rescue team to come find you all if anything were to happen. But, it's always better to find a food source and water supply that is readily available to consume since everything from the ship is packaged and specially sealed to last decades. It's better to avoid having to use those resources unless absolutely necessary, just in case. 

You have some drones scout for water sources and then you all take the vehicle to check them out. Jack had tried to get Titus to stay behind and watch over the camp construction but he's monitoring it from a tablet in his lap instead from the front seat.

“I can yell at these fucking bots over the screen. Why do I have to be there? I'm also the best tracker out of all of us, in case you forgot my hunting skills.” Titus reminds his brothers that he is the one who wins the yearly hunt whenever they go out to their cabin. 

“We shouldn't kill anything that could have sentience.” You warn the three of them. “We can't disturb the natural way of life.” 

“What if it's a really big bug?” Titus can see a few contenders buzzing around him. 

“Try to avoid it as much as you can.” You scan the flies buzzing around the buggy to get them added into your catalog. “They're still alive and we're not their natural predators. They deserve a chance to live how evolution intended them to.” 

“No bugs, got it.” Titus slumps in his seat, shifting his sunglasses on more securely so he can watch the drones at work on his tablet under the blazing sun. 

Pope drives you all to each possible water source but only two of them tested clear enough to use for drinking water. The drones will establish a way to get the water back to camp via small pipes that shouldn't disturb the environment too much for proper filtration. 

By the time you're back, camp is built.

“Good job, tin fuckers!” Titus pats one of the drones on the head and it flies away to its charging dock after, desperately needing to recharge after a long day's work. 

“They aren't made of tin.” You tell Titus, though you're certain he knows and he just wanted to say the words “tin fuckers”. 

“I sure hope not. I paid good money for those.” He spent top dollar to get the best drones for this expedition and it looks like he got his money's worth.

The camp is incredibly well done. The structure is pod based, so there are several pods connected by airlocked walkways. The prairie you landed on provided ample space for the drones to build a home base here. It's an advantageous spot on the planet, given the treeline in the distance and the proximity to the large lake that is full of fresh water. 

Pope can easily set up a watch perimeter with cameras and sensors. He reviewed the flora and fauna types that are likely on this planet so he plans accordingly. 

Jack sets up his medical station. A lot of his work is also repair based. He got good at fixing up machinery since he has had to fix up his prosthetic leg on the spot during many expeditions. 

“Do you have a back up?” You make small talk as you help him calibrate the healing pod. 

“Several.” Jack lifts his pant leg to show you an incredibly well done prosthetic with several custom enhancements. “But I like this one the best. I can be on my feet all day and it doesn't feel any different.”

“It must still be a lot to account for in your day to day, though.” The ship had a custom bathroom with a place for Jack to be able to wash and repair his prosthetic. The same customization will likely be present in his private bathroom in his designated pod. 

He shrugs. “I've had this leg for longer than you've been alive. I think I've gotten the hang of it.”

Jack flashes you a grin and you can't help how embarrassed you feel when you realize just how much older he is compared to you. 

Him and his brothers…they're double your age…

You've never been more grateful for privacy. Those three months in such close proximity had you incredibly riled up in more ways than one. The first time you can shower without needing to worry that one of them could slip in at any moment, you touch yourself. And it's exactly what you needed for relief.

Minus the thoughts that brewed in your head during it. Of Pope's body pinning you down. Of Titus grabbing you and holding you tight. Of Jack sitting you on his lap and having you—

Someone knocks on your airlocked door, interrupting your recollection of your moment of self care in the shower. You quickly set down the towel you were using to dry your hair and walk over to see Pope at your door. 

You activate the airlock and the door opens. 

“Everything alright?” You ask him, wondering what he's doing. 

“I need to check something.” Pope has an inkling his suspicion is correct but he isn't sure just yet. “Can I look around?”

“Of course.” You invite him to scope out whatever he needs to.

He is the security specialist, after all. 

Is he worried there's something unsafe about your pod? 

Pope finds what he's looking for hidden in your shower head. A tiny little camera, no doubt installed there by Titus using one of the drones. He unplugs it and stuffs it into his pocket. 

Then, he doesn't mention it to you because it's obvious you've just showered.

Which means his brother has already gotten a glimpse of you, a glimpse he definitely should not have been allowed. 

“Is everything okay?” You ask Pope as he makes his way out of your room. 

“Yeah. Just wanted to make sure the traction pads for the shower were stable. Can't risk you slipping.” He lies through his teeth before he heads out without looking at you.

Pope has his earbuds in, so he connects the camera to his mini security tablet that he has on him at all times. And then he watches the video the camera transmitted during your shower. 

It makes him stop short of Titus's pod. Pope stands there, his eyes glued to the screen, your voice whimpering his name while you finger yourself with your head leaned up against the wall of the shower. 

Not just his name. His brothers’ too…

All while you're begging them to—

The airlock door whooshes open in front of Pope and he looks up to see Titus smirking at him from the other side of the walkway.

“I bet you’re regretting ripping my shit out of her shower now.” Titus puts his hand out. “Give it back. I paid good money to get such crisp quality in a shower cam.”

Pope steps into the walkway and the door seals shut behind him before blasting him with decontamination materials. Only then is he allowed to step into Titus's pod. It's all safety protocol, just in case a biohazard is unleashed inside the structure. 

“Why the fuck would you do this?” Pope throws the camera at Titus. “This isn't right.” 

“Was it right for her to fantasize about us while she touches herself?” His smirk only grows. “Come on, Pope. Don't pretend like you won't jerk yourself off until you're dry to that video I know you saved on your tablet.”

Fuck. Titus is right. It is saved on his tablet. 

He put it into the security drive, the one only he has access to.

At least, that's what he thought. 

But Pope had forgotten that he gave Jack access to it, since Jack did surveillance for the military so he wanted to stay informed on the security measures Pope was putting in place. 

Jack was not expecting to see a video of you, naked, in the shower when he checked that drive. Nor could he stop his curiosity from getting the better of him and clicking on it. He reasoned it was just to see why the video was there. Maybe there was a safety protocol Pope wanted to discuss with you.

He tried to think sane thoughts but they didn't last. Because the moment you moaned his name while you came on your fingers, Jack had his hand unconsciously kneading his cock through his pants. 

It's disturbing how easily Jack and his brothers fell into such depravity over a singular video. You're so desperate in it, in your vulnerable moment of privacy, begging to be fucked by the three of them. It was like you released all of that need you built up in that single shower. 

But it only lingered more…now that you've been noticing that the men casually touch you more than they ever did before. 

You thought you were going crazy but you're sure that they have been touching you more. A hand on your back to move you aside. A thigh pressed against your own in the buggy. A hard body pushed up against your back when you're in the field and need help reaching for a plant sample. 

“I got it.” You tell Pope who is hovering behind you. “Thanks for always helping.” 

You drop the leaf into one of the sample bags and add it to your findings for the day. Then, you look up at Pope and blink a few times, confused. 

“Andrew?” You wonder why he's staring so blankly forward.

Until he snaps out of the trance and shifts his attention back to you. “Hmmm?”

“Are you alright?” You look at him with concern. “You spaced out just then.”

He did indeed space out. Because, involuntarily, his mind had conjured up the image of you with your clothes ripped off, your bare body squished up against that tree in front of the two of you, with his cock buried deep inside of your pussy, pounding away until you were screaming and crying for him to stop right before he fills you with his cum. 

He could barely shake the thought away. It stays plastered in the back of his mind the entire ride back to base. 

It only gets worse from that day forward. The same anomaly happens to Jack and Titus as well. 

Perverse, involuntary thoughts of raping you pregnant…of watching you take them over and over again until you're so stuffed to the brim that there's no way they didn't fuck a baby into you. 

You observe something odd the next time the four of you are out. A mouselike creature, so small, so innocent, with a unique little marking like a birthmark above its eye. You have to turn your eyes away when you watch as a pack of what must be predators pounce on that poor creature, presumably to devour it whole. 

But then, a few weeks later, you see that same mouse again. It had to have been the same mouse, because it had the same birthmark. Surrounded by those same predators, and its children.

They're protecting their kin and their mate. 

It's strange because the two species are both mammals but they seem too different to mate. The predators are much bigger than the innocent little mouselike creature. And yet, it had their offspring…

Did it…want…to have those offspring…or is it simply something that was deemed necessary by nature? 

What compelled those bigger creatures to mate with a much smaller one? One they'd have to protect as a clan? 

You check in on them every time you happen to be in the vicinity. The predators huddle close to the mouselike creature. 

Are they…cuddling? 

It seems content to be burrowed between its mates, who surround it in a circle. 

It's almost gentle, despite the forceful beginnings. 

Perhaps it’s a mating ritual. A bond establishment. Now, the creatures are linked forever and can't live without the other. 

You just wonder what started it. You've yet to see any others like them. You've seen the predators and you've seen the mouselike creatures independently but only that singular instance of a crossover. 

The animals don't roam in the same places. 

They would've never met otherwise, besides something drawing them together.

As nature intended for it to be. 

You observe the plants nearby, cataloging them. Today, you left with only Jack. Pope has been feeling unwell so Titus stayed behind to watch him. You told Jack you didn't need a babysitter but he insisted on coming in case you needed medical care in any way. 

You're unsure if him grabbing you and kissing you counts as medical care…

“Jack, what are you—” You can't get the rest of your question out because he slips his tongue into your mouth and tugs you into his lap in the buggy, forcing you to straddle him. 

His grip is strong. You can't worm your way out of it. 

And you can feel his bulge pressing up against you from below. 

“I can't stand it anymore.” He breathes out onto your lips, before trailing kisses along your jaw. “I just need to be inside of you.”

“Wait, what—” You try to shove him away while he tries to pull off your shorts. 

He growls at your resistance. “Stop fighting me. I know you want it too.” 

What is he talking about—

Jack manages to tug your shorts off enough for him to flip you around and bend you over the steering wheel so he can bury his face between your legs, eating you out like he does in the filthy, depraved thoughts he gets when he thinks of you. You grip onto the dashboard of the car, not knowing how to react, not knowing what to do. He has you pinned down, his hands gripping your hips so hard that you're certain you’ll be wearing his fingerprints later. 

“You're going to fucking cum for me.” He says right before he starts to suck on your clit like a madman.

And you can't stop the orgasm that rips through you. 

You've never cum like that before. And it hasn't stopped…

“Jack, please!” You need him to stop!

“Please what?” He spits so hard on your pussy before stuffing two fingers in. “Are you going to beg me to make you cum? Go ahead, beg.”

Your eyes roll back in your head when his fingers curl inside of you and you're clawing at the dashboard, desperate for some kind of leverage to hold onto before an earth shattering orgasm crashes through you and you're left a moaning mess, cumming all over his fingers. 

“If I knew you were going to cum that easily, I would've made you work for it.” He unzips his pants and pulls his cock out, tugging you back so he can line you up to take him. “But I'll be kind. I'll let you cum as much as you want as long as you get pregnant.”

You're so dazed that you barely have the bandwidth to register his words or him slamming you down onto his cock. You're crying out his name, gripping the steering wheel hard as Jack smacks your clit over and over again until you're cumming on his cock. 

You can't think straight. He's fucking you so fast and so roughly that he isn't giving you a moment to comprehend what's going on. 

What has gotten into him…

And why does it send such a thrill through you? 

Your body relishes in the orgasms he draws out of you. Over and over again, he has you reeling while you try so desperately not to crave more of this feeling. 

But the moment he cums inside of you, it's like a switch has flipped in your head. 

The desire to be bred consumes you in a way that feels primal. You just have to have his child. 

Or his brothers’ child. 

They're identical triplets. The child would genetically be theirs. 

And you would be all theirs too. 

Their mate—no. 

What's going on? 

You snap out of the trance you've been put in, tugging yourself off of Jack. Then, before he has the mind to grab you and lug you back onto his still hard cock, you shoot him with a tranquilizer that was in the glove compartment.

He's out immediately, slumped over the steering wheel. You go to the other side of him and shove him into the passenger seat before quickly starting the vehicle and heading back to base. You take a moment to glance over at him, shocked that he's still hard. 

Jack’s arms are all veiny too, his hands clenched into fists, like aggression has flooded his body. Heat floods yours when you feel his cum leaking out of you and your heart starts hammering in your chest.

You didn't feel like this before he came inside of you. 

There's something wrong with his cum. There has to be… 

You hop out of the vehicle, leaving Jack there. He'll wake up eventually. 

You're unsure if you want to be there when he does. 

Or maybe you do, so he can fuck you silly again. 

What the fuck are your thoughts right now? 

This isn't good! 

You sprint through airlock after airlock, needing to get to your lab. You need to process a sample of Jack's cum. There has to be something there that will explain what is going on and why your body is aching to be filled again and again. 

You barely make it to your lab, your legs giving out beneath you. It's like you're paralyzed from the waist down. 

And you all can think about is cumming. 

You close your eyes, slipping your hand into your pants, rubbing one out. Thankfully, you cum quickly and that's enough to get the feeling back in your feet. You get up and grab a sample tray before carefully dipping the slide inside of you. You gathered this would be the easiest way, versus fingering yourself. You might not want to stop if you start… 

You slip the slide into the analyzer and sit down on a nearby chair, the mere act of sitting making your clit needy for friction. 

“Deep breaths.” You grab onto the table in front of you, trying to stay sentient and present and not sex crazed, breathing in deep, focusing on every inhale and exhale.

You have to keep your mind off the need to be fucked.

Just until it's done analyzing the slide.

Just until—

The door to the lab whooshes open, air blasting in and out so quickly. You're surprised you didn't hear the airlock, but then again you're so focused on trying not to lose your mind. 

You should've had the mind to lock the fucking door…

Because Pope has you pinned to the ground in a flash.

You struggle against him, begging him, “please don't do this, you don't want this!”

“I've wanted you since the day you stepped foot on that ship.” He rips your pants down until your pussy is exposed and tugs off his own just enough to pull his cock out. “I can't wait any longer.” 

You cum the moment the tip of his cock hits your womb. It blurs your vision from how intense it is. You're gasping for air, your body convulsing beneath him. 

“You swallow me up so well.” He tells you before his hands wrap around your throat. “Open your mouth.” 

You don't listen and he growls at you, choking you until you're forced to open your mouth for him. He spits into your mouth and it hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag on it. 

“Show me you can swallow my spit and my cum.” He spits in your mouth again before ramming his cock deeper and dumping a load of cum inside of you, the warmth causing your back to arch. You swallow his spit and he feels it against his hands that are gripping your throat, prompting him to smile and say, “good girl. Tastes good, doesn't it?”

It does taste good…which shoots such a tingle through your body. Though, that might just be his twitching cock. 

You don't know how he is still hard…

It's like how Jack was. Pope doesn't stop fucking you, though this time he starts kissing you too, swapping saliva, groaning like an animal in heat. You can barely breathe and your mind is swimming from the orgasms he keeps forcing out of you. 

You're making a mess beneath him, squirting from every rough thrust of his cock. 

You hate how much you love it. 

Your body wants to cling to him. Your mind is breaking, fragmenting into pieces. Some parts of your brain want freedom, while the other parts want to be claimed. 

You reach into your back pocket to pull out one of the tranquilizer dart refills and jab it into Pope's exposed arm. He looks at you with such menace before he completely passes out. 

You're barely strong enough to slip his cock out of your pussy and shove him off of you. 

Has he gotten…bigger? 

Pope has been “sick” for a few days now. Sick with lust for you. He locked himself in his pod, in hopes of fighting off whatever sick thoughts were running through his mind with time. But time only made it worse.

Then, when he could sense your presence near him, his body had moved before his mind could use its last bit of reason left to stop him.

Now, he's out cold on the floor…

You help tuck himself back into his pants, again surprised that he's still hard and throbbing. You get up then and go to see if the sample has been processed yet.

It has. 

And the results are insane. 

You blink in disbelief at what you're seeing on the screen of your research tablet.

From the sample you gave, it extracted a substance that could increase fertility and also cause the body to want to procreate. 

Like an aphrodisiac on steroids…

But where did it come from? 

You cross reference the substance with any of the plant samples you've collected thus far, letting your algorithm do the work of matching up the chemical components.

Only to find out—

"Fuck.” You stare at the map you're looking at that designates where your samples were found. 

And what matches the aphrodisiac is the prairie grass pollen. 

It doesn't seem to affect you directly, not until it's been absorbed by one of the men through contact, probably from just breathing it in casually over these past few months, and forced into you via their saliva or cum. 

The pollen protects the grass because no creatures dwell in the grass for a reason…

The perfect patch of land for your spaceship and home base is a hellscape of overdosed pheromones. 

Those predators you saw, they ate the grass. Perhaps that's why they were so much bigger than their counterparts. The pollen must contain trace amounts of whatever the growth component in the grass is. 

You swallow nervously. 

You cannot let these men eat the grass. 

They already outnumber you. You can't imagine what they'd be capable of if they got bigger and scarier…

Why are you getting so wet at the thought?

Stop that! You need to figure out if there's a cure! 

But you can't think straight again…

It's like you're having orgasm withdrawal. You need to cum in order to think. 

This can't be happening! 

You use the last bit of rationality in your head to have your research algorithms figure out how to neutralize the effect. Then, you focus the rest of your energy on getting back to your pod.

When you're in there, you'll lock it and then you can perform self care in peace. There was no way you could stay here at the lab where Pope was lying completely sedated. 

You check your pockets. No more darts. 

You're on your own until the tablet can figure out some kind of neutralizing agent. 

You just need to get to your pod. 

You just need to get there—

A pair of arms grabs you and yanks you into a nearby airlock. You're blasted with the decontamination process and then dragged into the next room. You hear the familiar sound of the pod locking. 

It's a biometric lock. Only the person whose room it is can unlock it. 

And this isn't your room…

“You smell like my brothers.” Titus sniffs you very dramatically. “They got to you first. What a shame.” 

He tosses you down on his bed and before you can shove him off, he grabs your wrists and ties them to the headboard with your shirt. You can't break free! 

“Don't struggle.” Titus digs his fingers into your thighs, holding you steady. “Or I'll tie you down and rape you until you're pregnant.” 

“You're going to do that anyways!” You shout at him. “Titus, please, this isn't you, this is—”

“This isn't me?” He lets out a laugh that sends a shiver down your spine. “You should speak for yourself.” 

He proceeds to rip off the rest of your clothes until you're completely naked. Then, he licks a line straight up the center of your body, from your pussy all the way to your lips. 

You can't even say you're disgusted because your pussy aches for him. 

“You know.” He whispers against your lips. “My brothers didn't believe me.” 

What is he talking about? 

You look at him confused, which draws out his sadistic smile before he explains, “I told them that I had a feeling there was something wrong with the air here. That's why I started limiting my time outside. That's why I'm the only one with a brain left.” 

He grips your chin, making you stare right into his eyes. He presses a kiss against your lips. A quick one. Almost hesitant. 

Then, Titus slips his tongue into your mouth and groans when he feels your body shake under him from his sloppy kisses. 

“What a scared little girl.” He can tell you're frightened by how good it feels. 

“Please don't do this. You don’t need to. You're not crazy—”

“That's where you're wrong.” His lips curve into a maniacal smirk. “I'm the craziest one here.” 

You can't stop yourself from cumming when Titus sinks his cock into you. He purposefully grinds the tip of his cock against your womb over and over again, teasing you, wanting your body to tremble beneath him. 

“Titus, stop! I can cure you, I can make the antidote, so please stop!” You plead to him with your last ounce of sanity. 

But then he starts to fuck you and all you can do after that is moan his name as orgasm after orgasm rips through you.

“I don't need to be cured.” He doesn't mind the crazed thoughts. It's nothing he hasn't dealt with before. He likes them. He likes being crazy about you. 

It's just a more amplified version of the person he already is. 

But he is intrigued by your words, which is why he asks you, “what's causing the insanity?” 

“The grass.” You let out breathlessly, your head spinning from all the orgasms. 

You can't keep cumming. Your body will surely give out…but he won't stop fucking you, nice and agonizingly slow. 

“What about the grass?” He likes how glazed over your eyes look. He finds it fun trying to have a conversation with you while you're so out of it. 

“Don't…eat the grass…” You're struggling against your restraints, desperately wanting to grab onto Titus and ride him to death because he's barely fucking you fast enough now. 

He slows to a halt and goes, “oh? Why's that?” 

“You'll get…too big…” You whimper when he pulls out of you completely. “What are you—”

“Wait right here.” He bops you on your nose, smiling. “I'm going to eat some grass. And I'm going to make my brothers eat some grass. And then we're going to rape you like you wanted us to. Just like you fantasized about in your shower.” 

His words have your heart stopping in your chest. 

What does he mean…

How does he know about—

Titus pulls up the clip of you in the shower and props his tablet up, setting the clip to play on repeat. 

“Have fun watching.” He unlocks his door then and leaves right as you start touching yourself in the shower in the video clip. 

You should've never touched yourself to the thought of them raping you. You knew that it would somehow bite you in the ass. 

And yet when your mind wanders to them all watching this clip of you, horny for you, wanting you, desiring you so deeply that a grass pollen could cause them to go insane for you…

You can't help the thrill that sends through you. You're fucked up for it but why else would you agree to get on a spaceship and go so far away from civilization with three hot older men? 

You weren't doing this virtuously. You did this because you have wanted Titus since the first moment you laid eyes on him. Working for him was your attempt to get closer to him. 

So when this job opportunity arose, you had to get it and you're grateful you did. 

At least you were grateful. 

It wasn't like you hoped for some romantic story but you definitely did not predict that this would be how this expedition went for you. 

You, tied up in Titus's bed, leaking out his brothers’ cum, waiting for him to return even crazier than he already is. 

Because you know he's going to eat that fucking grass. 

And he's going to ensure his brothers do too. 

Why are you so excited? 

You need to get out of this! 

They'll ruin you forever if you let them do this…

You manage to snap out of the heady feeling enough to examine your restraints. If you tug at the seam just right…

You're able to free yourself!

You quickly grab your tablet off the floor where it's laying with your shredded clothes and you look to see if your algorithms have formulated an antidote of some kind yet. 

It has. You hit produce using the available resources and it starts making the neutralizer. The data says it will hopefully neutralize most of the pollen's effects. 

You need it now. 

You find the strength to make your way back to the lab after throwing on some of Titus's clothes. 

And you're frightened because Pope's body isn't there. 

Where did he go? 

Is he…outside with his brothers?

You need to grab these antidotes and hide in your room until it takes effect. From there, you can game plan out what the fuck to do about the triplets that the environment has made into sex crazed psychopaths. 

The synthesizer makes fifteen injectable antidotes. It advises that you only do one to test it but the calculations say that you will need two and they each need at least three. Maybe more if they end up eating the grass…

Goosebumps form on your skin, nervous about the effect the grass could have on a human being. 

You could barely take their cocks as is. 

Could they get…bigger? 

You quickly inject yourself with the neutralizing agent in hopes that you don't answer that question in your mind with slick growing between your legs. 

It does work quickly. The brain fog is lifting. So you inject the second one and…

What the hell were you thinking? 

You can't let them touch you ever again!

You wonder if the grass had influenced you when you had touched yourself in the shower… 

It must've. There's no way you thought those crazed thoughts. 

Of course you don't want the triplets to rape you! 

Why would you—

There's a pounding on the glass door of the lab. Your heart sinks into your stomach. You turn to see the three brothers at the door. 

It's bulletproof glass. Biometrically locked. They can't get in. 

They can't—

The glass cracks from how hard their punches are hitting it. 

No, no, no! That's not possible!

They can't be that strong!

Unless…

You scramble to look for a way out, but there's only one door out and they're blocking it. So, you quickly pull up a tranquilizer formula and smash the “produce” button, praying that your synthesizer can churn it out before they somehow manage to break into your lab. You also pull up the schematics for a gun that can shoot the dart and then print it using the 3D printer in the lab. 

You turn back to look at them once you're done setting things up and you let out a yelp at how incredibly crazed they look. 

How much of that grass did they eat? 

Oh god, what are you going to do when they get in here?

Are you going to let them take you? 

Wait, what? You shake your head, trying to dislodge those thoughts from your mind. 

You took the antidote so there's no reason for you to think something like that. 

Unless it isn't the pollen talking. 

You chew on your lip, staring down at the “percentage complete” bar, hoping it moves up faster. Because you need to escape your own head. 

You like these men way too much. It's clouding your judgment, even without the influence of an aphrodisiac. 

A dark part of your soul wants you to give into this. Let them be crazy about you. Let them take you in more ways than one. 

The tranquilizer is done. You quickly grab the gun off the hot printer, ignoring the way the freshly printed filament is searing your skin so you can load the gun with the darts. 

Then, when the sound of glass shattering fills the room, you fire. 

You fire every single dart. 

You hit them all at least once. 

But you didn't account for how much bigger they've grown. 

The darts do nothing. 

Pope snatches you by the waist and doesn't speak a word. He just growls at you then carries you outside with them. 

Into the grass…

He throws you down onto the dirt and your clothes are shredded off in a second. 

“Please, please don't do this, don't—” Your pleas are quickly silenced by Titus shoving a fistful of the grass into your mouth. 

Then, he pinches your nose shut and makes you to breathe through your mouth, forcing you to inhale and swallow some of the grass. 

You're fucked. 

So fucking fucked. 

Because the effects of it are more potent when consumed. 

That's why there weren't any wildlife grazing in this particular field. The animals were smart enough to avoid it. 

And here the triplets are, having taken it willingly. 

They wanted to fuck you up.

Just like you wanted them to in your fantasies. 

This is a dream come true, isn't it? 

To be ravaged by three psychotic men who share a face? Who want nothing more than to breed you? 

You've fallen so deep already, the antidote unable to fight the need surging through your body to submit to them. 

Your legs are already opening for them. Your pussy is dripping wet. Your womb is aching to be filled. 

You wanted to ask who would go first but then you're hauled up onto Pope and you sink down onto his cock with ease, despite how much bigger he's become. The moan that slips from your lips would've made you feel shy if you weren't so out of it. You're so lost in how good it feels to ride Pope that you barely register Jack lining his cock up to join his brother's. 

The moment Jack stuffs himself inside of your pussy alongside Pope's, that last sliver of hope you had of not becoming a mindless vessel for them to use as they'd like evaporates. 

You're going to let them breed you. 

It's what you want. 

It's what nature intended. 

Your moans are full of need now, full of desperation for them to fill you up. You grind yourself onto them, swallowing them up just as eagerly as they're both fucking you. 

You look up to see Titus's cock hovering above your face and you eagerly let him push it past your lips. 

Jack stares at the way your ass is clenching and before you can even think to protest, his thumb is already pushing past that tight ring.

You're full everywhere. 

What a perfect place to be.

What a wonderful feeling. 

You drown in the orgasms that have your mind completely hazy. You can't think straight. You can't think at all. 

You're just supposed to be bred. That's it. That's all you were meant for. 

They take turns filling your womb up. They never waste their cum. They want you to have their children. 

Only then will you be free from their torment. 

But is it torment? You feel so good. 

You've never felt this good before, this loved.

They're taking such good care of you. 

You're the center of their universe now. You mean the world to them. They would do anything to protect you and ensure that you never try to leave them. 

You're all theirs now, to do with as they please.

You don't know when they regain the ability to speak or reason. It doesn't last very long. Sometimes they give you a break to eat or shower but the moment the urge arises, you're held down and fucked until they're satisfied. 

They're hardly satisfied for long. 

You don't see any regret in their eyes when they fuck you for hours on end without a break. You've memorized the look of pleasure on their faces. 

You revel in knowing that they feel good because of you. Because they're using you to feel good. You feel so special! 

That is, until they start to wonder why you aren't pregnant yet.

You all are about to go back on the ship to head home and somehow you aren't pregnant, even though they've coated your womb with their release multiple times a day since they gave into their animalistic desire to mate with you. 

It isn't until you're off that planet and in the spaceship, in those close quarters again, that you reveal to them that you have a birth control implant. Apparently one that works exceedingly well. 

You hadn't thought to take it out. You didn't want to actually get pregnant but you reasoned that the implant couldn't possibly have protected you this well.

But it had. 

Until Jack sedates you and proceeds to take it out of your body.

You're fucked over and over again, everyday, multiple times a day, by all three of them without a break for three months straight until you're back on Earth. 

Their urges only subside because you are officially pregnant with their child now. 

Titus has researchers go to extract the prairie grass so they can make a drug from it that will likely make him a lot of money. He’ll need the money if he's going to support all the children you're bound to have for him and his brothers. 

None of you need the substance anymore. You're all bonded to each other on a molecular level. 

They love you so much. You've never been more spoiled in your whole life. 

You're happy to be all theirs. 

Your future children will have the loveliest set of fathers. 

You're so glad you went on that expedition. 

It's like your mind has completely ignored the fact that this was all a sex pollen induced craze and not actual love. 

But who needs love when you can have three men absolutely obsessed with breeding you? 

You like that a whole lot better. 

a/n: wowie!!!!!! genuinely do not know what the fuck this was LMAO but it was so fun to write! I really enjoyed myself bc I love breeding kink hehe plus I've been really itching to write the sex pollen trope (and a foursome!) ~ 

"Robby's supposed to be here any minute." You whined as he pounded you into his couch, a sick smile on his face.

"I know." He smirked down at you, not giving up his ruthless pace. "And he's got a key."

As much as you claimed that you weren't thrilled at the concept of your boyfriend's best friend walking in on you getting railed, you couldn't help the moan that slipped out at the the thought of Robby stood in the doorway watching as Jack made you orgasm over and over again. You liked Robby. Jack knew that and loved to tease you about it. It was impossible to keep count of how many times Jack had taunted you with the idea of letting Robby have you for a night.

"Come on, sweetheart. I know you've got another one for me before Robby shows up."

As weak as you felt, you had already been going at it for a while, you still nodded for him. Always so eager to please your boyfriend. Jack's thumb circled your clit mercilessly, helping to build up another orgasm. It grew quickly, threatening to break at any moment. You garbled out an incoherent sentence, something about being close. It was close. So close, close, clo-

The scraping sound of a key in a lock.

Jack's face lit up like the Fourth of July. You panicked. The both of you looked towards where his apartment's front door was opening.

Robby walked in, eyes cast down on a six-pack of beer he was holding, about to throw out a greeting to the two of you when he finally looked up. His eyes widened momentarily, the door swinging shut behind him.

Jack didn't stop.

You didn't want him to.

Nobody said anything for a moment as Robby's eyes flickered between the two of you. You were glad that neither you nor Jack had actually removed any clothes for this - he loved a quickie.

Robby cleared his throat and smiled. "Looks like I'm interrupting something."

There were lots of things that Jack had expected if the day ever finally came where Robby caught the two of you. Surprise. Maybe a bit of disgust. Embarrassment. Anything that had Robby feeling flustered. As much as Jack didn't want his friend to be uncomfortable, the fantasy left him too excited to really care.

What Jack didn't expect was a clear flare of interest from Robby. He saw it in his eyes, the way his pupils dilated. He saw it in the way he started breathing more heavily. He saw it in the way Robby's eyes were fixated on you. Hmm, maybe Jack's best friend liked his girlfriend as much as his girlfriend liked his best friend... There was only one solution.

"I've been trying to get her to come again." Jack rasped to Robby. "Want to help?"

There was only a moment of hesitation as Robby's eyes flicked towards Jack, trying to see if he was offering a genuine scenario, before the beers were forgotten on the floor and he was marching over to where you were writhing on the couch.

From the moment the "new bait" set foot into the shark’s den, the rest of the department whispered about who was going to leave first, most said you wouldn't last a week. You kept quiet, standing close between your peers, making notes and leaning from every case. Until Brendon zeroes on you. "What would you do?" you felt like a deer in headlights, the conversation revolved around if the leg had to be amputated or not, your eyes look back at the screen with the pictures of an old case. "The leg shows signs of infections; it would be best not to..."

Shark nods, the next picture on the slide shows the patient in recovery, his leg was amputated. "Good to know there is one smart person in this group" he said harshly, it wasn’t meant as a compliment, it was meant to make the other want to do better. but it landed like a praise in your ears and brain. As most of the doctors there guessed, a lot of the new “bait” changed departments, others changed hospitals, leaving you and other 2 of the large group. You never thought Brendon liked you, at best you thought he tolerated you, that was until you heard him talking with Robby once, after a small trip down to the pitt, you and the other two remaining of the group saw a patient with a fractured femur, not so cleanly broken in half, easy fix (said Dr. Park).

“Brought your pups down to learn, how many quit?”

“I brought my pup, the other two are just here”

“Harsh as always”

And that is how you learned that Park the shark didn’t like calling his doctors pups, he didn’t say anything when other people did, but no one was smart or good enough to claim as his, until you. That is how you started to get called for every trip down to the pitt, how your surgery schedule got filled up and how your work load increased from 100% to 200%, it was all Brendon, his stern eyes on your face as you are wrist deep fixing up a pelvis or talking to Robby about how it is possible to save an arm, and even when you talk to the staff and other residents, he is watching, lurking, waiting to take the bite.

“Are you tired?” he asks, a cup of hot coffee on his hand as he looks down at you, you can still smell the blood, the operation was long, 5 hours at least, double amputation, bot legs lost at different heights.

“Not every day I wake up to rush into the OR” your voice is quiet, you need breakfast and coffee, maybe a nap in the supply room or the lounge are if you are lucky enough to find it empty.

“Not every day you get to perform in surgery with an amputation that high, pup. Grab something to eat, you look dead” he says, his hand extending to hand you the cup of coffee “Next time I’ll let you sleep and lose knowledge”

“No, I’d rather learn… thank you” you grab the cup, your hands brushing his slightly, Brendon leaves before you can say anything else. On the way to the cafeteria, you recall the first time he called you pup to your face. There had been a mistake, a mix up with files upstairs in radiology, shark was angry, bare teeth out as he barked orders here and there. Fix this, how the fuck are they even working here? Idiots, can’t even check files. Pup, run upstairs. Everyone was silent, everyone moving around him on command, Brendon glares at you when you stood still. Did I fucking stutter? I said, pup, run. Your eyes widen, you can even nod back when your legs are already answering, rushing to the staircase to fix up whatever happened upstairs.

Gladly it was an easy fix, nothing that a few please and thank yous couldn’t fix, in fact, it made the process go faster since, everyone was glad that shark wasn’t the one there. Instead, there you were, waiting for the files after giving everyone a soft smile. You run downstairs too, handing over the papers to an R4 who was the main doctor in the upcoming operation, between the rushing doctors and the sharks faint stern voice down the hall a door swings open and you get punched in the face, a small scream leaving your lips as you drop to the ground. Hand to your face as tears pool in your eyes. “Fucking pup” someone mumbles as you feel your ass leave the ground, strong hands getting you on your feet, lifting you below your arms like you weighted nothing. “with me, walk” Brendon pushes past everyone making way for you as you follow behind him to his office. The door slams shut, everyone stays quiet for a second, still, looking at the door before going back to whatever they were doing.

“Do you even know how to walk? I leave you for a few minutes and your ass is on the ground” he says as he points at his small couch, a few tears rolling down your eyes as he rolls his chair in front of you, sitting there with no clear expression. “Okay, enough, look at me, pup” his hand grabs your jaw, strong fingers squishing your cheeks slightly as he makes you look at him. A small flashlight shinning in your eyes, one at a time, he puts it to the side, his fingers gently feeling your nose and under your eyes for any serious injury.

“Ouch”

“Such a crybaby” he whispers, letting go of your face. “Your nose is red, but you are fine, does your head hurt?” you shake your head, lowering your face again, cleaning up your tears. “Words, pup, and I said look at me” you gulp before looking back at him, a small shiver running down your spine.

“Why do you call me that?”

“Call you what?” he raises a brow, leaning back on his chair, arms crossed over his chest, his biceps look bigger that way, legs slightly parted, yours between them, he was just being mean at this point.

“Pup” you whisper, fidgeting with your own hands, your nose still stinging, eyes still watery.

“Because everyone calls all of the doctors here that” he replies “Oh, are you asking why I call everyone by name and you pup?” he says, a condescending tone, you feel something rush down your body and into between your legs. “Because you are my pup”

“I-”

“What? You don’t like it? I can call you crybaby if you’d prefer, or puppy, close enough to home, huh?” you feel your eyes widen, you shake your head.

“Pup is fine”

“Good, I wasn’t really asking. Take 20, drink water, help yourself to any snacks you find here” he says standing up, one of his hands fall on your head and ruffle up your hair. “And next time you stick besides me, got it?”

“Yes sir” Brendon hums, turning around, not wanting to admit to himself how much that affected him.

A notification in your phone takes your mind out of breakfast, a message from Brendon.

He remembers the dress first. God, that dress. The dark fabric had clung to your figure, hugging every curve, and he'd spent the entire evening irritated with himself for noticing at all. 

He remembers the way the dip of your waist had fit beneath his palm when he'd guided you behind him, the startling softness of you, the instinctive way you'd moved closer when the man started getting aggressive. The tiny stutter in your breathing as he'd told the asshole to ‘fuck off and stop bothering his girl’ in a gruff voice, the way you'd looked up at him with those wide eyes, somewhere between embarrassed and grateful, as though he had done something remarkable when all he'd really done was the bare minimum.

Worst of all, he hates that he remembers the warmth of your body as he pinned you against the wall of the men's bathroom, mouths hovering over each other, not kissing, but breathing in wine-tinted lips. 

God, the way your warm walls stretched around his fingers, your clit under his thumb, still made him achingly hard. Jerking off in the shower had been futile ever since that night, ever since he felt your soft fingers around his cock, your moans spilling into his mouth. And your soft whines when he called you a good girl, fuck. He’s hard, again, in the middle of reading through the PHD proposals sent his way. He sighs, pulling his cock out his pants. 

It was becoming ridiculous. Which is precisely why he is looking forward to the start of semester.

But the universe has a fucked up way of derailing his plans. By the time he arrives at the lecture hall the next morning, coffee balanced in one hand and laptop tucked beneath his arm, he's almost managed to convince himself that the entire thing was behind him.

Then he walks through the door. The lecture hall blurs into meaningless shapes and colours, and in the centre of it sits you. 

The girl he couldn’t take out of his brain for the past seven days. 

Jack forces his legs forward, somehow making it to the front of the room without visibly embarrassing himself. He places his coffee on the desk. Sets down his laptop. Connects the HDMI cable twice because he misses the port the first time. His fingers feel too clammy, his pulse too fast. 

Jack opens his mouth to introduce himself.  

"My name is-"

But the words die there. Because he makes the mistake of looking back at you, again. 

Those same eyes he'd spent an entire week trying to unsuccessfully forget are fixed directly on his, wide with disbelief.

For a fraction of a second his mind goes entirely blank. Then your eyebrows lift. Just slightly.

And he realises with a jolt of horror that you've noticed the way his words catch. Jesus Christ.

He clears his throat and looks away, pretending to adjust something on his laptop despite the fact that absolutely nothing needs adjusting, acutely aware of the warmth crawling up the back of his neck, and onto his cheeks. It's ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. 

He's a respected academic pushing fifty years old, not some nervous graduate tutor fumbling his way through his first class.

"My name is Dr Jack Abbot," he says again, his voice steadier this time, lower too, the words settling more naturally now that he's managed to regain some semblance of control. "I'm the lead lecturer for the sociology department.”

His eyes catch yours. 

“It'll be my greatest pleasure to work with all of you this semester."

You’re this close to fucking shitting your pants. 

The sexy old man that had fucked the shit out of you with his fingers, while you could barely wrap your hands around his girthy cock in the corner of a dingy bathroom, was your professor. He was in front of you speaking in a voice too gravelly for his own good, and donned in what you’d deem an outfit way too slutty. 

Tweed blazer that somehow actually showed how broad he was, how fat and juicy his biceps were. A soft wool polo underneath that stretched around his fat pecs. 

And those brown pants, for fucks sake, those pants should be an abobination. You could see the bulge of his dick, the print, as he moved around the room. 

What’s worse though? His fat fucking fingers. As he gesticulates while talking about the content, which you don’t give a fuck about, all you can think about is how they felt inside of you, curling up to reach that sweet spot, and making you come faster and harder than your vibrator. 

As the flashbacks of him pounding into you fade, and you focus, you see something black and shiny glinting as it catches the overhead lights. You blink. Adorning one of those delicious fingers, is a ring. Fuck. It’s a wedding ring. 

You stare at it for a second too long before immediately snapping your gaze back to your laptop. Heat floods your face. You rack your brain trying to remember whether he'd been wearing it that night. You don't think so, you're almost certain he wasn't. Yeah, he definitely didn’t have it on that night in the bar, you would’ve felt it against your pussy, that fucking slut. 

You clench your jaw and look away, typing away to start making notes. You’d hooked up with an older married geratric. Yeah, maybe you should just drop out. Hurl yourself off the chair and out the door and withdraw from your course and fade into the abyss and die in a hole.

But what's worse is the way your cunt is clenching around nothing at the thought of this older man fucking you with his fingers while he had a wife at home- no, stop. How deeply unfeminist of you. You cunt. 

Yet still, when you look up and accidentally make eye contact with Jack Abbot, it feels like a punch to the vagina. 

By the time the lecture ends, Jack has spent nearly two hours forcing himself not to look at you. It has been a miserable failure. Not an obvious one, nobody in the room would have noticed. Years of teaching and having to discreetly catch students on their phones have made him an expert at disguising where his attention is actually resting. 

But every time his gaze swept across the theatre, every time a student asked a question, every time laughter rippled through the room, some part of him remained acutely aware of where you were sitting.

Which is precisely why, as students begin packing their bags and filtering towards the exits, he decides to do something incredibly stupid.

He tells himself it isn't stupid. He tells himself it's necessary. Professional, even.

After all, the two of you know each other in some capacity. There was the bar, there was what occurred inside of that bar, that lapse in judgement. There is now the unfortunate reality that you are one of his students. A conversation needs to happen. Boundaries need to be established, expectations clarified.

At least that's the excuse he gives himself. The truth is considerably less flattering. The truth is that he wants an excuse to speak to you.

He calls out your name. The words leave his mouth before he can reconsider them.

You freeze halfway through sliding your laptop into your bag. For a second you look almost startled that he's addressed you directly. Then your eyes meet his, startled. 

"Could you stay for a moment?"

Several students glance between the two of you before continuing out the door. Jack immediately regrets saying it publicly. Excellent start, Abbot.

By the time the last student leaves, you're making your way slowly towards the front of the room, one loop of your backpack slung on your shoulder.

As you slow to a stop in front of him, his eyes map your face. Your wide eyes, your slightly messy hair, the shape of your lips- Stop. Jesus Christ. 

He forcibly redirects his gaze towards his laptop on the podium. Professional. Remember, professional.

"You wanted to see me?" you ask softly.

Jack clears his throat.

"Right. Yes."

Very articulate. 

"I just thought it would be best if we acknowledged..." He gestures vaguely between the two of you. "The situation."

You blink.

"The situation?"

"The fact that we've met before."

"Oh."

You glance down at the strap of your bag, fingers tightening around it.

"Yeah. I noticed."

The dry response catches him completely off guard. A smile threatens at the corner of his mouth.

"Um, sorry, Dr Abbot," you add quickly, stumbling over the words. "I didn't mean to make things weird."

Jack immediately shakes his head.

"No, it's okay. You're good."

Dr Abbot. Dr Abbot. His brain plays your lips wrapping around his name again and again, perhaps in more precarious positions. He rubs his neck, looking away, willing for his cock to stop fucking stiffening. 

"I just wanted to clarify," he starts carefully, "I'd appreciate it if what happened stayed private."

Your eyes immediately narrow, apparently offended.

"Dr Abbot, I'm not stupid."

His eyebrows lift at your sudden confidence. He puts his hands out in front of him in defence. 

"I wasn't suggesting-"

"No, I know," you interrupt. Then your eyes widen, immediately looking mortified for interrupting him. "Sorry. I just mean... I'm not exactly planning on standing up in tutorials and announcing that I fu- I met my professor in a bar."

Jack closes his mouth. Fair point. And suddenly he becomes aware of how ridiculous he sounds.

You aren't the problem here. You haven't done anything. If anything, you're handling this better than he is. This sort of “casualness” is probably the usual for someone as beautiful as you, as young and brilliant.

"Right," he says finally.

A silence settles between you as he continues staring you down. 

You shift your weight awkwardly beneath his gaze, looking everywhere except directly at him now, and suddenly he's struck by how young you seem standing there. 

Then, before he can stop himself, in some hope to keep you standing there in front of him, he hears himself say, "If you ever need help with coursework, though, my office hours are listed on the syllabus."

The second the words leave his mouth, he knows they weren't necessary. Your eyes flicker up to his face in shock, before immediately dropping back down again. Interesting.

For someone who'd managed to argue with him thirty seconds ago, you seem remarkably incapable of holding eye contact for more than a few moments.

Then you nod, still staring at the floor. 

"Okay."

"Okay. Yeah, good."

Another silence. Neither of you moves, seems entirely unsure on how to end the conversation. Eventually you shift your bag higher up, and take a small step backwards.

"I should go."

"Yes, thank you for staying back."

You hesitate for a second, then whisper as you turn and walk away from him. 

“Goodbye, Dr Abbot.”

Jack stares at your ass through your jeans as you depart, he can’t help it. You sick, sick old man, Abbot.

The second you're gone, he drops his head down, groans, rubs a hand over his scruff. 

That conversation was supposed to make things better, supposed to reassure him that whatever happened at that bar was firmly in the past.

Instead, all it has accomplished is proving that being around you is a nightmare.  

It's been four weeks since that conversation and you cannot get him out of your head. Every time you enter those lectures where he stands in the front of the room with another blazer, another pair of form fitting pants, twice a week, you leave with a pool of slick. 

You refuse to acknowledge the way he looked at you when you let your attitude slip, his furrowed brows, hazel eyes narrowing. He looked… mad almost. Like he wanted to tame you. Of course you're being delusional, he has a wife for fucks sake. 

And weeks of observing him has made you realise that he has an immense proclivity for eye contact, with everyone. Basically, you’re not special. 

And, so your avoidant ass refuses to take him up on that offer to see him at his office. You’re doing well academically, you presume, in all your subjects. Which is not surprising given it's the only thing you’ve got going for you, being an antisocial chud, but these days, rather than studying, a lot of your time is spent replaying that night in the bar. The sense of comfort you felt pinned against the wall by him, the way he’d protected you against that creep. Nobody had done that for you before. 

God you sound fucking pathetic. 

And specifically, his suggestive line of “my office hours are listed on the syllabus” reverberates around your skull, like the start of those Wattpad stories you used to read as a teen. And so, you and your vibrator have the time of your life at all odd hours of the day, imagining him and you in those situations. 

In hindsight, being overtaken by lust to distract from your crippling loneliness was a poor decision to make, that much you clock when you receive one of your midterms back today. With a big fat fucking 60% written on the front. In Dr Abbot’s class at that too. 

Humiliation takes over you, cheeks warm as he walks by to return the paper, refusing to look at him but feeling his gaze on your face. 

Around you, students are already discussing their marks, complaining about feedback, celebrating distinctions, debating whether certain deductions were fair, while you're busy boring holes into the godforsaken paper with your eyes as though sheer hatred might cause it to burst into flames.

As someone who quite literally had nothing going on for them other than academic success, it's a stab to the heart to realise you’ve fallen off in any capacity. For your wretched brain, one poor mark isn't just a mark, it's indicative of you falling behind, lacking in the one thing that defines you. 

Academics have always been your thing, the one area of your life you've been able to control through sheer stubbornness and hard work, the one thing you've quietly built your entire sense of self around. You aren't particularly outgoing. You don't have a huge social circle. You don't possess some secret hidden talent waiting to be discovered.

And now a bright red sixty is staring back at you from the top of the page like a personal attack.

The feedback only makes it worse.

Critical analysis underdeveloped.

Needs greater engagement with course material.

More depth required.

Each comment feels less like academic criticism and more like somebody taking a hammer to your ribcage.

Especially because you've spent the last month thinking about fuckass Jack Abbot far more than you've spent thinking about sociology. You've replayed conversations that lasted less than five minutes. Analysed glances that probably meant absolutely nothing, and constructed entire fictional narratives from harmless comments that any reasonable person would've forgotten weeks ago.

Meanwhile half your readings have been sitting untouched in a browser tab.

You stare down at the paper again, jaw tightening.

Perhaps this is the universe intervening. Perhaps this is your sign to get a grip. Perhaps this is your sign to finally take him up on that offer he'd made four weeks ago.

Not because you're harbouring some pathetic crush. Absolutely not. 

Purely for academic reasons. You need to know what went wrong and you need to know how to fix it before your anxiety makes this into something worse and you have another one of your depressive episodes. 

And if that means sitting in Dr Jack Abbot's office while he explains why your argument was underdeveloped and your analysis lacked depth, then so be it.

The thought alone makes your stomach perform an alarming little flip, which is deeply unfortunate.

Because that's probably another sign that you're not thinking nearly enough about sociology.

After stalking the stupid university website you’ve discovered that Dr Jack Abbot apparently remains on campus until after five o'clock most evenings, like some sort of psycho freak. 

Doesn’t he have a wife to go home to? Surely no sane person voluntarily spends that much time at a university.

Still, at 5:17 PM, you're standing outside his office clutching your assignment paper so tightly it's beginning to crumple around the edges.

You knock on the door and hear his gruff voice let out a “come in”. You walk in.  

Fuck your life. 

His blazer is off, sleeves of his beige shirt rolled up to show veiny forearms, as he types away on his laptop. 

“Oh it's you. Hello sweetheart.” He winces at the slip of the pet name. 

“Sorry Miss-” he pauses. “Um, just have a seat, please.”

You hope to God that he can't hear the beating of your heart as you step in, closing the door shut behind you, avoiding eye contact as you sit on the seat opposite him. 

You set your paper on his desk and mumble.

“I just wanted to review the feedback I got on this.”

“Yeah of course, what’d you want to ask?”

You hesitate, his soft tone suddenly making you want to spill everything. 

"I just..." You stare at the desk. "I thought I'd done better than this. So I wanted more clarity on all the comments you made."

He nods and picks up the paper, starts reading through it, then squints. 

He sighs.

“Wait, let me get my readers on.”

You sneak a glance up. 

Oh fuck. 

He puts his readers on. Some fucking high prescription glasses that enunciate the size of his stupid hazel boba eyes and delicious eye wrinkles. 

Yeah, pussy exploded. 

You look back down on the table, and inhale to calm your heart. 

When Jack finally finishes, he sets the paper on the desk. 

"You know," he says carefully, tapping one section of the essay, "the reason this stood out to me wasn't because the writing is bad."

Your eyes lift despite yourself. He slides the paper slightly closer.

"It's actually the opposite."

“What?"

"The writing is strong, and your arguments are quite clear. You've obviously got the ability."

The knot in your chest loosens slightly. Only slightly.

"But?" you whisper.

His mouth twitches.

"But I don't think you pushed yourself."

Jack studies your expression for a moment before leaning back slightly in his chair.

"You understand the material," he continues. "I don't have concerns about that. What I'm seeing is somebody who's engaging with the content at a surface level when they're capable of going much deeper.”

Right, so you’re failing. You ridden with lust, and doing god knows what in hopes to distract yourself from the sheer loneliness and mundanity of your life and now you can’t even understand the content the way you want to understand it and-

“Hey sweetheart, are you feelin’ okay?” 

You look up at him in confusion and realise your breaths are heavy, uneven. Your hands are trembling slightly where they're resting on your lap. 

Fuck, the beginnings of a panic attack. 

“I’m so sorry Dr Abbot, I just- I’ve never done poorly in a test really, and so this is all so…” your voice cracks. “I don't even know what I’m saying I just-”

He gets up and walks over to you as you break off, letting out a shaky laugh that sounds suspiciously close to a sob.

He leans against his desk, in front of you, bending to reach your eyes.  

“Hey, it's okay angel, breathe for me.”  

He inhales. 

“Look, follow my breathing.”

You try to, but it comes out stuttered.

"Fuck, I'm sorry."

"Nothin’ to apologise for, sweetheart, just keep trying. C’mon, take a deep breath in, and out."

He holds your hand and brings it to his chest. You feel his heart beat steadily under your palm. He exaggerates his breathing to help you.

“In, and out, just like that.”

It seems nice to just let go. To have someone else take over your brain, follow their instructions and shut the noise, the anxieties and the worries. 

Once your breathing slows, he moves your hand away from his chest. 

“You breathin’ better now?”

You nod slowly, still feeling shaky, still mortified by the fact that you've just had what can only be described as a minor psychological collapse in your professor's office.

“I’m so, so sorry you saw me like that Dr Abbot, I didn’t mean to-”

“Hey, it’s okay, sweet girl.”

He pauses, seems occupied gathering his thoughts.

You busy yourself staring at the floor. Then he exhales softly through his nose and settles back against the edge of his desk.

"After my wife passed away, I used to get them all the time."

The words are so unexpected that your head lifts immediately.

Jack's gaze remains fixed somewhere over your shoulder rather than directly on you, his expression thoughtful. 

"My therapist taught me a few tricks," he says with a small shrug. "Matching breathing patterns was one of them."

Your heart races again, for different reasons this time. The ring, the fucking black ring. He’s a widower. You don’t know whether to laugh or scream at the fact that he’s not married, and you aren’t a homewrecker. But then you feel real fucking horrible for different reasons, youre brain sabotaging again. 

“I’m sorry about your wife. I’m sorry if that reminded you of back then, or whenever it happened I don’t know, I don't want to assume-”

“Shh, take a deep breath for me. You’re good, sweetheart. 

 He brings a palm to your cheek, engulfing it.  

“Yeah? It’s okay. Don’t worry ‘bout it. It was a long time ago.”

You breathe in slowly for the fucking hundredth time that night, calming down.  

“You feelin’ better now?” He asks gently.

You nod, biting your tongue to stop from apologising again. 

“Yes, thank you.”

It slips out before he can stop it. 

“Good girl.”

Your thighs instinctively clench, and you see him stiffen as he notices.  You both stare at each other, feeling tension coil in the air between you. A moment passes. 

“I could help you, you know.”

You blink, confused. 

He rubs your cheek gently, eyes boring into yours. His expression is blank, neutral. 

“I could help you relax, get out of your brain for a little.”

He pauses.

“Like that night in the bar. You liked that, didn't you? Somebody taking control.”

Your breath hitches, and you mumble a “yes.”

“Louder, sweetheart. If we’re gonna do this, you need to speak clearly.”

His voice is stern, gravelly. And your brain is calm for the first time in weeks, since that night. The validation you crave so desperately, the sense of comfort that would help with escaping your brain, perhaps it is held in the palm of Jack Abbot’s hands. 

Slowly, you nod. 

“Yes Dr Abbot, I’d like you to help me.”

He smirks, the edges of lips pulling up. 

“Atta girl. C’mon then, get up for me.”

You follow his lead, mind hazy as he holds your hands and guides you to his chair. 

“I’m gonna sit, then you're gonna sit right here, on my lap. And then I’ll help you, yeah?”

You nod again. 

“Words, sweetheart.”

“Yes, Dr Abbot.”

He smiles, proudly. Your brain turns to mush again, pussy fluttering.

He’s so handsome.  

Pulling you onto his lap sideways, your legs draping over his thighs, he caresses your hair. Fuck, it feels so good. You nuzzle your head into his neck, whimpering softly as he coos, "such a good girl, my smart girl, yeah? smartest in the whole damn class.”  

Then he brings his fat fingers to your skirt, tracing circles on yout thighs near the hem. Inching close, but never slipping under. 

“Please, please Dr Abbot, touch me.”

“Yeah, you want me to touch that little pussy? Want me to make you feel good? So you can rest your pretty brain?” 

He taps your head. 

You whine ‘yes, yes please sir.’ 

You feel his cock jerk up under you. He groans.  

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart. Say that again.”

“Please, Sir, please touch me.”

“Whatever you want, pretty girl.”  

Then he finally flips your skirt up, and starts rubbing slowly over your panties. On your lips, your folds, through your soaked underwear. You wrap your arms around his neck, begging him, please. 

He brings a finger to your clit, mutters lowly, “right here sweetheart?” and you nod, whining. 

He rubs gentle circles on your clit, your slick helping his finger move smoothly even over your panties. Buries his face in your hair as he continues rubbing. He breathily exhales, as if simply your pleasure was turning him on . 

“That’s it, just let go sweetheart. Let me take care of you, yeah?”

“Fuck- right there.”

You buck up in his hold. 

And he stops, a hand splaying over your thighs to stop you from squirming.

“Fuckin’ stop that, or this is going to be over a lot quicker thank you’d like.” 

You feel the hardness of his cock under you, prodding below your ass. Your brain is mush, the words slipping by themself.  

You nod tucking your head in his neck, “Yeah, yeah sir I’ll stop, please- fuck. Please keep going.” 

“That’s my good girl.” 

And he starts rubbing over your clit again, kissing down your cheeks, down your neck, murmuring “yeah? yeah” as he inhaled your musk.

You whimper, arching your neck as you get closer to your release, feeling it build up low in your stomach the faster his circles get.  

“Fuck I’m going to come! Pl- please let me come sir.”

“Yeah? Is my good girl gonna come? You gonna come for Dr Abbot?” He groans, low and husky. 

And fuck, that gets you. You close your eyes as your orgasm hits you, pleasure washing over. 

You mutter whimpers of his name as you come, squirming as much as he lets you, clenching your thighs in his palm.

In the haze of your orgasm, you hear him, moaning. He jerks up, moaning in your ear, face pressed against your hair, babbling.  

“Fuck- sweetheart, did so good for me, fucking coming all over my fingers, fuck!”

The last word comes out as something resembling a whine. His hips buck up once, twice, before you feel warmth spreading under you. 

Did he just… orgasm?

Both of you pant harshly, him into your hair, forehead pressed against your head. And you look down, seeing your soaking panties, his hands splayed over your thighs. A smile overtakes your face, god, you felt alive. 

And he came. In his pants. God, you love old men. But as a giggle bubbles up in your throat, he stiffens. 

You see his hands leave you, and before you can even process what's happening, he's gently but firmly moving you off his lap, tugging your skirt back into place. 

"Fuck."

The curse leaves him under his breath, as he immediately turns away in his chair, one hand dragging through his curls.

You stand there, still dazed as he refuses to look at you. 

“Fuck, um. You should leave and I- I think-”

The words die halfway through. You watch him struggle to find them.

“Yeah, you should leave,” he awkwardly mutters as he covers the wet patch on his pants. You're still breathing heavily, and furrow your brows. 

What the fuck?

You’re so utterly mortified. Still in the post orgasmic haze, standing there feeling horribly exposed, your brain sluggish and foggy and vulnerable.

And through that stupid fog you pick your bag up from the seat, smooth out your skirt. Avoiding eye contact, you wobble out of the room, tears pooling in your eyes. 

Fuck old men. You hate old men.

After hours of sobbing into your pillow, and spiralling about how people will use you for your body, and nobody will be able to save you, and you’re going to die alone, you reached a conclusion. Probably a delusional conclusion, but a conclusion nonetheless.

He was embarrassed, that’s all. The man had simply come in his pants. Which, admittedly, would be humiliating for anyone. You’re so young and sexy that he was embarrassed he came in his pants. He definitely still wants you. 

The thought soothed you enough to stop crying, enough to prevent you from throwing yourself dramatically into the nearest body of water.

It's when you’re holed up in your dorm room, buried under the blankets reading a fic, when your spiral begins again. 

Because you get a text from an unknown number. 

Hi. I wanted to apologise for yesterday.   That was incredibly impolite of me, I got way in over my head.

Then two minutes later. 

And I wanted to check in.  Are you feeling better?

Chat, what if you fucking killed yourself? 

The perfect grammar and punctuation made your stomach churn in lust. The way you could hear him grumble that out in his husky voice, gravelly warmth beneath every syllable. 

Stop.

Objectively speaking, this man had sent you into an emotional crisis less than twenty-four hours ago. He basically kicked you out after giving you another toe curling orgasm. 

And yet somehow all it takes is three perfectly punctuated texts and you're smiling into your pillow like an idiot. Whatever, stay nonchalant. 

So you ignore his apology and reply to the latter half. 

Hey, i’m okay thanks 

Wow, look at you go. 

His reply is almost immediate.

Good.  Good girl. 

You take a deep breath in, pull your blanket over your head. Fuck. Fuck this stupid old man and his ability to make your pussy throb with two words. 

You genuinely have no clue what to reply, stupid. Stupid woman who can’t even formulate a reply and be flirtatious. 

You type something.

Delete it.

Type something else.

Delete that too.

Your chest develops a familiar buzzing anxiety. This, by the way, is exactly why maintaining relationships has always felt so difficult. Everyone else seems to possess some innate understanding of social interaction that you're missing entirely. 

What are you supposed to say?

Thanks for checking on me after kicking me out?

Sorry for crying in your office?

Please stop being unexpectedly kind after making me come so hard because it's making this significantly harder?

After two minutes of spiralling, or five, or ten, you don’t even fucking know at this point, your phone buzzes again.  

Can I see you?  Please.

Your breath stutters. 

yeah sure When do your classes finish today? At 3pm Okay. I’ll meet you at Sapphos.

Fuck, you hate how he doesn’t ask you. Just makes a statement, tells you what to do. You hate how that turns you on, and even worse, how good it feels to not have to make decisions for yourself, for once. 

But also, that cafe was off campus. Realistically, should you be potentially jeopardising your academic career with this emotionally unavailable older man, who will definitely be using you for your body if this continues? No, but are you lonely and so fucking bored with the stangancy of your life? Well, yes. 

And so unfortunately, rational thought has never stood much of a chance against loneliness. Against the quiet ache that follows you home every evening, and the possibility of spending a few hours with somebody who sees you.

So your dumbass agrees. 

Okay ! i’ll see u soon  See you soon, sweetheart. 

Sweetheart. Yeah, you're actually gonna kill yourself. 

Sitting and staring out the window of some cafe he randomly picked, Jack doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. He doesn't know how many times a man can call something a lapse in judgement before it stops being a ‘lapse’ and starts becoming a conscious choice.

He got in way over his head after making you come on his lap, spiralling. Yes, it was the sheer humiliation of coming in his pants (which was a nightmare to clean off, by the way) but also, there was the humiliation of losing control of himself after years of carefully maintaining it, the mortifying reality of having to go home and sit alone with the consequences of it all.  

What was worse was somewhere along the way you'd managed to reach inside him and pull loose something from his heart he'd thought had calcified years ago, something he'd buried beneath research papers, lecture halls, and the endless routines he'd constructed around himself after his wife died.

And he knows, he knows, you deserve someone better. He was a widow for Christ's sake, probably three decades or somewhere very close to that, older than you. And you’re young. Thoughtful. Young enough that your entire life still seems stretched out in front of you. Even your anxieties, the things that weigh you down, feel temporary in a way his never will. 

You still have time to become whoever you're meant to be.

Jack feels as though he's already become whoever he's going to be.

He thinks about the way you looked during your panic attack, how hard you'd been trying to keep it together even as everything was falling apart. He thinks about how quickly you apologised for taking up space, for having feelings, for being overwhelmed.

And he didn't pity you, God, no. It wasn't that. He understood it. The loneliness. The exhaustion. The feeling that if you stopped holding yourself together for even a second, everything might collapse.

But he also saw the way your brain shut down, the way you trusted him. It made something ache inside his chest, a warm ache, the sort that spread through his ribs and settled somewhere dangerously close to hope. 

And hope was precisely the problem. Because he couldn't give you anything. Not with the grief and sense of routine buried in him before his teaching, in the chasm of his heart, since his time in the godforsaken military where half his limb was gone. 

He can't offer you anything but his fingers, or his mouth, between your legs, and you deserve someone better than that. 

But if that was the only way he’d be able to get you out of his head, then so be it. 

And so despite all of that, despite every logical argument he could construct, despite every fucking university regulation he was violating right now, his eyes keep drifting towards the café entrance every few seconds.

Jack exhales heavily and rubs a hand across his jaw.

And then you enter. Looking around with an adorably confused look before you spot him, and dare he say, your eyes light up. 

Abbot, no. 

But the words slip out as you reach him. 

“Hey sweetheart.”

“Hi Dr Abbot.”

You sit opposite him, glancing up at him briefly before staring back down at the table. He hates how endearing he finds it, how he wants to reach across the sticky table and pull your jaw, hold it, and force you to look at him. He wants to see your eyes glaze over the way they did the day prior. 

He chooses instead to slide the menu across to you, and once you order, he leans back. 

“Did you have a nice morning?”

He withholds a wince at the awkwardness. 

“Um, yes. Classes were okay. Thank you?”

The end of the sentence rises almost into a question, as though you're unsure whether that's the correct answer, and something about it makes his chest tighten.

“Good, that’s good.”

Then an awkward pause. Jack sits there like a complete fucking idiot.

For Christ's sake he’d called you here. And now that you're sitting in front of him, he can't seem to form a coherent sentence.

Get your shit together, Abbot. 

"Look," he begins, rubbing a hand across his jaw. "I wanted to apologise for yesterday."

Your eyes finally lift from the table.

“It was wrong of me to let you go like that. Quite frankly I don’t even have an excuse I just…”

He trails off, looking behind you out the window for a second. What exactly is he supposed to say?

That the sight of you crying made me feel physically sick? That for one terrifying second I’d felt something dangerously close to happiness sitting in that office with you? That after years of carefully maintaining the same dull routine I’d somehow started structuring entire days around whether I’d see you?

None of those seem particularly appropriate, too intense. 

"See, no man my age enjoys being reminded that he's still capable of behaving like a teenager."

That makes you smirk a little. His heart warms. 

“You mean, you.. coming in your pants?”

Jack groans softly and drags a hand down his face.

“I didn't want to put it so crudely, but well... yes."

"I thought so."

You giggle. And the sound catches him off guard enough that he finds himself smiling despite the mortification currently trying to consume him.

"To be honest," you continue, "I think I understood once I calmed down."

His shoulders loosen slightly.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You shrug.

"But I'm not going to lie, it didn't feel very good. You kicking me out like that."

The honesty makes him wince.

"And that's exactly why I wanted to apologise, sweetheart." His gaze settles on you properly. Giving you a look that he hoped was earnest. "That was real shitty of me. I’m truly very sorry.”

You look at him for a few moments in silence, mapping his face. Then once seemingly finding what you were looking for, you reply. 

“Apology accepted.” 

The waitress arrives then, setting down your coffee, some monstrosity involving whipped cream and probably enough sugar to send him into cardiac arrest.

Jack eyes it suspiciously, humorously. 

"What?" you question. 

"That isn't coffee."

"It literally is."

"Sweetheart, that looks like it barely has any caffeine."

You let out a giggle, again. God, you’ve got to fucking stop that if you want his heart to survive.  

"It has espresso."

"Buried beneath, what? Three inches of whipped cream."

"Whatever, you’re just old and grumpy."

You grin. The grin grows wider when he continues staring at the drink with visible disappointment.

For some reason that finally breaks whatever lingering awkwardness remains between the two of you. The conversation begins flowing after that.

He makes a witty remark, you giggle. And you manage to make him laugh as well, coming out of your shell. 

Then the conversation shifts to that night at the bar. 

“Yeah so if he wasn't that buff and scary, I wouldn't even have called you over. I would've told him to suck my strap and choke.”

Jack nearly chokes on his coffee, coughing violently. You immediately burst into soft laughter. He wipes his lips with a napkin, grinning.

"Sweetheart."

"What?"

"Please give me some warning before you say things like that."

Your grin grows, eyes sparkling. 

"Why?"

"Because I'm fifty."

That seems to make your eyes widen imperceptibly, and you look down towards the coffee you ordered, chugging it. 

Interesting. 

Neither of you acknowledge the elephant in the room, instead you continue talking, skirting around the edges. Circling the obvious without ever touching it.

And eventually your drinks are empty. People around you start leaving.

Yet neither of you seems particularly eager to end the conversation.

Jack glances at his watch. Then back at you. He really, really shouldn't. But he wants to give you a way out. While still offering you a choice. 

"I don't have any classes after tomorrow's lecture."

The words leave his mouth casually.

Your eyes flicker up.

"Oh."

A pause.

"I could come see you."

"In my office?"

You immediately look embarrassed.

"Only if that's okay."

God. There it is again, that instinct you have to ask permission for existing.

"Sweetheart."

Your eyes lift.

"It's okay."

The relief that flashes across your face is so immediate it almost hurts to look at.

"Okay."

"Okay."

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

When the bill eventually arrives, he picks it up before you can.

"Dr Abbot-"

"No."

"I can pay for myself."

"I know."

"Then-"

"I know, I know you’re a self sufficient woman. You’re brilliant. But let me. I’ll pay for it."

Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Jack watches the entire internal battle play across your face.

Then you nod softly, muttering an “okay, thank you”. 

Jack's heart clenches again. Genuinely fuck his life. 

So you think you’ve somehow ended up in a situationship or whatever the fuck with your fifty year old professor. 

Over the course of the past five weeks, you show up in his office after the lectures, and even a few times throughout the week, and he sets you on his lap, or on his desk while he laps at your cunt. 

Occasionally, he lets you pull out his cock and suck it. Sometimes under his desk, riding his boot as he's grading papers, God, his fucking whimpers when he comes. 

Unsurprisingly, he also does help you with understanding the content and doing your assignments. Has his own unique methods of doing so. 

Jack had you sitting on his lap, back to his chest, completely clothed while you were naked, bare. 

He hooked his face on your shoulder, whispering filth in your ears, telling you to “focus” as he rubbed slow circles over your pussy. Smearing the slick oozing out your cunt over your folds, avoiding your clit. 

You whined and tried to clench your thighs, whispering against his stubbled cheek. 

“Please, pl- touch me, Dr Abbot.” 

But he'd splayed one wide palm, tightly, over your thigh.

“No. Type out the rest of the essay, c’mon. Then you can come, pretty girl,” he’d muttered in a low voice. 

And once you did, he'd shoved his fat fingers inside of you, thrusting fast, the other hand alternating between your neck and your nipples, pinching, squeezing.  

You’d squirted that day, for the first time, creating a mess of his pants, some landing on his desk. 

He’d made you lick it off. 

Surprisingly, however, you hadn’t kissed, not even once. Nor had you fucked, in the penetrative sense. 

The latter you’re grateful for, because you were a virgin. It was too humiliating of a thought to ever bring up in your twenties now, but thankfully he never brings it up either. You suspect he knows though, from the little details you've unveiled to him over the course of the past few weeks. 

Talking about your feelings has always been.. difficult. The words choke up and clog the back of your throat when you go to speak. Entire relationships - well, lack of relationships - have been built around your inability to say what you need. 

But it's easy, sometimes, with Jack. When your brain shuts off in a post orgasmic haze, and you sit in other's company, his hand resting in your hair, or his head buried in your chest, the words bubble out of you. 

Snippets of memories of your family that you left behind, of the few friends back home, the lack of romance. When you stop speaking halfway through a sentence because you've forgotten how to explain yourself, he simply waits.

Surely he's put two and two together.  

And you think he has some avoidant issues of his own, the old fuck. 

He'll spend forty minutes analysing a political institution and somehow avoid answering a direct question about his own feelings.

Yet occasionally things slip through the cracks.

A memory about his wife. An offhand comment about the military that lingers in your mind long after he's moved on to another topic.

You'd had a lengthy conversation one day about that, your radical opinions spilling out before you could stop them, about systemic exploitation and imperialism, about how much you despised the military as an institution. You’d accuse institutions of manipulating vulnerable people; He agreed more than you'd expected him to. Told you about his journey of basically being forced into it to help his family, about the machinery of poverty and patriotism that pushed kids toward enlistment before they were old enough to understand what they were signing away.

He takes your ideas seriously, but he also looks genuinely delighted when you disagree with him.

And god, that’s what you were starting to like most about him. The intellect. Yes he has a girthy cock that would probably annihilate you in the best way when (if) the time came, and incredible arms, and his fat pecs. But his brain. Wow. 

Intelligence has always been your love language, whether you've admitted it or not. And Jack speaks it fluently. There’s a sense of strange intimacy and letting others hear your thoughts and opinions. And the ability to be able to talk and have someone just listen, or banter with you – it was rare. Especially for someone as reclusive as you. 

Unfortunately, you're also smart enough to recognise reality. Whatever this is, it isn't heading anywhere permanent. Because Jack never talks about the future, never makes promises, or gives any indication that he's looking for something lasting.

And honestly? You aren't sure he can. Not after everything he's lost, not with the gap of decades between you. So you tell yourself you're enjoying things exactly as they are. You tell yourself that spending time with him is enough.

And for now, maybe it is.

The problem is that every time he looks at you like you've said something brilliant, every time he remembers some tiny detail about your life, every time his face softens when you walk into a room – this lie gets a little harder to believe.

Five weeks. Jack’s ‘brief’ lapse in judgement has lasted five fucking weeks. 

Every time he sees you enter the lecture, you exchange a secret look, your eyes fluttering, him blushing. He feels like he’s twenty again. It's exhilarating. 

But the ‘ethical dilemma’ of it all sat permanently in the back of his mind, festering like an untreated wound.

He knows that every time he let himself enjoy your company, every time he answered one of your messages, every time he found himself smiling at something you'd said hours after the conversation had ended, he was stepping further into territory he had absolutely no business occupying.

The way you trusted him, allowing him to lick into your cunt or set you on his lap and caress you, felt nice. It felt real fucking good to be wanted and desired in some capacity, especially after being touch starved for nearly a decade since his wife. 

And seeing you under him sucking his cock, fuck.

“Dr Abbot….” you whined in a teasing tone, laced with humour. 

He groaned, placing his forehead on your back from where you sat on his lap. You definitely wanted something. 

“What?” he huffed out.

Still facing your laptop, you breathed out your next words. 

“When are you going to let me suck your cock?”

He jolted, hips thrusting up.

“Jesus Christ sweetheart, warn a guy.”

You said his name again, more firmly. 

“Stop dodging the question.”

He paused. 

“This whole… us. It's about you, about helping you relax so you can focus on studying. It’s not about me or my pleasure or-”

“Jack.” 

He lifted his head from your back, stilling. You’d never said his first name before. 

“What if doing it would give me pleasure, hm? What then?”

He stayed silent. 

You twisted in his lap, neck twisting to face him. 

“I want to taste you, please.”

Widening your eyes, and pouting, you all but begged him. Brought a hand to his stubbled cheek.  

“Please, Dr Abbot. Let me do it.” 

He sighed. Jack Abbot was a weak, pathetic man when it came to you.  

“Fine,” he grumbled. 

“Get off, c’mon.”

Yeah, it was worth it for the blinding smile you gave him, kissing his cheek.  

He gently lifted you off his lap, and pulled his chair back to give you some room. 

Jack nodded, glancing down pointedly. 

“If you want it, you gotta do it yourself.”

You kneeled immediately, settling yourself in the gap between his desk, between his open thighs. 

Unbuckling his belt, staring at his bulge with those doe eyes the entire time, you slowly pulled his cock out. 

It was hard, leaking, tip red and aching. Your soft hands wrapping around his dick made a drop of precum roll down. He moaned, a low sound emanating from deep in his chest. 

You slowly twisted your hand up and down his cock, fingers barely stretching around. 

Jack couldn’t wait. He gripped your hair, not too hard, but enough to lift your head up to face him. 

“You gonna put your mouth on it or do I need to shove it in?”

You smirked, you vixen. 

“Shove it in, I dare you.”

He groaned, muttering “you fuckin’ brat” as he pushed your hands off his cock.

“Open up, sweetheart.”

You did, tongue lolling out. A drop of drool dripped onto his thighs, and he moaned under his breath. 

He couldn’t wait any longer. Gripping his cock, he fed it into your mouth. Inch by inch. 

Until you gagged. 

Feeling your soft throat close around him, he couldn't help but groan your name.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

Your hands came up to stroke whatever didn't fit in - which truth be told, was more than half his cock, but it's okay, he'd train you eventually. 

“Can I help you, sweetheart? Teach you how to take your professor's cock down your throat?”

You nodded quickly, moaning, his cock still in your mouth. 

Then he guided you through it, holding your head as you sucked him. Muttered praises, filth, to guide you.

“Just like that, sweetheart”.

“Yeah, grip it harder”.

“Suck the tip, just like that.” 

And right before he came, he ripped you off him and wrapped a hand around himself. He whimpered as jerked off furiously over you, until drops of his pearly cum splattered over your tongue. 

He had never come that hard in his life. 

Panting harshly, he patted your head. 

“Swallow.”

Other than the sex, there were also the days where you'd walk into his office and start talking about some article you'd read, your entire face lighting up with excitement, and everything in him would melt. He’d pull you onto his lap, or set you in front of him, on his desk, and let you talk, feeling the softness of your thighs under his palm as he traced small circles. It was nice to let someone in, fill the void and the silence in his life. 

There wasn’t a label on what you two were, if you even were anything. 

While at first he’d thought it was common for you to be used to this sort of ‘causalness’ or a friends-with-benefit type situation (or whatever the fuck somebody born two generations after him would call it), he'd come to realise you were actually the opposite. Not that he’d have any issue with either. 

But from the scattered stories you'd told him about your past, the way you spoke about relationships, and the cautious vulnerability that appeared whenever the subject drifted too close to ‘feelings’, he'd begun piecing together a picture of someone who felt things deeply and trusted people slowly.

He could calculate you were likely a virgin. And so he never pressurised you, never made the first move to initiate sex, kept his cock to himself, waiting for you. No matter how much he wanted to feel the tightness of your pussy around him. 

However, his patience is wearing thin, growing precarious with every instance of you bringing another small thing that wedges itself beneath his ribs and refuses to leave. 

Now he's left with the deeply inconvenient problem of wanting things he really shouldn’t want. Not just a warm body near him, but wanting your company, your attention. He wants those afternoons in his office where you do nothing but talk to last a little longer.

All of this wanting, this yearning, is quite frankly, far more than he has any right to want.

Which is exactly why today is proving so unbearable.

He often feels a pit of something bitter bubble in his chest when you interact with someone other than him. Not that it happens frequently - you're quite reserved. But not today. Today, specifically, you seem to be chatting up a boy. 

When he enters the lecture this morning, you aren’t sitting alone like usual, but instead, there’s some boy next to you. Some boy your age. Dressed in some sort of hideous baggy outfit that hangs off his lanky frame. Is that fashion now? God that fucking punk. 

Why was he sitting next to you? Distracting you? 

As he sets up his laptop on the podium, seething under his breath, he hears a giggle. Your breathy giggle, the one he thought only came out with him. 

His jaw tightens. The lecture hasn't even started, for Christ's sake.

Jack spends the next five minutes attempting to focus on setting up his stupid slides while simultaneously becoming aware of every interaction occurring in your vicinity.

Looking up, he realises it's a grave mistake. Because now you're touching. Touching that punk’s arm. 

Fuck. 

Something ugly immediately twists in Jack's stomach, his brows furrowing. Anger bubbles up in his chest.

But he can’t do anything but continue on, beginning his lecture, as if he isn’t seething with jealousy. 

Halfway through the lecture, he catches himself directing a question towards your side of the room and immediately wants to launch himself into the sun.

Because you answer, of course, brilliantly as usual. But the boy next to you looks at you with stars in his eyes.

Yeah, Jack wants him expelled.

After a torturous two hours, students begin filing out of the room. Normally, this is the part where he'd catch your eye, maybe exchange some silent look that promised you'd be appearing in his office within the next ten minutes.

Instead, you're still standing beside that boy. And the little prick is making you laugh now. Then you reach out and lightly smack his arm, again.

Jack immediately decides prison might be worth it. 

He shoves his laptop into his satchel with considerably more force than necessary, and effectively storms out of the room without giving you a second glance. 

If you wanted to fuck about with some kid your age, then fine, Jack was not going to stop you. 

By the time he reaches his office he's practically fuming, throwing his bag onto his desk and immediately hating himself for it.

Because what exactly are you guilty of?

Making a friend? Talking to somebody?

The answer is nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Yet that doesn't stop the ugly feeling sitting beneath his ribs. Yeah, he’s going to commit a fucking crime tonight. 

Jack Abbot has managed to elicit yet another strange emotion in you.  You're staring at the doorway he'd just disappeared through, confused as fuck. 

He'd packed up and left so quickly you'd barely had time to process it, when usually, you walk to his office together. 

Once James - the man you were talking to - leaves with your Instagram to “organise a study session”, a strange sinking feeling begins to settle in your stomach.

You gather your things slowly, trying not to overthink it but failing spectacularly.

The thing is, you had actually been excited, embarrassingly excited. Somehow, after weeks of mostly keeping to yourself, after spending the majority of your university experience drifting between classes and then disappearing home, you'd accidentally made a friend today randomly. For the first time somebody actually came and fucking sat next you and talked to you. 

And the first person you'd wanted to tell was Jack. Which was probably concerning. You know how ridiculous it is that every interesting thing that happens in your day somehow circles back to him.

You'd actually spent the last ten minutes of class thinking about it, thinking about walking into his office and saying, "I made a friend today." And hearing whatever sarcastic response he'd inevitably come up with as he pulled you into his lap. Maybe teasing you about finally socialising - a topic he often teased you about -  or maybe pretending to be shocked.

Instead he'd practically fled the room.

By the time you reach his office, the excitement has mostly dissolved into uncertainty, and a sick, sick feeling. Your brain convinces you he hates you, he’s sick of you. The affair with the pretty young thing is over. 

Your hand hovers over the door, then knocks.

A gruff voice immediately answers.

"Come in."

You push the door open, and there he is standing beside his desk.

His jaw is clenched, his shoulders rigid.

And suddenly you're no longer excited to tell him anything. Instead you're left standing there wondering what exactly you did wrong.

He stalks up to you, and shuts the door behind you with enough force to make you jump. For a moment he simply stands there, broad chest rising and falling, staring at you as though he's trying to decide whether to throttle you or kiss you.

“Who the fuck was that boy?”

You’re confused. 

“Who?”

“Don't play games with me, sweetheart.”

“James?” you ask, tilting your head. “Oh he’s just a… friend I made. We decided to share notes for the course.”

His jaw visibly tenses.

“The fuck you mean you ‘share notes’?” He exaggerates the last two words, mocking the phrase in a deliberately high-pitched voice. “Don’t I give you enough notes to go off? I'm not teachin’ you well enough, so now you gotta go to some punk to share notes?

“Jack, it’s not like that, I just-”

“Dr Abbot.” He interrupts.

The correction slices straight through you.

“What?”

He walks up closer to you, until your back hits the door and you’re pinned against it. He tilts his head down to peer at you. 

“It’s Dr Abbot when you’re in my office, sweetheart,” His voice drops lower. “I’m still your professor.” 

You scoff at that, hurt. It’s not hot to you, no. In that moment your brain forces you to think about how every moment you've spent together has happened in this room, only in this room. And maybe that's all there is, and maybe that's all there ever was. You convince you that you guys can’t exist out of this space, this dynamic that exists between the two of you. 

Can he just not have a civil conversation? Why is pretending to act jealous? If he wanted to fuck you he could just ask. 

You swallow hard.

“Right,” you say lowly. “My professor.”

The words taste bitter.

“The one who only seems to want me when we're in here.”

His brows furrow immediately.

“That's not what-”

“No, it’s okay. Let me finish. The one who shoves his face between my thighs when he feels lonely to cure whatever fucked up grief he keeps bottled up inside of him. The one who refuses to see me outside the four walls of this godforsaken office-”

“Enough.”

You see something that resembles hurt flash across his face, his brows creasing. The lines around his eyes deepen.

“Is that really what you think of me?” He whispers, staring at you.

You twitch uncomfortably under him, looking at the floor, confidence evaporating now that you've actually said out loud what you’ve been spiralling over ever since this began.

“I just...” Your voice cracks slightly. “Look, you don't have to act possessive, okay? Whatever we have this- this thing. I know it doesn’t mean much to you.”

Jack immediately opens his mouth, but you keep rambling.

“Which is fine. Seriously. I'm okay with that.” Your hands shake slightly at your sides. “But just don’t give me false hope. I’m happy with you being my professor, or my dom, or whatever the fuck. And I like that you help me study and talk and get out of my head and feel good, but there’s no need to act like you- like you care. I can't handle feeling like you care one minute and then being reminded none of this is real the next.” 

You're panting hard by the end of your rant, still refusing to look at him. 

“Sweetheart, look at me.”

You shake your head, tears of frustration welling up at letting yourself be seen like this, vulnerable. You promised yourself you wouldn’t ever tell him. Stupid. 

Sex, that’s easy. It’s the meshing of two bodies, it’s clinical - you orgasm, your brain feels hazy and good while he drives you there. But this, talking, about feelings of all things, fuck. You can’t let anyone see you like that. Because then, they get sick of you, and then they leave. 

“C’mon, look at me,” he pleads.

You wipe your eyes, about to tell him to move back so you can leave, but then he says your name. Softly. Not sweetheart. Not pretty girl. But your actual name.

“Please.”

You look up then, tears pooling in your eyes. And your breath catches.

Because Jack looks devastated. His eyes are red around the edges, and his mouth is pulled into a frown. 

His hand rises slowly, cupping your cheek. He gently swipes a thumb under your eye. 

“Hey, I need you to know - this is real. To me.”

His voice cracks.

“I’m not using you as some sort of placeholder or whatever self sabotaging bullshit you’ve created in your head okay?”

Then he inhales deeply. 

“You've become the best part of my day. I wake up and mentally map my days around you. Hearing you talk loosens the constant ache I feel.”

Jack closes his eyes briefly.

Then opens them again. His hand tightens against your cheek.

“Sweetheart, I love you.”

You still. 

Your lip quivers as you stare at him. 

You bring your own hand up to cup his, and look up through your lashes. 

The words get stuck in your throat. God. He loves you. Somebody loves you. Somebody saw through rot and the cage around your heart, and said he fucking loves you.

“I do. Too. That thing,” you wince at your awkwardness. “I just, I want to say it but I-"

“Hey pretty girl, it’s okay.”

Jack smiles sadly. He leans his forehead down to yours.

“I do,” you whisper desperately. “I do. I just-”

“Shh.”

His mouth nearly presses against you as he whispers again.

“I love you. And I’ll wait however long you need me to say it back, okay?”

Your breath shudders as he says that, a sob catching in your throat. Because for the first time in a very long time, nobody leaves. 

Your eyes squeeze shut. Tears roll down your cheek, overwhelmed.

You barely register them before you feel Jack’s lips against your skin, kissing your tears. He mutters soft, ‘I love you’s as he presses kisses all over your face, cradling it. He presses one last one on your forehead before he tucks you into him. 

Your cheek rests on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

You wrap your arms around his waist. And you genuinely think you can control it, for about ten seconds at most, then you sob. Uncontrollably, for the first time in years in front of another human. 

Because God. You have spent so much of your life believing that love was something you had to earn, something you had to perform correctly for your family, the people around you, to accept you. Something that disappeared the second you became too much, too emotional, too difficult, too needy.

But he stayed. And he saw you. 

You stand there, wrapped in each other's embrace until the tears slow. Jack gently wipes your cheeks with both hands.

“Sorry for making you cry, princess,” he pouts, lip jutting out exaggerately. 

A watery laugh leaves you at that, and you cup his cheek. Jack immediately leans into your palm.

Jack watches you with an expression so openly adoring it nearly steals the breath from your lungs. As though he's still struggling to believe you're real.

Your thumb traces the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, mapped with years lived longer than you.

Then your hand drifts lower, brushing against the silver-grey scruff along his jaw, littered with specks of auburn, and you rub it gently, feeling the coarseness between your fingertips.

That was it, was it not? The stark difference between you, the thing that made all this so exhilarating. 

Jack had lived a life that existed before you. And somehow, impossibly, it had still found its way to yours. As though he's spent years wandering through darkness and has suddenly found something worth staying for.

And perhaps, you realise, so have you.

That’s when you know.

“I’m ready,” you breathe out.

Jack's eyes widen, his hand coming to hold yours where it rests on his jaw.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel pressured into it.”

“Jack. I’m sure. I want this, I want you.”

He shudders, exhaling hard, bringing his face down to yours.

“Yeah?” He whispers against your lips, brushing them.

“Yeah.” 

Then his lips slam down onto yours, for the first time. 

And God, its everything you fucking imagined. 

His mouth presses against yours and soft whimpers escape the both of you. There’s a certain desperation in the way his mouth moves against yours, in the way your tongues immediately find each other. 

After a few brutal minutes of grinding against each other, moaning, Jack succumbs. He lifts you into his hands, your thighs wrapping around his waist, as he carries you to his desk and sets you on it.

Mouth still pressed against yours, he rips your shirt off, pulls your jeans and panties off, shoving them to the floor. 

He whines as you detach your lips from his to pull his blazer off. Looking up at him, naked on his desk, you unbutton his shirt. Trail your fingers down the dusting of salt and pepper chest hair, down, over his pecs, slightly raking your nails over his nipples.

“Fuck yeah, use your nails on my chest,” he grunts out as he unzips his pants.

You moan, pressing against him harder.

“I can’t wait any longer, fuck. Please, sweetheart, let me fuck you.”

You nod.

“I’m ready, Dr Abbot.”

He groans mutters ‘you fucking minx’ as he pulls his pants and boxers down, standing bare in front of you.

His cock hits his soft stomach, curving to the left, precum coating the tip, the way you love. 

You glance down at his prosthetic. 

“You sure you want to do this here, Jack? We can go on the sofa if you want.”

He looks at you with so much adoration, a soft smile gracing his face.

“No sweetheart, I'll keep it on for now. Wanna fuck you on my desk. ”

Then he pinches your nipples as he leans in. 

“And I still need to fuck the brat out of you.”

You whine.

“What are you waiting for then?”

He brings a hand down your stomach, fingers pressing up against you. 

“Gonna finger you a little bit, yeah? Get you ready for your professor's cock, s’not gonna fit in this tight pussy otherwise.”

A whimper escapes you at his crude words, god can this old man dirty talk.  

He slowly slips two fingers inside of you, thrusting, then three once you’re ready. Circles your clit softly, the way he’s learnt after many nights on this same desk. 

Whispers filth against your lips, kissing you, desperate now that he knows what your lips taste like after many weeks. 

Once you come, he finally presses his cock against you. Rubs the tip over your folds, coating it in your slick. 

“Yeah? You ready sweetheart?”

You nod, whisper a soft ‘please’ against his lips. 

Then he pushes his tip into you. And oh fuck. He’s just so fucking thick. 

He immediately brings a hand up to hold his base to stave off his orgasm, puts his head on your shoulder. Breathing harshly. 

It hurts a little but you want more, you crave the feeling of him pressed up against you. So you buck your hips. 

“Please, Jack, fuck. Put it in,” you whine. 

“Oh- oh shit. Fucking stop that.”

He lays a hand flat on your thigh. Breathes deeply. 

“I’m trying not to blow my load here, sweetheart, gimme a sec.”

You giggle softly, pleased. Having this old man at your mercy, your dreams come true. 

“Take your time, old man.”

He stills at that, grips your waist harshly. 

Looks up at you, his eyes darkening. 

“Fuck you,” he snarls. 

Then he presses into you, inch by inch, until all of him is buried inside. His thighs shake with the effort of not coming, and you breathe deeply through the pinch of pain. 

“Fuck princess, so tight for me, my good fucking girl,” he babbles in your ear. 

You whimper against him, waiting for the pain to subside. 

Then you nod. And he begins thrusting, slowly. And it's so fucking euphoric, the feeling of sex. It makes sense why they call orgasms ‘a little death’ in French, because god, you know your body will leave your soul once he starts properly fucking you. 

With every deep thrust of his cock into you, his grey pubes brush against your clit. You both moan softly. He grips your waist, shoving faster, harder. 

“Only man that’s ever gonna be in this pussy yeah? Yeah?”

You’re half gone drooling against his neck, letting out high pitched whines. 

“Nod for me, c’mon. I haven’t fucked the brains outta you yet.” 

Jack grips your hair tight, pulling your head away from where it was buried against his neck. 

You nod, slurring your words.

“Yeah Dr Abbot, s’only your pussy.”

“That’s it, good fucking girl.”

Then he starts thrusting, faster. Your hands rest on his shoulders, his face buried in your neck. His body slamming into yours is so hard it makes the table squeak under you. 

When he brings a hand to your clit, you whimper loudly. He covers your mouth with his palm, and stops immediately. 

“Quiet, you don’t want anyone to hear right?” 

He roughly pants, trailing a line of kisses up your neck. 

“Don’t want them to know your professor’s fucking you, right?”

You shake your head, words muffled under his palm. 

“I’ll be quiet please, fuck please!” 

He starts thrusting against faster, the table shaking. You toss your head back in pleasure, his cock reaching a spot deep inside you. He stares at you, at your face twisted in pleasure, the way your tits bounce as he thrusts into you. 

“Yeah that is it, baby, good fucking girl.”

God it feels so good, and you’re there, you're nearly there, egged on by his rough groans and whimpers in your ear. You bring a hand down to your clit, starting to rub it to reach your orgasm but he shoves it off. Pushes you onto the table, your back hitting the desk. 

“That’s my job sweetheart. This pussy is mine.”

Then he hovers over you, eyes boring into yours as he fucks you harder, rubbing circles on your clit. The pleasure is so, so overwhelming and you close your eyes. 

He pulls your head towards him, gripping your jaw. 

“C’mon, look at me sweetheart.”

You open your eyes, moaning. 

“Say it,” he grunts. “Say you’re mine. Say it.”

“Fuck- Dr Abbot, I’m yours.”

He moans gutturally then pushes his lips onto yours again. You both moan into each other's mouths, sloppily kissing as you build towards your peak.  

“Fuck yeah sweetheart, just like that- good girl, so fucking tight.”

He continues to mutter filth against you while all you can do is softly moan. Your brain is mush, filled with thoughts of him, jackjackjack. 

You clench tightly around him when he bites your bottom lip.

“C’mon tell me how good you feel,” he pants, nearing his own orgasm. 

“Fuck, Daddy, feels so good.”

His hips buck once, harshly, then he stills. 

“What’d you just call me?”

Your eyes come into focus. The fog clearing a bit. 

You stammer, “Um nothing, sir, I was just-”

“No. Repeat it.”

He trails a hand to your neck, squeezing gently once, then more harshly

“What did you call me?”

“Daddy,” you whisper out.

He pouts mockingly. 

“Yeah? Daddy makin’ you feel good, baby? That’s why you're grippin’ this cock so tight, right?”

And then he starts thrusting, harder than before. 

“Just. Let. Daddy. Take Care. Of. You,” He harshly thrusts between each word, one hand covering your mouth as your moans get louder. 

Then you feel your orgasm approaching, the flutter building up again, clenching around him. 

He looks into your eyes, only a thin ring of hazel left, his pupils so dilated.

“You gonna come for your Daddy? Yeah?” 

You nod, whining, then you bite his palm. Hard. 

His hips stutter and you feel the warmth of his spend pooling in your cunt. He whimpers and babbles your name as he comes, “fuck, fuck I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

You moan at his words. But you still have to come. 

“Jack please, please keep going.” 

He groans gutterly as his cock begins to soften, overstimulated but he continues thrusting jerkily. 

He grips your chin in his palm. 

“Fuckin’ come for me. Now,” he grunts out, pinching your clit roughly.

And then it happens. You write, moaning under his hands as the coil of pleasure snaps, closing your eyes. 

He whimpers soft praises and coos of “I love you, did so good for me” as his cock spurts out more cum, twitching.

You pant against each other's mouths for a few long moments, his scruff tickling your chin, his forehead resting against yours, both of you trying and failing to steady your breathing.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” he murmurs, a breathless laugh escaping him. “That live up to your expectations?”

You laugh softly nodding. 

“Mhm.”

He leans his head back to look at you properly once he’s cooled down, and holds your face in his palms. 

After a few long seconds of just staring, something grave passed over his face.

“Don’t think I got a lot of years left, sweetheart.”

Your brows immediately furrow.

“Jack-”

He presses a finger to your lips when you go to interrupt, shushing you. 

“Let me speak.”

You sigh, but nod. 

“I've spent most of my life thinkin' there'd only ever be one great love for me,” he says quietly, his thumb brushing beneath your eye. “And after I lost her, I figured that was it. Figured whatever part of me knew how to belong to somebody had gone with her.”

Your breath stutters. 

“Then you came along. In that fucking bar, wearing that tiny dress, asking me to help you. ”

A watery laugh escapes you.

“And whatever years I have left, I wanna spend them with you. I wanna hear every thought that gets trapped in that head of yours. I wanna know what articles you're reading, what you're writing, what you're dreamin’ about at three in the morning.”

He pauses. 

“I wanna be the person you come home to.”

Your breath catches.

“As your other. If you’d want.” 

You breathe out, seeing his face dimly lit by the lamp in his office. Mapping out his wrinkles near his eyes, the silver threaded in his slight beard and his soft smile. And suddenly it comes spilling out of you before anxiety can stop it.

“I love you.”

Jack stills completely. His eyes pool with tears. 

“Yeah?” He whispers, half surprised, half in awe.  

You nod, leaning up and brushing your nose against his.

“And I’d love to be yours.”

Relief washes over his face so intensely it almost hurts to witness. His eyes glisten as he kisses you softly, a slow, reverent press of his lips against yours for a few quiet moments.

Then he moves back to start cleaning up, cock still inside you. 

As he leans up, his back cracks, loudly. 

You both still. Before you burst out laughing. 

“You’re so fucking old… yeah you’re not making it very long, I can’t lie.”

He groans dramatically, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.   

“Fuck you, shut up.”

You bite your lip. His gaze travels there.  

“Make me, Dr Abbot,” you say, exaggerating a whimper, only half serious.

His eyes darken, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle jumps beneath the skin. Yet despite the stern look he's trying to give you, a pink flush begins creeping across his cheeks, spreading over the tops of them and disappearing beneath the scruff along his jaw.

“Yeah sweetheart, about that… I’m not gonna be able to get it up for a while.”

You break, laughing harder as he laments. He’s so fucking old. 

Once you calm down, he slowly pulls his cock out of you, both of you moaning, you at the loss of the fullness, him at your shared cum oozing out. 

“But my mouth still works,” he smirks. 

Your breath hitches as he plugs you with his fingers to stop more of your cum from spilling out. Leans in close, and whispers. 

“My leg’s killing me, sweetheart,” he begins, breath fanning over your face. “But I'm going to lie on that sofa right there. And you're gonna ride my face till you come. Again. And again.”

You whimper softly against his mouth. 

“Okay.”

“Okay, who, pretty girl?” “Okay, Daddy.”

He grins. 

“Good girl.”

omg hi u made it ! guys when i tell you this is so personal to me, from the dialgoue to the experimental (?) writing style. i need this man to be my father figure SO FUCKING BAD i have had such a week.

Life is funny sometimes, with all the surprises that it keeps throwing your way. After your parents separated, thanks to your mom, who cheated, nothing really fazed you anymore. Your darling mom who would never hurt a fly… why would she do such a thing? She told you the man seduced her. He played her until she fell under his charm. And the man? It was your dad’s best friend too. The one who was always around and with an angel of a wife who hung out with your family all the time.

Speaking of your dad’s best friend, the man whom you grew up hating and never wanting to see again. This same man? Yeah, he’s right in front of you. 

“What the fuck?” You whisper to yourself. Suddenly, your footsteps slow down, and you wonder if it’s too late to back out of this job. The curls are the exact same, except they are now grey. The eyes haven't changed one tiny bit, except for the wrinkles that sit close to them.

Jack frickin' Abbot was staring back at you.

Is it too late to run?

Your heart hammered so quickly you thought you were about to pass out as you stood in the middle of the busy ED.

“Gloria’s new hire, welcome!” 

“Dr Robby” you clear your throat and grip the strap of your bag a bit too tightly, “hello”

"I’ll introduce you to everyone, and then we can do rounds?”

“Sure, yeah” you rasp out, your throat going awfully dry as you see him approach the man you hate the most in this entire life. 

“This is Dr Jack Abbot, attending physician.” 

He smiles at you.

The fucker smiles at you. 

Like he hasn’t destroyed your life. 

Then anger fills you almost instantly. You force a smile, despite wanting to slap him, and a small hello.

“Nice to meet you” he says. “Looking forward to having you on my team.”

“Y-your team??” You look over at Robby with shocked and horrified eyes. “I thought I was working with you?” 

“Night shift operates under Jack.”

Oh.

Oh. 

Oh fuck.

You mumble, “Great. Wonderful. Rounds?”

“Wanna meet the rest of the team first?” Jack asks.

“Nope, seen enough,” you bite back quickly. 

Awkwardness hangs in the air for a moment, and Jack’s expression changes into interest. Who was this brat in his ED who’s being sassy with him, two minutes after starting her new job?

“I’ll leave you with Jack then.” Robby gives your shoulder a tap before walking away. He glances over his shoulder at the way you awkwardly stood next to Jack, and he can smell the trouble already. 

Oh boy.

“So where did you do the first few years of your residency?”

“Far away from here.” You mumble, holding tight onto the stethoscope that sat around your neck. 

“Emergency medicine?”

“Yes”

“Not in the mood to talk?”

“Exactly” you huff. 

“But we just met…” Jack says.

Oh.

Oh. He doesn’t recognise you.

Of course he doesn’t because the last time he saw you, you were much younger and you’ve changed your name.

“Sorry”, you mumble again, already plotting your revenge on him. if you're gonna work this closely with him, then you're gonna take time making his life hell. “I’m just stressed.”

“You’ll do great. C’mon, let’s do rounds then me and you can catch up some more!” He says excitedly, and you drag your heavy legs after him. 

And that’s how you met Jack Abbot after years of no contact. 

You had no shame in hiding your hatred toward him, so your snappy comments and rudeness became noticeable very quickly.

You tried your best to be polite....

Actually, you didn’t try that hard. 

You have waited years to get your revenge on the man who broke apart your family. And there he was, leaning against the nurses’ station, thinking he was some sort of Casanova.

You walk over quietly and sit on one of the desks next to Lena, ignoring Jack’s eyes on you. “How’s the night?”

“Fine”

“Not in the mood to talk?” You could practically feel his stupid smirk as he asks the question.

“Nope”

“You’re never in the mood to talk” he pulls a chair, sitting next to you. “It helps you know.”

“What does?”

“Talking.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely.”

“Okay, Dr Abbot”

“It’s Jack.”

Actually it was Jakjak, sometimes Jacky. “I’ll try.”

“So you’ve been here a few weeks.”

“I’m aware.” Your eyes are fixated on the computer ahead of you, hoping this conversation would end pretty soon.

“How are you finding it?”

“Fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Dr Abbot, I’m busy.”

“Clearly.” He scoffs. Jack is desperate to try and have a conversation with you. Because who the hell is this resident with a mouth like yours, who doesn’t seem to like Jack despite him doing nothing wrong? “Did I do something to offend you?”

“What?” You click your teeth sarcastically, “Of course not!”

“You sure about that?”

“Positive.” 

“Alright then. If you say so.”

“Deffo”

“Wanna grab a coffee after work?”

“Do you ask all of your residents this?”

No, only the ones that Jack’s desperate to find out more about. “Sometimes yeah.” 

“I’m busy.”

“With what?”

“That’s private, Dr Abbot.” You’re too busy planning your revenge on him.

Planning revenge is like a surgical procedure.

Precise. 

Dangerous. 

And has to be done in a specific amount of time. Otherwise, complications might arise along the way, which might interfere with the procedure. And you want the procedure to be completed perfectly.

You wanted to anger him, in so many ways until he blows over. Until he yells and screams at you. Then. You were going to cry, maybe apologise. You were going to let him believe what a good girl you are.

And then...maybe…you were going to make him fall for you. This step you weren’t too sure about. But you wanted to break his heart so bad, just like he broke your dad’s.

So you plotted, tiny little things like double-checking his charts, casually saying things like, “just… making sure of a couple of things.” Loud enough for him to hear it, but not too obvious in front of everyone else.

You didn’t hold back your tongue when you snapped at him when he corrected you, “Got it, thanks for your time.”

You maintained professionalism when patients were around, but the moment he gave you feedback, you sarcastically said, "I don't remember handing out feedback forms."

And you avoided him, making it far too obvious that the moment he stepped into the room, you walked right out. But with every step you plotted, Jack never broke down once. 

The fucker was kind and respectful, and actually, a very good mentor.  Despite everything you threw at him, he shrugged it off and went on with his night. 

The man was nice to you. Hell, he was even good-looking and charming. 

And you were starting to regret this plan of yours because this man was not the same man your parents told you about. They told you he was evil.

But then the day came when you snapped at him on a bad day. And Jack finally snapped back.

You were told the roof is where Robby and Jack hang out, so you started escaping there during the shift sometimes. It was exhausting, actually, pretending to be this evil. But your mom had told you about all the things that he did to her, so how can you not hate him?

You found a calm spot on the roof, and lit up a cigarette courtesy of an emergency pack you kept on you. Today’s shift has been particularly rough — too many deaths and too much tension. 

“Can’t smoke up here.” 

You turn around slowly and see Jack walking toward you. He wore his usual black scrubs, with hands tucked into his pockets, stethoscope bouncing on his neck with each step. 

“Fire me” You turn your back to him. Firing you would only make your life easier. Because being stuck here with him is torture. 

“Can’t.”

“Unlucky.”

“That was a bad shift.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“Can I have one?” 

“No”

“The fuck is your problem?” He spits out, and you can’t help but smirk slightly. 

“Nothing, just don’t like sharing things.”

“Well, throw it out then, because you can’t be smoking up here.”

“Make me, Dr Abbot.” 

You hear his footsteps approach you slowly, and you glance over to him, staring at you. His head is tilted down slightly, eyes wide open and not blinking, one hand slowly trailing across the barrier until it reaches you.  He leans in slowly, keeping only inches away from your face. “Throw. It. Out.”

“Would you like one?” You smirk at him, which seems to anger him more.

“What’s your problem?” 

“I don’t have one”

“You sound like a spoilt brat.”

You chuckle.

“Kid, you need to get your shit together.”

“Don’t ever call me that again.” Rage instantly fills you. Kid. He used to call you a kid. Back when he was the fun family friend who came over. “Not a kid.”

“It’s something I call everyone-“

“Don’t give a fuck, Abbot. Don’t say that again.” 

“Oh, the bee’s angry.”

“Fuck off” You click the cigarette to the ground, stepping on it before brushing past him, but he gets hold of your arm. He pulls you back a small distance, then whispers, “Get your shit together.”

You can feel how warm his breath is on your ear, and how tight the grip on your arm is. He is finally angry.

You turn to face him, lips too close and nose brushing against his, “my shit is already together. It’s you who needs a good look in the mirror.”

Jack lets go of your arm, and you hurry back downstairs, feeling an unexpected type of heat pooling in your belly, and a flush that sat on your cheeks.

Why the hell were you turned on right now?

You are a puzzle that Jack can’t seem to figure out.

His patience has now finally run out, and he wants to confront you about your issue with him. But Jack isn’t an idiot, and he is well aware that you're playing some sort of game. But the question that lingered in his mind is why?

He noticed how your breath hitched when he got hold of your arm. It wasn’t in fear, no. He noticed how your body reacted by leaning further into him, and how your lips trembled when you spoke. 

He turned you on.

So Jack is now playing you, just like you have been playing him.

So since that day onward, with every snappy comment you made at him, Jack replied flirtatiously. When you told him one night that he spoke too much, he responded with a smirk, “I get nervous around pretty women.”

Another night, he had something smeared on his face. “You have something on your face, Abbot."

“You gonna wipe it for me?”

“The hell would I do that for?”

Jack chuckles, “So romantic.”

And when it came to double-checking his work?

“You missed the signature on page three, Abbot.”

“I left it on purpose, just making sure you’re paying attention.”

“I always pay attention.”

“Of course you do, especially when it comes to me.” He leans in with a smirk. “And I love it.”

“The fuck?” you whisper to yourself once he walks away from you.

Later that night, you can’t seem to get him out of your head because his flirty comments were going right through you so you decide to go for a wander around. You step into the elevator, not paying attention and texting a guy on one of the dating apps. 

“Move.” A voice from behind says.

You turn around and Jack is also stepping in. “You could say please?”

“Or I could push you.”

“That’s harsh.”

“I thought you might like it rough.”

“Abbot, what is your problem?” You take a step toward him, fully closing the distance between the two of you.

He can’t hide his smirk at the way your nostrils flare. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”

“I’m not angry.”

He leans forward slightly, raising his eyebrows playfully, “What’s up with your nose then?” 

“Nothing’s wrong with my nose,” you mumble, so hyperaware of how close his body is to yours. You feel yourself throb, and you’re so confused about why the hell this was turning you on. 

“Cat got the tongue?” Jack murmurs slowly. “Or ran out of angry words to say to me?”

“I’m just thinking of my next step.”

“Of your game?”

“You think this is a game, Abbot?”

“Isn’t it…?” He leans in, lips barely an inch away from yours, his voice dropping even lower, which sends electricity down your spine. “Your pupils seem to be telling a different story... and your pulse…” he brushes a gentle touch on your neck, pressing two fingers on your hot neck where your pulse is, “racey, strong… and so fucking hot.”

You don’t say a word as the elevator dings wide open. You let out a shaky exhale, not wanting to move away from him. Jack grins with satisfaction as he steps away. “Enjoy your date tonight. Don’t think of me.”

Your heart is about to explode with how hard it thumped. A part of you wants to slap his smirk off, and another part wants to drag him back into the elevator to show him how rough he can get with you. 

In preparation for the date, you put on an outfit — a denim skirt with a split-hem halter-neck top, along with small kitten heels. You're showing enough cleavage to make a man drop to his knees. A man like Jack, hopefully. You felt good and looked even better.

Your phone pings, and a message has come through in the pitt group chat. 

Trinity: Good luck!!  You: Thank you. 😘 Samira: be safe  Parker: use protection 😏 You: Hah. Thanks girlies  Trinity: Send us a picture of Marty so we can approve Jack: his name is Marty? You: At least it’s not Jack.  Robby: 😂😂😂 Jack: what sorta name is Marty? You: One image sent (of you) Trinity: OMG girl you look delicious Samira: hot damn  You: Thank you. Will keep you all updated!

Jack texts you privately within seconds of receiving the photo. 

Jack: You’re wearing that to dinner? You: What’s the problem? Jack: Nothing. Stay safe. You: Do you always message your residents about their outfits?  Jack: Only the ones that want me to. 

You send him another picture: a close-up one. You see the tiny three bubbles pop up on the screen, then disappear. One more step in your plan that you need to accomplish. Making him fall for you.

Jack’s gripping his phone, breathing heavily as he stares at the photo. His cock twitches as he studies the way your top wrapped around your body, sitting perfectly around your breasts. Far too much skin is showing. Fucking lucky, Marty. 

This game was getting a bit out of hand for Jack too. 

He types, then deletes. He wants to say screw Marty, come to mine.  Types again, then deletes.

What the fuck is he thinking? You hate him; it’s obvious that you do. But sending him a picture like this? 

Jack: You look nice. Stay safe.  You: Just nice? 

Jack thinks you look mind-blowing, but he can’t exactly say that.

Jack: Enjoy your date and call me if you need anything. 

He’d be the last person you’d ever call.

You: Lol. 

The more Marty spoke, the quicker you lost the will to live. The boy was dull, with no sense of humour, and talked far too much about types of birds. You told them you're scared of birds. But he just kept going.

Your mind kept thinking of one person who could sit in the chair opposite. One person who could put the fire out that's burning inside of you.

Jack frickin' Abbot.

But that would be wrong. Morally wrong. He was your dad’s best friend. He broke apart your family, remember? 

Trinity: how's the date? You: amazing! Parker: i hear wedding bells You: maybe... Jack: if it's amazing then why are you on your phone? You: Isn't it past your bedtime, grandpa? Robby: 😂😂😂 Trinity: do you have burn dressings, Dr Abbot? Jack: I don't understand the joke You: call the elderly helpline, i'm sure they can help. anyway best go! me and marty are going home 😘

You say goodbye to Marty, feeling relieved that this boring date has finally finished. Just as you’re standing outside the bar waiting for a taxi, your dad texts you to check in. He says he misses you and he’s looking forward to you going home.

Your darling dad, who now lives alone, heartbroken and sad.

All because of Jack fucking Abbot. 

Maybe it was time to confront him. To tell him what he did to you. How he broke your heart when he destroyed your family. But the only problem is, you don’t have Jack’s address. 

But luckily for you, he texted you privately.

Jack: You're going home with him? You: Yes Jack: After the first date? You: Especially after the first date. You: Jealous? Jack: Stay safe.

"why are you so nice!!!" you yell at the phone. "Ugh just- be bad-God dammit!"

You: I changed my mind, not going home with him Jack: good girl

"Fuck!!!" you yell again, feeling yourself get turned on over 2 words, and people are now looking at you awkwardly. "Get your shit together!"

Jack: how are you getting home? You: Walk Jack: No You: No? Jack: Get an Uber You: Don't have the app Jack: I'll request it for you. You: Where to?

Your phone rings, and Jack's calling. "Where are you?"

"Outside a bar."

"Where do you want to go to next?'

"I want to speak to you. I have something to say." You murmur. You want to finally confront him. Blame the cocktails, or the shitty date, or your plan that doesn't seem to be working well, or your head that can't decide what it truly wants.

“Good girl, wait there. Send me your location.”

Not even 15 minutes later, Jack, not an Uber, pulls up outside the bar, immediately getting out of his car. “Did he do something-“

“No, no-”

“Okay then what?” 

You hate how concerned he looks right now. You hate how vulnerable you look right in front of him. This was meant to be time for confession, but instead you’re standing in front of him, trembling because of how much his caring is turning you on right now.

“Let’s get you in the car.” He says softly, taking off his jacket and wrapping it around you. He waits for you to sit in, leans in and clicks the seatbelt in. His face is so close to yours, so close. And you wanted a taste of his lips.  

“Thank you” you whisper, and he smiles softly. 

He turns the engine on, and asks for your address.

“Actually, I meant what I said. I want to talk.” You say quietly, “Somewhere where my roommate won’t hear us.” You don’t have a roommate. 

“How drunk are you?”

“I’m fine” you mumble.

“Fine, you’re coming back to mine, but we’ll talk in the morning.” 

You don't protest and sink back in the seat.

Jack kept glancing over at you, mesmerised by your clothes and your body on the drive home. He can’t think of you that way; he knows he shouldn't. The thoughts in his mind are about having you in the backseat. In his bed. In the shower. He’s older; you’re his resident.. fuck. And he wouldn’t. Jack would not take advantage of you in this state. He reminds himself to get his shit together because you hate him. And he should hate you too, but he's nowhere near that.

But you on the other hand is so God damn touch deprived, that even the man you hate the most is turning you on. 

You could obviously see his glances, and you decide that you want to do something about it. Jack’s hand rests on the centre console, and you stare at his thick fingers for far too long before you lift your hand and rest it on top of his.

Jack doesn’t protest the innocent move. One hand interlinks your fingers, and the other grips the wheel tightly. 

"Jack?” You mumble.

“Yeah?” His throat is awfully dry.

You move his hand onto your thigh, resting yours on top.

Jack clears his throat at the feel of your skin. Smooth. Silky. Goddamn it.

You’re waiting for him to move his hand, grip your thigh, move a thumb. Anything. But he’s too fucking respectful. He wasn’t so respectful when he screwed your mom.

So you grab his hand and move it up your thigh. He doesn't protest the movement when your hands reach under your skirt.

“Sweetheart-“ Jack’s fingers tremble as they come in contact with your soaked panties.

“Just want you to feel me.” You murmur softly, “want a taste?”

“You’re drunk and-“

"You're saying no to me?" You pull your hand away, and his follows straight after.

“Fuck you're hot." He rasps out, "But you’re drunk, I’m sober.”

“So?” 

“I’m not taking advantage.”

“I can consent. I am consenting.”

“Don’t care” Jack bites back. His erection is becoming way too painful and he knows he’s in big fucking trouble. “We’re here.”

A few moments later you’re back in his apartment. “Sit.” He gestures at the barstool.

You sit.

“Drink.” He hands you a bottle of water and a protein bar.

“You didn’t tell me to eat.”

“Welcome back, big mouth.” Jack leans on the counter, watching you struggle to open the bottle of water. “Need a hand?”

“Got it.” 

“Sure.” Jack starts tapping his fingers on the counter annoyingly.

“Stop it.” You mumble, still trying to open the bottle of water. “Okay can you help?”

“You don’t usually give up this easily.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You said you wanted to talk, so talk,” Jack says. 

“I changed my mind.”

“So you came here for a sleepover?”

“Sure you can call it that.”

Jack chuckles. “Marty not good?”

“Boy was dull as fuck.”

“What’s your type then?”

“I’ll tell you in the morning.” You take the bottle from Jack and gulp it all in one go. Water drips down from your mouth onto your neck, but what almost made Jack explode was the trail of water between your breasts.

He clears his throat, “I’ll get you some clothes.”

“I sleep naked.”

“Not at sleepovers, you don’t,” Jack yells back walking away from you. 

You follow. “So we are having a sleepover?”

“Only if you keep the hands to yourself.” 

“I promise.” You pout.

Jack groans silently at the way you press your lips together. “Change.” He hands you a T-shirt and shorts.

“Smells of you.”

“Nice?”

“Nope.”

“Ouch” he chuckles, taking a step toward you, “Shall I check your pulse again to confirm? Or the panties?”

You go silent. 

“Thought so." Jack smiles, "Good night.”

“You’re not staying?”

“You’re drunk”

“I’m only gonna sleep, I promise.” You trace your finger down his arm, and his body reacts by moving toward you. “I think we can both do with a cuddle.”

“When your breath doesn’t smell of tequila, we will.” Jack leans in, nose brushing yours. “Good night.”

“Jacky?” Using his own nickname against him.

Jack frowns. No one has ever called him that in years. Exactly 20 years actually. “Yes sweetheart?”

“I’m sorry” you cup his face.

Jack wraps his arm around your waist, “What for?”

“It’s complicated.”

“I can handle complicated.”

“No..” you lean in further, lips almost touching his.

“Good night.” Jack tilts his head to the side, kissing the corner of your lips. Your legs almost collapse at the touch, and you want to beg for more as you see him walk away. He adds, “Sleep tight.”

“Don’t let the boom shine too bright.” You say quietly and Jack stops in his track. 

The saying goes, don’t let the moon shine too bright. But his ex-best friend’s girl, ever since she was little, couldn’t say moon. So she says boom. And the saying stuck ever since.

This is a crazy coincidence, right?

Right. 

Jack continues walking, leaving you to collapse on the bed and go into deep sleep. He, on the other hand, doesn't sleep, tossing and turning on the couch, thinking of a very naked doctor in his bed, who hates his guts but so desperately wants him. But what the hell for?

And why can't Jack go to sleep? He wants her more than anything.

Hours later, you wake up before Jack and decide to have a wander around his apartment. He had no pictures of anyone on his wall, including his late wife. His apartment had the bare minimum of decoration.

Why doesn’t he have pictures of his late wife? 

You know she died. Everyone knows she died.  Jack was the gossip of the town.  He didn’t even go to her funeral. What sorta man cheats on his wife and then doesn’t go to her funeral?

A man you hate so much. What the hell were you thinking last night?

“Morning.” A low, gravely voice.

“The couch speaks.”

“How’s your head?”

“Fine” your tone voice is nowhere near as playful as it was yesterday. “I’m going home, thanks for the ride last night.”

“Someone’s in a bad mood.” He shifts, yawning loudly as he stretches. 

Fuck him and his big muscles. 

“Not talkative either.“ he says again. 

But he notices that you’re not yourself. You’re standing in his kitchen, gripping the counter too tightly with your back now turned to him so you don't have to see his stupid muscles. You’re an idiot, your mind reminds you, standing here in his kitchen, wearing nothing but a T-shirt.

“What’s on your mind?” He says as he puts his prosthetic on.

“Nothing.”

“Not me?” Jack teases as he walks over to you, standing just behind you.

“Definitely not you.”

“You think of me a lot.” He is so right. He hasn’t left your mind for a moment since you started work at PTMC.

“No I don’t.” You blurt out.

Jack takes another step forward, pressing himself against you. “You looked pretty last night.” 

You don’t want to, but your body moves back toward him like a magnet. He’s shirtless and wearing just his boxers. You feel his erection on you.

“Marty thought so too.”

“Did Marty kiss you?”

“He did more than that.” You lie. 

Jack huffs, his breath warm on your ear. His hand comes slowly from the side, resting on your stomach. 

“Was he good?” He murmurs. 

“Best there ever is.” Your reply coldly.

Clearly, you are not in a playful mood, so Jack immediately steps away from you and walks away.

Silence hangs in the air as you try to collect your breath. But the fucker isn’t getting away this easily. “Where are you going? 

“Back to my comfy bed.” He yells from the bedroom. 

You follow him in, and he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, taking his prosthetic off.

You ask, “What sorta game are you playing?”

“What do you mean?” He says casually as he shifts on the bed.

“Tell me the truth.” You try to steady your voice, but the sight of him, lying in the bed, arms stretched out behind his head, with his erection about to burst out of his boxers.    

“There’s nothing to say.” Jack shrugs. 

“Bullshit.”

"That's big coming from you," Jack murmurs slowly, eyes fixated on your bare legs.

“I can’t stand you.” You charge toward him, standing right next to the bed “I can’t stand the fucking sight of you. I can’t stand it when you talk, Jack.”

“Sit on my face then.” He lowers his voice with a smirk. “If you hate me so much, then shut me up.” 

You want to slap that stupid smirk off his face. 

But why the hell are you climbing onto the bed?

He lowers himself down, “if you hate me so damn much and you want this mouth to stop talking, then shut it up. I dare you.”

“You’re a fucking asshole.” You hiss but your hands are shoving at his shoulders, pushing him flat on his back.

“Yeah? So why are you climbing me?”

“Shut up Jack.” You swing a leg over him, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his head. 

“Do you always go to bed wearing just a T-shirt?” Jack groans, and the vibrations between your legs almost send you collapsing. 

“Just shut the fuck-“

His tongue drags heavy strokes against your soaked clit, and you gasp. It's hot. It's relentless. You hold onto his curls to steady yourself as you rock against his movement.

He doesn’t tease. He devours the taste of you. He eats like a man who’s been starved.

You grind on his face and your thighs tremble in response to his tongue sticking inside of you. You gasp again “I hate you.”

“And you taste incredible”

A broken moan tears from your throat the moment two fingers replace his tongue.

This is incredible 

He is incredible.

“Fuck!” You clench your thighs around his face. 

Jack keeps licking you through the orgasm, two fingers still in, until you’re oversensitive and twitching. But before you can do anything else, he flips you on your back, and he’s now over you. You tug at his boxers, finally freeing his erection.

“You sure?” Jack asks again. 

“Too scared to fuck me, Jack?”

“Not scared, love. But I need you to be sure.”

“There’s one thing I’m sure about…” You pull his head toward you, “and it’s for you to fuck my brains out.”

He slams into you in one brutal push, burying himself to the hilt. The stretch burns so good you both groan. You find his curls again, and this time you pull his lips to you. 

He doesn’t give you time to adjust; instead, he just pulls back and dives in again. The bed creaks loudly underneath you as he fucks you like you wanted. Every thrust hits the perfect spot, making your back arch off the bed in response. You dig your nails into his skin, legs wrapping around his waist and wanting more of him. “Is that all you got Dr Abbot?”

He grabs one of your legs, hooking it over his shoulder, and the movement makes your eyes roll back in response to how deep he is inside you. The creaking gets louder.

He feels you clenching around him. “Show me how much you hate me and cum on my cock, pretty girl”

A scream tears from your throat as you orgasm, Jack following right after. 

He doesn’t pull out straight away; he stays buried deep inside, resting his forehead on yours, “You okay?”

“Why do you care?” You say breathlessly. 

“You’re hot.” He smirks.

“You’re not.”

“If you say so, sweetheart. But your dripping cunt says otherwise.”

“Do you always talk so much after sex?”

He whispers against your lips, “Only when the opponent is chatting bullshit.”

“Shut me up then, Jack."

He pulls out of you, giving himself a quick wipe with the edge of the sheet, before hovering his cock over your face. “Shut up then. Be a good girl and open up”

You don’t hesitate.

You lift your head up and you don’t tease. You just take all of him, inside that pretty mouth of yours. 

Idiot.

That’s one way you described yourself as you looked at yourself in the mirror.

Stupid.

Foolish. 

The synonyms go on and on and on.

“Stupid dumb bitch” you say to yourself.

“Did you say something?” Trinity pops her head into the bathroom where you are getting ready.

“Oh no sorry just singing.”

“What are you wearing tonight?” She asks.

“Not sure yet. Maybe the denim skirt from last night.”

“You have a nice lace top, put that on!”

“NOWAY. It’s a night out with everyone.”

“So?”

“So Robby will be there. So will Abbot.”

“Again, so?”

After too much convincing, you settle on the lace crop top with sweetheart neckline and the denim skirt. Trinity keeps asking if you’re okay because you’re awfully quiet, and you can’t particularly say that you fucked Jack as revenge, but it’s no longer revenge because you enjoyed every minute and might have actual feelings for him, now can you?

You settle in the booth next to Trinity, gripping tightly on the bottle of water that sat in your hand. You opted for a booze free night. Needing to clear your head after an eventful morning and to now come up with a different plan. 

Jack sat opposite you in the booth, eye fucking you the whole time.

That stupid smirk. Them fucking lips. 

You take another sip of water and try and engross yourself in conversation but it doesn’t work. 

You can’t stop thinking about him.  And it’s too obvious that he can’t either. 

But it’s a good thing you requested a last-minute leave from Robby the moment you got home this morning. A family emergency was the reason. Needing to fly out asap. Robby didn’t question the lie. You were indeed flying out, but the emergency was your feelings. 

But you didn’t think he was going to bring it up at dinner.

“When do you fly out?” Robby asks casually.

“Where you off to?” Jack frowns.

“Home.” You lower your chin and stare at the table.

“When?”

“My flight is in the morning.”

“Hope your dad’s okay.” Robby says softly. 

“What happened to your dad?” Jack is furious that he doesn’t know that you’re leaving. 

“It’s nothing. Can we talk about something else?”

“Hey where did you say you’re from again?” Robby asks.

“I didn’t-“

“Portland.” Trinity cuts in.

“Funny Jack lived there too” Robby chuckles. “Before-“

“Robby,” Jack warns.

“Before what?” You ask. Before he broke your family apart? 

The tension is too obvious for anyone to ignore.

“Before my wife died.” Jack adds quietly.

“Did you go to her funeral?” You say rudely, and everyone now’s looking at you. Too specific of a question and you are now slipping up.

“I didn’t actually,” Jack murmurs.

“Why not?”

“She didn’t deserve it.” 

“Who doesn’t deserve her husband going to her funeral?”

“A cheater.”

“You cheated?” 

“Okay maybe let’s not-“ Robby cuts in but Jack gestures for him to stop.

“She cheated.”

What?

“With my best friend actually.”

The fuck?

“Huh?” Trinity spits out. “That’s brutal”

“Yeah it got messy. She cheated on me with my best friend, then his wife cheated on him with our other best friend. It was like a pineapple sorta situation, excluding the fun of swinging.”

“Sorry what?” He’s lying. He had to be lying. “What’s your best friend called? The one your wife cheated on you with?”

He says your dad’s name.

The music in the bar goes quiet. Too many eyes are on you as you gasp.

He’s lying. Your dad wouldn’t-

It all made sense. He did. He lied.

“Excuse me one second” you collect your things off the table quickly with shaky hands and you push Trinity out of the way. “I need a minute.” Trinity doesn’t move quick enough and you practically shove her over and mutter a sorry. As you slide out of the booth, your lace top snags on the table and rips wide open. 

“Shit, hang on” she tries to free your top but the trembling of your body doesn’t help. You pull on it and rip it open, freeing yourself, but your abdomen is now exposed.

A moon scar sits just around your rib cage. 

Jack’s world goes silent, taking him straight into a flashback. 

“Jakjak is gonna stitch you up, baby” Your dad’s voice echoes in Jack’s head.  “It’s like a boom” you say.  “It’s a moon” Jack corrects you.  “I know, but it’s something my dad and I say all the time.” You laugh. 

Jack fucked his best friend’s daughter.

The door slams behind you the second you get home. Your hands won’t stop shaking as you drag a suitcase out and start throwing things in.

You needed to get out of here. Fast.

And no you won’t be going home. Because where the fuck is that?

Who is lying? And why do you believe Jack more than your own family?

You gasp for air just as the panic attack hits you. You claw at your neck, in an attempt to open up an airway. 

They’re liars. All of them are liars. 

Your eyes burn from the tears, and you run over to the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face, trying to calm the heat down. 

“I can’t breathe” you cry out to no one, “I can’t- fucking- breathe!”

Your whole body trembles as you collapse on the bathroom floor. You hug your knees up to your chest and sob. 

Your whole life is a lie. And you fucked your dad’s innocent best friend. 

“Open the door.” A loud knock on the front door. Jack’s voice, low and rough, “Right now.”

“No” you whisper to yourself and cover your ears. “This can’t be happening!”

“I know you’re in there. Open up!”

More knocking. 

Each knock is louder than the other.

“I can hear you crying. Open up!”

You fight the dizziness and steady yourself onto the wall as you move up slowly. You hands tremble as you creak the front door open. 

“What’s your real name?” Jack pushes past you. 

You shake your head.

“Is that why you hate me? Because of what my wife did?”

“They told me- it was-“ you gasp for another breath.

“Told you what!” Jack yells and you flinch. 

“They told me you slept with mom and broke apart our family.” You cry out, “They told me it was all your fault I come from a broken home!”

“I swear I didn’t-“

“I believe you.”

“I will swear on any holy book I did not-“

“I know, Jack! I know!” You don’t mean to yell but emotions are running too high because you just found out your whole life is a lie. “I lied to you! I fucked you for revenge! But it wasn’t even revenge because- fuck- fuck I fell for you like an idiot!”

“I had no clue who you are. I promise you I had no idea until I saw the moon scar that I stitched.”

You close your eyes, lips quivering as you nod.

“You’re leaving?”

“I was gonna”

“Home?”

“Where is that!”

Jack takes a few steps forward toward you, “don’t leave me.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I fell for you too, like an idiot.”

“You should hate me.”

“Oh I did, for a short time” Jack chuckles. “But kudos to you for changing my mind.”

“I’m sorry, Jack, for what I did. I believed them I-“

“Why do you believe me?”

“Because…” you choke up, “because despite everything I did to you, you never once hurt me.”

“And I promise I never will.” His voice is too sincere.

"It's easier if you hate me."

"Why."

"Because I deserve it."

"Do you want me to hate you?"

"Please." You’re still trembling from the panic attack, and your cheeks are wet with tears. But when Jack cups your face, you feel safe and something inside you snaps. You murmur, "He stole your wife, it's only fair you steal his daughter."

Jack chuckles, "That's wrong on so many levels."

"What they did to us was worse." You whisper, one hand brushing through his curls, pulling him toward you. "I need you to prove to me how angry you are at me. Him. All of them."

"I'm not ang-"

"Jack." You interrupt, "I need you to remember that I am an impatient brat who gave you hell."

He smirks, and this time you don't feel like slapping him. You feel like kissing him. You pull him with his curls, and this time the kiss is different. You don't feel so evil. He walks you over to the dining table and lifts you onto it. "Stay."

"No," you shrug playfully and try and slide off. But instead he pins you down with one arm.

"This lace top" he says slowly, grabbing the broken seam, "never wear it again."

"But-"

He rips it apart.

"You're gonna have to buy me a new one."

"Stop talking." he pulls down on your skirt, dropping it to the floor, "You're seriously not wearing panties again?"

"I thought-"

"You thought what? Marty was gonna be there?"

"Actually maybe Robby-"

Jack presses his lips against yours. You tug at his trousers franctically, freeing his erection. Without warning, he pushes in. You cry out into his mouth and for a moment Jack freezes. "is this too much or-"

"Stop talking Jack" you gasp, "I like you, you stupid idiot."

"Me too, sweetheart, me too."

You both may have fucked out of hatred once, but today, you fucked like you were in love.

--

You snorted into your glass, staring at the screen. The wine gave you a reckless surge of courage, and your thumbs moved before your brain could filter them.

You: you gonna show me how to use it?

His reply came back within seconds.

Jack: Yeah. My place tomorrow?

…

So that’s how you were here. On Jack Abbot’s lap, writhing as his thumb guided a small, buzzy, impossibly effective vibrating bullet directly against your center. His hand was around your hip, holding you steady while his hard length pressed hot against you through the fabric of his sweatpants.

"Told you the other one was overrated." he murmured against your neck, his voice raspy.

You let out a breath, hands clutching his shoulders as you rolled your hips into his palm.

these gifs specifically hello they take you home and go down on you together and groan when they taste you on each others mouths as they kiss with your puffy folds in between and you’re watching like “holy shit-“ and they’re like “wha-?” with strings of spit and slick connecting them when they pull back to listen to you and the glistening of their facial hair in the light it’s just too much, the sight sends another shiver down your legs, they both notice

“you like watching us huh? we knew you were perfect sweet girl” jack crawls back up your plush figure, planting kisses up your body as he slides himself behind you, helping position you for his boyfriend

“make her feel good, be a good boy f’me” he leans up to give robby the deepest kiss, robby smiles into it nodding

“fuck baby, just wanna move in? i don’t think we’ll be able to stop.” robby nudges in between your still trembling legs and slots himself at your weepy entrance, his hands sliding up your thighs, his youthful strength pinning your kneecaps to your ears, you squeak, and the rumble of their laughs fills the room; the chemistry is palpable.

in one languid thrust, robby pushes himself to the hilt, giving you mere seconds to adjust to the oxygen being ripped from your lungs. he’s huge

“oh!” your irises find the back of your skull as he begins to pound you relentlessly, your head gently falls on jacks shoulder

“take it.” robby is in your guts, you swear to god you felt him touch your heart twice, you don’t even know where you are, your mind is mush and everything comes out as mindless babbles, except for one thing- well two

“c’mon honey- words” his hands comes up to swipe your lips, you immediately lap at his wide thumb, murmuring, he pulls it out with a pop

“what baby?” jack’s hands roaming up and down your body, grazing every sensitive area

“you’re s-so deep daddy” you don’t even know what you’re saying you do

robby’s eyebrows raise, and he realizes his entire life just changed

“yeah?” he reaches underneath your hips, grabbing your ass and forcing himself even deeper

“yeah that’s what you need huh? daddy and dada?” jack murmurs into your temple

jack’s heart is soaring, he’s so proud of robby <3 hasn’t even been fucking you 2 minutes and you’re already so gone <3 robby is really just doing what jack does to him, to you, but softer. jack reaches up to brush the hair out of his eyes, down his nose, deft fingers slip into robby’s mouth letting himself soothe while he is praised, it’s all so much

“that’s so good brother” jack praises him for how well he’s fucking you, the sight is making his maroon tip leak against your back. robby has to choke back a whine at that, between his boyfriend praising him and his new girlfriend below him he can’t help but let a few airy breaths out that sent a pulse to your slit and robby feels it with a quick sip of air through pursed lips

“i-i’m getting close” robby’s voice is a few tones higher now

jacks freckled bicep snakes around your throat, gently squeezing and bringing your focus back, his other hand dancing down your body to your aching clit

“c’mon kiddo-“ his bicep squeezes tighter, all you can hear besides the blood rushing in your ears is robby’s pitchy whines, chasing his high and the plap plap plap of his balls against your ass, you’re there

“c-can i please cum-“ you look to jack, knowing robby is far gone in his own space now to give you permission

“awe that’s my good girl, yeah you can cum-“ before he can finish the rubber band deep in your tummy snaps, squirming, trying to wriggle out of anybody’s grasp, it’s so prolonged you feel another one building up

“oh my god- i’m gonna- jackie-“ robby blurts out, almost shamefully. jack slips out from behind you, and immediately attacks your abused clit with his mouth and giving long flat licks to robby’s length when it peeks out from your mound. jack is nodding his head yes, letting him know it’s okay to let go. robby thrusts his hot spurts deep into your cervix before his cock slips out, jack immediately takes him into his mouth and nuzzles his nose into his lover’s belly in one swoop, milking the rest of robby’s spend straight from the source, the suction of his throat causing more to spill out and down his chin, robby’s hand flies to the back of jacks head as he whimpers “thankyouthankyouthankyou” the stimulation was just too much, jack pulls off with a pop, and slaps robby’s ass playfully

“my good fucking boy” jack makes sure to give him extra praise, he can see that familiar sub glimmer in robby’s eyes.

you’re propped on your elbows watching now, having come back to earth slightly, you crawl across the bed, grabbing jack’s jaw and licking up every drop. sucking all of the juices that have collected in his moustache, robby leans down and you do the same to him.

“can we go get your stuff tomorrow” robby murmurs kissing down your neck

“i’ll drive” jack sits behind you, pulling you into his embrace while they attack you with kisses

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