(18+) you just want attention from your big bad boyfriend :(
"C'mere, girl." Frank's low, gravelly voice cut through the room like a command. "S'this what you need, hmm? Answer me. Use your words."
His rough, calloused hand came down on your swollen clit for the third time, sharp and deliberate. A small, broken whimper slipped from your puffy lips. He was right — it was exactly what you needed. But admitting it so easily? Where was the fun in that?
The fourth smack landed harder, paired with a deep snarl as his fingers gripped your jaw, forcing your flushed face toward him. "Damn brat. If you don’t speak up, you’re not getting anything else."
The threat hit exactly where he meant it to. Your pout deepened instantly, a needy little cry tumbling out of you. You’d spent the whole day poking and prodding at him — huffing, sulking, brushing against him just to steal his attention — and now that you finally had it, you didn’t want to lose even a second.
"No, no, no— please don’t stop," you begged, voice shaky and sweet. "Please, I’ll be good…"
Frank let out a deep, sarcastic chuckle that rumbled through his chest. "Atta girl." He sounded almost amused, like he was entertained by how quickly you folded for him. He knew you would. Hell, he knew exactly why you’d been acting out all day — his sweet, ditzy little brat just needed to be put back in her place.
His strong hands gripped the backs of your thighs, spreading them wide and pushing them up toward your chest. He lowered his face between your legs, breath hot against your soaked folds. A single gentle kiss pressed to your sensitive clit, his warm saliva mixing with your slick. You were so worked up, so desperate, that even that soft touch nearly sent you tumbling over the edge.
"More, Frank— please," you whined, hips bucking up toward his mouth. "Need it so bad!"
"Aht aht," he murmured against your pussy, the vibration making you shiver. "I know what you need, sweetheart. Let me do my job."
He sealed his lips around your clit again, alternating between slow, filthy slurps and firm, rhythmic sucking. Deep, hungry grunts rolled from his mouth straight into your core, the sound and sensation pushing you closer and closer. Your fingers twisted into the sheets as your thighs trembled in his iron grip.
When you finally tipped over the edge, it hit you hard — waves of pleasure crashing through your body while your tearful doe eyes locked onto his from between your spread thighs. Frank didn’t stop, licking you through every pulse and aftershock, drawing it out until you were a whimpering, boneless mess.
You looked at him with hazy, adoring eyes, watching him kiss your inner thighs, finally quiet and satisfied now that you had the attention you’d been craving all day.
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Request - Hello hello Miss Paige! I'm not quite sure if your requests are open but if they are I was wondering if I could request a dr Robby x wife reader they've been trying to get pregnant but she's infertile then one day he actually adopts baby Jane doe as their own! I just loved they way he was with that baby girl and I couldn't help but think of your fics🩷
The alarm would go off at six. You would groan dramatically, tugging the comforter over your head while Robby muttered something unintelligible into his pillow beside you. It happened every weekday without fail. He worked twelve-hour shifts saving lives in one of Pittsburgh’s busiest emergency departments, and yet somehow the trauma attending who could bark orders through a mass casualty incident became an absolute menace whenever his alarm clock dared interrupt his sleep.
“Michael,” you’d mumble.
“No.”
“You have to go to work.”
“I’ve thought about it. I don’t.”
You’d laugh into the pillow before reaching over him to silence the alarm yourself.
“You have patients.”
“They’ll understand.”
“I don’t think they will.”
He’d sigh theatrically before finally rolling onto his back, rubbing both hands over his face. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am on your side. My side just also likes having electricity.”
That would earn you one sleepy glare before he reached over, caught your wrist, and tugged you back against him for one more minute.
“Five,” he’d negotiate.
“One.”
“Four.”
“Two.”
He kissed you.
“Deal.”
Those two extra minutes always turned into ten. By six-thirty the house smelled like coffee instead of sleep. You stood barefoot in the kitchen wearing one of Robby’s old Pitt Medical Center hoodies while scrambling eggs, your hair twisted into a messy clip that never survived the morning. Robby wandered in freshly showered, smoothing his black scrub top over a blue undershirt.
“You stealing my clothes again?” he asked.
“I married you. They’re community property.”
“I don’t think that’s how marriage works.”
“It is in Pennsylvania.”
He snorted, pouring himself coffee before leaning against the counter to watch you.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’ve got that face.”
“What face?”
“The one where you’re about to ask me to do something.”
You smiled innocently. “The museum’s getting a Roman exhibit delivered today.”
“Mhm.”
“And the shipping company insists everything has to be unloaded before eight.”
“Mhm.”
“And I might’ve volunteered to help move a two-thousand-year-old marble bust.”
“…Absolutely not.”
“It only weighs—”
“I don’t care if it weighs two pounds.”
“It weighs…” You hesitated.
His eyebrow rose.
“…One hundred and forty.”
He stared at you.
“Sweetheart.”
“I wasn’t going to carry it by myself.”
“You weren’t going to touch it.”
“I am literally the curator.”
“You’re literally five-foot-seven.”
“I am capable.”
He stepped forward until he was standing directly in front of you, one hand wrapping around your waist while the other brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“I know you are.” His voice softened. “But I also know you throw your back out reaching for cereal on the top shelf.”
“I did that once.”
“It was last month.”
“It was embarrassing enough the first time.”
“I carried you downstairs.”
“You laughed.”
“I absolutely did.”
You smacked his chest. He kissed you anyway. It was easy. That was your favorite thing about loving Michael Robinavich. Nothing between the two of you ever felt forced. Not after five years together. Not after nearly three years of marriage.
Life wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t some grand romance full of extravagant gestures. It was grocery lists on the refrigerator. It was him bringing home the good sourdough because he’d remembered you’d mentioned it three weeks earlier. It was you texting him reminders to eat something besides coffee and vending machine pretzels. It was ordinary. Beautifully ordinary. Except…
For the calendar hidden inside the junk drawer. After Robby left for work, you stood in the kitchen for a long moment before quietly opening it. A small planner. Nothing fancy. Just dates. Tiny circles. Little hearts. Doctor’s notes. Ovulation windows. Expected periods. Pregnancy tests.
Six months. Six months of timing dinners around fertile windows. Six months of joking about how unromantic phone reminders could be. Six months of buying tests in bulk because somehow that hurt less than buying one. You’d promised each other you weren’t going to obsess. You were failing spectacularly.
******
The museum was quieter than usual that afternoon. Children wandered through the dinosaur exhibit while a retired couple asked thoughtful questions about an upcoming Impressionist collection. Normally, the work grounded you. You loved watching people discover something they’d never noticed before. History had a way of reminding everyone that time kept moving. Today, though your phone buzzed.
Michael ❤️
How’s Caesar?
You smiled despite yourself.
Roman exhibit survived. Curator still alive.
His reply came almost immediately.
Good. I would’ve hated explaining to your parents that you lost a fight with Julius Caesar.
It was Augustus.
History nerd.
Trauma nerd.
Three bouncing dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then came one final message.
Don’t make plans tonight.
Your stomach fluttered.
Why?
Because I’m taking my wife to dinner.
Special occasion?
There was a pause before his answer came through.
No. Just miss you.
Your eyes stung unexpectedly. Not because anything was wrong. Because everything was still so right. Even with the quiet disappointment that arrived every month, he had never let this become about obligation. He still flirted. He still stole kisses in the kitchen. He still reached for your hand whenever the two of you crossed a street.
He never made you feel like your marriage was becoming a checklist. And somehow that almost made the ache worse.
******
Dinner ended with the two of you sharing cheesecake because Robby insisted ordering two desserts was “financially irresponsible.”
“You make more than enough money to buy two slices.”
“That’s exactly how rich people become poor.”
You laughed.
“You have absolutely no evidence to support that.”
“I have vibes.”
“You have anxiety.”
“I have both.”
When you got home, the evening settled into its familiar rhythm. You changed into pajamas. He stretched out beside you on the couch. Some terrible reality competition played in the background that neither of you was actually watching. Eventually your head found his shoulder. His fingers absentmindedly traced circles across the back of your hand.
“Hey?” he said quietly.
“Mhm?”
“When does your period start?”
You looked down at your intertwined fingers.
“Tomorrow.”
Silence. Not awkward. Just…heavy. He squeezed your hand once.
“Maybe this month it won’t?”
You smiled. Not because you believed it anymore. But because he still did.
“…Maybe this month.”
Neither of you noticed that neither answer sounded quite as hopeful as it had six months before.
******
The pregnancy test sat face down on the bathroom counter. Neither of you had touched it in nearly twenty minutes. There wasn’t any reason to. You already knew what it said. You had known before you’d even taken it.
Negative. Again.
You leaned against the vanity with your arms folded tightly across your stomach, staring at the white subway tile on the opposite wall as though if you looked long enough, it would somehow rearrange itself into different news. Behind you, the bedroom remained quiet. Robby hadn’t come in. He never did. Not unless you asked. It wasn’t avoidance. It was respect.
The bathroom had become your space every month. Your place to breathe, to process, to cry if you needed to without feeling like someone was trying to make the disappointment disappear before you were ready. A soft knock came against the door.
“You okay?”
His voice was gentle. You closed your eyes.
“…No.”
The door opened just enough for him to peek inside. He didn’t ask about the test. He didn’t have to. His eyes found yours before they drifted briefly toward the counter. One glance. That was enough.
“Oh, sweetheart…”
He crossed the room slowly, giving you every opportunity to tell him to stop. Instead, you stepped into him. His arms wrapped around you automatically, one hand settling against the back of your head while the other rested low against your back.
Neither of you spoke. There wasn’t anything left to say that hadn’t already been said during the last six months.
“I’m tired,” you whispered into his T-shirt.
“I know.”
“I’m so tired of hoping.”
“I know.”
“It feels stupid now.”
“It isn’t.”
“It does.”
He kissed the top of your head.
“No,” he murmured. “It feels human.”
Your breathing hitched.
“I keep thinking…” You swallowed hard. “Maybe I did something wrong years ago. Maybe I waited too long. Maybe—”
“No.”
His answer came immediately. Firm. Certain. You pulled back enough to look at him.
“No,” he repeated. “We’re not doing that.”
“But—”
“We’re not.” His thumbs brushed beneath your eyes. “You don’t get to blame yourself for biology.”
“I just don’t understand.”
“I know.”
“I’ve done everything.”
“I know.”
“I track everything.”
“I know.”
“I stopped drinking wine.”
“I noticed.”
“I even switched shampoo because some woman online said—”
His mouth twitched despite himself.
“You switched shampoo?”
“It had three million views.”
“You let TikTok make medical decisions?”
“It was a vulnerable moment.”
That earned the smallest laugh from both of you. Tiny. Fragile. But real. Robby rested his forehead against yours.
“We’re making an appointment.”
You nodded.
“I think…” you whispered. “I think it’s time.”
******
The fertility clinic didn’t smell like a hospital. It smelled like lavender. Someone had clearly decided soft lighting and watercolor paintings would somehow make difficult conversations easier. You weren’t convinced.
Robby sat beside you in the waiting room, one knee bouncing almost imperceptibly. Most people assumed he was unshakable. You knew better. His tells were microscopic. The bouncing knee. The way he rolled his wedding band around his finger. The fact that he’d read the same magazine page three times without turning it. He looked over.
“You want to leave?”
You almost laughed.
“You think we’d make it to the parking garage?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
He reached across the armrest, quietly intertwining your fingers. When the nurse finally called your names, he didn’t let go.
The appointment lasted just under an hour. There were questions. Medical history. Blood work. Imaging. Follow-up testing over the next several weeks. Life carried on around those appointments.
You curated exhibits. Robby worked shifts. You still laughed. Still made dinner together. Still argued over whose turn it was to fold laundry. But beneath everything…There was waiting. Until one rainy Thursday afternoon. The doctor’s office overlooked downtown Pittsburgh. Gray clouds pressed against the windows while traffic crawled several stories below. The physician sat across from both of you with a folder resting on her lap. She wasn’t rushed. You appreciated that.
“We have your results.”
Your stomach dropped. She explained everything carefully. The findings. The diagnosis. The statistics. The possibilities. She talked about specialists. IVF. Egg donation. Embryo adoption. Surrogacy. Future conversations. Words continued filling the room.nYou heard them. You just couldn’t seem to hold onto them. Because one sentence kept echoing louder than the rest.
“The likelihood of conceiving naturally is extremely low.”
The office became impossibly quiet. You looked down at your hands.
“…Okay.”
It came out barely above a whisper. The doctor nodded sympathetically.
“I’m very sorry.”
You smiled automatically. The same polite smile you’d perfected through years of museum galas and donor dinners.
“Thank you.”
Beside you, Robby asked thoughtful questions. The kind he always asked. Clarifying. Respectful. Professional. You barely registered the conversation.
The drive home was silent. Not uncomfortable. Rain tapped softly against the windshield while Pittsburgh blurred past in streaks of gray. Robby kept one hand on the steering wheel. The other rested quietly between the seats. Palm up.
Waiting.
You slipped your hand into his halfway across one of the bridges. He squeezed once. Neither of you spoke.
You didn’t make dinner. Neither of you was hungry. The takeout containers sat unopened on the kitchen counter while evening slowly settled over the house. You changed into one of Robby’s old sweatshirts before wandering into the living room.
He found you sitting on the floor. Your back leaned against the couch.nYour knees hugged tightly against your chest.nHe didn’t ask permission. He simply sat beside you. Close enough that your shoulders touched. For several minutes…
Nothing. The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked steadily. Cars passed outside. Rain continued falling.
“I feel broken.”
His eyes closed.
“…Don’t say that.”
“I do.”
“You aren’t broken.”
“I can’t do the one thing my body’s supposed to—”
“Baby, stop.”
His voice wasn’t loud. It was pleading. You looked over. His eyes were already wet.
“I need you to listen to me for a minute.”
You nodded silently. He turned toward you completely.
“I married you because you make me laugh when I’ve had the worst day of my life.”
A tear slipped down your cheek.
“I married you because you can spend forty-five minutes explaining why one painting belongs in a different room, and somehow I end up caring.”
Another tear followed.
“I married you because you dance in this kitchen while you’re making grilled cheese.”
You laughed through your tears.
“I do not.”
“You do.”
“I sway.”
“You choreograph.” His own voice cracked. “I didn’t marry you because I thought you’d give me children.”
He reached up, brushing away another tear with the pad of his thumb.
“I married you because you’re my favorite person.”
Your lip trembled.
“If our family ends up being just us…” He shrugged gently. “Then I won.”
You broke. Not quietly. Not gracefully. The sob tore out of your chest before you could stop it. You buried your face against his shoulder while he wrapped both arms around you, holding you so tightly it almost hurt.
“I’m sorry,” you cried.
“So am I.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He shook his head immediately
“For everything.”
He gently cupped your face until you had no choice but to look at him.
“There is nothing—” his voice caught before he steadied it, “—nothing for you to apologize to me for. We lost something today. We did. You’re not alone in this.”
Your tears kept falling.
“I don’t know what happens next.”
He smiled sadly.
“…Neither do I.”
The honesty of it settled between you. No promises. No false hope. Just truth. After a long silence, he rested his forehead against yours.
“We don’t have to decide anything tonight.”
You nodded.
“Not IVF.”
Another nod.
“Not adoption.”
You closed your eyes.
“Not fostering.”
His thumb stroked your cheek.
“We’re allowed to just…be sad for a while.”
You reached for his hand, weaving your fingers through his.
“…Okay.”
He kissed your forehead. Then your temple. Then your cheek. Finally, he whispered the only promise he knew he could keep.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Outside, the rain continued to fall against the windows. Inside, two people sat on the living room floor grieving the future they had imagined, completely unaware that, months from now, a tiny little baby with no name, no family, and nowhere else to go would quietly change both of their lives forever.
******
The museum had closed nearly two hours ago. You’d spent the evening cataloging a recent donation—a collection of handwritten Civil War letters that had somehow survived more than a century tucked inside an attic trunk. Usually, work like that settled your mind. It required patience. Precision. Quiet.
Tonight, though, you couldn’t focus. Your eyes kept drifting toward the clock hanging above your office door.
9:17 p.m.
Robby should’ve been home an hour ago. You knew better than to worry immediately. The emergency department didn’t run on schedules, and Michael Robinavich certainly didn’t leave simply because the clock told him he could.
Still…You sent a text.
You: Alive?
No response. You sighed, slipping your phone back into your purse before locking your office and making your way through the empty museum. Outside, the July air was warm, the city humming softly around you. By the time you reached home, the sun had disappeared completely.
The house was dark. You kicked off your shoes, changed into leggings and one of Robby’s old T-shirts, and started making grilled cheese sandwiches. One for you. One for him. You’d learned long ago that after difficult shifts, he almost never admitted he was hungry.
He’d simply wander into the kitchen and steal yours. You smiled to yourself. Some habits never changed.
******
It was nearly midnight when headlights finally swept across the living room wall. You looked up from the couch.
“…Jesus.”
You hurried to the front door before he’d even reached it. When it opened, the first thing you noticed wasn’t the infant carrier sitting beside his feet. It was him.
His shoulders sagged beneath his jacket. His hair was flattened in odd directions from repeatedly dragging his hands through it. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. He looked…
Empty. Not physically. Emotionally. Like someone had quietly taken pieces of him throughout the day and forgotten to give them back.
“Michael…”
His eyes found yours. For a second…you saw them soften with relief.
“Hey.”
His voice was hoarse.
“You okay?”
He gave a tired shrug.
“I don’t know.”
Your heart cracked. Then your eyes drifted downward.
“…Honey?”
He followed your gaze.
“Oh.”
As though he’d forgotten.
“There…there’s a baby.” You blinked. “…Michael.”
“I know.”
“…Michael.”
“I know.”
You stared at the infant carrier. Then back at your husband.
“…Whose baby is that?”
He scrubbed both hands over his exhausted face.
“I honestly don’t know.”
“…What?”
He stepped inside, carefully lifting the carrier before nudging the front door closed with his foot. The little girl inside couldn’t have been more than a few months old. She was asleep. One tiny fist tucked beneath her cheek. Dark eyelashes resting against impossibly round little cheeks. Your entire body instinctively softened.
“Oh…”
Robby carefully set the carrier on the living room rug before crouching beside it. He didn’t look at the baby. He looked at the floor.
“It was a hell of a shift.”
You quietly sat beside him. He took a long breath.
“They found her.” You waited. “Wrapped in a blanket.”
Another silence.
“No identification. No diaper bag. No note.” His jaw tightened. “Nothing.”
You reached for his hand. He accepted it immediately.
“CPS has been trying to locate family all day.” He swallowed. “Nobody’s come.”
Your eyes drifted back toward the sleeping infant.
“So…”
“So hospital policy allows temporary emergency placement with qualified caregivers when…” He rubbed a hand over his eyes again. “When there isn’t an immediate placement available.”
He laughed once. It wasn’t amused.
“They asked if I’d take her overnight.”
“You said yes.”
“I didn’t even think.”
His voice sounded almost apologetic.
“I just…” He looked at the baby. “…I couldn’t leave her there.”
You smiled sadly. His shoulders slumped even further.
“I know that’s insane. I have absolutely no business bringing an infant home after today.”
“You brought her somewhere safe.”
“I don’t even know what I’m doing.”
“You keep premature babies alive for a living.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“They leave. They go home.”
The words escaped before he could stop them. Silence settled between you. He immediately regretted saying it.
“I’m sorry.”
You shook your head.
“No.”
“I shouldn’t have—”
“No.” You scooted closer until your shoulder rested against his. “I know what you meant.”
He nodded once. Barely. After another long silence, he finally whispered…
“I lost three people today.”
Your breath caught.
“I had to tell an old friend he’s got cancer.”
“I’m sorry.”
“And then…” His eyes landed on the baby’s again. “…There she was.”
The tiny baby stretched in her sleep, making the smallest little sigh.
“I kept walking past her room all day.” His voice cracked. “Every time I walked by…”
He laughed bitterly.
“She’d just…look at me.”
You listened.
“I don’t know why.” He shook his head. “I’d stop for thirty seconds. Talk to her. Make a bottle. Rock her. Then I’d get called away again.”
His fingers curled tightly together.
“I don’t even like pediatrics.”
That earned the tiniest smile from you.
“I know.”
“I barely tolerate healthy adults.”
“I definitely know.”
“But…” He stared at the sleeping infant. “…She didn’t have anyone.”
His voice broke completely on that sentence. You’d seen Michael cry exactly three times in your marriage. This wasn’t quite crying.nIt was something quieter. The exhaustion of a man whose heart had simply reached capacity.
Without saying a word, you wrapped both arms around him. He leaned into you immediately. His forehead rested against your shoulder. For several minutes neither of you moved. The only sound in the room was the baby’s tiny, steady breathing. Eventually, Robby exhaled shakily.
“I don’t think I can keep doing this forever.”
You knew he wasn’t talking about the baby. He was talking about the emergency department. About the endless losses.nThe impossible expectations. The depression he’d been carrying for months. You kissed the top of his head.
“You don’t have to figure that out tonight.”
“No?”
“Tonight…” You glanced toward the little girl sleeping peacefully between you. “…Tonight we just keep her safe.”
He looked over. Really looked. At the baby. A faint smile touched his lips for the first time all day.
“Yeah.”
He reached into the carrier, carefully sliding one finger into the baby’s tiny hand. She wrapped all five little fingers around it instinctively. Robby froze.
“…Well,” he whispered, sounding almost awestruck.
“I think she likes you.”
He let out the softest laugh.
“I’ve had tougher patients.”
You grinned.
“That’s a bold statement. She hasn’t even had dinner yet.”
Almost as if on cue, the baby’s face scrunched. One tiny whimper escaped. Then another. Robby looked at you. You looked at him. Neither of you moved.
“…Do you know how to make a bottle?” you asked.
He blinked.
“…Do you know how to make a bottle?”
“…No.”
“…Huh.”
The baby’s whimpers quickly escalated into full-fledged cries. You both sprang into motion at exactly the same time, bumping shoulders before staring at each other. Despite everything…Despite the grief. The infertility. The horrific shift. The depression weighing on his shoulders. You both started laughing.
It wasn’t because anything was funny. It was because for the first time in months…The two of you weren’t thinking about what your future might never be. You were simply trying to comfort a tiny little girl who, for one night at least, had somehow found her way home.
******
Three days.
It was only supposed to be one. You’d both known that from the beginning. One night. Then Child Protective Services would find an emergency foster placement, and Baby Jane Doe would continue whatever uncertain journey had begun before either of you ever met her. Except…the emergency placement had fallen through. Then another. Then another. Paperwork. Background checks. A family illness. A home that suddenly couldn’t accommodate an infant. Every morning someone called. Every afternoon they apologized. Every evening the baby was still there.
******
By the fourth morning, she had quietly become…
Jane.
Neither of you remembered when you’d stopped calling her Baby Jane Doe. It had simply happened. Like calling a stranger by their first name after enough conversations.
“You spoil her.”
You looked over from the kitchen. Robby stood in the living room with Jane tucked against his shoulder, slowly pacing barefoot across the hardwood floor while she chewed determinedly on the collar of his T-shirt.
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
“I’m preventing emotional distress.”
“She’s asleep.”
“I’m preventing future emotional distress.”
You laughed.
“I don’t think she understands your preventative medicine.”
“I don’t think you understand babies.”
“I have books.”
“I have a baby.”
You rolled your eyes dramatically.
“God, you’re insufferable.”
“And yet…” He smiled for the first time in what felt like weeks. “…you married me anyway.”
The smile looked different now. Lighter. Not because everything in his life had suddenly become okay. The emergency department was still exhausting him. Some mornings he still sat in his car for several minutes before walking inside. Some nights he came home quieter than usual. The depression hadn’t disappeared. But…Jane seemed to interrupt it.
She gave him something that didn’t ask him to save the impossible. She only asked for a bottle. Or a diaper. Or someone to hold her. For the first time in months, you watched your husband care for someone without the weight of wondering whether they’d survive until morning.
Later that evening, Jane finally fell asleep after what felt like an hour of determinedly refusing to admit she was tired. You laughed quietly as Robby tiptoed out of the nursery you’d hastily assembled in the guest room.
“You know she weighs maybe twelve pounds.”
He nodded solemnly.
“And?”
“You walk like she’s made of glass.”
“I think she’s offended by your tone.”
“I think you’re ridiculous.”
“I’ve accepted that.”
He followed you into the living room. The television played softly in the background. Neither of you paid attention. The baby monitor rested on the coffee table between two mugs of tea. Robby stared at it. Longer than necessary. You noticed.
“What?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead…He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. The silence stretched.
“I got a call today.”
Your stomach tightened.
“About Jane?”
He nodded.
“CPS.”
You instinctively looked toward the hallway. As though someone might already be there to take her.
“They’re still looking.”
You swallowed.
“Oh.”
“No family has come forward.”
You nodded once.
“They’re expanding the search.”
“Okay.”
“They’re beginning discussions about long-term placement if that doesn’t change.”
Your heart started pounding. You knew where this conversation was going. Or maybe…You hoped you didn’t. Robby rubbed both hands together.
“I’ve been thinking.”
“So have I.”
“I know.”
Silence settled again. He looked at you. Really looked at you.
“…Can I ask you something?”
“You never have to ask.”
He smiled faintly.
“I think I do.”
You reached across the couch, taking his hand.
“Ask.”
He took a slow breath.
“…What if we tried?”
Your eyes immediately filled.
“You mean…”
“I mean…” His voice softened. “…What if we asked if we could become her permanent placement?”
The room became impossibly quiet. You looked toward the hallway again. Toward the tiny little girl asleep in the next room.
“I’ve been trying not to think about it.”
“I know.”
“I’ve been telling myself she’s only here temporarily.”
“I know.”
“I’ve been telling myself not to get attached.”
“I know.”
Another tear slid down your cheek.
“I think I failed.”
His thumb brushed the back of your hand.
“I failed too.”
You laughed through your tears.
“I love her.”
“So do I.”
“I shouldn’t already.”
“I know.”
You wiped quickly at your face.
“But…” Your voice trembled. “I’m scared.”
His expression softened immediately.
“I know.”
“No…” You shook your head. “don’t mean scared of being a parent.”
“I know what you mean, baby.”
“I’m scared they’ll take her.”
He didn’t interrupt.
“I’m scared her mother will come back.”
Another tear escaped.
“And if she’s healthy and safe and ready…” You swallowed hard. “…then they should.”
He nodded immediately.
“They should.”
“I’m scared we’ll fall completely in love with her…” Your voice cracked. “…and then we’ll have to hand her to someone else.”
He closed his eyes.
“I know.”
“I don’t know if I can survive losing another child.”
The words hung between you. Raw. Honest. He shifted closer until your knees touched.
“I’ve thought about that every single day.”
“You have?”
He nodded.
“Every day.” He looked toward the hallway. “I also think about the possibility that she doesn’t have anyone.”
You followed his gaze.
“What if…” His voice barely rose above a whisper. “…what if we’re supposed to be her someone?”
You covered your mouth. Immediately, tears spilled over.
“I can’t promise you this works.” He reached up, gently pulling your hand away so he could hold it. “I can’t promise CPS says yes.”
You nodded.
“I can’t promise her biological family won’t be found.”
Another nod.
“I can’t promise we won’t get hurt.”
You squeezed his hand so tightly your knuckles turned white.
“But…” He smiled sadly. “…I’d rather have my heart broken trying to love her than spend the rest of my life wondering if we should’ve.”
You stared at him. The man who had spent months reminding you that your worth had never depended on having children. The man who had quietly carried a little abandoned girl through your front door because he couldn’t bear the thought of her spending another night alone. The man who still came home haunted by the emergency department and somehow still found enough gentleness left inside himself to rock a baby to sleep. You leaned forward until your forehead rested against his.
“…I want to try.”
His breath caught.
“I know it might not happen.”
“Right.”
“I know we could lose her.”
“Right.”
“I know this could absolutely destroy us.”
He smiled through eyes that had begun to glisten.
“It could.”
You laughed softly.
“You’re supposed to talk me out of this.”
“I don’t think I can.”
“No?”
He shook his head.
“I’ve been picturing teaching her how to ride a bike.”
Your heart shattered all over again.
“I’ve been picturing taking her to the museum.”
He chuckled quietly.
“She’ll probably hate museums.”
“She’ll pretend to like them because I love them.”
“And then she’ll beg me for ice cream afterward.”
“Which you’ll absolutely buy.”
“Obviously.”
You smiled through tears.
“So…”
He squeezed your hand.
“So…”
“We ask?”
He looked toward the hallway one last time before looking back at you.
“We ask.”
Neither of you realized it then, but that simple decision made on a quiet evening over cooling cups of tea while a baby monitor hummed softly between you, would become the moment your family truly began. Not because the paperwork had been signed. Not because the law had changed.
But because, for the first time, the future you were imagining had a little girl in it. And neither of you could imagine it any other way.
******
The courthouse was smaller than you’d imagined. After months of paperwork, home studies, interviews, fingerprinting, reference letters, background checks, meetings with social workers, sleepless nights, impossible waiting, and more than one phone call that had left both you and Robby convinced everything was about to fall apart, it somehow came down to an ordinary brick building tucked between a law office and a coffee shop in downtown Pittsburgh. It felt underwhelming.
The biggest day of your life had fluorescent lighting. You adjusted Jane’s little cream-colored cardigan for what had to be the tenth time that morning. She immediately tugged it crooked again.
“Oh, sweetheart…”
You laughed quietly, trying to smooth it back into place.
“You know I’m going to keep fixing that until we go inside.”
Jane looked up at you with the enormous brown eyes that had somehow become capable of melting every ounce of stress from your body. Then she grinned. Not a polite smile. Not a baby smile. One of those giant, uninhibited grins that showed every tiny tooth she’d managed to grow over the past year.
“Mama!”
Your chest tightened. Every single time. She’d started calling you Mama nearly four months ago. Not because anyone had taught her. Not because you’d encouraged it. One morning while you were making blueberry pancakes she’d simply crawled into the kitchen, wrapped both arms around your leg and announced—
“Mama.”
You’d cried so hard that Robby had nearly burned breakfast. Even now It still didn’t feel real. You scooped her into your arms, pressing a kiss against her soft curls.
“Hi, baby.”
Tiny fingers immediately found the necklace around your neck. Her favorite game. You let her play. Across the room, Robby emerged from the courthouse hallway with two cups of coffee balanced carefully in one hand.
He’d traded his scrubs for a navy suit that looked as though he’d forgotten how to wear anything besides scrubs. His tie sat ever so slightly crooked. You smiled.
“You know…”
He handed you one of the coffees.
“…you’re the only trauma attending in Pittsburgh who somehow still can’t tie a Windsor knot.”
“I can.”
“You absolutely cannot.”
“I choose not to.”
“You called Langdon this morning.”
“…I did.”
“To tie your tie.”
“He has surprisingly useful life skills.”
You laughed.
“He also showed up thirty minutes early just to make fun of you.”
“I regret asking.”
As though summoned by the conversation, Langdon appeared from farther down the hallway carrying a gift bag with cartoon dinosaurs printed across the side.
“I heard my name.”
“You usually do,” Robby muttered.
Langdon ignored him entirely, crouching down in front of Jane.
“And who is this beautiful little troublemaker?”
Jane immediately reached for him.
“Nope.” Langdon stood back up. “I changed my mind.”
Robby smirked.
“Smartest thing you’ve said all year.”
“You’ve been changing diapers for six months.”
“I have.”
“And you’re judging me?”
“I absolutely am.”
“You’ve become unbearable.”
“I’ve become a father.”
The words slipped out so naturally that none of you reacted at first. Not Langdon. Not you. Not even Robby. It wasn’t until several seconds later that his own expression changed. His eyes blinked once. Then twice.
“…Huh.”
You looked at him. He looked back.
“I guess I have.”
The smile that spread across his face wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t accompanied by tears. It was simply…Peace. A kind of quiet peace you hadn’t seen in him for a very long time. The emergency department still exhausted him. Some shifts still left him sitting in the driveway with both hands on the steering wheel before he found the energy to come inside. There were still difficult days. Still nights where the weight of everything he’d seen settled heavily across his shoulders. But there was something different now.
He came home. And Jane came babbling down the hallway mumbling, “Dada!”
Every. Single. Time. No matter what kind of shift he’d had. No matter how broken he felt. There was always one tiny human being who believed he had just hung the moon.
It hadn’t cured his depression. It hadn’t erased the hospital. But it had reminded him that life existed outside those walls.
******
The courtroom itself was intimate. No jury. No spectators. Just a judge, your attorney, the county representative, your social worker, and a handful of people who loved the three of you enough to take time away from their own lives.
Dana sat in the second row with tissues already in her lap. Jack was openly crying before anyone had even spoken. Langdon leaned over.
“I’ve got twenty bucks that Robinavich cries first.”
“You don’t have twenty dollars.”
“I could.”
“Your broke ass would never.”
The judge looked over her glasses.
“Gentlemen.”
Langdon immediately straightened.
“Sorry, Your Honor.”
Robby didn’t even pretend he’d been participating. The hearing wasn’t long. Questions. Confirmations. Paperwork. The social worker smiled as she spoke about your home. About Jane. About the stability she’d found. About the way she’d blossomed over the previous time with you and Robby.
The judge asked you both why you wanted to adopt. You answered first. Your voice trembled.
“I spent a long time grieving the family I thought we’d have.”
You looked toward Jane, happily stacking blocks on the courtroom floor while Dana helped her.
“And then she walked into our lives.” A tear slipped free. “I don’t believe she’s replacing anything.”
You smiled.
“I think she’s simply become something completely her own.”
The judge nodded before looking toward Robby.
“And you, Doctor Robinavich?”
He sat quietly for a moment. Anyone who knew Michael knew that silence. It meant he was searching for exactly the right words.
“I’ve spent most of my career meeting people on the worst day of their lives.”
The room grew still.
“I fix what I can.” His fingers found yours beneath the table. “And I carry what I can’t.”
His thumb brushed across your wedding ring.
“The day Jane came into the emergency department…” He glanced toward the little girl laughing with Dana. “…she needed someone.”
His voice grew quieter.
“I thought I was saying yes for one night.” He smiled. “Turns out…”
He looked at you.
“…I was saying yes to the rest of my life.”
There wasn’t a dry eye left in the courtroom. Not even the judge’s.
The final signature looked…ordinary. Ink on paper. Nothing more. The judge smiled warmly before sliding the documents across the desk.
“Congratulations.”
She looked toward Jane.
“As of this moment…” She tapped the paperwork once. “…she is officially your daughter.”
Silence. For one suspended heartbeat…No one moved. Then you heard tiny slaps pattering across the hardwood floor. Jane had abandoned her blocks. She crawled straight toward the two of you with complete confidence.
“Dada!”
Robby bent instinctively, scooping her into his arms before she could even come to a stop herself. She laughed. One of those loud baby laughs that filled every corner of the courtroom. Then she looked over at you. Tiny hands reached.
“Mama.”
You stepped beside them, wrapping one arm around Robby’s waist while the other settled gently against Jane’s little back. She fit there so perfectly. As though she’d always belonged between you. Robby looked down at her. His jaw tightened. You recognized it immediately. The tears.bHe was fighting them. Hard. You smiled softly.
“You don’t have to hold it together.”
“I know.”
“You’ve earned this.”
“I know.” His voice cracked anyway. “I just…”
He swallowed.
“I kept thinking someone was going to tell us no.”
Your own tears spilled freely now.
“So did I.”
He rested his forehead against yours, Jane giggling happily because she was suddenly trapped in the middle of a hug. Neither of you cared.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too.”
He looked down at Jane.
“And I love you.”
Jane’s response was immediate.
“Dada!”
Robby laughed. A real laugh. Not the tired chuckle he’d forced through difficult shifts. Not the dry sarcasm everyone at the hospital knew. A full, genuine laugh that reached his eyes. Langdon clapped dramatically from behind you.
“Well…” He sniffed loudly. “This is disgusting.”
Dana elbowed him.
“You’ve cried through the entire hearing.”
“I have allergies.”
“In February?”
“Very aggressive allergies.”
Everyone laughed. Even the judge.
******
Outside, Pittsburgh greeted you with one of those perfect spring afternoons that made the city glow. Someone suggested lunch. Someone else suggested pictures. Jane decided she’d rather scream at pigeons across the courthouse steps. You watched as Robby carry her, hands half-outstretched. Not because he thought he’d drop her, but because that was simply what fathers did.
She squealed with delight as birds scattered into the air. He laughed again. You stood there for a long moment, committing the image to memory.bA year ago, you’d sat on your living room floor believing your family might never grow. A year ago, Robby had walked through your front door carrying an exhausted little girl in an infant carrier after the hardest shift of his life. Neither of you had understood that hope sometimes arrived quietly.nNot with grand announcements. Not with certainty. Sometimes it arrived wrapped in a faded hospital blanket, sleeping peacefully through the chaos around her.
Robby turned back toward you, Jane balanced securely on his hip. She stretched one tiny arm toward you.
“Mama!”
He smiled.
“Think she’s looking for you.”
You walked over, slipping your hand into his. Jane immediately wrapped one tiny hand around your finger. The other closed around Robby’s. Satisfied, she sighed dramatically.
“Yesh.”
Robby chuckled.
“Yes?”
She nodded with absolute conviction.
“Yesh.”
You looked at your husband. At your daughter. At the little hand linking the two of you together. And for the first time in a very long time, the future didn’t feel like something to mourn. It felt like something waiting patiently to be lived. The three of you started down the courthouse steps together.
Not because every question had been answered. Not because life would suddenly become easy. But because, after everything you’d lost, everything you’d feared, and everything you’d survived…you were finally going home.
content warning: 18+, MDNI. smut - dacryphilia, dry humping, dom!jack x sub!reader, reader is sleepy (it’s still completely consensual, she is begging for it), jack cums in his pants, i don’t think i missed anything! lmk if i did
a/n: ninth prompt ! prompt: dacryphilia, jack abbot. this one was more of a self indulgent than anything tbh. not proofread, lmk about any mistakes
masterlist | jack abbot masterlist
20 prompts for 100
you always seemed to get emotional whenever you were tired.
it wasn’t something you could control, you just felt teary when you got sleepy. it was one of jack’s favourite things about you.
you were lying in bed, cuddled up to jack’s side after a long shift. he knew the feeling of exhaustion and guilt after a particularly harsh shift all too well.
“you okay, baby?” he muttered as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
you sighed and pressed your head into his shoulder in response. “i’m fine. i just want you right now.”
jack blinked and shifted in surprise as he felt you begin to grind against his good leg. “what? sweetheart, you should sleep. we can do whatever else you want when you’re not so tired.” he gently tried to coax, only to be met with a whine and a sloppy kiss to his jaw.
“no, i need you now. i’ll sleep after.” you promised, fingers curling tightly against his sleep shirt as you rocked your hips back and forth in a steady pattern.
he didn’t protest. he knew once you set your mind on something that you wouldn’t stop until you got it.
jack dipped his head down to meet your lips, his hands reaching to guide your hips.
you moaned against his mouth as your clit throbbed, the friction was almost overwhelming when you were tired.
unfortunately for you, the way jack was holding and kissing you so intimately and letting you use his body to get yourself off, made you feel emotional. the pleasure and love that came from the way jack licked into your mouth made you tear up. you felt unbelievably silly when you realised it.
you pulled away with a gasp, quickly burying your head into his chest while you rutted against him.
“what’s wrong, sweetheart? too much?” jack cooed, gently running his fingers through your hair. “are you almost there?”
you barely registered his words as the tears fell down your cheek, soaking his shirt. you whimpered against his chest, hips stuttering in their rhythm.
jack immediately pulled your head from his chest, his eyes widening as he saw your wet cheeks and glistening eyes.
before he could even process it, a groan escaped his throat as his hips jerked forward, head falling back as he squeezed your waist.
“w- what? jack- did you just cum?” you asked in confusion, pressing a kiss to his cheek and wiping away your tears.
“shit, baby. i’m so sorry.” he panted as he met your eyes again, frowning at the fact that just happened. “i can’t remember the last time i- i came in my pants like that.”
you shook your head as he apologised, moving to lace your hand with his. “did me crying make you..?” you asked quietly, watching his face for a reaction.
jack nodded sheepishly, pulling you close to his body. “you just- you looked so pretty.”
content warning: 18+, MDNI. smut - dacryphilia, dry humping, dom!jack x sub!reader, reader is sleepy (it’s still completely consensual, she is begging for it), jack cums in his pants, i don’t think i missed anything! lmk if i did
a/n: ninth prompt ! prompt: dacryphilia, jack abbot. this one was more of a self indulgent than anything tbh. not proofread, lmk about any mistakes
masterlist | jack abbot masterlist
20 prompts for 100
you always seemed to get emotional whenever you were tired.
it wasn’t something you could control, you just felt teary when you got sleepy. it was one of jack’s favourite things about you.
you were lying in bed, cuddled up to jack’s side after a long shift. he knew the feeling of exhaustion and guilt after a particularly harsh shift all too well.
“you okay, baby?” he muttered as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
you sighed and pressed your head into his shoulder in response. “i’m fine. i just want you right now.”
jack blinked and shifted in surprise as he felt you begin to grind against his good leg. “what? sweetheart, you should sleep. we can do whatever else you want when you’re not so tired.” he gently tried to coax, only to be met with a whine and a sloppy kiss to his jaw.
“no, i need you now. i’ll sleep after.” you promised, fingers curling tightly against his sleep shirt as you rocked your hips back and forth in a steady pattern.
he didn’t protest. he knew once you set your mind on something that you wouldn’t stop until you got it.
jack dipped his head down to meet your lips, his hands reaching to guide your hips.
you moaned against his mouth as your clit throbbed, the friction was almost overwhelming when you were tired.
unfortunately for you, the way jack was holding and kissing you so intimately and letting you use his body to get yourself off, made you feel emotional. the pleasure and love that came from the way jack licked into your mouth made you tear up. you felt unbelievably silly when you realised it.
you pulled away with a gasp, quickly burying your head into his chest while you rutted against him.
“what’s wrong, sweetheart? too much?” jack cooed, gently running his fingers through your hair. “are you almost there?”
you barely registered his words as the tears fell down your cheek, soaking his shirt. you whimpered against his chest, hips stuttering in their rhythm.
jack immediately pulled your head from his chest, his eyes widening as he saw your wet cheeks and glistening eyes.
before he could even process it, a groan escaped his throat as his hips jerked forward, head falling back as he squeezed your waist.
“w- what? jack- did you just cum?” you asked in confusion, pressing a kiss to his cheek and wiping away your tears.
“shit, baby. i’m so sorry.” he panted as he met your eyes again, frowning at the fact that just happened. “i can’t remember the last time i- i came in my pants like that.”
you shook your head as he apologised, moving to lace your hand with his. “did me crying make you..?” you asked quietly, watching his face for a reaction.
jack nodded sheepishly, pulling you close to his body. “you just- you looked so pretty.”
The last time I tamed a brat she was pissing me off honestly, and we had nothing to do that night. So rather than letting her get her way, she got spanked, paddled, and caned until her ass was red and purple. Then she was tied to the bed, ankles and wrists. Legs spread, and I edged her with my tongue, fingers, toys, vibes, everything available to me. Every time she got close, she would beg, her brat facade fell away after the first ten minutes. Even if she wouldn't tell me she was close, it was obvious from the way her cunt shuddered. I would stop immediately. It started off with me getting cussed at, then moved to the begging, then it was back to cussing, genuine anger, then the tears. The tears were what I was really after. She was there for an hour, in the cycle of being edged, right until she started shaking, then having it immediately pulled away. When she was finally allowed to cum, it was hard, fast, and not merciful. This would be a punishment too as she quickly learned, cumming first with my fingers and me sucking her clit. When my cock entered she came even harder, she started squirting which was not something she normally does, and came around 10 times before she couldn't anymore and started crying again. I made her cum another 4 times after that by eating her ass as a treat, I am a kind dom at heart after all.
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johnny and simon both eat like dogs. like you could actually feed their meals to a dog. sweet potato, ground beef, and whatever veg was about to turn rotten. and no seasoning. time can’t be wasted on seasoning in their household.
dinner is a fleeting affair. both of them hunched over their bowls and inhaling. you’re staring at them in shock as they devour their flavorless, meaningless slop.
then to the couch for tv time. you feel a bit like a zookeeper that’s just thrown a limb of mean into a lions enclosure. the beasts fed, and now they lick their paws and relax.
they don’t even like the two teams playing on the television right now.
“why don’t you two come to my place tomorrow for a change?”
“wot? something wrong with our flat, dove?”
“no, no! of course not!”
they may look like lions but they frighten easily. the last thing you mean to do is scare them off.
“course not, just thought a change of pace might be nice?”
they share a weary look. change isn’t their favorite thing, not after years of strict military routine. they agree nonetheless. and they show up right on time, no surprise there.
they share another weary look when you ask them to take off their shoes before coming in.
“i made dinner. just something light,” you smile despite knowing dinner was far more effort than you care to let on.
johnny barrels towards the kitchen. “what’s the occasion, lass? you did all this for us?” and you shrug.
“just thought i’d thank the two of you, y’know. you’re always around to lend a hand.”
they just gape at you like there’s no brain activity happening within their thick skulls.
“well, have a seat then.” you gesture towards the set table with proper cutlery and a vase of flowers in the center.
you bring them both their plates of food, no ground beef, or sweet potatoes, or cottage cheese. and they hunch themselves over, ready to inhale as per usual.
“hasn’t anyone taught you how two to take your time?”
they stare at you again. just as stupidly as they did moments ago. this time they’ve gone silent because both of them are half hard beneath the table.
“going slowly makes it better, you know. not everything is a race.”
and that’s how you end up with simon between your thighs and your back pressed against johnny’s chest as he rubs your shoulders.
“slow, right? that makes it all better?”
simon is rolling his hips agonizingly slowly, dragging his cock against your warm walls.
“simon, faster please,” you beg him. he’s been going at this for the better part of an hour.
he tuts at you. “none of that. you wanted slow, you’re getting slow.
“that’s not—not what i meant,” you pant. you roll your head back to look at johnny, hoping he might help you out. he just brushes your hair from your sticky face instead.
“dinner was nice, sweetheart. now enjoy your dessert.”
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Tags/warnings: f!reader, age gap (reader is 24, Brendon is mid-late 30s), inappropriate boss/employee relationship, high key perv!brendon, daddy kink, masturbation (m and f), fingering, hand job, angst, car crash, injury, comfort, fight/confessing feelings, dry humping, lil somno, oral (f receiving), protected piv sex
Summary: Your dynamic with Brendon is easy, comfortable, until one night everything changes and you're forced to deal with your feelings for each other.
a/n: something to get me out of this writing slump dear god
Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND, USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI OR USE AI TO TRANSLATE MY WORK. FUCK AI.
"Daddy!"
The shrill of childish excitement lights up the surgery department in an instant, eyes and ears cutting through the sterile floor towards the sound, eager for a reaction from someone, anyone.
It's even more satisfying when Brendon Park, the Shark of orthopedics, stops mid sentence, turning swiftly to the sound, his blank expression curling into a gentle smile as he bends down to pick up the three year old in his gigantic arms.
"What're you doing here, guppy?" he teases. Brendon Park jokes, and glances get thrown between residents, interns and nurses alike.
Ah gossip, the great equalizer.
"Wanted to see you."
The little girl manhandles him, pulling and squeezing his cheeks like he's not a great white but rather a pliable flounder, reducing him to nothing more than a sucker for his kid.
"Oh yeah, where's—?"
"Jesus trouble, how do you run so fast?"
The way Brendon Park lights up for the second time practically blinds everyone. Oh this is definitely making the rumor mill rounds today. So long boring ten hour surgery to come.
"I didn't run!" the child huffs. "I ski...skiddered."
"Skipped?" Brendon looks to you for confirmation.
You roll your eyes at her antics, nodding your head towards her father, gracing him with a smile that makes everyone understand exactly why their big, mean, scary boss is acting the way he is.
The floor returns to its normal shuffle after that, one more second of inaction and the Shark would've definitely snapped.
"Hey," Brendon greets you, a little reserved, definitely surgical in nature.
"Hey Mr. Park," you beam and he instantly stills.
"How many times do I have to tell you," he starts to chide. "At least call me doctor Park."
You sigh out a laugh at that, rolling your eyes playfully as you instinctively step closer. He can smell the faint sweetness of your perfume, the spilled apple sauce on your shirt, the hint of laundry detergent on your fingers.
"I'm glad we caught you," you tell him. "We didn't know if you'd started on time today."
"Just about to go in."
You nod, clinical, like you're absorbing information and processing how you're going to get out of his hair in the next twenty seconds.
"Gotcha, well, you got what you wanted trouble," you hum, moving to grab the child in his arms.
She knows what's coming and so she throws herself onto her dad, tiny hands fisting the purple scrubs, cheek pressed tightly over his chest.
"No! I wanna stay with daddy."
Brendon opens his mouth to speak, to defuse the situation before the guilt eats him alive. But you're no sucker, unlike him.
"Really?" you frown. "You wanna stay with your daddy while he does his surgery instead of going to the park to get ice cream with me?"
In all honesty, he stopped listening to you the second the word daddy left your lips. He's certain his kid can feel his heart beating uncomfortably fast, rattling against this ribcage and threatening to burst out of his chest.
All he registers is the toddler flinging herself out of his loose embrace, almost face planting against the sterile floors and practically buzzing with excitement.
"Brendon?" you turn to him, smile turning into a frown quickly.
He springs back into reality when your hand lands over his forearm, light and grounding, like an anchor he didn't know he needed.
"Yeah, yeah," he responds, pretends, shifts out of your touch like he's already late for something that isn't even remotely time for. "I'll see you for dinner, okay guppy?"
But she doesn't care anymore.
"Okay! Bye dad."
Instead, she grabs your hand, demanding and pushy, and pulls you down the hall.
"Bye doctor Park," you tease. "See you later."
And just like that, calm and cold return to the surgery department, and Brendon Park snaps back into the sharpness that defines him.
It's late by the time he makes it home.
Too late, too tired, too...everything.
He sneaks into his own home like a teenager, light steps, a soft touch as he turns the key, even takes off his shoes by the door before he even makes it into the house.
It's not the first time either, not gonna be the last.
He shouldn't feel bad, this is what he pays you the big bucks for at the end of the day.
It's when he peeks into his daughter's room, catching the two of you snuggled together in her tiny bed, butterfly printed comforter covering her and not you, a book forgotten, Mr. Stuffles the rabbit on the floor that it hits him.
Hard.
He'd been miserable that first year after his girlfriend left him. They'd been planning a wedding, the baby being just another blessing in the string of goodness that they had been experiencing.
At least it had been to him.
It took her a year to leave, to finally crack under the pressure and run away. He didn't know how to be a dad alone, much less navigate co-parenting with the woman who had torn his heart out of his chest with her bare hands.
If it hadn't been for his mother, sisters and brothers, Brendon would not have made it through it.
But even they could only get him so far. He needed to go back to work, needed to find something to keep him going, needed...help. Professional help.
And that's when he'd found you.
Frank Langdon's occasional babysitter, full time student looking for a summer job while you got yourself situated for your master's program.
The little guppy was two at that point and Brendon simply couldn't be there for her all the time. So he poached you away from the ED doctor.
To say the dynamic had started out a little toxic would be...an understatement.
Once Brendon returned to the OR with full force, he fell hard into it, into the love and thrill and control that he could exert over his patients, his work, his process.
All the control he'd lost, the scared man that he had become—frantic and powerless—disappeared the second he got back in those scrubs.
And so did the loving and caring father that had put his kid first.
You ripped him a new one about eight days after first meeting him, a night like this, one where he came back home buzzing from a procedure well done, pupils dilated and ego through the roof.
She was young enough to not remember then, but she was definitely old enough to hold onto broken promises now, and that is what tugged at his heartstrings.
Now, tea parties and recitals were just as, if not more important than getting to do a risky procedure no one at PTMC had done before.
Of course, this time around he'd texted, let you know there had been a complication with the surgery. The shaky intern typing out the message practically stopped breathing every time Brendon asked him to erase everything and start from scratch.
They all thought it was cute how he wanted it to be perfect and gentle for his daughter, but the truth is, he needed it to be for you.
Brendon steps into the room softly, bending down to pick up the stuffy and placing it in between his kid's arms before he closes the picture book and sets it on the nightstand.
Neither of you startle at the movement, the soft glow from the salt lamp casting shadows that you knew were never meant to harm you.
It's only when Brendon places a hand over your shoulder, squeezing gently that you blink awake.
"Hi," you whisper, barely turning back to look at him.
"Hi," he smiles softly. "Are you comfy?"
You scoff out a laugh, soft enough not to wake up the kid but loud enough to make his smile grow twice the size.
"Let's get you to bed then," he places a hand under your neck then, pushing you up by supporting your back with his forearm while you tangle your hands around his other arm and pulling yourself into a sitting position.
Certain you're awake enough not to topple over, he leans over you and places a kiss to his kid's temple, watching her nose scrunch ever so slightly before settling back into comfortable sleep.
You smirk at his antics, using his body as leverage to get up to your feet, hands clumsily digging into the muscles of his back.
He groans lightly, old man that he is, and quickly retaliates, holding onto you so that you'll hoist him up with you.
"So heavy," you joke, straining to keep the two of you upright.
Brendon shrugs. "Just full of love."
"Booo," you chuckle, making your way out of her room, Brendon's hands over your shoulders to steady you. "There's leftovers in the microwave if you want them."
He hums in acknowledgment, letting you go as you make it out to the hallway.
"Eat, then shower?" he asks you.
"I'll take advantage then."
He nods. "Yours is still busted?"
"Yeah, guy said earliest he could come is next week."
"Damn plumbers."
"Indeed."
He stares at you for a long second after the conversation settles.
He's...comfortable. Too comfortable with you.
The past year has been a whirlwind. One summer quickly turning into you deferring your master's program so you could finish out the year with them. Then one semester turned into two, into you moving in, into...this.
Don't get him wrong, Brendon knows where the two of you stand. It's not necessarily healthy, but it's innocent, it's professional, it's...just a pathetic crush, nothing more. A fantasy he'll never allow himself to indulge in.
And yet, he cannot stop himself every time his eyes fall on your lips, the plumpness calling to him, beckoning him forward, demanding attention, truth.
"Goodnight then," he manages, rough and exhausted, desperate yet...not enough. Never enough.
You smile dopily at him. "Goodnight Brendon."
It's his own fault really, he should've knocked. But it's his house for fuck's sake, why should he?
So that's how he gets a complete eyeful of you taking a shower the next morning.
He got a late start which meant making breakfast, taking his guppy to school and then going to the gym, all before nine.
Unfortunately for him, earbuds in, distracted as all hell, he completely misses all the warning signs, the closed door, the steam, your clothes on the floor, the music blaring from the speaker.
He's certain he's dead and this is both heaven and hell simultaneously when he finally dares to look up and—
Jesus fucking Christ.
He should look away, he needs to look away...but he physically can't, his hungry gaze taking in every inch of skin visible through the condensation of the glass shower.
If only he would've reacted a second earlier...
You turn in slow motion, your reaction catching up late. You yelp, hands coming up to wrap around your chest, only aiding in pushing your boobs up further.
He instantly snaps into action, blush taking over every inch of his face and neck as he curses out a long string of apologies, blood pumping through his heart and his...yeah, he needs to get the fuck out of there.
"I'm sorry, so sorry," he stumbles out of the bathroom ungracefully, fast enough that he doesn't catch your own reaction, the way your chest constricts, the way your legs rub together.
Brendon manages to hurriedly hide in the kitchen, heart hammering against his ribcage, eyes wide and mind absolutely running a million miles an hour.
He needs to forget he ever saw that, needs to erase it from his brain...but his stupid erection won't let him.
The tent in his pants becomes painful the second he gives it attention, the flimsy material of his work out shorts just not helping his case at all. He needs to take care of this, needs to stop being such a weirdo before you come out.
So he rushes into your bathroom, locks the door like a sane human being does, and pulls himself out of his boxers methodically.
This isn't pleasurable, no, not at all, never. This is necessity. Emotionless, cold and surgical. He spits on his hand, wrapping it around himself without much preamble, thinking of nothing, searching for only one thing, release.
But he looks down at himself and his brain betrays him.
Imagine her on her knees.
"Fuck no."
How beautiful does she look, skin wet, hair stuck to her neck, eyes wide, mouth open?
"Shut the fuck up."
Her mouth would be so hot, come on, Brendon, give into her—
"Go away."
And yet he groans, the mere thought of you knowing what he's doing two doors away, the way you pushed up your chest, the need to paint it—paint you—white with his spend—
He's biting down on his other hand quickly after as he cums loudly, making sure to aim for the toilet while does.
You're no longer in the shower when he comes back out, your movements confined to your room. He doesn't have the courage to seek you out, so instead he just showers in silence.
The two of you don't interact at all before he's making his way into work.
You left his food prepped on the dining room table, disappearing out of the house the second you did to run some errands.
The tinge of shame and embarrassment linger deep in his bones all throughout the day, following him around like an unwanted shadow.
How would he even start to apologize? You have to talk about it, there's just no other way around it, but...how could he ever tell you it was a mistake when a part of him wanted nothing more than for it to happen again—to get a better look?
Since he made it to work late, he leaves even later. As he makes his way into his home, the same stillness from the night before greets him, only this time, it's heavy, like a breath that's been held in too long.
He goes through his routine quietly, dropping his bag by the door, checking in on his kid before walking down the hallway towards his bedroom.
But before he can make it, something catches his attention.
A breath. A gasp. A moan.
He freezes in front of your closed door, body going rigid with goosebumps, head turning almost robotically as his senses sharpen.
Your light is still on, peeking through the bottom slit of the door. Not uncommon, you like staying up to wait for him before you go to sleep.
No, what catches his attention is the distant...humming.
He steps forward, tentatively pressing his ear to the wood. It's not just a humming, it's vibrations, soft and steady.
Another shaky breath escapes you, louder than you would've liked, and you readjust the toy.
A shiver passes through Brendon as realization hits.
His cock twitches painfully against his underwear. Fuck this cannot be happening right now.
His head falls against your door, stabilizing, grounding. He can't, he will not—
Another moan from you. You're close.
Whatever resolve Brendon has snaps as he pulls himself out of his pants, hot, heavy and leaking.
"Jesus fucking Christ," he whispers as he takes himself into his hand. He begins to pump quickly, the pace excruciating and borderline painful, but he doesn't care, he needs to—
"Brendon," you huff, a breathy moan curling around his name. "Please I'm—Motherfucker!" you curse through gritted teeth, the vibrations stopping abruptly.
Brendon's heart does a leap in his chest.
Oh my god.
He can feel how frustrated you are, can hear how you shift uncomfortably over your sheets, can practically taste how wet you are as you toss the toy with a thump on the mattress next to you.
And Brendon doesn't think. Can't think, can't process a logical thought to save his life as he lifts his unoccupied hand and—
Knocks.
Says your name in that soft, saccharine voice of his that he uses when his child is throwing a tantrum.
Oh how he wishes he could see your face pale in horror at the knowledge of your boss being on the other side of the door.
"Are you okay?" he keeps poking.
You swallow thickly, shame mixing with terror.
"Mhmm."
"Can I come in?"
A broken sound leaves your chest, unprompted and definitely surprising you just as much as it does him.
"Um...no?"
He says your name again, stern and fatherly. He hears you moving around frantically, hiding all evidence of what you were just doing.
"Okay."
"Okay." A Cheshire smile curls at his lips, a thrill of satisfaction coursing through him as he tucks himself into his pants, the outline of his still rock hard dick on full display.
It's now or never.
He opens the door. You never seem to lock it, fucking adorable.
He has to physically hold himself back from pouncing on you as his eyes land on your heated cheeks, on your slightly tussled hair, on how you're gripping your comforter to save your life.
He shoots you a calming smile, boyish and embarrassed, as he steps into your room and closes the door behind him. Locking it.
He hears you gulp loudly as you notice his final movement.
"How was your day?" you barely manage to ask, your throat hoarse, your breathing broken.
He settles down on the bed by your feet, close enough to make your heart beat out of your throat, far away enough that he won't overwhelm you entirely.
"Good, good," he sighs, one hand tentatively inching closer and closer to you. "Lot of injuries today."
"I bet."
He smirks, a huff of a laugh cutting through the tension in the room.
"Listen—" he starts, looking up at you before continuing. You choke on your own breath, body becoming a statue with shame. "I'm sorry, I should've realized you were in the shower. It was very inappropriate of me and it will not happen again."
You let out a shaky breath, settling into the false sense of security, choosing to believe that he definitely did not hear you...yeah.
Brendon has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from grinning like an idiot. God, you're just so adorable.
You nod, shifting forward, closer to him. "It's okay, I know you didn't do it on purpose. It was just...weird I guess."
You laugh, awkwardly, because what a silly predicament the two of you have found yourselves in, clearly.
Brendon doesn't follow your lead, not at all. He just keeps watching you, eyes darkening as he leans into you as well, his hand finally coming up to grab ahold of your foot over the comforter.
He squeezes enough to punctuate the moment, the tension, the heat. Your gaze snaps towards his hand, towards him, towards—
Your eyes widen without your consent as they land on his crotch, on the straining in his scrubs, on his still practically throbbing erection.
"Brendon," you exhale, confusion and desire blending together excruciatingly.
He shivers over you, his grip tightening on you.
"Don't," he warns. "Don't start something you won't finish, sweetheart."
Your gaze meets his then. He looks like a caged animal, practically vibrating as he holds himself back.
Emboldened by your lust, by the pent up frustration left coiling in your lower stomach, you get up on your knees, letting the comforter fall around your waist, the slightest sliver of skin peeking through.
"Oh I intend to finish it," you whisper.
"Unlike your vibrator?"
That breaks the spell quickly, heat rushing up to your face, neck, back instantly.
"Oh my god, Brendon!" you smack his arm, falling back down on your heels.
He smiles dopily, his hand sliding up your thigh as your brain processes all this new information. Distracted, you don't even notice when he slides beneath the fabric. It's only when the backs of his fingers graze your dripping folds that your breathing hitches.
"Fuck, sweetheart," he groans. "You're so wet."
You whimper at the feather light contact, hips bucking towards his touch.
"Please," you're no longer thinking, finally. "I need...make me cum, Bren."
The smirk that adorns his face then, all self-righteous and proud, only gets you wetter.
"Is this what you need, baby?" he leans in, breath hot against your ear as he presses a kiss just below it. "Needed my fingers to get yourself to cum?"
You moan, hands coming up to grab a hold of him, nails digging into the toughness of his arms.
In response, Brendon presses his thumb over your clit, slowly moving the pad in torturous circles. You pull him closer, opening your legs so that he has better access.
"Tell me what you need," he commands. "Tell daddy how to make you feel good."
Oh your head is spinning. A tear falls down your cheek, frustration rocking you out of control.
"Need your fingers," you pant.
He grins against your skin. "You already have 'em."
You whine, patience wearing thin. Who would've ever thought, his good girl, so demanding.
"In me, please," you choke, swallowing the drool that has gathered in your mouth before continuing. "Please daddy."
It breaks him, his ring and middle finger thrusting into you in one swift movement as his thumb picks up the pace.
You instantly hide your face agains the crook of his neck, your breathy moan muffled against him as he hooks his fingers into you, curling them over and over again against you until your legs are shaking beneath him.
"That's it, baby, such a good girl for me."
You shiver against him, melting against his warmth.
"Help daddy out, baby, wanna—" he groans. "Wanna cum with you."
He slows down his movements, keeping you right on the edge between putty and alert.
You nod against him, timid hands grazing down his torso towards his pants. The second your hand slides under his waistband, a hiss escapes him, causing a shiver of praise to boost your ego.
You manage to pull him out, long and thick and hot and heavy against your palm, you can't help but salivate at the sight. You let your drool drip down on him, his hips jerking as the wetness lands over his sensitive tip.
You giggle, overly amused by his reactions, emboldened by how easy it is to tame the Shark with just a simple swipe of your hand over his leaking head.
"Fucking hell, baby," he groans, picking up his own pace in retaliation.
You pull back to look at him then, gazes locking in silent competition.
He looks completely disheveled, broken and almost...reverent. Gratification blooms in your stomach, your hand pumping his length in tandem with his own fingers inside of you, the pace causing the two of you to slowly start to unravel together.
Your mouth hangs open in a silent moan as your body clenches around him, so close to the edge, so, so, so perfect—
"Daddy," you warn. "I'm gonna—"
He grunts, grabbing your hand and pulling it back up to his tip, urging you to focus your efforts there.
It takes him no time to catch up to you, his own body tensing in anticipation.
"C'mon baby," he implores. "Let go for me, cum with me."
A choked moan ripples through you as the coil snaps. Your legs quake, your vision blurs from pleasure, your hand stills over him as you feel his own release take over.
It's overwhelming to say the least, his hot moans heavy in your ear, his spend spurting onto your hand, painting his scrubs and your delicate skin, his warmth...oh my god he's so everywhere.
You can't think straight. Can't breathe right. Can't—
You groan as he removes his hand from inside of you, wetness running down your inner thighs as he does. Pleasure clouds your brain as you watch him bring his hand up to his mouth, his tongue lapping up your release, humming contently at the sweet taste.
Hunger flares in your belly as you do the same, lifting your hand up towards your mouth and sucking down on the spot covered by his cum.
You can feel the moan that ripples through him, his body tensing up with lust once more as he watches you.
"Fuck sweetheart, who would've thought..." he smirks, leaning down to smash his lips with your own, mouth desperately seeking to combine your tastes into one sloppy, searing kiss.
You oblige instantly, opening up for him to take whatever he pleases.
He pushes you down onto the mattress, his imposing body slotting itself perfectly in between your open thighs.
He's about to join you on the bed when you break the kiss.
"Outside clothes," you grumble, sleepy and spent.
It tugs at his heartstrings, his mouth curling into a loving smile as he strips down to his boxers before slipping back into bed with you, pulling your body to nestle snugly against his.
"I'm sorry, baby," he kisses your temple, watching you settle into sleep beside him, completely oblivious to how he licks and cleans your skin before finally allowing himself to succumb to the darkness.
You're woken up by laughter.
Soft and airy, like a gust of wind rustling outside your window.
Your curtains are still drawn, only slivers of light peeking through into your room, the warmth from outside starting to become overwhelming as you toss the comforter aside.
You sit up with a start, memories from the night before crashing through you like a downpour.
You almost, almost could've pretended it had all been a dream. Almost, if not for the stickiness lingering between your thighs, for the Brendon sized dip in your mattress that he left behind.
It's impossible not to feel his lingering presence in your bed, the way the sheets molded to accommodate him, the way his woodsy scent mixed with hospital antiseptic lingers on the cotton.
Fuck!
You're so close to spiraling, to having your chest cave in from the pressure of guilt, but then you hear it again.
That laugh, like a tug, a spark, a lifeline.
School, you're supposed to up to help with drop-off today.
You're quick to dress, pulling on your sleep shorts, hastily forgoing underwear because you simply aren't thinking straight.
It's late, too late to be thinking instead of moving.
You burst into the kitchen, ready to hastily put together breakfast and Brendon's lunch when—
"Noooooo!" the toddler screams at you from her high chair. "Go back!”
You frown at her, moving slowly around the kitchen island to catch her dad, sweatpants low on his hips, topless for added effect, just finishing up at the stove.
Behind him, a plate with a mountain of pancakes, and beside it, a tray, decked out with cut fruit, a cup of coffee, scrambled eggs, bacon, even a cup with a little flower from the backyard.
He must see the flurry of emotions taking a hold of you, so he softens instantly.
"Morning," he steps forward slightly. "We were just coming to surprise you."
Your gaze snaps up to his, searching, panicked, overwhelmed and then...grateful.
Your cheeks heat up softly, not instantly, not rushed, just comfortable, safe, loved.
"I'm sorry bug," you lean over and plant a kiss on her head, unruly curls frizzy from sleep. "But now we can have breakfast together, yeah?"
She sighs, dramatically, before she turns to you, arms high up so that you'll pick her up.
You roll your eyes, obviously doing exactly what the princess wants.
You're about to walk out into the living room when you turn back to Brendon, the expression you manage to catch across his features just barely shy of adoration.
You've done this plenty of times before but it's never felt this...domestic. And you can't help how your stomach twists, how your heart blooms—you like this.
Breakfast continues on in that same way. Stolen glances, confusing feelings and an overly energetic toddler that get maple syrup over everything, especially her hair.
One rushed bath time later, you're putting her hair up into ponytail braids, her request, when his imposing frame slides up to lean against his daughter's open door, purple scrubs hugging his body deliciously.
"Ready to go, guppy?"
The kid nods, bashful, as she takes in the little hair clips in her hair, the beads from her ponytails.
"You look beautiful, trouble," you kiss her cheek and she responds by throwing herself around you, a hug so tight it melts you right into her.
"Thank you!"
"You're so welcome."
When she finally lets you go and runs towards her dad, you catch his stare through the mirror. It's...everything. Stormy, bright, hopeful, sorrowful, angry, pleading, you can't look away.
Later, he mouths. We'll talk.
You nod, shooting him a timid smile before he's being dragged out of the house.
Your brain is fuzzy for the next half hour, your movements slow and sluggish.
You focus on tidying up around the house, going through routine out of muscle memory. Cause the truth is, your mind is far away, stuck on the night before, on his lips, his fingers, his hot breath—
Jesus fuck you have got to get it together.
The postman comes through at the perfect time, envelopes snapping you out of inaction. You sort through them absentmindedly still—energy bill, invitation to the annual hospital gala, ortho research magazine, University of Pittsburg—
Your name.
His address.
Your heart constricts, your throat tightens.
Shaky fingers tear through the sticky adhesive, almost tearing the letter within its confines.
Rabid eyes scan the corporate jargon.
Final notice. Unable to push back start date another semester. Confirm attendance or forfeit spot. And then, a deadline.
Sink or swim.
Reality pounding at the door of your carefully crafted fantasy.
It all crumbles instantly.
You've grown attached, complacent, lost yourself as you found a new place, comfortable, easy, simple. You love your life, you love how easy it is to not have to think, to just do, to soak up the joy and the tantrums and the late nights and...
Him.
He's your fucking boss for crying out loud! He can't...he doesn't...you live in his house, you eat his food, you take care of his kid.
How can you take his money and be with him romantically?
You're taking advantage of him, this is so wrong, how could you ever do that to him? To them? To yourself?
But if you leave...if you leave you lose everything you've grown attached to, everything that makes up who you are now, everything—everyone—you love.
This isn't fair. This isn't how it's supposed to go. How could you have been so stupid to—
Your phone blares, a reminder alarm goes off, effectively cutting off your spiraling but only making you even more panicked.
You're late for pick up.
You don't remember much, just that you're driving a little more on edge than you usually are. The lunch traffic is easing down, luckily, but it's just a reminder that you're late.
The school calls, you tell them you're on your way.
He texts, you ignore it.
The green light turns red after you cross—
And it all goes dark.
You're so out of it that your name doesn't sound real.
There's overlapping voices, bright lights, too many hands touching your sweaty skin.
You try to push them off, try to close your eyes for them to be pulled open, try to complain but your throat is so dry nothing remotely close to words spill out.
You know where you are before the nurses have a chance to ease your discomfort.
You can't be here. Nope, not here, bad place to be cause he's here.
You try to get up the second they transfer you into a bed, even manage to sit before Langdon's hands are pulling you back down against the pillow.
"No, nope, none of that," he chides.
"Frank—" your voice sounds so broken it scares you.
"You're okay, let us take care of you," he stares deep into your eyes, his baby blues reminding you of the exact person you're desperate to avoid. "Please."
Before you can continue protesting, they drug you. Yeah, not their finest moment, not yours either. Lorazepam, just enough to calm you down, to finish their exam.
You're lucid, you think, just...softer. It's only then that your body comes back to you, the weight of your bones, the exhaustion in your muscles.
You don't complain again, only answer questions when they're asked.
You're fast tracked to CT, nothing abnormal though you definitely have a concussion. Your body is littered with little cuts and bruises from impact, apparently a motorcyclist who decided to accelerate to sixty without thinking twice. He's being treated at Westbridge so you'll know more later.
Now...now you're just a guilty, crying mess, injuries wrapped, IV almost done, waiting for an ortho consult because everyone in the ED knows you.
But he's not here yet.
It's been hours and he hasn't shown his face.
Logically, you know why.
He had to go pick her up when you didn't know. He had to call out of work because you weren't reliable, he had to—
The curtain is drawn and a child's voice says your name.
You can't help but burst into tears again, desperately trying to hide away, to brace yourself for the impact that follows her around.
But it only makes her more afraid, more distressed, and it breaks your heart.
With your eyes shut, tears streaking down your face, you don't see him, but you hear him.
Hear how he steps into the room, how he refrains from speaking your name, how he pulls the curtain closed again, how he picks up his kid and settles down on the stool beside your bed.
And then you feel tiny, cold hands press over your cheeks, gently poking at you until you break, calling out your name over and over and over until he says it.
Low and soft, pleading.
You open your eyes, a fresh waterfall dripping onto her fingers, causing her to recoil adorably.
"Yucky," she shivers, wiping your tears on her father's shirt.
That gets a laugh out of you.
"There she is," Brendon's voice is heavy, like the emotional weight has solidified into his body and is crushing over his chest.
You finally look up at him then, relinquishing your fears and staring directly into the place you know is both salvation and ruin.
"Well hello baby shark," Dana's signature snark breaks the moment. "Y'wanna come with me and let the boring grownups talk? I got apple sauce and crayons."
Wow she's so easy to lure away it's a wonder she's still in one piece. Well...who wouldn't be, with a dad like that and a nanny who would kill anyone that even thought about breathing near her with wrong intentions.
She winks at you and shoots a stern look at Brendon before leaving the two of you alone.
He doesn't even let the room settle before he's pouncing, lips on yours simply to prove to himself that you're alive, that you're breathing, that you're still here.
You can't stop crying, can't stop shaking, can't—
He shushes you gently, warm hands cupping your cheeks and wiping away the wetness as it falls.
You choke out a half-hearted laugh. "Not yucky?"
He smiles against your mouth, kissing you one last time before he pulls back to look at you.
"I was so worried," the confession is a mere whisper but it hangs thick in the room, suspended in a web of all the things you've both left unsaid. "When Dana called—" he chokes on a breath. "Fuck, sweetheart I almost—I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, I was resetting someone's fucking shoulder and..." he chuckles at the memory. "Almost made it worse."
"The great Brendon Park, almost ruined by one phone call," you try to joke, try to lighten the mood but...it's impossible. The way he stares at you, his gaze searing, his hands holding onto you as if he's afraid if he lets go you'll disappear—"Brendon."
"I know," he murmurs. "I'm sorry, we should've—I should've—"
You shake your head as much as the concussion will allow, your hands coming up to lace with his own.
"It's my fault," you sob. "I wasn't thinking—I...I got scared."
His brow furrows but he doesn't prod, doesn't force you to speak. He just waits, patiently, like you've seen him do plenty times before with a snotty, emotionally confused toddler.
So you take a steadying breath, grab his hand tighter, and tell him everything. The letter, your panic attack, your uncertainty, your fears, your...hopefulness.
It doesn't matter that your brain doesn't feel comfortable baring your soul to him, your heart does. With each word, the clutches of doubt and panic ease off, your grip lightening until you're unashamedly fiddling with his fingers, tracing lazy patterns over his skin like he...like he belongs to you.
He sits with your confession for a while, a few seconds turning into a few minutes but he doesn't pull away, doesn't make you feel unwanted. So you don't panic either, you just trace his nails with your fingers over and over and over agains until—
He lifts your hand up to his mouth and places a soft kiss onto your knuckles.
"What do you wanna do, baby?"
Baby, like it's simple. Baby, like it's normal. Baby, like you're his.
You search his eyes for malice, for a truth that you desperately need to push on him so that you can focus on a broken heart and not the overwhelming reality of choice, of making it work.
But all you find is patience, kindness, openness.
Fucking girl dad ortho bros that are emotionally intelligent—they're the worst.
You sigh, honest and raw. "I don't know. I just don't want to lose you."
He hums in understanding, rolling closer to the bed.
"I don't want to lose you either," he states, unflinching. "We can take this however you need, you can still live with us, you can..."
He trails off as he notices the hesitancy in your eyes.
"You don't want that?"
He doesn't say it maliciously, but it still sucker punches you all the same.
"I don't know...what about trouble? She's young but she's not stupid. I don't...I don't want her to think that I'm...that I don't love her because it's not the same—"
"She's a smart kid, she'll understand," he's too quick to catch your lie. "Now if you're afraid of things changing..." he catches your guilt flash through your eyes. "Then that's okay. We can go slow. We don't have to figure it all out right now."
You nod, accepting the easy way out.
One step at a time.
You can live with that.
Recovery is...boring as all hell.
The motorcycle guy lived, your insurance companies settled out of court, nothing to worry about according to Brendon who's been fussing over you for the past five days.
He's taken a temporary leave to nurse you back to health and "take care of his girls" as he put it, settling some stupid bet that the surgery department started a few days ago.
The little bug is practically glued to you, helping out her dad in whatever way she can, which isn't much, but it's always appreciated. She's even started reading you bedtime stories, but in truth she's just making things up as she points to the pictures.
At night, when she finally knocks herself out, Brendon settles into bed next to you, those first couple of days unable to get you into bed with him but finally, after much groaning and moaning, claiming he needed the extra room from his king for his back—which is a fucking lie since he always just sleeps tangled around you—he finally comes out victorious.
It's a Saturday when it happens.
No school, no early alarms, no nothing except his steady breathing, his safe embrace keeping you flush against his front, your leg straddled over his hip so that he can pull you in closer—
It's his own damn fault honestly.
You blink awake as a hardness pressed against your front. His heat pulls you in, your sleepy brain not thinking anything other than closer, warmer...so you roll your hips and a jolt of pleasure courses through you.
You're suddenly extremely aware of everything, frustration rearing its ugly head as memories flash from that night again.
You haven't touched yourself since then. Haven't wanted or been able to. But now, this morning you're just...very aware of how much you need it.
You roll your hips again, hoping to wake him up and have him take care of you. You can feel how much he needs it too, how much his body craves yours. If you can just—
"Baby," he groans against your temple, grip on you tightening, pulling you further into him. "What're you doing?"
You huff, desperate, sliding a hand in between your bodies and accidentally on purpose raking your nails along his length.
He hisses against your skin, question answered instantly as his eyes snap open.
"Oh sweetheart," he coos, merciful it seems. "Did you wake up needy, baby? Need me to take care of you?"
You nod, pathetically honestly, but you can’t care less.
He's got you sprawled under him in the blink of an eye, his mouth connecting with yours in a searing kiss before his lips begin to trail a path downward.
You're doing much better today. The cuts have scabbed over, the bruises are starting to fade from purple to brown, movement doesn't make you dizzy, if anything, it makes you just the right amount of lightheaded.
You feel his touch everywhere. Feather light grazes over your abdomen, nails raking up towards your breasts under his obnoxiously soft cotton t-shirt.
He removes his mouth off you so he can pull the shirt off your body, the offending fabric getting tossed to the side as his mouth latches onto your nipple.
You arch into his mouth, strangled moans escaping before his hand comes up to slide his fingers inside. He presses them against your tongue and you instantly suck on them as he too continues his assault.
When he's finally satisfied, he trails lower, hot tongue licking down your stomach until he reaches your pubic bone. His hand slips out from between your lips so he can hold your legs open for him before settling his mouth over your panties, taking a deep breath in and relishing in the way your breathing hitches.
Fuck he's so beautiful like this.
"Thank you baby," he grins against you. Fuck did you say that out loud?
He doesn't let you think on it as his mouth opens up, wide and predatory, and bites down on your mound, his tongue pressing against your clothed clit, working it through the fabric.
"Bren—please, I need—" you pant, already delirious.
"What do you need baby, tell daddy what you need."
Your head spins, heat blooms everywhere.
"Your mouth," you try, hoarse and needy. "Need your mouth."
He doesn't force you to beg, it's not the time for that. Instead, he shows you mercy, pulling your underwear to the side and diving right in.
His tongue is ravenous, licking a powerful stripe from your entrance up to your clit, groaning against your folds at the gathered wetness.
"So fucking good," he mumbles into your skin before his puffy lips latch onto your clit. He sucks and licks and pulls and tugs, all the while your body thrusts into his mouth. You almost hit him before his grip on your thighs tightens and he reminds you swiftly that he's much stronger than you.
You bite down on your tongue, hard enough to feel the sting, the faintness of copper lacing your taste buds. You know you have to be quiet but fuck do you want to scream.
"Bren fuck oh my god," you whimper, your hands threading through his soft waves, the lack of gel sending another shiver down your spine. No one else gets to see him like this.
He bites down on your clit then, pulling slightly before he slides down again, his nose perfectly hitting your bundle of nerves as his tongue and mouth fuck your entrance.
He feels you cumming before you even know what's happening, the coil in your abdomen snapping without even giving you a heads up. Your hands come up to muffle your screams while your body rocks, a tidal wave crashing through you as he does his best to hold you down, to work you through it.
He's gentle, diligent, devout almost as his mouth continues to kiss and lick and suck until you twitch from overstimulation. Only then does he detach himself from you, the bottom half of his face glistening with your release.
You look at him with the most gleeful expression, so proud of yourself, of his smugness.
He settles in between your legs again, pulling them tight around his waist, just reveling in being able to hold you against his naked front.
You're so blissed out, grateful and happy, planting your lips over every inch of skin he'll let you. But you're greedy now, you need more, want more.
You press your front against the bulge in his sweats and he hisses.
"We don't have to—"
"I want to," you kiss him again, your lingering taste euphoric. "Please."
You don't need to tell him twice. He rolls over towards his bedside table instantly, pulling out a silver wrapper and discarding his pants in what feels like seconds.
You can't help but giggle, the boyish smile on his lips and the way his cheeks tinge pink quickly sending you into overdrive.
You need this man inside of you right now.
You watch in awe as he tears the wrapper with his teeth, rolling on the slick condom over his impressive length.
Yeah, he's perfect, and he's yours, there's not a shred of doubt in your mind. You don't know how everything will fall into place but you don't have to, because you'll figure it out together.
He settles in between your thighs again, his chest pressing down against yours, desperate to be as close to you as possible before he lines himself up with your entrance and slowly thrusts himself inside.
You're wet enough that with the lube, he slides right in, your ass flush with his thighs in a dizzying, all consuming instant. He's perfectly snug, fitting so perfectly inside of you that neither of you can help the moan of satisfaction that spills.
It quickly turns into a fit of laughter, easy and shy, like you're both making love instead of having sex. And that just feels right.
He kisses you softly, tentatively, letting you get used to him before he begins to move. But you're impatient, your hips rolling on their own as you seek some friction.
He groans into your mouth. "Fuck baby, trying to kill me."
You smirk against his kiss, cocky for exactly three seconds before he meets your movement with a thrust of his hips. With the air getting knocked out of your lungs, he begins to move, slow and unhurried, all the way out before he thrusts right back to the hilt.
You hold onto him like your life depends on it, pressing further into his skin, his warmth, his safety. You can't get enough of him, of the excitement of tomorrow, of the need that comes from wanting nothing more than to be close to him.
"Such a good girl for me," he praises into your ear. "Letting me take care of you, only complaining a couple times."
You huff out a laugh, remembering the first time he'd helped you to the bathroom and then waited imposingly on the other side of the door until you were done. He's lucky he never tried to get in with you otherwise you would've hit him.
His thrusts pick up the pace in response.
"Let me take care of you, baby," he pleads then. "Whatever you decide, let me help you, please."
You blink back tears, nodding against his cheek, nails digging into his chiseled back.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," you moan. "Please daddy—"
You don't get to finish as he groans, hoisting your bottom half off the bed as his mercifulness finally snaps.
He fucks into you like he needs to show you just how much your words affect him. The bed rattles, the mattress squeaks awkwardly but neither of you cares. You need this, need each other.
"Come on, pretty girl," he pants. "Cum with me, cum with daddy."
You're just as affected as him, your second peak slowly but surely sneaking up on you again as he sneaks a hand in between your bodies, pressing the pad of his thumb over your clit.
You clench around him and he hisses, leaning down to capture your lips with his in a searing kiss as warmth floods you both. Your moans get tangled in between hungry tongues and teeth, your bodies vibrate against each other in bursts of pleasure and care and...love.
You're unsure how long you're stuck there, in between real life and whatever the fuck you're feeling, but finally when your body pushes him out of you, he rolls over and goes into the bathroom.
You watch him through hazy eyes as he cleans himself up, his adonis like body always such a sight to gaze upon. He blushes crimson when he catches you watching him, the apex predator reduced to a blubbering mess by just one simple look.
But it's not simple, and you both know that.
Pride swells up in your chest as he runs a wet towel in between your legs, leaning down to kiss you over and over again before he finally deigns the day worthy enough to begin, or rather, three soft knocks on his bedroom door startle you back into reality.
"Can we have ice cream for breakfast?"
You roll your eyes, sharing a glance with him that warms your heart.
Yeah, you're gonna be alright.
a/n: thank you to everyone that participated in the poll! hope this is to your satisfaction
dividers by @/enchanthings
HIM CALLING HIS DAUGHTER GUPPY IS SOO FUCKING CUTE WAHHHHH
"How many times do I have to tell you," he starts to chide. "At least call me doctor Park."
LOL not even first name, he’s gonna make sure she gets his title in there. He’s so funny
I cheered when she referred to him as daddy while trying to get his daughter to come with her🤩 i’m not even a huge proponent of daddy kink (not reallyyyyyyy my cup of tea but I’m not averse), but there are some scenarios where I think it’s just necessary in order to have maximum tension and torture the man. This is 100% that scenario🤩
But he looks down at himself and his brain betrays him.
Imagine her on her knees.
LIVINGGGGGGGGGGG🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩 park being beaten to shit by his intrusive thoughts of fucking his nanny HELLOOOOO NEW YORK
The (one sided unknowing) mutual masturbation😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😩😩😩😩🫦🫦🫦🫦Jesus fuck
Says your name in that soft, saccharine voice of his that he uses when his child is throwing a tantrum.
I can’t even begin to unpack this… the dynamic is so delicious FUCKKKK
Oh how he wishes he could see your face pale in horror at the knowledge of your boss being on the other side of the door.
Ehehhehehe he’s such a dick🤭
"Okay." A Cheshire smile curls at his lips, a thrill of satisfaction coursing through him as he tucks himself into his pants, the outline of his still rock hard dick on full display.
It's now or never.
Oh my god my heart fluttered🤭🤭🤭and something else too🫦
He shoots you a calming smile, boyish and embarrassed, as he steps into your room and closes the door behind him. Locking it.
IM GONNA PASS OUT!!!! YOURE KILLING IT WITH THIS TENSION HOLY FUCK
"Listen—" he starts, looking up at you before continuing. You choke on your own breath, body becoming a statue with shame. "I'm sorry, I should've realized you were in the shower. It was very inappropriate of me and it will not happen again."
Holy shit, the irony of him saying this while having come into her room for the sole purpose of trying to make something happen because he HEARD her vibrator😭😭😭he’s so evil and deliciousssssss!!! He was literally fucking his fist and ready to cum with her—without her knowing he was perving on her!!!!!!! And now he’s saying the textbook good guy apology, oh I’m losing my mind😩😩😩
I fucking cheered when she called him “Bren”🤩I had just been thinking about that being a sweet nickname for him and then she used it WOOOO
"Help daddy out, baby, wanna—" he groans. "Wanna cum with you."
Oh holy fuck😩now it’s fr mutual masturbation but like…to each other…
He grunts, grabbing your hand and pulling it back up to his tip, urging you to focus your efforts there.
THE ACTUAL PHYSICAL SENSATION I HAD WHEN SHE BURST OUT OF HER ROOM THINKING SHE WAS LATE ONLY FOR GUPPY TO BE DISTRAUGHT THAT SHE RUINED THE SURPRISE BREAKFAST IN BED BREN WAS MAKING HER AHHHHHHHHHHH MY HEARTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!! THEYRE ALREADY SO DOMESTIC WAHHHHHHHHH😭😭😭 THATS MAMA FRRRR
This angst is amazing, I did not expect the car crash😩I thought the angst would center around the relationship dynamic but I’m eating this UP
At night, when she finally knocks herself out, Brendon settles into bed next to you, those first couple of days unable to get you into bed with him but finally, after much groaning and moaning, claiming he needed the extra room from his king for his back—which is a fucking lie since he always just sleeps tangled around you—he finally comes out victorious.
AWWWWWWWWW THE DOMESTICITY IS KILLING MEEEEEE
I’m fucking dizzyyyyyyyyy— her saying he’s beautiful between her legs and him grinning and saying “thank you, baby” OH MY GOD SOMEBODY SEDATE ME
He doesn't force you to beg, it's not the time for that. Instead, he shows you mercy, pulling your underwear to the side and diving right in.
Where’s my fainting chaise lounge???? I need my fainting chaise lounge!!!!!
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When you call Sukuna soft. He doesn’t seem to like it.
18+ Mdni!!
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Ryomen Sukuna x Fem reader
No ai was used. No use of “y/n”, second pronouns only. Non sorcerer au. Modern Sukuna. Not big daddy Heien Sukuna.
Reader is 24-27, Sukuna is 28.
I kinda used this fanart as inspo.
He’s so dada. (fanart link)
Wc: 2k (very short bc I’m nervous guys)
Second story everrrr.
Cw: very small plot. pussy eating. Orgasm denial. Fingering. Lowkey pussy whipped Sukuna. Dacryphilia. Unprotected sex. Squirting. Face slapping. Choking. He calls you “bitch.” Fat dih Sukuna (obvi). Nephew Yuji mentioned very briefly. Mean Sukuna. Nicknames (Kuna, baby, pretty). Established relationship
You don’t realise you’re rage baiting him.
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚
You're with Sukuna at his family home. Babysitting his nephew, Yuji. One thing that you love about your boyfriend so much, was how soft he was with Yuji. Melts you every time. You’re all sprawled around the black couch. Pillows scattered everywhere. Lights dim. The only blazing light coming from the television you’re all so engaged in. Yuji demanded you all watch Shrek for the billionth time.
Sukuna’s so focused on the screen. He’s paying no mind to you. Nephew on his lap also absorbed. You glance over to your right. Seeing how peaceful they look together. Yuji’s small head resting on Sukuna’s chest. Chests rising slowly up and down. In sync. So cute. You love this world he’s let you into. Love that you’re apart of his family. You’re smiling softly. Head falling into the welt. Eyes crinkled. He sees you from the corner of his eye. Glances to you. Brow slightly raised. Whispers
“What?”
He knows it’s always something with you. Used to your antics.
Your head tilting back upright. Still smiling fondly.
“You’re so soft.” You say sweetly. Eyes glistening. Blinking slow.
He pauses. Glitches a little. Never in his many years of living has he heard anyone call him that. He doesn’t respond. Brain still fogged at the comment. He just hums lowly. Turns his head back, giving himself to the attention of the tv. Soft. Right then.
You think nothing of it. He has such a way of expressing himself, that you know of. You just giggle and also turn back to the tv.
Soft.
The word remains. Panging in his head through the rest of the movie. On your late night ride to his apartment. You’re both in his car. The sky darkening. A bluey orange colour. Cars appearing less often. Street lights illuminating. A few flicker in the distance.
He’s been silent all this time you can’t figure out why. Oh well. His brain still lagging, you’re mouthing off another planned babysitting not knowing his mind isn’t here.
“… gift for Yuji- Kuna?” You ask, body turned slightly in his direction. You’re looking at him with concern. So sweet aren’t you.
“.. hm?” Eyes still focused on the road. One hand on the wheel, the other at the gear stick. He hasn’t been listening. You squint your eyes a bit. Curious.
“You’re quiet.”
“M’always quiet.”
“More than usual.” You say with a snicker. Teeth showing a little. Nose crimping slightly.
He’s just so much more quiet today. Confusing. Ever since you left his family house. Have you upset him? You don’t know.
“Jus’ tired.”
“You do look it to be fair.” Another giggle.
“Wanna be funny huh?”
You’re cackling at him now. You don’t know you’re so fucked.
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Face buried between your thighs, his mouth crying into your pussy. All wet. Squelching. Squeezing. It’s not enough. He wants to be in your skin. Wants to breathe your air. Biting, gnawing at your thighs, leaving darker marks. But no. He won’t let you have him yet. You don’t deserve it.
Every suck, every kiss has you writhing beneath him. Legs kicking at his shoulders. He doesn’t budge. His body rock-like.
He’s got you in his bed. Dripping all over. Sweat filled back staining the sheets as well as your leaking pussy.
Twisting, turning. You’re naked underneath him. Back hauled into an ugly bow shape. Ugly sounds leaving your mouth. You’re so close. You can’t help it. Not when he’s been tormenting you for hours you could barely count. His tongue dancing, curling on your clit. You’re wailing now. All teary-eyed looking down at him. Head bobbing from sobs. He loves seeing you cry.
“Sukuunaa ugh.” Your voice all whiny. Pathetic. Head tipping. Digging into the pillow. Lashes wet.
“thought you said m’too soft.” Low-toned voice. Syrupy. He’s taunting you. Deep red eyes staring up into you from below. Watching you. Fully clothed. Tongue still abusing your puffy clit. Pulsating. Begging for mercy.
He’s gotten you close four times now. Your body can’t take another denial. He won’t even finger you. Nah you don’t deserve that. Called him soft.
You’re juttering your hips, hoisting it further to his plump lips. White hot. Blinding pleasure. Fuck.
“If you could see yourself right now. Pathetic.” He’s provoking you. Wants to see when you’ll break. You will break. For him you will. He knows you will. Your body’s already betraying you.
“Haven’t even fingered you properly ‘nd you’re shaking like this baby.” Grinning slightly. He’s loving this.
Your arms are splayed above you, around you, reaching the dark wooden headboard, the sheets below, his face, trying to pull him by his pink hair, closer into you. You want him inside you so badly. He won’t let you get what you want though.
“Mmf-fhuck, m’sorry.” Whimpering so pathetically but he’s so turned on by it. You’re chanting “m’sorry”’s, “please” but he’s evil. Won’t let you win this one.
Schlup schlurp
He’s ignoring you. You hate it so much.
Tongue rubbing at your poor clit. Cheeks hollow. Your body nearing its release. It’s so delicious. You can feel it. Burning. Searing.
Body all hot and moist.
“Awh look at that wet cunt,” he’s spitting on you. Laughing at you.
“she’s begging for it.” Schlurp.
“Ain’t you messy girl?” Fuck. He’s not speaking to you anymore. Just mouthing away at your clit. Talking all in your pussy. Sucking up his spit, your fluids just to spit back on your pussy again. Repeating. Pussy all drenched in his spit.
“m’not giving you this one.” Voice airy, low.
It’s just there. Just over there. Trembling. Incoherent sounds leaving you. Voice broken from screaming. Your body preparing to quench this torrid ache he’s giving you- gone. The build up fades in quick unsatisfying waves. You’re bawling, sobbing, gripping tightly at the sheets. Squeezing so hard, your pulse hammering in your fingers. Knuckles now faintly lighter. The fifth time he’s done this to you. You think you’re gonna die. It’s too painful. Painfully sweet.
“Kuna p-please.” The words slurred in your mouth. Voice coarse. You can barely speak. Your head lolled to the side. Eyes lidded, rolling, peaking open and close. His breath still fanning your pussy. He’s grinning at you. Canines on display. Tattoos stretching with his grin. Enjoying you unravel so grisly before him. It’s so blurry you can hardly see anything.
“K-kiss me.” You say, voice quivering. Your body heaving. He’s just staring at you with that stupid attractive grin.
He just hums in response. You want to kill him. You’re now glaring down at him. Elbows hiking you slightly. Wobbling a tad. Cheeks deepened in colour. Hair all messed up. Chest toting up and down. Angry. Brows screwed.
He’s waiting to see if you’ll say something else that’s stupid. He scoffs internally. Soft. Sukuna. Ryomen Sukuna. Soft?
Staring back at you with a calm ease, you’re quick, you try and grab his fingers. He’s pulling them out of reach immediately. At this point you’ll have to do it yourself. You can’t though. After him, getting off alone is impossible. He did that to you. Cursed you. Ruined. You try and bring your hand down to your pussy instead. He’s quick to slap your hand away.
“Ow- nghhfuh.”
Instead of kissing you, he’s immediately back on your clit. Abusing, licking, slurping. Humming into you. Groaning. You’re pushing away at his head. Hitting, clawing at his face. It’s just too much. Thighs haven’t stopped shaking. You’re a mess.
“Think you’ve learnt your lesson, hm pretty?” Mouth full of pussy. You can’t even respond.
He’s frothing at the sides. Drooling. Wetness leaking down his maw.
“Fuck you taste good.. always so good.” He’s fixated. Consumed. Pussy overpowering him. He’s fighting so hard not to split you open, bruise into you. It’ll hurt so good. He knows that. You want it.
Face flushed pink. Eyes now shut tight. Taking quick strong breaths. Urging his face closer. Immersed in your scent. Your taste. He could eat you forever. He’s trying to rut his nose deeper into your mons. Hairs tickling the tip of it. He’s breathing into your pussy. Eyes rolling back, closing quick. Deep quick breaths. You’re jutting your hips away, the sensation overwhelming you. He’s chasing you back down into the bed. Big beefy biceps flexing as he’s pushing your hips down. Can’t leave him. You’re stuck.
“Mmm you’re so close aren’t ya.” Mocking. Belittling you. Voice all rough, haggard. Affected by you.
There’s still a deep ache inside you. Need to be claimed. Taken. Fucked.
“Kunaa~ m’beggin- ngh.” Voice all out of breath cut short as his tongue starts circling your opening. Fucking finally.
He slowly pushes it inside. The wet muscle. Slowly. Teasing you. He wants you to keep begging. Stay pathetic for him.
“Ugh fuck yes- so good.” You’re so far gone. Eyes spiraling. Hips grinding deeper into his face. He’s finally where you need him most. Inside. But it’s still not enough. You crave something bigger. Thicker.
He’s sucking, drinking, gulping up your dripping juices. Pussy whipped. His jaw aching. He needs more of your pussy. Needs to fuck you.
You’re all over the place. Legs closing in, thighs caging his face. He lets you. Hands deep in his hair tugging. You can’t even rip a few hairs out, he’s got you so weak.
“Closer.” You whine.
“Fuck. Can’t get enough of this pussy.” Groaning into your hole. Now jabbing his tongue in you. Quick strikes. Fucking you with it. It’s close but not enough. It’s not what you need right now. You want his hands in you. His cock. Anything else.
After what feels like a million years he’s bringing his hands, currently wrapped around your thighs not letting you escape, down to your pussy.
Forcing two thick, fat fingers, index and middle, into you.
You’re screaming. Crying. Can’t see from the tears. It’s too blurry.
He’s pistoning them. Fucking you fast and hard. Ugly moans spilling from you. He’s eating this shit up. Loves the way you’re grinding down and running away at the same time. Can’t get enough.
“Nah don’t run.” Voice all menacing.
The heat in your belly, vibrant, alive. You’re so close. Sooo close. Two.. three more rapid pumps of his fingers and you’re convulsing. Violently shaking under him. Writhing. White hot. Piercing through you. He doesn’t stop, keeps pumping them into you. You’re clenching so hard it looks painful.
“F-fuck fuck.”
“Thaaa’s it baby.” Face all hot, fingers still charging into you. Arms flexing, biceps bulging out.
“Still soft?”
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He’s got your legs on his shoulders. Stuffing you full of his fat burly raw dick. It’s too thick. Too rugged. Leaky, angry dark red tip brushing up against your cervix. Balls slapping your arse. It hurts too good. This is what you needed. The pain. This ache.
“O-oh my g-god don’t stop.” You’re bawling. Face twisted in such scorching hot pleasure. He’s pressing your thighs down, forcing your knees into your chest. It hurts even more now. Fully on top of you. His heavy weight shoving you further into the sheets. Chests nearly pressed together. Only blocked by your knees. His face so close to yours. Stained wet. Everything’s all wet.
“Jus’ wanted to wet my dick huh?”
He’s bringing his hands up to your sweaty neck, locking them around it.
Eyes widening, you’re staring deeply at him. Still bouncing from the force of his hips. He’s gently squeezing your neck. Testing. You’re still moaning loudly around him. Pussy sucking in his cock.
Squelch squelch
Gripping. A white ring forming at the bass, spilling to his balls.
The squeeze around your neck tightening.
“Ugh fuck w-wait.. Kuna.” He’s still not listening to you. Still angry. Won’t even respond to you.
His pace slowing purposefully now. Long deep strokes. You can really feel the sink of his cock. All eight thick girthy inches. Wants you to feel it in your throat. Die on it. You’re malfunctioning. Spasming below him. Cumming. Brain gone. The whites of your eyes showing. He’s burly tip ramming into your g spot. Rigid. You’re babbling. Shuddering. Tears pooling down. Too wet. Searing hot. Your climax burning through you. He still fucking you through your high.
“You’re lucky I’m letting you cum.” Voice low, seething with pleasure filled rage.
Still slow hard thrusts, he’s asking you,
“Am I still soft?” Voice ragged. Breathing sharp. His free arm coming down to slap your face. Hard. It’s definitely leaving a mark later. Pussy clenching.
“Hm baby?”
Grabbing your cheeks now. Smushing it. Your lips puckered. Drool spilling out. Eyes dilated.
“Tell me.”
He’s patting that side of your face, light taps, smushing your cheeks again. You’re gone. Too far gone. You want him to hit you again. Slow deep strokes sending you over the edge. You’re moaning, whimpering. Body betraying you once more. You want to cum again.
“Y-yes. Wait no, no..ngh.” Can hardly hear him. Brain too fogged.
“This fucking bitch.” Growling angrily. He pulls out of you completely. Dark flushed tip. Angry red. Leaking a mixture of you and pre. You’re whole body jerking, sad at the loss. His knees digging into the bed he’s sitting on his calves.
“Nah m’not gonna give you what you want,
Stupid bitch can’t answer for shit.” Brows screwed, nose flared, face contorting. Seething.
“P-please.. ngh, m’sorry m’so sorry.” Body falling to your right. You’re curling around yourself. Tired. Used. He flips you back onto your back, spreading your legs wide, shoving three thick fingers deep. You can’t even scream anymore. Voice gone. Broken. Can’t even fight his fingers. Just throbbing. Mouth all open no sound apart from heavy breaths.
He’s fucking them so fast you can’t keep up. The heat sitting low in your belly, it’s different. Wait. This pressure. Warm. Intense. What-Fuck. You needed to pee. You’re slapping his arms vigorously, tapping out.
“Su- agh fuck, w-wait. Need to pee.” He’s not stopping.
“It’s..mmhpleaseee. P-pee. Haveta pee.”
“Then pee. I’m not stopping you.” Taunting. Fingers curling. Blunt ends feeling up your g spot. Thumb twirling your clit.
Pussy gushing. You’re squirting before you can even register it. Spraying. It’s on the sheets, everywhere. His face.
“Fhuck, oh my go- nhh.” You’re mewling.
“Oh fuck..aaatta girl. Squirt all on me, thaaa’s it.” Beaming at your pussy. All thirty-twos showing. Face now covered in your juices. He’s being so mean to you. More tears spilling from you. Maw still agape.
title: soft reset
dynamic: stepfather!jack x stepdaughter!reader
tw: dd:dne, dubcon, fem!reader, fauxcest, he calls you “sweetie”, (egregious amounts of) daddy kink, age gap, established relationship, dom/sub dynamic, bdsm (bondage + sadism), mild brat taming, unprotected sex, edging, breeding kink, squirting, forced orgasms, fingerfucking, spit kink, gun play (look away if you don't want a gun in your mouth!), choking, spanking, pussy slapping, fear play, sex toy usage, anal play, degradation/humiliation kink (he calls you a slut once!), he's a little mean but it's bc he knows what's best for you, angst (with a happy ending!)
context: you've been keeping your distance from your daddy and he's done waiting for you to let him back in…
wc: 6.0k
a/n: again, I dont usually do requests, but this anonymous ask really sang to me plus I have been feeling a little mushier as of late so I whipped this up! though it did just end up being raunchy porn…
hope it's a hot read ♡
You don't normally sleep in your room anymore. That's how Jack knows something bad must've happened, since you aren't in his bed when he gets home from his SWAT shift.
“I don't want to talk about it.” You mumble to him when he stirs you awake.
“Sweetie, I have work in a few hours.” Jack was hoping to spend some quality time with you before going to sleep for his night shift.
His words only make you burrow further into yourself. Because you know he works extra to take care of you. It's been that way since your mom left the two of you for some guy she met on a business trip.
“It's my fault you work so much. You don't have to remind me.” You're acting as stubborn as ever.
Jack sighs. “That's not what I was saying. I mean I want to spend time with my daughter.”
“I'm not even your real daughter…” You hate that you say that out loud instead of keeping it in your head.
“You're right.” He sits down at your bedside, his hand moving to cup your cheek. “You aren't my real daughter. Because if you were, I wouldn't be able to do this.”
You don't move away fast enough.
It shouldn't sway you so easily, the feeling of his lips on yours. But it does.
It always does.
But whatever pleasure you feel from how soft and lovely his kisses are is quickly washed away when you remember why you're so upset right now.
“I'm sorry.” You have a habit of apologizing over nothing, though maybe you're apologizing for pulling away from him. “I just want to be alone right now. Is that okay?”
“Only if you address me properly and ask.” Jack wants to see if he can flip that switch in your head.
The one that leads you into the comfort of a sub space.
But you say the words without the usual, cute cadence, “please, daddy. Can I be alone?”
It breaks his heart to see you so closed off.
He can't do much about it, though.
Sometimes you get into these moods.
But when it goes on for over a week, Jack simply can't do it anymore.
“You have to talk to me.” He doesn't want you to keep it in.
You shake your head, curling into your comforter further. “I don't want to talk about it.”
“Come on, sweetie.” He nudges your shoulder but it only makes you scoot away. “At least sleep next to me. I'm off tonight.”
“No.” You're blunt with the single word and Jack tries not to feel put off by how adamant you are to be away from him.
“Why not?” He can't stand this back and forth…
It isn't like he's frustrated with you. It's the situation that's frustrating. But he knows if he raises his voice or pushes you too hard, you'll close off even more.
Like when you tell him, “because I want to be alone. I don't want you near me right now.”
“Do you hate me?” Jack shouldn't have asked that. There's obvious turmoil on your face when he does.
“No.” The word comes out shaky this time.
“Then what is it?”
You can't tell him. You have to keep it to yourself, just until you can figure out what to do.
“I'm sorry, daddy.” You apologize like you have been for the past week. “I really don't want to talk about it, please.”
“Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
You shake your head at him.
Not this. Not yet at least.
Because there's no way you can tell him that you're late.
Jack will notice it eventually. He's been so busy with work lately that he probably thought you already had your period and he just wasn't around for your usual symptoms.
But when he figures it out…you don't know what you'll do.
Will he be happy or…you don't want to even think about the other option.
The one where he tells you he doesn't want to have a baby with you.
Because why would he?
He's your stepfather. It's weird enough that you and him have been sleeping together, in both iterations of the word, but to have a baby with him?
You feel like you've gone crazy for actually wanting to keep it if you are pregnant.
But…you do.
You love Jack. And you know he loves you but you're unsure if that love extends to this kind of relationship.
Where you're the mother of his child and not just his daughter…
That's what you've been grappling with.
You're so scared to tell him because you're so scared that everything will change and not for the better.
That's why you're hoping your period comes, even though you would like to have his baby.
But your period just won't start and you can't be around him while you're worried you might be pregnant.
“Will you please leave?” You ask him again but this time, he won't budge.
“Even if you won't tell me, I'm not leaving your side.” It is selfish of Jack to think it but he has been in desperate need of your warm body pressed up against his. He's incredibly touch starved, having been denied access to your affection for over a week.
“Jack, I want to be alone.” You use his name in hopes that'll put more distance between the two of you, so he knows you're serious.
But it only makes him get closer to you, laying down beside you in your bed. “And I want to be here.”
You get up then. “Then I'll go somewhere.”
There's no way you're being serious right now—
Jack sees that you've packed a bag. Like you've been preparing for this scenario.
To leave him.
That won't do.
You will not be leaving him. The thought should not even cross your mind.
And yet, you still grab a hold of your bag.
You still walk out your bedroom.
And now, Jack has lost the remaining amount of patience he had.
You yelp when he yanks you by your arm, pushing you against the hallway wall, snatching your bag from your shoulder and tossing it across the hardwood, the bag thudding on the ground.
“You're hurting me!” You tug at his grip, but it's too strong. “Jack, stop!”
“That's it then? I'm just “Jack” to you now?” There's a heat in his eyes that you haven't seen in a long time.
And it has you retreating into yourself again, your eyes shifting away from his.
“Oh no you don't.” He shakes his head, grabbing at your chin, engulfing your jaw with his free hand, making you look into those eyes you were trying so hard to avoid. “You're staying right here, with me, present in the moment.”
“I don't want to—” You're silenced with his mouth on yours, his tongue dipping into it without warning, his body pressing you against the wall to stop you from worming your way out of his grasp. “Jack—!”
“Shut up.” He silences you with a strict command, his words hot and heavy against your lips, “listen carefully. You're getting in bed with me whether you like it or not.”
Of course you'll like it but…would he even want to touch you knowing what you know?
The look of anguish on your face kills something inside of Jack. He can't look at you like this for another second.
He needs to wipe the slate clean.
Drown you in a feeling that only he can give you.
So he grabs you by your beautiful face and his lips are back on yours before you can say a word of protest.
You aren't even fighting him. You'd be lying if you said you didn't miss kissing him.
You missed it so much that when he glides his tongue along yours, a moan escapes from your lips.
“That's it, sweetie. Focus on feeling good.” Jack coaxes you towards that comfort you've been craving.
The comfort you don't think you deserve.
He feels the shift, the tension in your body, you stiffening up instead of relaxing.
He has to escalate.
He has to make it so you can't think of whatever is plaguing your mind.
So, he shoves you towards his bedroom.
You stumble on your feet, barely catching yourself before he pushes you again. And again. Until you're through the threshold and behind a locked door.
“Get on the bed.” Jack won't ask twice. “Or I tie you to it.”
“Jack—”
“You know what to call me.” He raises his voice just a bit so you know you will be making him very angry if you disobey.
“Daddy, please, I don't want—” You can't finish your sentence because he grabs you by your chin again, clamping your jaw shut tight.
“You don't want me?” That makes him really mad. “Too bad. You're stuck with me, sweetie.”
He throws you down onto the bed before opening the drawer of his bedside table. The one that has the gun.
Jack points it at you. “Lay down.”
He's never done this before. And you know the gun is loaded. Why is he—
He flips the safety off. “I won't ask again.”
You lay down flat on your back and Jack smiles at how easily you listen when there's a gun trained on you.
“Good girl.” He climbs onto the bed with you until he's hovering above you with the gun still pointed at your head. “Now, do I need to tie you up or will you listen?”
“I-I'll listen.” You let out in a scared whimper which has Jack's cock throbbing in his pants.
It is hard not to enjoy how frightened you look. It fuels the sadist in him that crawls out in the darkness of the night.
“Strip.” He lifts the hem of your shirt up with the gun. “Now.”
You don't hesitate, peeling all your layers off until you're completely naked. You bite your lip to suppress making a noise when you see Jack kneading his cock through his pants with his other hand at the sight of you sprawled beneath him. He's already raring to go.
And he loves how wet you are for him already.
“Is this for me?” He points his gun at your pussy, gesturing at the slick built up there.
“Please, daddy, not the gun.” You don't think he would but…now you're unsure because you never thought he would pull his gun on you ever.
“You don't get to tell me what to do, sweetie.” He shakes his head at you, feigning disappointment. “You know better.”
He drags the tip of his gun along the length of your stomach and you blink back tears when it rests above your womb.
That's an interesting reaction.
Jack blinks at you and it's like you know he's figured it out.
You immediately start to panic, “it's not what—”
“Are you pregnant?” Is that what you've been hiding from him?
And from the looks of it, he must be right.
Jack has never seen so many emotions run through you all at once. Not on the day your mom left. Not on the day he first kissed you. Not on the day the two of you slept together for the first time.
But right now, the face you're making is so distraught.
It makes him feel guilty how much he likes it.
Because is this seriously what you've been worried about for the last week?
It's a valid thing to be afraid of. Pregnancy is not for everyone. Maybe you were working up the courage to tell him you didn't want to have his baby.
Which would, of course, break his heart but it would be your choice to make and he would respect it.
But he has a feeling that isn't why you look so haunted right now.
“M-My period hasn't come yet. I'm sorry.” The words just spill out at the same rate as your tears fall, “I'll go to the clinic if you want me to. We can forget it ever happened. I—”
Your eyes widen when you feel Jack press his gun against your lips, stopping you from saying anything else.
“If you say another word, I'll make you deep throat my gun.” His threat is real because he pushes the tip of his gun into your mouth, your lips nervously sealing around it.
He wishes it was his cock but he has to make due for now.
“Just nod or shake your head.” Jack doesn't want to hear words from you right now. Only firm choices. “Do you think you're pregnant?”
You nod.
“Do you want to keep the baby?”
You nod again, though he can tell you're anxious about doing so.
“Do you think I don't want to have a baby with you?”
Your nod this time makes his heart ache.
“Now what would've given you that impression?” Jack rests his free hand against your lower belly, kneading it the way he knows you like it, your legs wriggling in response. “My sweet girl is having her daddy's baby. It must be mine, right?”
You nod and relief floods his body. He knows he's the only man in your life but Jack still worries sometimes that you aren't as crazy about him as he is about you.
Crazy enough to have a loaded gun pointed at you so you have to stay in the moment and not spiral away in your head.
“This is my baby.” He rubs your belly and you feel so strange.
A weird mix of relief and nerves…
Because Jack goes, “why did my daughter try to hide my baby from me?”
You swallow nervously, your lips still latched around his gun.
“We wasted a whole week of time we could've spent together as a family.” He lets out a dejected sigh. “Now I have to punish you for doing that.”
You shake your head then, which draws out that sadistic smirk of his.
“Open your mouth wider, sweetie.” He forces the barrel of his gun into your mouth. “That's it, let me in. Good girl.”
You gag on his gun and then your body tenses when his other hand slips between your legs.
Oh god, what is he—
“Suck on daddy's gun.” Jack keeps his finger steady on the trigger. “Suck it like it's my cock while I make you cum.”
Your eyes are locked on his finger grazing the trigger with the same swiping motion that's torturing your clit right now. The taste of metal in your mouth, the filthy sucking noises that are filling the air, the wet sounds coming from your pussy, they make you feel so lightheaded.
“Pull my cock out for me, sweetie.” Jack inches closer to you until your hands are reach his pants, unzipping them to take his cock out. “Now, follow my pace.”
You should've known what was coming next.
Jack thrusts two fingers inside of you and your body tenses then erupts. You're cumming so hard on his fingers, choking on your own moans.
“You can do better than that.” He's referring to the weak grip you have on his cock and the orgasm that's ripping through your body right now. He looks down and dribbles spit onto your hands, getting your fingers nice and wet. “Rub it like you mean it, sweetie.”
It's so hard to focus, though. He knows this. That's the whole point.
Your mind can't latch onto the fear you were feeling before. You have one part of your brain trained on stroking his cock with your hands. Another part focused on sucking the gun barrel in your mouth. The other part trying desperately not to burst from how rough his fingers are fucking you right now.
Jack smiles when your eyes roll back and your toes curl as you squirt uncontrollably all over his fingers. Your voice gets caught in your throat and you feel like you're choking, which only adds to the pleasure, to that lightheaded feeling that has your mind swirling.
“Hands off of me now. Let me hear you tell me how good it feels.” He slowly pulls the gun out of your mouth, flipping the safety back on before tossing it aside.
Then, his hand grips your throat, pinning you down onto the bed. Your hands move to grab the sheets beside you, trying to steady yourself because Jack's fingers are stirring up your insides without mercy.
“Come on, say it.”
“It feels so good, daddy.” You tell him when your eyes lock with his as he forces another orgasm through you that has you gasping for air.
Jack pops his fingers out of you then, your legs spasming from the sudden loss.
Then, your whole body stills when he says, “did I say you could cum?”
“B-But—” Any words you want to say get cut off by his grip tightening around your neck.
“I asked you a question.” He smacks your pussy all of a sudden, making you yelp. “Answer me. Did I say you could cum?”
“No, daddy.” You bite down on your lip when he starts rubbing your clit again, your body bracing from him to smack you.
“And then what did you do?” He shakes his head at you, causing more tension to coil at your core.
“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—”
Smack. You nearly cum when he hits your clit with his hand again, your body shaking like crazy now.
“Did I ask you to apologize?"
“No, daddy.” You let out in a meek whimper.
“Then what did I ask you?” He waits for your response, his hand hovering over your aching pussy.
You swallow, then answer. “You asked me what I did.”
“And?”
“I came.” You try not to wriggle too much from the humiliation of it all. Of knowing how easily your daddy can make you cum.
“You came so hard, you soaked the sheets.” Jack drags you up by your neck, making you look at the wet spot between your legs.
“I'm s—” He doesn't let you apologize, choking you harder now.
He doesn't want to hear it. You have nothing to apologize for. He likes making you cum. He wants you cumming like crazy for him.
“Don't apologize, sweetie.” His fingers slip back between your legs. “Just be honest with your daddy. Tell me what you want. Do you want to do it again?”
It takes you a moment but then you nod.
“I need to hear it.” He demands.
“Yes, daddy.” You tell him, then add, “I want to cum again.”
“Yeah?” He smacks your pussy again, watching you shiver in response. “My daughter wants to cum? Beg for it.”
“Please make me cum.” You look up at him, at his lips, then say, “please kiss me, daddy.”
Jack can't resist. He has missed kissing you.
He has missed the way you moan on his lips when his fingers dip back inside of you, curling right where you need them to. You're so close to cumming again but then he slows down, edging you, keeping you from your next orgasm.
“What's wrong, sweetie?” He nips at your bottom lip, smirking when you stare at him all needy.
“Your fingers…”
“What about them?” His eyes trail down to them buried between your legs. “Should I pull them out?”
“No!” You say quicker than you should and your whole body heats with embarrassment.
“No?” He nuzzles your nose, finding you so adorable.
He slowly tries to pull them away but you snatch his wrist, stopping him. You plead to him with your eyes and that makes him lean in for a kiss, grinning against your lips.
“Let me go, sweetie. I'll make you cum, don't worry. I just need to grab your favorite toy.” Jack's words have you clenching around his fingers tighter, making him chuckle. “Are you nervous?”
You were a mess the last time he did this. It's your favorite but…you can never think straight.
Maybe that's okay for today.
Maybe it's okay to let him do whatever he wants with you…
You let go of his wrist and Jack gets up from the bed, opening a nearby drawer. He grabs the toy and goes to clean it. He's always very careful when it comes to keeping things hygienic. Can't risk you getting an infection.
Especially when this little egg is going deep inside of you…
“I love this toy.” Jack drags the silicone tip of it along the length of your slit before pressing it against your clit, turning on the vibration. “Because it has a remote.”
He increases the vibration until you're kicking your legs, trying to get away from the sudden sensation.
“Stay still.” He tells you but you don't listen because your clit is getting bullied, shooting shockwaves through you.
Jack lets out a sigh, shaking his head with disappointment before shoving the toy inside of you, drawing a gasp from your lips when his fingers stay inside of you, pressing the intense vibrations right up against your womb.
“W-wait, wait—!” You cry out when he uses his fingertips to grind the vibrator against your womb, causing stars to flood your vision as your orgasm hits harder than before, your body convulsing beneath him.
He shuts the vibrations off once you've cum again, slipping his fingers out of you, giving you a little reprieve from the sudden onslaught of pleasure.
“On your belly, sweetie.” He nudges you to roll over and you do in your daze, not thinking it through. He has your ass up, liking the look of the thin silicone string from the toy hanging out of your pussy.
Nothing could've prepared you for Jack to lean in and start licking your clit with his warm tongue as he flips the vibrator back on. You're screaming into your pillow now, the vibrations pounding inside of you while he eats you out.
Then, you bite down on it when he spits on your ass and pushes a finger past the tight ring, all while his mouth is still playing with your clit and the vibrator is still buzzing inside of you.
You're gripping the bedsheets for dear life now.
“Oh god, daddy, I'm going to cum.” You bury your face back into your pillow after you say that and just as you predicted, you cum so hard that you pop the vibrating egg right out of you.
“Oh no, sweetie.” Jack pushes it back into you. “You have to keep it inside of you. Let daddy help.”
Your eyes widen when you feel the tip of his cock rubbing at your entrance. “Wait, Jack, what are you—”
He's never fucked you with this toy inside of you before. There's no way he can—
Jack slams every inch of his cock inside of you, driving the vibrator right up against that spot by your womb that has you squirting all over his cock. Your body is trying so hard to push his cock out of you, squeezing so much around him that he groans, his large hand splaying across your back to hold you in place, not letting you worm away.
He needs this. He needs to feel you lose control.
And you have completely lost it.
Because you can't escape the vibrations. He rolls his hips against your ass, grinding the vibrations deeper, his cock practically fucking it into your womb.
“Take it out, please!” You definitely can't let him keep fucking you with it inside of you!
“I can't, sweetie. My cock is in the way.” He says with a smirk you can't see but can definitely hear in his voice.
The sadist has come out…
And he knows his little masochist of a stepdaughter is having the time of her life cumming her brains out underneath him right now.
Jack is going to make sure this is a night you never forget.
So, he pushes you down, until your body is flat and he's fucking you into the mattress, the vibrations bullying your core. You're trapped under his weight, unable to move, unable to do anything but cum.
It only gets amplified when his hand is on the back of your head, shoving you into your pillow, muffling your screams from him adding another finger inside of your ass.
“That's it, sweetie. Cum until you can't think about anything else but your daddy fucking you.” He says, curling his fingers in your ass, pushing against the vibrations overwhelming your womb, pounding his cock so roughly into your dripping wet pussy over and over again that the sounds filling the room flood your mind.
You can't breathe. You can't hear anything but your daddy fucking you silly.
You can't possibly cum anymore but he keeps forcing orgasm after orgasm out of you.
“I'm going to fill your pussy up and make sure you are pregnant.” He lets out as his thrusts get even rougher. “I want my daughter to have my baby. Say you want to have my baby.”
You cry out when he sinks another finger into your ass, causing another orgasm to shoot through you at the same time, "I want to have your baby.”
“Whose baby?”
“Yours, daddy.” You say with a fierce nod, begging him to cum inside of you. “Give it to me. Make me have your baby.”
“You will. I'm going to make sure of it.” He pounds into you until you feel his release coat your womb, filling your lower belly with so much warmth that you're dizzy…
Jack breathes out heavy, his heart beating in his ears, staring down at how absolutely fucked you look.
He wants more.
He slips his fingers out of your ass and pulls his cock out of you, along with the vibrator, getting up from bed. You're so wiped out that you can't even protest him leaving you there. You don't have the energy to fight him.
Which is why you let him sink a dildo into your pussy all of a sudden.
“Daddy, what are you—” He flips you onto your back, pushing your thighs up towards your stomach.
Then, you watch as he ties them together at your knees, the beautiful red rope wrapping tightly around the soft flesh of your thighs.
“Grab a hold of it, sweetie.” Jack snaps at you to do so and you listen, against your best judgment.
He wraps the rope around your wrists, binding your hands to your thighs. You're completely exposed in this position and unable to move.
Which is why you can't stop Jack from grabbing the dildo and ramming it into your pussy until you cum so hard that you squirt all of a sudden.
“Are you trying to push my cum out?” He shakes his head at you. “Bad girl.”
He smacks your clit as punishment and you cum so quickly, reeling from the harshness. He likes that you can't escape, that you can't hide your twitching pussy from his sight with you all tied up like this. He'll need to leave you trembling even more.
“Stay still.” Jack says when he comes back from grabbing some medical tape.
“Wait, Jack—!” You feel that soft silicone egg pressing against your swollen clit. He applies several pieces of tape to secure it in place.
Then, he shows you the remote before telling you, “bad girls get punished, remember?”
Jack lays down beside you, cupping your face, seeing the scared expression on your face.
So, he whispers, “do you remember your safe word? Say it if you do.”
You nod at him. “Pope.”
Just hearing that word makes Jack's skin crawl but that's why it works.
“Good girl.” He leans in to give you a little kiss of reassurance. “Do you want to use it?”
You shake your head. You know you can but…
“You like being daddy's bad little girl.” He lets out a dark chuckle, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Remember you can say it any time.”
“I know, daddy.” You don't need to.
You're exactly where you want to be.
Jack flips the vibrator back on, only this time at the lowest setting. Then, he shifts back to where he can watch your pussy spasm as your orgasm builds, liking how it's trying so hard to milk the dildo that's sitting inside of you.
“You're dripping so much, sweetie.” Jack sees how your slick has trailed down to your pretty ass.
“I'm sorry.” You reply, just because it'll tick him off.
Which earns you his fingers back in your ass, drawing a loud whimper from your lips.
“I didn't raise a brat.” He spits on the vibrator buzzing on your clit right now. “No more apologies.”
You open your mouth to do it again but then he pulls the dildo out of your pussy and lines it up with your ass once his fingers slip out. It sinks in easily, making your toes curl when it hilts.
“You don't get to cum.” He increases the vibrations on your clit before he gets up from the bed again. “Not until I'm back inside of you. You better hold it in, sweetie.”
It's like an eternity before Jack is back from washing his hands and he chuckles at how much slick has built up since he has been gone.
“Please untie me, daddy.” You can't take being restrained any longer.
“If I untied you earlier, you would've touched yourself.” Jack runs his fingertips along your aching pussy, pulling such a needy whine from your lips.
“Please let me cum.” You'll die if he edges you any longer. “Please.”
“I told you, only on my cock.” Jack decided to strip while he was away, so he can stroke his cock to the sight of you right now, getting hard again.
“I need my daddy's cock.” You want it right now.
“Do you?” His hands move to the ropes binding you, undoing the knots, setting you free before he sits up in bed. “Then take it, sweetie.”
Jack smirks at how eagerly you get on your hands and knees, crawling over to him before you grab his cock and pull it into your lovely mouth. You suck on his cock, moaning when he turns up the vibrations bullying your clit.
“Please, daddy.” You spit on his cock, stroking it with such desperation in your eyes as you ask, “can I ride your cock?”
“Go ahead.” He invites you to and you mount him a little too quickly, drawing another laugh from him that has your core shivering from how degrading it is. “I like it when my daughter is all needy for cock.”
“Only your cock.” You sink down onto him, your whole body trembling with need. “Oh god, daddy, I'm going to cum—”
Jack goes to smack your ass and that's enough to have you completely unraveling on top of him, making a mess in his lap from how hard you cum.
“Does spanking you make you squirt, sweetie?” He smacks your ass again, harder this time, watching you squirt uncontrollably in response. “When did you become such a slut?”
“I'm sorry, daddy.” You brace for the punishment you crave.
Jack gives it to you, spanking you even harder this time, surely leaving his mark on your ass. “You really want to piss me off today.”
“I'm s—” You choke on your apology when he pushes a finger inside of your pussy along with his cock. “W-Wait stop—!”
You grab a hold of his shoulders, trying to steady yourself as Jack shoves another finger inside of you before curling it against where the vibrations are pounding your clit.
You see stars immediately, your vision searing with them the moment your orgasm shoots through you.
“Keep riding my cock and my fingers, sweetie.” Jack smacks your ass again, trying to get you to continue rolling your hips against his lap. “You don't get a break.”
“Oh daddy, I can't stop cumming.” You lean your forehead against his, breathing out, “it feels so good. I can't think straight…”
“You don't need to think. Just kiss your daddy.” He meets your lips halfway, smiling when you kiss him back with so much affection.
You missed kissing him a lot, especially with his cock inside of you and his fingers stretching you out further. You cum even more when Jack grabs the base of the dildo and starts fucking your ass with it while you ride him.
He's stealing your breath away with every kiss and your mind has gone completely blank.
All you can do right now is drown in the constant pleasure.
When Jack gets close, he throws you onto your back so he can pound into your pussy freely, his lower body pressing the vibrator against your clit harder with every thrust, the dildo burying deeper into your ass.
“Tell me whose pussy I'm fucking right now.” He groans, his cock throbbing inside of you, close to bursting. “Tell me, sweetie.”
“Your daughter's.” You pull him towards you by his face and tell him between loving kisses. “You're fucking my pussy, daddy.”
“That's right.” His breaths get more ragged against your lips. “I'm fucking a baby into my daughter.”
“Yes, please. Give it to me, daddy.” You grind up towards him, meeting his thrusts, wanting him to cum.
And he does. He cums so much more than the first time that you're leaking some of it out with every thrust.
“Please don't stop.” Your body is tensing up. You're getting close to another orgasm again. “Please keep fucking me until you're soft.”
“Fucking hell.” He grabs you by the hips and blindly pounds into you, ignoring the overstimulation. “My daughter really loves her daddy's cock, doesn't she?”
You can't even get a response out because you're cumming all over his cock. That's enough of a response for him.
You're still reeling from that last orgasm as he gently pulls the vibrator off of your clit and pulls the dildo out of your ass. You whimper when he slips out of you, his cum leaking out with it. You go to plug your pussy up with your fingers but Jack stops you.
“It's okay if it spills, sweetie. I can fuck you as much as you want.” He doesn't work for a few days anyways. “We'll get you pregnant, if you aren't already.”
Your hand rests at your lower belly instead, wondering if you are pregnant. With the amount of cum he just dumped into you, it would be impressive if you weren't since you aren't on any birth control.
Jack helps you up and takes you into the bathroom with him, where he has had a bath drawn, ready for the two of you. You help him with his prosthetic and he gets in first like he always does. You head in after, straddling his lap, resting your head against his shoulder, nuzzling his warm neck.
You kiss one of the freckles there, making him chuckle so warmly at you. “You spoil me, sweetie.”
“Because I love you.” You tell him and you can feel his pulse quicken against your lips at his neck. “It's okay if you don't—”
“I love you too.” He lifts your face off of him so he can look you in the eyes when he tells you. “I love you more than a father would for his daughter.”
You whisper to him, “I'm not really your daughter though.”
“Don't break your daddy's heart like that.” He leans in to leave a mark on your neck, nipping at your skin with so much care. “You'll always be my daughter. You're my family.”
“I like being in your family.” You say with a big smile.
“Yeah?” He pulls you in closer before asking, “so you don't mind that your uncle will be staying with us for a few days?”
You giggle at him. “I think you're the one who has a problem with it.”
“What makes you say that?” Jack raises an eyebrow at you, seeing the mischievous smile that forms on your face.
Then, you answer in a whisper, “because his name is our safe word.”
He scoffs but you know it bothers Jack that his identical twin brother, your uncle Pope, has had his eye on you too.
This will surely be a fun family reunion…
a/n: look…if I didn't set up a future threesome with Pope, I knew I'd regret it…so here's to a yummy follow up to this fic sometime soon! this was supposed to be a short little drabble and then I got super horny and just really wanted to fuck daddy!jack so bad so oops…
