Not All Angels Are In Heaven. For Example I’m Mostly At Home

Wearing War

summary : Jack Abbot’s first night off in ten days should’ve been spent in bed—but instead, you go to his favorite dive bar. You wear the skirt. You wear his tags. You push, and Jack—tired, restrained, and entirely yours—snaps.

content/warning : 18+ MDNI!!! explicit smut, dominant boyfriend Jack Abbot, semi-public sex (in a parked truck), use of dog tags in kink context, possessiveness, fingering, vaginal sex, marking/bruising, overstimulation, reader is bratty and teasing, not much plot, mostly smut

word count : 4,323

Jack’s first night off in ten days should’ve been spent in bed.

You’d imagined it—his weight pressing into the mattress, one arm tossed over your waist, the rest of the world pushed away by the rhythm of his breathing. You’d imagined curling into the heat of him, tracing the faint scar beneath his ribcage with your thumb, pressing your face into his chest and not moving for hours.

But instead, you were standing in the doorway of your kitchen, watching him rinse his hands in the sink like he couldn’t quite turn off the part of his brain still stuck at work. His scrub top was balled up on the counter beside him, and his undershirt clung to his back in soft lines.

“Let’s go out,” you said, voice careful but certain. “Just us.”

He didn’t look up right away. Just let the water keep running over his hands like he hadn’t registered the question—or maybe like he was pretending not to.

“Out?” he echoed, like the word didn’t sit right in his mouth after ten nights of nothing but fluorescent lights and hallway coffee. “You mean… out out?”

You stepped into the kitchen, folding your arms. “Yeah. Not fancy. Not fussy. Just somewhere that doesn’t smell like antiseptic or have a monitor beeping in the background.”

That made him glance over. Barely. But enough.

His brow creased like he was doing the mental math—how long since his last shower, how much energy he had left in the tank, whether he could fake his way through being social when he barely felt human.

“You sure?” he asked. “You don’t want… like, a real night out? Something normal. Reservations. Wine list?”

You shook your head. “No. I want you. I want O’Malley’s.”

That got his full attention.

He turned, leaning back against the sink. His dog tags swung slightly when he moved. “O’Malley’s?” he asked, like you’d just suggested robbing a bank.

You took a few steps closer. “Yeah.”

He blinked once. “You want to go to a bar where the jukebox hasn’t worked since ’08, the floor sticks to your shoes, and that guy with the mullet always thinks you're hitting on him just for saying hi?”

You smiled, letting your hands slip up under his shirt, resting lightly against the warm skin of his stomach. “I want you. Where you feel good. Where you’re not someone’s doctor or someone’s emergency. Just… mine. I’ve been coming home to your things, not you. And I want to be somewhere that feels like you again.”

He went quiet at that. Quiet in the way Jack gets when something actually lands. The way he used to go quiet back when you first met him—when you’d say something kind and he didn’t know what to do with it yet.

O’Malley’s wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t even clean. But it was his.

Brick walls stained with decades of smoke and sweat and spilled drinks. The barstools wobbled. The bathroom door didn’t lock unless you jammed it shut with your heel. But it was familiar. Steady. Like Jack.

It was the first place he ever kissed you in public.

The first time you saw him relax—really relax—with his hand on your thigh and his smile easy and unguarded. No pager. No badge. Just him and a beer and the kind of quiet contentment he didn’t let anyone else see.

You wanted that Jack tonight.

Not the version who came home bone-tired and silent, who sat on the edge of the bed and stared into the dark. The one who carried too many stories in his hands and didn’t know where to put them.

“Alright. We’ll go. But I’m not shaving.”

You smiled. “I like you scruffy.”

He kissed you, slow and low, then murmured, “Twenty minutes?”

“Fifteen,” you said, already slipping out of his arms and heading for the bedroom. “You’ve got first round.”

And as soon as the door clicked shut behind you, you made a beeline for that skirt.

The black one.

The one that hadn’t seen daylight since your fourth date—back when he’d taken you to a bar kind of like O'Malley's. A little louder, a little messier, but the same kind of dim lighting and cracked leather booths. You’d leaned against the doorframe of your apartment when the night was over, keys in your hand, heartbeat wild under your skin, and asked, “Do you want to come up?” like you weren’t already hoping he’d press you into the wall and never leave.

He kissed you before he even got his boots off.

Not soft. Not slow. Like something in him had snapped loose. You barely made it to the couch—his hands on your hips, mouth trailing heat down your stomach, skirt bunched at your waist. He was on his knees before you could say another word, eyes dark, breath rough against your skin.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he murmured, voice all gravel and restraint.

You didn’t.

He didn’t rush. Didn’t fumble. Just held your thighs open like he needed to, like he hadn’t had a real taste of anything in months. He made you come twice before he even touched himself. All control. All focus. Like the only thing that mattered was what your body was doing under his.

You still think about how he looked that night.

The way he moved—deliberate and slow, like he was memorizing every inch of you. The low curse he let slip when he finally slid inside. How he pressed his forehead to yours, jaw tight, barely breathing, like you were the only solid thing left in his world. No dirty talk. No theatrics. Just him, wrecking you with nothing but steady hands and a look you’ve never been able to shake.

That night, Jack Abbot stopped pretending. He stopped playing it safe. He stopped pretending he didn’t want you like a man starved.

You hold the skirt up in the warm light of your bedroom, thumb brushing the fabric like a secret, and smile. It’s tighter than you remember. Shorter, too—but maybe that’s just the way you’re looking at it now. With the memory of his hands. His mouth. His voice when he said your name like it was something sacred.

You slide it up your legs slowly. Deliberately.

Because you don’t want soft tonight. You don’t want tired.

You want him. The version of Jack who doesn’t know how to hold back. The version who comes home and remembers exactly who the hell he belongs to.

And by the time he sees you in this?

You want him wrecked.

Not by the shift.

Not by the world.

By you.

When you came downstairs, he was in the kitchen with his phone in one hand, wallet in the other, the porch light casting long shadows across the hardwood.

He didn’t hear you at first. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t look up until he had to.

And when he did—he stopped mid-motion. The screen of his phone still lit, thumb frozen over it, breath caught in his chest like it had nowhere to go.

His eyes dragged down your body and then back up, slow. Controlled. Like he was trying not to react. Like he had to try.

His mouth opened, then shut again. His jaw ticked once.

He wiped a hand down his face, slow and rough, like the sight of you was something he needed to get a grip on before it undid him. “You really—” he started, voice low and ragged, gesturing vaguely toward your legs. “That skirt?”

You leaned against the doorframe with the kind of casual ease that was anything but. “Figured I’d dress for the occasion.”

Jack didn’t move. Just looked at you.

“That skirt’s been in the back of your closet since…” He stopped, biting off the rest like it physically hurt to say it out loud.

You smiled gently. “Yeah. I remember.”

Silence stretched long and heavy between you. His eyes never left yours.

Then, quietly—honestly: “I’m not gonna ask you to change.” He paused. “But don’t ask me to keep my hands to myself.”

You pushed off the frame with a soft shrug. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

When you reached for your bag, he still hadn’t moved.

You had to walk past him to grab your keys, and even then, he didn’t touch you. Didn’t say a word. Just watched. Like he was counting his breaths. Like if he said one thing too soon, this night would tip into something neither of you were dressed for.

You walked out together into the thick hum of summer, the heat sitting low and wet across the driveway. Cicadas buzzed somewhere in the trees. The air smelled like warm concrete and fading sunlight.

As you made your way toward the truck, you let one heel wobble—just a little. Just enough.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, stopping, bending at the knee like you needed to fix the strap.

You didn’t.

But you knew exactly what you were doing.

And you could feel his gaze on you. Hot. Still. Quiet.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t come closer. Just waited, jaw tight, fists curled around the truck keys.

You stood, slow. Turned, met his eyes.

He blinked once. Swallowed. Then turned and opened the passenger side door for you like he wasn’t two seconds from backing you up against it.

The drive was quiet at first. The windows down, the music soft—something bluesy and old, not quite loud enough to distract from the weight between you.

You reached over, let your fingers brush his thigh gently. The shift in him was instant. A subtle inhale. A twitch at the corner of his mouth. His hand gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

“You sure you don’t want something nicer than this bar?” he asked finally, voice low and quiet like he already knew the answer but had to give you the out anyway.

You turned toward him, soft smile still in place. “No, honey. This is about you.”

He didn’t answer. Just looked ahead and nodded once. The streetlights passed in slow intervals, the engine humming beneath your feet.

And Jack?

He just drove. Knuckles white against the wheel. Thigh tense under your hand. Mouth pressed into a line like he was already counting down the minutes until you got home—and he could stop pretending he wasn’t about to come undone.

When you walked in, his hand found the small of your back.

“Usual booth,” he said. “I’ll grab drinks.”

You turned, looked up at him with a soft smile. “No, babe. Let me. You always do it.”

He squinted slightly. “You sure?”

You nodded. “Go sit. Relax.”

He hesitated. Then pulled out his wallet, thumbed through it, and handed you his card. You turned and walked to the bar, slow and confident, letting your heels click against the hardwood. The bar was a straight shot from your booth, just far enough that he could still see you. And you made sure to give him a show.

You leaned forward, pretending to read the drink list. Let your hips tilt. Let the skirt shift. Just enough for the lace of your thong to show.

The whistle was immediate.

A low sound from a table of men a few feet away.

And then Jack was there.

Behind you in a blink.

His hand clamped to your lower back.

And the other—

yanked your skirt down.

Hard. Final. Like the motion itself was a correction.

The fabric snapped against your thighs, the sudden pressure sending a jolt through you. You straightened instinctively, blinking.

“Jesus,” you said under your breath.

Jack leaned in. “You really wanna do this here?”

“I was just reading the menu,” you murmured.

“Bullshit. You order the same thing every time. Diet Rum and Coke. No lime. Half ice.”

You swallowed.

He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t move again. Just pressed his hand firmer to your lower back and let the moment hang.

The bartender handed over your drinks. You took them. Didn’t say anything. Just walked back to the booth with Jack two steps behind.

You slid into the booth—on his side.

He gave you a look.

“What?” you asked, sipping your drink.

“You’re pushing it.”

You shrugged. “I missed you.”

“You’re doing this because I haven’t fucked you in ten days.”

You flushed—heat hitting your cheeks hard.

But you didn’t deny it.

Instead, you leaned in. He thought you were going to kiss him. And then your hand dipped beneath his collar. You pulled the chain free.

Unclipped it.

And slid his dog tags over your head. They settled against your chest, heavy. His name resting between your breasts.

Jack blinked.

Then laughed once. Dark. Rough.

“You wear them,” he said, voice low, “you ride. That’s the deal.”

You smiled. “I know the rules.”

He stared at you another beat.

Then stood.

“We’re leaving.”

“But we haven’t even—”

“You want people to see your cunt?” he cut in. “You want attention? Then let me remind them who you belong to.”

You didn’t argue.

Just followed him out, heart pounding.

You thought you were headed home.

But when he opened the truck door, he looked at you.

“You’re not gonna ride me in bed.”

You blinked.

He nodded to the truck. “You’re gonna ride me right here. Since you wanted to act like bait.”

You got in.

Because that’s exactly what you wanted.

And he knows it.

The truck door shuts behind you with a heavy, final thunk. One of those sounds that doesn’t echo—it lands.

Jack circles around the hood without a word. His boots hit the gravel with a quiet crunch, one slower than the other, rhythm faintly uneven from the prosthetic he’s never once complained about. Shoulders set. Gait loose, but loaded.

He’s not in a rush.

Not because he doesn’t want to touch you.

Because he’s trying not to break.

You sit in the passenger seat, legs drawn up just slightly, thighs tight, heart climbing higher into your throat with every second he doesn’t speak. The skirt’s still riding too high despite his earlier intervention—and the lace between your thighs is still damp. Still warm.

When Jack slides in behind the wheel, he doesn’t touch you.

Just plants both hands on the steering wheel and exhales. Once. Deep. Grounded.

Then he turns his head.

“I knew you wore that skirt on purpose,” he says, voice low. Strained around the edges. Not tired from work, but from holding back. Like keeping his hands to himself has taken more out of him than the last ten nights combined.

He says it like a confession. Like a warning.

And you don’t bother playing coy.

You tilt your head, smile just enough to be dangerous. “Figured you deserved something to look forward to.”

He shifts beside you, slow and quiet. One arm drapes over the back of your seat, casual on the surface—but his fingers find your shoulder. Trail down, soft as breath, to the edge of your collarbone. He lingers there. Just enough to feel your pulse.

“I’ve been looking forward to you for ten nights,” he says, barely above a whisper.

Still, he doesn’t kiss you.

Instead, his palm drags slowly down your chest, not lingering, not teasing—reading.

Then he moves lower.

Hand slipping down your stomach, over the edge of your skirt, until he finds the lace. The wet. The heat.

He hisses through his teeth.

"You’re soaked."

You don’t answer.

“You’ve been walking around like that since the house?” he asks, more statement than question.

Your breath catches.

His fingers press in slightly—not a thrust, just pressure. Just enough to feel.

“I know this body,” he says, low, barely a whisper. “I’ve had this pussy every way you let me. In the shower. Against the wall. Bent over the fucking sink. You think I can’t tell when you’re asking for it?”

Your hips twitch into his hand.

He doesn't give you more.

“You thought this was gonna be cute?” he growls, thumb brushing just beside your clit. “Bend over at the bar. Show everyone the lace I’ve ripped off you a dozen times?”

You bite your lip. Nod.

That makes him laugh. A rough, breathless sound.

“I should take you back in there,” he says. “Let them see what it looks like when you beg.”

You shift toward him, no hesitation now—like your body’s been waiting for this as long as he has. You climb into his lap with practiced ease, knees against the worn leather of the truck seat, thighs bracketing his hips, breath warm against his jaw.

He exhales like the contact knocks something loose in him.

His hands find their way under you, palms settling at the curve of your ass—rough and sure, reverent in the way only a man who’s gone without you can be. Like he’s grounding himself in the fact that you’re here. Real. His.

“You missed me,” he murmurs, voice low, thumb dragging a slow arc along the edge of your hip.

“I missed you,” you breathe, your lips brushing his. “You weren’t home. Not really. I kept pretending it was enough just to hear your keys in the door, but it wasn’t. I was alone. I needed—”

Jack kisses you.

Hard.

Not like a question. Like a claim.

It isn’t soft. Isn’t slow. It’s hungry—the kind of kiss that splits you open, that tastes like every second he had to swallow the urge to call you in the middle of the night just to hear you. His mouth is hot and demanding, his grip tightening like he wants you closer, like closer still isn’t enough.

You gasp against him, fingers tangling in the fabric at his shoulders, and that’s when he groans—deep and wrecked—like you just pulled the last thread keeping him together.

Because this isn’t just a kiss.

It’s ten nights of wanting.

And now?

Now he’s got you in his lap, and your skirt’s hitched up, and you’re not stopping him.

You’re meeting him there.

He bites your lip, slow and deliberate. Tugs it between his teeth, groans when you gasp. The sound spills into your mouth and coils low in your stomach, sharp and warm. His hands shift, drag you harder against him, and you feel it—how hard he is under his jeans. How close he’s riding the edge.

You rut against him before you can stop yourself, hips grinding down like instinct, like need. His hands grip tighter, grounding you, guiding you, pulling a sound from your throat you’ve never made for anyone else.

“Fuck,” he mutters, like you’ve undone something deep in him. His mouth finds your jaw, your neck, the corner of your shoulder—fast, focused, starving. Each kiss lands like an answer to every silent plea you made in the nights he was gone.

“Jack,” you whimper, breath stuttering. “Please—”

He growls. Low. Close. A sound like something tearing loose inside him, sharp and intimate and only for you.

His thumb presses into your waist, anchoring you. His eyes are on you now, heavy and dark, like he’s drinking you in—committing this to memory in case the world asks him to go without you again.

“You want it that bad?” he rasps, voice tight. “You want to fuck me right here, like this truck’s the only place that’s ever existed?”

You nod—frantic, breathless.

Your moan says the rest.

And the way he looks at you then—like restraint was never about control. It was about respect. And now, finally, he doesn’t have to wear it.

He grabs your face, hands big and steady, his thumbs resting under your jaw, holding you like he needs you still to speak clearly.

“You wear those tags,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “You ride. Like you promised. You gonna be good for me?”

You nod again, quicker this time.

“Words,” he breathes, brow low. “Tell me.”

“Yes. I’ll be good.”

He exhales like that undoes something else in him. But he doesn’t thank you for it. Doesn’t say a word. Just watches you, jaw clenched, thumb brushing your chin like you’re both already undone and just getting started.

“You made me watch,” he murmurs. “Watch every man in that bar eye what’s mine.”

You meet his stare, voice barely a whisper. “I wanted to remind you.”

“You did.”

He unzips his jeans without breaking eye contact. Slow. Controlled. Not hurried, not desperate. Just decided. Like he’s already known for days exactly how this was going to end.

The tags shift when you lean forward. They clink once against his chest before settling back against warm skin—your skin.

“Do it,” he says, voice scraped raw. “Do what you promised. Ride me.”

His hands guide you—slow, steady, reverent. Like he knows what this is. What it means. What it’ll undo.

“Show me what I’ve been missing.”

A pause. One breath. Then another.

“Remind yourself who the fuck you belong to.”

Your hand slips between your bodies. Sure. Smooth. No hesitation now. You find him—hot, hard, already pulsing in your palm—and line him up.

You sink down.

You don’t even make it all the way down before Jack’s hands are on you—possessive, certain, like your body belongs to him and he’s just reclaiming it.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, voice ragged. His head falls forward, lips brushing your sternum as you sink fully onto him. You feel the tremor run through him. Hear the sharp breath he drags in like he’s been choking without you. “You’re still so fucking tight.”

His fingers splay wide across your hips, holding you there. Not letting you move. Not yet.

“Stay right there,” he growls. “Let me feel it. All of it.”

You whimper, thighs already shaking, because he’s thick, hot, deep—so deep it makes your chest ache. You try to move, to set a rhythm, but his grip tightens instantly.

“No,” he says, tone dropping lower. “This isn’t yours to lead.”

You gasp. “Jack—”

He shuts you up with a thrust so sudden, so deep, you see stars. The sound you make is guttural—raw and involuntary.

His hands grip your waist, drag you down harder against him with the next roll of his hips, his cock hitting that spot that makes your spine arch, your jaw fall slack.

“I’ve been hard for you for ten fucking nights,” he rasps against your collarbone. “You think I’m letting you play games? You think I’m letting you tease me, ride me slow like you’re in charge?”

He pulls back, just enough to look you in the eye.

“You’re not in charge tonight, sweetheart. I am.”

He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t ease you into it.

He fucks up into you like it’s punishment for making him wait—hands bruising your hips, his mouth hot against your throat, his body straining under yours like he’s holding back from breaking the whole damn truck apart.

Your skirt rides up higher. Your knees scramble for leverage. The windows fog, the air thick with the slap of skin, the creak of leather, your name torn from his throat like he’s never tasted anything better.

His hand slides up your spine, fingers threading through the chain around your neck. His dog tags. His.

And then he yanks.

Not hard. Not cruel. Just enough.

Enough to snap your head back. Enough to leave you gasping. Enough to remind you—he’s home now.

He thrusts up, harder now, sharper. You cry out, clinging to his shoulders, your body unraveling under every precise, unrelenting movement.

“You wanted me to lose it. Wanted to feel me snap.”

“Jack—please—”

His fingers twist the chain tighter, the metal cool against your throat. “You wanted this? You take it.”

Another thrust. And another.

He’s all teeth and tongue now—biting at your jaw, kissing you deep, swearing against your skin like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

You feel your orgasm building hard and fast, coiled tight in your belly.

And he knows. Of course he knows.

“There she is,” he whispers, voice almost gentle in contrast to how he’s fucking you. “You gonna come on me, baby? Hm? Let go for me?”

You nod, eyes wide, breath ragged. “Jack—God—Jack—”

“That’s it,” he says, and he fucks you through it. “Come for me. Come now.”

And when it hits, it slams into you—your whole body tensing, toes curling, nails digging into his chest, a moan torn from your throat that doesn’t sound like anything you’ve ever made before.

He fucks you through it—relentless, controlled—until your walls flutter around him and your body starts to fold.

That’s when he lets go.

He growls your name, hips bucking once, twice—and then he’s buried deep, his jaw clenched, eyes shut. Like he’s finally home.

He stays there. Doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t move.

Just holds you.

One arm around your waist. The other still curled in the chain around your neck.

Breathing hard. Pressing kisses to your chest like prayers.

You let a beat pass. Then two.

You shift slightly, still filled. Still aching.

Then you lean back and smirk.

He notices immediately.

“What,” he says flatly, eyes opening just enough to pin you in place, “is that look.”

You blink, all wide-eyed and faux-sweet. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

He raises a brow. “Surprised.”

You nod. Slow. A little too pleased with yourself. “Mmhmm. I thought you were gonna ruin me.”

Jack exhales through his nose. Once. Controlled. His jaw shifts.

“Careful.”

You shrug, grinding down just a little—not enough to be obvious. Just enough for him to feel it.

“I mean… it was good,” you say lightly. “Don’t get me wrong.”

His hand flexes on your hip. Hard.

“But I was expecting…” you trail off, eyes dancing, “more.”

Jack’s quiet.

Too quiet.

Then: “You done?”

You grin. “I don’t know. Are you?”

“No,” he says calmly. “You’re done.”

He shifts under you, cock hardening again. Already thick. Already ready.

Your smirk starts to fade.

But it’s too late.

You’re about to get it.

backseat

Summary: Carmy can’t wait until he gets home to have you

Warnings: general filth. Semi public sex? piv with no protection

Word count: 1.6k

A/N this is all inspired by this lovely ask that I’ll link here. Not proof read at all if you’re reading this the day of posting 💀

Carmy is the definition of a pent up ball of frustration as he scrubs the floor of the kitchen.

It's practically spotless in the first place, but he's determined to wipe down every square inch of the room. He's already taken off his chef whites, wearing his white shirt underneath. The one that hugs his muscles with his every moment.

Service was an absolute mess, and his tedious cleaning of the kitchen is evidence of it. He always stays late after a shift like that, needing some way to release all of his energy so he stands a chance sleeping when finally gets home.

You're leaning on the counter watching Carmy clean. You've already cleaned the stoves twice, and checked all the dates on the food in the walk-in—twice. Carmy finally rises to his feet, but not to leave.

It seems he somehow spots something worthy of wiping down the countertops yet again. That's your last straw.

"Carmy—look at the clock,” you say, pointing to the digital clock on the wall. “It's already midnight. Everything in this kitchen has been cleaned a dozen times. Can we go home, now?"

His arms flex as he takes a rag and begins to wipe the surface. " it’s not good enough," he mumbles, not taking the time to look up at you.

You resort to the only thing you can do that'll distract him immediately. Your hand reaches to squeeze his arm, making him face you. His eyebrows are already scrunched up in a frown like he was about to protest. Your other hand goes up to his cheek as you lean in to kiss him, and every ounce of protest he has in him melts away. He drops the rag on the counter and grabs your waist. You deepen the kiss—or at least try to before Carmy pulls away.

He’s beginning to walk towards the back door before you can even react. “C’mon,”

He says quickly, nodding his head towards the door. “Not going to make out with you here—just cleaned the whole place.” Carmy’s already pulled his keys out of his pocket, ready to lock up as soon as you’re out the door.

You think he’s about to start the car and drive you both home, so you head towards the passenger side door while Carmy locks up. “No. Backseat.” He mumbles, walking up behind you and opening the door for you to get in first. He follows, hopping in and closing the door.

He’s the one to act first this time. His hand grabs you by the jaw and pulls you to his lips. You moan into the kiss, grabbing onto his arms for support. His muscles flex underneath your palms, a subtle reminder of just how strong he is compared to you.

The way Carmy kisses you is intoxicating, licking into your mouth like he’s trying to devour you.

His free hand tugs at your waist, urging you to get on top of him.

You straddle his hips as you fall deeper into the kiss. Your hands touch him everywhere. You squeeze at the muscles of his arms, thread your fingers through his hair, and push down against the tense muscles of his stomach.

You cradle his face in your hands and pull back for a moment. His pupils are blown wide, and his mouth is shiny with a mix of your saliva and his. Your eyes trail down to his lips, focusing on them. They’re flushed and swollen from the kisses.

Your thumb reaches out to trace his bottom lip, pressing lightly on the skin. “You’re so pretty, Carm,” you whisper gaze transfixed on his mouth. He groans the second the words leave your lips.

“Fuckin’ hell—you know you can’t just say things like that, baby.

“But it’s true, and I don’t say it enough.” You finally remove your hand from his face, moving it to his arm instead. Your finger traces the lines of his tattoos. “Every part of you is pretty.”

His hands trace up your spine at that, pushing your shirt up. His fingers are gentle against your skin, but push the fabric up hastily.

“Want this off—wanna see you.” You giggle at Carmy’s eagerness, but nod quickly at his statement. You help him take your shirt off, trying not to hit your head on the roof of the car in the process.

His bright blue eyes take in the newly exposed skin. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, but he always traces his eyes over your body like he’s seeing it for the first time.

Naturally, your hands reach back to unclasp your bra, but Carmy stops you before you can undo the clasp. “No, no—keep it on. I love this one on you,” he mutters. The bra you have on is his favorite; he picked it out himself a few months ago.

Carmy leans in to start pressing kisses onto your neck. His hands multitask while he sucks at your pulse, first getting your pants button undone before tackling his belt. You already know at this point that you’ll have quite a few marks above your shirt collar to conceal in the morning.

You crawl off of him to pull down your pants and underwear, discarding them on the car floor before he tugs you by the arm to straddle him again.

Carmy can’t help his wandering hands. The second your back on top of him, his hand travels up your thigh to your center. He lets out a rough groan at the feeling of your wetness on his fingertips.

“Holy shit you’re wet—thinking about me all service?” Yeah? That why you were so eager to leave the kitchen?”When you don’t reply immediately, two of his fingers press against your clit, making you gasp.

He lifts up his hips to push his jeans and underwear down far enough to free his cock. He doesn’t care enough to remove anymore clothing.

Carmy holds his length, and traces the head through your folds, thoroughly slicking up his dick. You whine at the sensation of him at your entrance, so close to where you need him.

“Please. Don’t wanna be teased—need you Carm,” you beg.

“Go ahead then, baby. Sit on my cock.”

Wasting no time, you sink down onto his length slowly, burying your face into his shoulder as you whimper at the stretch. He grabs your hips more firmly than before, not letting you take too much at once.

“Shh—I know, baby. Feels really deep like this, yeah?”

“Mm—“

“Doing so good. Just keep taking it nice and easy—almost there.” He gives your hips a squeeze of assurance as he guides you to sink down further onto him.

You both moan loudly when you finally bottom out on his cock. Your hips are completely flush with his as you take a moment to catch your breath. Carmy removes one of his hands from your waist to tug your head out of the crook of his neck.

“There, now I can see my pretty girl,” he whispers.

You move your hips in slow deep grinds first, stimulating your clit at the same time. Carmy’s looking up at you like you’re an angel in his presence. His mouth is dropped open trying to take a breath while he watches you ride him. Carmy let’s you go at your own pace for awhile, but he grows restless.

His hands grasp onto your hips and push them down on him, nudging his cock even deeper inside of you. His moves a hand to the small of your back and urges you to rock against him. “That’s it—J’st like that—good girl.”

“Carmy—Carmy, Carmy, Carmy,” you whimper, voice full of need. “Please, I can’t—“

“Need me to help?”

Your legs have grown tired, the leather of the seat digging into your knees. “Mhm, please.”

In the next moment, he’s wrapping both of his arms tightly around your body. With his strong arms, he lifts you up and starts slamming his hips into yours.

You hide your face in his neck again, clinging to his body as he thrusts into you at a rapid pace. The angle makes his cock hit right up against that spongy spot deep inside you.

You can’t hold back the whines you’re releasing; Carmy knows every spot to hit to bring you to orgasm.

“Fuck—“ he groans. “Look, look at the windows,” he says. His voice is rough, like he’s barely holding on from falling over the edge. You lift your head to listen to him. The windows are covered in a dense layer of fog from all the heavy breathing.

“See that? Look at what we did—just couldn’t wait to have me could you?” He’s not expecting an answer. He knows you’re too close to form a coherent sentence, so he keeps up the pace of his hips.

He continues to hold you up with his right arm, but lets his left hand slide between your bodies so he can circle your clit with this thumb. That’s all it takes for your peak to wash over you as your legs shake from the high.

The pulsing of your cunt around his dick brings Carmy quickly to orgasm, spilling deep inside of you.

You rest in Carmy’s arms, trying to finally catch your breath. His head leans back against the headrest as he groans. “Fuck—now I really don’t feel like driving home.”

“Well maybe next time we can try to leave the restaurant at a normal time and this wouldn’t happen.”

You don’t miss the look in Carmy’s eye before he speaks. “What if I want it to happen again,” he says with a boyish grin.

I need this man in a way that is concerning to feminism.

What is he DOING I JUST SAW THIS VIDEO ON TWITTER

The fucking bedroom eyes THE SLUTTY OPEN COLLAR WHAT IS HE DOING WHAAAATTtatatat

📷 saskialawaks

need to be passed between jack and robby like a blunt at a party if i’m honest

tw: language, smut, threesome (mmf), dirty talk, bodily fluids (mentioned), f!reader, soft dom!rabbot, sub(ish)!reader, abbot and robby knowing each other really well, oral (m+ f receiving), riding, unprotected sex, creampie; please remember this is fiction <3 mdni/+18.

your attendings have had you like this forever, and you aren't sure how much longer you can take it.

jack sitting sturdy on robby's couch, cock out and stroking with one hand while the other wraps around your front to flick at your nipple. robby kneeling in front of you to bump his nose into your clit before sucking it with a spit-covered tongue.

and you–at the center, reclined against jack's middle, one of your legs thrown over robby's shoulders, and squirming every time either of them moans. lulling your head, you blink at the fat head of jack's cock and stick out your tongue.

jack grins for half a second, obliging you with a rub of the tip along your top lip before just barely lifting his hips to let you slip it further into your mouth. eyes soothing shut, you whimper at the salt that flashes across your tastebuds as your tongue snakes along the bottom of the his head.

the groan this pulls from jack catches the attention of robby, who grunts at the sight of abbot cock poking against the side of your cheek.

"keep sucking him just like that," robby commands in a soft gravel, pulling away but kind enough to not let you steep in the cold of missing him for too long. he kneels on the couch, leg bending to slip inside you at the perfect angle.

robby bottoms out with a punched breath, head back and throat bobbing as he swallows to keep his composure. he can't look at you or jack when he starts to fuck you, every hit of his middle against yours jerking your mouth back and forth onto jack's cock.

"son of a bitch, she's tight," robby rasps to no one yet it still makes jack smile through his latest shuddering moan as the men ease into a sweet pattern. jack, pushing his member across your tongue whenever robby's pulls backward. robby, plunging himself as deep as you'll let him as jack draw out his cock until the only thing you can suck at is his leaking tip.

a noise–a single, muffled word–sounds out of you and robby doesn't stop when he tilts his head to hear you better.

"what was that, sweetheart?"

"harder," jack answers for you through a bitten lip. "fuck her harder, mike."

"happy to oblige," declares, a suave tint to his voice as he takes a moment to blow out a quick breath.

with one palm on your side and the other clutching abbots thigh, robby quickens his pace. the three of you gasp and pant at every buck of his hips that starts to slam into yours at a new vigor.

you're staring to forget how to think about anything else except the two men filling you full, and it's every thing.

"yeeeah, give me that pussy, baby. let me fuck my cum into you so jack can fuck it deeper."

you're drooling through your moans all over jack's girth, choking with a few gags when his head grazes the back of your throat.

"that's right," robby wheezes out at your wet coughs. "gag on it, angel. he likes it messy, don't you, dr. abbot?"

"oh, you know it, dr. robby," jack rasps back, nudging his cock a few inches deeper until robby can see the buldge in your throat. he lets his cock pulse for a few short seconds before pulling back and patting your cheek as you gasp for air. "fuck yeah. attagirl."

robby's hips falter just a tad and he releases a short wail.

"mmm," he hums out, resuming his rhythm with a flushed face. "'m almost there. this pussy's too sweet for an old man like me..."

popping his cock from your mouth, abbot plants a hand under your chin and tilts your eyes his way.

"use those pretty words and tell him how much you want it, gorgeous. how much you need him to fill you up so you're nice and ready for me... and make sure to use his first name, too. he'll bust quicker."

a sound seeps out from the back of robby's throat, and he throws a side eye at jack's wink. the look melts into hooded-eyes and a dropped jaw when his drags his stare back to you.

"fuck, i want it," you sob out, lids fluttering a little at the feeling of robby's cock still driving inside you, touching somewhere warm and deep. "want it so bad, mikey, please–"

"oooh," robby groans, softening into a round of shaking along with and clenched eyes as he comes cause that's just not fair. his cock twitches over and over again, hunching to spill out his load on unsteady legs.

robby doesn't slide out of you until he knows he's present enough to help lower onto jack. the maneuvering happens with practiced simplicity.

jack parts spreads his thighs in a backwards lean, while you clench and stand. robby grabs your waist as you tilt against jack, who plants a kiss on your shoulder before lining his tip with your slit.

"jesus, you weren't kidding, rob," jack breathes out as you sink down.

"well, it'd be rude to joke about somebody as pretty as her, wouldn't it?" robby teases, eyes big and soft while he stares into you. he waits until jack's cock is all the way inside you before once again leaning onto the couch, this time on both knees.

you groan while robby settles himself, smushing you between both of their bodies. he guides one of your arms to hang around his thick neck, and you hiss as jack wastes no time thrusting up into you.

"use me to fuck him, sweetheart. hold my neck 'n bounce on it," robby mumbles, hand placing over the one abbot has on your hip.

"he's big," you slur to robby, arm bringing him impossibly closer. his cock slicks between to two of you, half hard and already throbbing again. "feels good."

jack's hips flinch at your words, and he shoves his cock deeper. you meet his thrusts with determined bounces, groaning at the sound of your ass slapping back against him.

he might be a inch or two shorter than robby, but jack's thickness has him rubbing at your walls with a force that make you sound as cock drunk as you feel. robby swallows most of them with a feverish kisses.

"don't forget to breathe, j," robby reminds against your mouth.

"fuck, 'm trying," jack wheezes out with a huff not one second later, causing robby to smile. "she's just so fuckin' warm, man."

using robby as leverage you and jack form an almost brutal pace. you clench around him at the perfect time, and jack has found a curve of his hips that drag his head against a spot that makes you hold robby tighter.

you're creaming out something devastating around jack, robby's load blending with the juices as well as you ride the man.

"wanna come," you plead, legs becoming so tired that you have to stop. the pause is swiftly ended by robby, who clasps you tight with certain arms.

he and jack work in tandem to drag you up and down jack's member, and your hands reach out to clutch both of them. the two catch eyes over your shoulder, and neither find the will to look away. robby groans quietly, the friction of your stomach enough to have his own cock rock solid and leaking once more.

"taking it like a damn champ, gorgeous," jack praises behind you, sweaty and panting. "take both of us so well. how 'bout i paint your insides just like mike did for being such a good girl, huh?"

seeing that you're teetering on the edge, robby reaches to grab his cock and glides the head across your clit. the sensation is more than enough to yank your orgasm from you, and you wail out with pulsing walls.

jack is following you soon after, clutching you with ragged breaths, pumping you well and full with rolling eyes and a myriad of profanities. his grip wraps around your waist, forcing you to unhook from robby's neck and roll completely into his front.

using the space, robby takes a quick hand to his cock. his eyebrows pinch and his chest jumps, abbot using your pussy to out milking the last of his cum out just as robby finishes again with a grunt.

he presses his head at where you and abbot meet, spurting out impressive ropes of thick cum. robby continues to smear his load, abbot adding to the action by using his finger to rub what robby doesn't catch into your swollen clit.

when you try and squirm, jack's hand moves up to rest against your throat. he pulls you back even further this time, pressing as far as he can into the couch and keeps you still with a gentle grip around your throat. robby watches the scene with heavy silence and dark eyes.

"now, where do you think you're going?"

jack's question hits low and hot against your ear.

"if he gets two... so do i, doll."

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

"for you, i would" is such a gentle n sweet love language like no maybe i wouldn't usually do this but i would love to do it if it would make you happy

strangers.

Pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Female!Reader/Slight Original Female Character (No names or y/n used but called Angel as a nickname) Summary: As you stare down the barrel of residency, stress, and anxiety, you decide that one last carefree night is what you needed. And a stranger in a bar is exactly what the doctor ordered. Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, age gap relationship (older man/younger woman), hook up culture, Soft!Dom Robby, overstimulation Crossposted to AO3

“You’re too pent up angel, we need to get you laid and fast- because I’m not going into our intern year with you practically foaming at the mouth.” Elbow digging into his ribs, you scoff. You’re fine. So it’s been 2 years since you’ve had sex? You can use your fingers, it’s worked since you were 15- it’ll work another few years. But lately it hasn’t been enough and the daunting stress of your impending residency years have you wanting to chew concrete. 

“Frankie I’m fine-” you grumble, nursing your beer because if you drink any faster you’ll just get another. And another. And another and that’s not good because tomorrow is your first day and-

“What about him?” He cut you off- nodding not so secretly to the man on your left a few stools away. Um- no. He looked like Langdon- freshman year, frat boy status with his cap backwards that’s no doubt hiding a receding hairline. And the frat boy look would’ve worked if he didn’t look well past the appropriate age. 

“Okay- picky, picky, um- him?” Nodding to the younger bartender, slicked back hair and probably weighed 100 pounds soaking wet. No. That was a child. You’re never letting Langdon set you up again- what’s he blind? You consider scheduling an eye exam for him when-

“Oh sure- definitely him.” Frank points his beer towards the other side of the bar with a smirk and sarcasm laced laugh. But- well? He did look handsome, tapping away at his phone with a beer in his hand. Dark hair- heavy, full looking beard, soft sad eyes you can see from here but you couldn’t tell the color yet- brown maybe. Broad shoulders, hoodie pushed up right under his elbows to show his strong forearms. Oh. Oh he might work actually. And Langdon can feel you perk up a bit- okay clearly you liked them older then. Well- if that’s what you wanted- fuck it he guesses. if you like it- he loves it. 

“Him? I was joking- I mean, maybe the old man can lay it down who knows?” You roll your eyes but- you were honestly intrigued. He was handsome enough that you didn’t think he would be alone or- well single. And you’re studying his face and the way the beer or his phone look so small in his hands and his eyes meet you- quickly snapping up from his phone and locking onto yours. Fuck. Quickly you look away, moving your head even to make it all the more obvious. But he didn’t look away. He clocked you the moment you sauntered in the bar with the guy next to you. The way your dress swished around your thighs. The way you threw your head back laughing at something your boyfriend, must be your boyfriend because there’s no way you were single. He watched you take a sip of your beer, looking down at the bar still and slowly drag your eyes up to meet his again. Fuck he was still looking at you- dark eyes not leaving yours and it was slightly unsettling but so fucking thrilling. Okay- maybe this could work out in your favor. 

“Oh- okay he likes what he sees then?” Frank mumbles around the rim of the bottle, nudging you with his knee a bit. I mean- you have to be confident. Right? Hell yeah he likes what he sees. He should right? You’re hot, smart, a fucking doctor in your prime. He should want you. No reason that he shouldn’t want you. Other than him being taken. Or gay. Or just uninterested in you as a whole but you’ll keep the confidence for now. “Go-“ Frank nudged you again. If he’s good for anything it’s going to be getting his best friend laid tonight. It’ll help his stress more than yours. You don’t go. Not yet. Fucking butterflies in your gut aren’t drowning with the alcohol. Dammit you don’t remember how to flirt. But you and him are playing eye tag across the bar now. Eyes meeting in a game of chicken- who will break contact first. It’s you. Always you. And maybe you’re not interested in him, he thinks. Maybe you’re being polite. But you’re just working up some more nerve because- ok fuck it. Fine. You’ll bite. 

“Don’t wait up Frankie” patting his shoulder you hop off the stool in the most graceful way you can manage.

“Have fun,” he finishes the rest of your beer while throwing you some unsolicited remarks, “remember we have to be at the hospital at 8, call me if you need me, use protecti-“ but your annoyed look ceased his rambling. The man across the bar watched you, watched you fucking float over to him in your short dress like a damn sign from god telling him to enjoy himself for once. Nervously chewing at your lip and pulling at your fingers, looking anywhere but at him while you walk over. You could still turn back to Frank, or pass the gorgeous man sitting alone at the bar to act like you were going to the restroom but- no. No, you are getting laid tonight. One last hurrah of your ”carefree“ twenties because the remaining few years will be dedicated to Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital. You needed to relax. You fucking deserved this. And this is all before you talk to him- he hasn’t even told you his name yet and you’re nervous. At least let him agree to sex first. 

“This seat taken?” God that sounded awful, so fucking cliche and awkward and you should just apologize and turn around but-

“Waiting for you actually” he smiles, grabbing the stool and pulling it out a bit for you. Okay. So far so good then? You settle into the seat and start to awkwardly scoot yourself closer to the counter but- his hand grabs one of the stool legs and pulls you closer to the counter, closer to him- your knees brushing against each other just barely to where you can register the rough fabric of his jeans on your bare knee. Oh. Oh he was strong and the way his arm flexed and- okay. Focus. 

“Do you always drink with that look on your face?” You tilt your head, meaning it more playfully than it came out but- he did have this, sad look about him. Exhausted look behind his eyes and- you could relate really. These last almost two years have been hell. 

“And what look would that be sweetheart?” Okay, he’s taken the bait then. Good. Flirt. Flirt fucking hard. 

“Like you’re just daring someone to interrupt you.” You tuck a strand of your hair behind your ears, maintaining eye contact but break it- just for a second to trail your eyes down to his lips that were framed with a thick dark beard, dusted in spots with grey.

“Maybe I am?” He sees your eyes, sees the way they watch him. How they darken when you speak and- maybe he can play along. It’s harmless. That’s what bars are for right?

“Might be off putting to some,” you shrug, reaching over to take a small handful of the shitty bar mixed nuts, just needing to occupy your hands, “but I do like a challenge.”

“Is that right? Someone as innocent looking as you?” Goading you, seeing if you’re all talk or- or if you’d actually want to come home with him. He doesn’t do this. He doesn’t know how to pick girls up at the bar. 

“You’d be surprised what some strangers are like after a few drinks. Let me buy you another and we can reevaluate?” Waving the bartender over you ask for another round of beers- not waiting for his answer because you play to win, and dammit this prize looked handsome. Older, definitely taller than you, broad shoulders and you squeeze your thighs together tight because you can just imagine his beard-

“I’ll take that challenge then” winking, he takes a long sip of his replenished beer after clinking it with yours. Maybe this was a success? Is it working? 

“Good- I’m a girl that likes to win.” He tries to not stare, not look at the innocent way your lips wrap themselves around the rim of the bottle- swallowing the bitter taste and licking your fucking lips after you do. Fuck- was that on purpose?

“Then I guess we’re no longer strangers,” he turns, extending his hand out to yours, “Michael.” Oh. His hands were big, warm, calloused- heavy. 

“Angel.” Your smile was sweet, fuck. You looked up at him beneath batting eyelashes and your hands were so soft, smaller in his. He has to force himself to take his hand from yours because he’d fucking hold it all night if you’d let him.

“Your boyfriend going to be okay with you chatting me up?” He nods over to Langdon who was awkwardly drumming his hands on the bar top- a poor attempt at making himself look busy while he stares you both down from the corner of his eye, just in case you need him to rescue you.

“Who? Him? Oh- definitely not my boyfriend. Roommate.” You didn’t have time to regale Michael with the saga of Frank and Angel, it was almost a decade long and many didn’t understand the bond you two shared. So- roommate was what Langdon has been demoted to tonight. He relaxes a bit, thanking god because he’s been in weird situations where couple ask if he’d join them and he’s too fucking old and tired for this poly shit- barely has time for monogamous relationships. You both fall into an easy conversation. He finds out you’re new in town, just moved a week ago for a new job. And you don’t exactly talk about residency right away. Some men find it intimidating if you mention being a doctor right away so- you just pretend you’re someone else tonight. Someone confident and who is used to picking up strangers in a bar. He’s charming. Charming and funny and he loves the way you’re laughing at his little sarcastic jokes and you’re witty and so fucking pretty. He thinks he can do this. He can be the guy that takes home the girl from the bar- at least once right? Jack is always telling him to have fun, to not be so uptight, to fucking go to therapy but until he does go- this will definitely suffice because you’re so close now, leg almost fucking thrown over his under the counter and he can smell the intoxicating aroma of your perfume and like a fucking siren-

“Wanna get out of here?” Low- so low he almost didn’t fucking hear it but- the way you’re looking up at him through your lashes and wet your lips with a dart of your tongue and- fuck yes he wants to get out of here. He smiles, nods and pushes back from the counter to step off the stool and holds out his hand for you to hold as you hop off your own stool. And you don’t pull your hand away- he doesn’t pull his hand away as he waves bye to the older bartender. He’s been coming here for years- bar that’s close to home that he can walk to, bartender who gives him free drinks because of the work he does. And you both just- walk. Walk down the street hand in hand like you’re not practically bouncing and itching to kiss him. The breeze is nice and the conversation is still so easy- he looks at you when you talk, asks questions and adds constructive comments while ducking his head to miss a few branches that you can easily walk under. 

His house was nice, quiet neighborhood with a classic single family style look- a porch where he reads the paper, sipping coffee on his day off. And you feel nervous again. Butterflies swarming around in your belly and you have no more alcohol to drown them in because his hand is on your lower back, ushering you inside. It was quiet- simple. You can admire his style while you take off your shoes- from the old record player in the corner of the living room, the shelves of books along the walls where you can make out a title or two that you’ve been dying to read. You thumb through his books, running your fingers along the spines and he has his hands in his hoodie, watching you with desire creeping up in his gut. What were you doing here with him? You were so pretty and smart and funny and- he stops thinking because now you’re rounding his couch and settling into the plush fabric while holding your hand out to him. Okay. Okay he can do this. You can do this. He unzips his hoodie, laying it on the arm of the couch.

“Yes?” He asks smugly, coming to sit next to you on his couch. Taking your hand in his- he kisses your palm, beard tickling gently- then kisses up to your wrist. He can smell the dab of perfume that you sprayed as he kisses gently. Why was this so hot? Letting him kiss up your arm and you don’t realize you’re leaning closer with each kiss until you’re face to face now- 

“Can I kiss you?” It comes out barely above a whisper- as if you’re still unsure if he wants this with you like he didn’t just kiss and lick up your arm a second ago. And he laughs- soft and lightheartedly because yes, yes you can fucking kiss him. He’d beg for your soft lips on his and he doesn’t have to wait much longer now as you’re surging forward- knocking into him and throwing yourself in his lap. Okay- maybe you were a little too eager and you’re about to apologize but his hands are in your hair now and- oh this is good. He kisses so eagerly and bites your lip with a tug when he pulls back to look at you and you’re both breathing hard now after just a fucking minute of kissing. Everything feels hot and too much and his hands are on your thighs now- dragging up to your hips from under your dress and he’s actually toying with the band of your underwear now, snapping it absentmindedly. You just- it’s hot and you’re needy and you have to take initiative so you’re pulling your dress up and over your head and he groans. One hand pulls the cup of your bra down and he trails light kisses down your neck, coming up to the swell of your breast and bites- sucking a soothing mark into the stinging feeling and your hands tug at his hair now. 

“Let me taste you angel,” he begs, feeling how you grind into his lap- desperately, for some sort of relief. He mumbles against your chest rubbing his beard a little and grinning at the way you gasp at the sensation while he’s easily unclasping your bra with one hand and tossing it on the floor like it’s offended him. He doesn’t give you a chance to answer- grabs your ass to grind harder into him while sucking galaxies along your breasts. “Just- fuck let me use my mouth on you, please?” He’s fucking begging to eat you out? Is he actually? He is. He hasn’t fucked in so long and he knows you’ll taste amazing and if that’s all you want is to cum on his face and in his beard  he’ll be happy but-

“I don’t- I’ve never really,” you try to find the words- try to think but the way you can feel him under the rough seam of his jeans has you mindless at the moment. “It’s not my favorite.” You weren’t lying- the few times you’ve had someone between your thighs you just, laid there. Waiting until they were done because it was weird and your clit actually was a few inches to the left and-

“No?” Michael forces himself to pull away from your chest, holding your hips still from grinding and you whine a little- “do you not- like it? If you absolutely don’t want to I understand but-“

“No- no, it’s not that I just-“ you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks now. You’re practically naked in his lap and you’re having this conversation and- “it just feels weird.” You shrug. It did feel weird. Most guy just mindlessly lick and miss your clit and you can easily just use your own fingers and-

“Can I try? Please baby?” God he was begging. Maybe- maybe it’ll be good? Wordlessly, you nod- sit back on the couch to let him kneel in front of you and fuck- it was a sight. On his knees, kissing up your ankle while he slides your underwear down. Okay. Okay, fuck- this was happening. Definitely happening now as he easily pulls you by your knees and slides them over his shoulders. You were mouthwatering. Absolutely appetizing. Wet and glistening in the moonlight for him- whispering for him to taste and he actually moans when he looks. 

“Lemme take care of you.” He sighs, readying his tongue between your folds.

“Yeah- sure oka- shit!” You roll your eyes back with a scream, arching your back to where it’s not even touching the couch anymore and the only thing that’s keeping you from ascending to the fucking heavens is the way he has you caged to him. Both legs thrown over his shoulders, forearms around the tops of your thighs and keeping you still. So fucking still- but open for him because his shoulders are massive and wide and you’ll feel the stretch tomorrow for sure. But you can’t seem to care right now. You’ve been on edge for at least an hour now since you’ve met him and are unbearably wet. It would be embarrassing really. He’s licked a single stripe up your cunt and- fuck. His tongue is hot, wet, flat and slowly dragging up your cunt and his beard gives a fucking heavenly scratch against your thighs and- fuck. He’s staring at you. And starting from right below your entrance, trailing so devastatingly slow up to your clit- his eyes never closing or breaking contact. Once he reaches your clit- he swirls his tongue around it for good measure before closing his lips around it and sucks. Fuck. And he was fucking moaning- finally closing his eyes and enjoying the way you tasted and how one of your hands has taken hold in his hair now, pulling just a little. God he was fucking good and you know you’re about to cum soon and it’s going to be so fucking good. He wasn’t lying- it does feel good. You haven’t had sex in so long, hadn’t really even had much time to take care of yourself between prepping for tomorrow and moving and- fuck you were already feeling that swell of ecstasy. 

“Good?” He mumbles, smirking against your wet lips and you want to slap his stupid fucking gorgeous face because you can hear the fucking sarcasm in his voice as he’s clearly trying to prove a point now. And you can only nod but- “say it- look at me and tell me how good you feel angel.” Fuck. He’s stopped- you can just feel the ends of his beard against you and you try to grind into it but he’s so much stronger than you are and his eyes are dark and beseeching you to tell him how good his tongue is. How good is fucking mouth feels against your throbbing pussy and-

“Fuck- fuck yes it’s so fucking good Michael please just- don’t stop please baby I need-“ you don’t get to finish your babbles and whimpers because his lips have wrapped themselves around your clit again and you’re melting into his damn couch now. Sinking into the fabric and the only movement you can make is pulling his hair and using the heels of your feet to pull him closer to you. He teases a finger inside, just one and tries to not moan at how tight it feels. Just testing the waters- then another. One more of his thick heavy fingers getting easily sucked into you and it was tight. You’ve had your own for so long but his already have you seeing stars behind your eyes and- he’s pulling them out. No. No no wait. And he laughs because he hears you groan- looking up and he’s replacing his hand back to keep you still and he drags his tongue back down again, swiping at your entrance and shoving it deep inside while one of his thumbs start slow circles around your clit. He was fucking good, knew exactly what he was doing. His other hand finds purchase on your chest- roughly tugging at your nipples and pinching. You’re going to cum, and you’re going to cum in his mouth, and it’s going to be amazing. His tongue- while still inside you is shoved up along your top wall and licks back and forth slowly while working the same pace with his thumb on your clit. Fuck. Your nerves are on fire. Your body contracts and arches into him more as you cry out from your orgasm. Fuck it was good. Slow and steady and creeping up along your body. You’re whining his name and he’s letting you roll your hips into his mouth to ride out the heat and waves. 

He was watching you. The entire time. Eyes focused on how you’d bite your lip, throw your head back, use your other hand to grab your breast and you were fucking gorgeous. Fucking ethereal and unreal- cumming on his tongue and whimpering his name so sweetly. And when you finally open your eyes you’re giggling, the adrenaline pumping through your body and you’re pulling him up by his collar to kiss him and taste yourself on his tongue. God he needed you. He needed to bury himself inside you now because he was impossibly hard at the moment and wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand not knowing what you felt like.

“Good angel?” Like he didn’t already know the answer- but you’re still smiling and can barely nod before he stands- tugging you to sit up. “C’mon baby, up-“ easily, he grabs you from the couch and you cling to him- bare legs wrapping around his waist and you can feel how hard he is through his jeans. “I need you so fucking bad sweetheart.” Grunting into the kiss you’ve dragged him into by a tug of his hair- he’s maneuvering through his living room and down the hall to his bedroom but you’re grinding into him now, desperately needing some friction even though he tongue fucked an orgasm out of you minutes ago. “Fuck-“ he stops, tripping almost over the feeling of your bare pussy over him- he’s pushing you against his doorway for a moment and the corner of the wood digging into your back but he takes just a second to compose himself and- “just wait, fuck- just wait until I’m inside you.” You’re not sure if that was a threat- or he’s telling himself to hold out from blowing his load all over his jeans before he’s hand a chance to fuck you into his mattress like he planned. maybe both. Definitely both. 

You get placed on his bed- gently and you look up at him with anticipation in your eyes as your hands reach up to capture the hem of his shirt and drag it upwards while you rise to your knees to be eye level. He had never been shy really, he was painfully aware that he doesn’t have the same body he did when he was 20 but- the way your eyes hungrily took him in? He did feel a small pang of insecurity. You were at least 15 years younger than he was, could’ve went home with any one from that fucking bar but you’re here now- in his bed, pulling his belt from the loops of his jeans and dragging the zipper down almost torturously slow. And your eyes didn’t leave his. You smiled. You kissed him. You pulled his jeans down and fucking gasped. Oh. It was- well it was fucking bigger than you expected that’s for damn sure. Your mouth watered, and you feel young and inexperienced all over again because you’re tentatively touching him, just a slow drag of your index finger along the length and he shudders. He was hard- but it was so heavy and thick, his cock wasn’t even able to be held up, the sheer gravity of it kept him hanging deliciously low and you leaned down to take a swipe at it with your tongue, desperate for a taste- but he stopped you. 

“No- don’t- I need you now-“ he rasped, forcing himself to tell you no, stroking your cheek and shoving you as gently as he could to lay back on his bed. “I can’t wait any longer sweetheart.” He wants nothing more than to fuck your mouth- have your pretty little eyes watering and looking up at him with your lips wrapped around his cock and drooling for more. But he’s even more desperate to be inside you. He’s tasted you- felt you clench around his tongue and if stuffing his cock in you is half as good as eating your pussy, then Michael needs to fuck you now. He’s crawling up the bed with you, kicking off his jeans and kissing your lips in a firm kiss, tongue licking into your mouth and swirling around yours as he grabs your thighs to come around his waist, feeling the blunt tip of him at your wet entrance. He settles above you- one of his hands holding your thighs open while the other comes to rest atop his headboard- swiping his cock along your folds to tease and collect at the juices that have dripped and finally- he pushes inside you.

“Oh- f-fuck-“ You don’t think you’ve ever gasped when someone stuck it in before. You’re sure of it. Because you would remember this feeling. You would have remembered it because of the way Michael’s feels. Splitting you open, pushing slowly through your tight walls. You’re wet. You’re so fucking wet and where you weren’t naturally wet with your own juices- his own mouth took care of that for you. The only resistance was his size- the tightness of your pussy contracting and working the sheer girth of him through. Fuck. Fuck it’s good. It hurts in the way that feels so fucking right. You feel rearranged, feel him not even fully sheathed within you and- god he still has more? It’s been so fucking long since you’ve had anything besides your own fingers inside you and his were already stretch to begin with earlier. It hurt so fucking good and you whine when he pushed deeper inside you- tensing your thighs around his waist and dragging your nails down his back. 

“Almost angel, fuck- fuck almost I-“ God he was already losing what little sense of control he had. He hasn’t had sex in ages and you were so tight and wet and sounded so pretty underneath him and he’s trying to ride out every clench you give around him- but fuck it’s hard. It’s so fucking hard when you’re whining his name and he’s not even fully buried inside you yet. “You’re doing so good for me baby, so good. Almost. Little more ok?” He moans, dropping his head down to kiss your lips because you’re biting them, biting at your lower lip to keep composed because you already feel the waves of another orgasm crawling up your spine and dancing along every fucking nerve that wasn’t burnt from the last one.

It’s hot. Fucking searing. Your orgasm slams into you all at once. The first one was a crescendo of ecstasy that his tongue slowly pulled from your body and let you ride out with it. This? White hot pleasure- ripping into your soul. You feel it in your bones, rattling and shaking with each fucking wave. You make no noise, can’t even fucking breathe because you’re sure whatever neurons you have left have been fried by the way he felt. He wasn’t even fully seated in you, a little over halfway- shoved tightly inside your walls and your body just, gave in. Gave into the indulgent way his cock was inching its way inside you, rubbing up against that spot that your fingers can never quite reach- stroking along with nowhere else to go besides deeper. Of course you came that easily- there was nothing but delicious fucking friction from the way Michael was wedging himself between your legs and how the bit of hair at the top of his cock rubbed so mouthwateringly well against your clit. All you could do was let him keep pushing inside you, his hand coming down to grab one of your legs from around his waist so he can slide it over his shoulder and- fuck. 

“Fuck- I feel you cumming angel,” you somehow got wetter, aiding so he can slide in just a bit more with the angle and he presses his forehead against yours now. Sharing panting breaths and hot whiny moans together- finally his hips were flush against yours. “You okay baby? Talk to me,” taking your hand in his, lacing your fingers together and squeezing gently and kissing the back of your hand before letting it rest above your head. He starts a slow pace, inching back out of you slowly and groaning into your mouth. He doesn’t want to cum yet, he wants this, no- needs this to last longer. And it’s hard when you’re squeezing around him and whimpering his name- your perfume is dancing around in his mind and he feels himself pulling tighter and higher. Fuck he’s about to cum. He’s using his headboard to steady himself- the knock of the wood thudding against the wall in a tantric rhythm, would almost have you embarrassed if he wasn’t fucking you so good. 

“K-keep going baby- don’t stop. Please don’t fucking stop Michael-” you beg him. The rub and heavy drag of him felt so good. Indulgent and sinful because there’s no way sex could be this intense and not be frowned upon by the heavens. He’s kissing and licking at your ankle now, the anklet that you had was scratching at his shoulder and a charm was reflecting the moonlight and he swears he sees fucking stars. One of your hands cards through his hair, then his beard, and you drag your nails down his chest, dancing along the hair that’s trailed from his belly button to his cock and you just let it rest there, stroking your thumb gently. Resting right above his cock only to dig your nails into his lower abdomen and rub your thumb along the marks and- he’s fucking cumming. 

“Fuck! Fuck me- so fucking-“ he groans, hot and deep into your calve and bites down hard enough to leave a mark but- he doesn’t stop. No- Michael keeps fucking you, he goes soft for a beat, maybe two but immediately you feel him hardening up again and nudging up into you deeper and- he’s fucking his cum into you now. It’s wet and warm and he doesn’t know what happened to his refractory period but he thanks all the gods he can in this moment so he doesn’t have to leave your tight heat. But he does- he does stop to reluctantly pull out of you and ignores your whining with a chuckle and light slap to your thigh as he rolls you over to your front. Instinctively, you start to arch your back but-

“No- lay flat baby, legs together.” You feel his voice in your ear, tongue licking the shell of it and biting at your lobe while the metal of his chain is between your shoulder blades now. He pushes some of your hair off your shoulder so he can kiss your neck, down your spine a bit with his beard scratching along the way before licking back up from the base of your spine and you shudder, sighing because it’s so good. The anticipation of what he’s going to do next. One of his heavy hands is holding your hip steady now- while the other holds his cock to slide teasingly against your folds. Oh. 

“Oh f-fuck me-“ you gasp- biting the meat of your palm from just the stretch alone. The angle has you grabbing at the sheets in front of you- needing something to cling to because between his fucking thick cock and the hand on your hip that’s all you feel from him. You want to open your legs a little more, you try but his legs have you stuck and you try to surge forward to escape the pleasure and-

“No- you can fucking take it,” he growls, a slap to your ass to drive the point home. Fuck. He’s so fucking hard again, fucked you through both your orgasms and immediately still ready to keep pounding into you. “Be a good fucking girl and take it sweetheart.” It’s not slow this time. It’s fucking brutal and you can hear the slap of his hips against your ass. This man- Michael- this fucking stranger has given you two orgasms already and another is quickly flickering in the bottom of your gut- his mind shattering pace is hard to take and you think you can ride it out until he reaches under you and grabs you by your throat to haul you up so your back is pushed into his chest. He doesn’t squeeze- no but his hand is still heavy and he can feel your pulse under his fingers like a good trained doctor. He’d be able to tell you your BP if you asked and if he had the wherewithal to stop his sufferingly brutal pace to do so. He has you on your knees, holding you up with one hand on your neck and the other hand that has captured your own is now trailing down past your stomach- lowering to your soaking cunt to force you to rub your own fucking clit with him. 

Fuck it’s so good. The hand of yours that’s not caught between his heavy one and your soaked clit is reaching up to tug at his hair while you turn your head a bit so you can try to see him. You try to breathe evenly because it’s so hot and the air feels heavy now and you swear there are stars beginning to form in your mind as your eyes roll back into your head now. He drags his nose along your temple- the hand resting against your neck trailing a few inches up to hold your jaw and kiss you. Biting and pulling at your lower lip when you open your mouth and moan his name. So sweet. You sound so fucking pretty and wrecked by him. He hasn’t fucked this hard since med school- you’re intoxicating. Your body fucking sings for him- every touch he gives is met with a sigh, a moan, a while of his name. Your hips are rolling back to meet his now and he groans into the kiss- feeling you clench around him again as you tug roughly on his hair. 

“Fuck- just like that angel,” Michael has you pulled tight against his chest- his necklace digging into your back, one arm around your chest, hand gripping your jaw so you can look at him and see exactly what he looks like as he’s wrecking you. The other arm is strong against your stomach, his hand making your fingers rubbing vicious tight circles around your clit. “Doing so- fuck- so good for me baby. Are you gonna cum again for me? Just one more?” And you can only nod, it’s not like you have a choice, really. Between the way his fingers and yours are working in tandem to play with your clit and the way his thick cock is spearing into you from behind- you’re lucky that you can breathe at this point.

“No, no-“ he stops his movements now, feeling your whine into his mouth and attempt to push your ass back into his hips. “I wanna hear you say it baby- tell me you wanna cum again.” Fuck, you’re trying to get the friction back- get the delicious drag of his heavy cock back but he’s shoved so deep inside your wet cunt that he’s not moving anywhere. And neither are you from the way he has you pinned to his front. Fuck. 

“P-please Michael,” you whimper into his lips, trying to wiggle your hips just a little so that you can feel him rub against that spot inside your- or maybe get his fingertips to brush your clit but he has your hand forced between his and your body, still and twitching for movement but he’s so much stronger than you are. “Fuck- I need to cum. I need to cum again baby. Please. F-fuck please. Please. Please. Please-“ you’re babbling and he groans. 

“God- asking so fucking pretty baby. You need it?” He’s going to be an asshole- make you beg for a third orgasm like some fucking greedy bitch and you nod. You nod and whine and because you know he likes to hear you say it now. You’re saying yes. Whining really but it’s all the same to him.

“Yes baby,” nodding like a woman drunk and starved and high all at the same time. “Please I’ll be so fucking good Michael just-” you choke out at the end, he’s easing out then shoving himself back inside you now. Fast. Fast and hard and you can fucking hear colors at this point. You feel him in your veins. You’ve been injected with pleasure and it’s so good. He’s spewing pure fucking filth in your ear now and the wet slapping sound of his hips and fingers against your clit drive the point home. Growling out how good you feel. How fucking wet you are. He’s trying so hard not to cum yet- he needs this to last because he doesn’t know when he’ll get another opportunity to fuck you someone like this again. It shatters through you. Like glass spidering around every weak point of your nerves. That drop. Like the drop of a roller coaster. It’s wet. It makes you soar and float off the planet for a second and you think you can see yourself from above. You cum with a loud scream of his name and he stops fucking your pussy for a moment, stops your rubbing of your clit and moans along with you now- feeling you clench and tighten around him. 

“There it is, angel, you sound so pretty for me baby.” He lets you go. Lets you slump forward but he hasn’t pulled out of you yet and you can feel him throbbing inside you still. You’re tired. So fucking tired and he’s still hard. He leans over you now, kissing the back of your neck and when he pulls out- you gasp because he’s been inside you for so long but he’s turning you back over now. Grabbing the back of your knees and slotting himself between your thighs again and you whimper because you’re so sore. But he’s kissing you so softly now, running his hands over your body and whispering praises and- pushing the head of his cock back inside you fuck- fuck- fuck- fuck. 

You just- lay there now. Accepting the pleasure of his fucking. Becoming a wave of orgasm and orgasm after fucking brutal, hot, wet orgasm. He’s buried his face into your neck- kissing and biting gently but still slowly keeping a steadfast pace. He adjusts you for himself. Pushing your thighs open or closed to suit his needs. Gripping your leg to place over his shoulders or around his waist to drive deeper into you if he wants. And you just- take it. You moan and sigh his name because that’s all you remember how to do. You’re sure you black out at some point because it’s so overwhelmingly good. He asks if you’re good- if you want him to stop and you beg him- no. No. Don’t fucking stop. Please don’t fucking stop because you’ve absolutely never been fucked like this before and you’re sure it’s some gift from the gods. And how can you deny such a gift? Between his hot tongue in your mouth, beard against your skin, cock inside your pussy- you don’t even remember your name. You just- you’re more him than you at this point. 

“Fuck- are you cumming again?” He stills, feeling the familiar tightness of your pussy spasm and flutter around his cock as he nips at your jaw. “Oh- f-fuck yeah you are- you’re cumming again for me baby,” slowly, achingly slow he starts his pace again, angles his hips up and- fuck. Fuck you can’t think anymore. He’s caged you in, completely has you under his control in the best way possible. You can’t even move your hips in tandem with his- you’re stuck in this position and you have to just fucking take it. Your body is being accustomed to the slow debilitating orgasms that are coming, just one after another after another after a-fucking-nother. There’s no point in counting. No point in attempting to keep score because you’re losing. Winning? No- definitely losing because it’s devastating now. You’re accepting your fate. You feel raw. You feel heavy. You feel your mind blank because all you know at this point is pleasure that’s bordering on pain- and his name. 

“M-Michael I- fuck I- I can’t-” Your thighs were sore, so fucking sore from being held open by his cock but not wide enough from the way his knees are on either side of your thighs. You were gonna feel him tomorrow. Fuck you were gonna feel him all week. Your legs hadn’t stopped shaking from your first orgasm and that was at least an hour ago. 

“Can’t what baby?” God, his voice was so deep, raspy and graveled in your left ear, tugging the lobe between his teeth and groaning so deep you felt it in your gut and swim along your spine. “You can- fuck, you’re doing so good for me sweetheart.” He still doesn’t stop. His cock is inching through your tight walls with no real trajectory other than to wreck you- so fucking tortuously slow. You shake your head and turn- looking at the art he has along his wall, anything to distract you from the pleasure for a moment because your think you’re going to die by orgasm and-

“No, no you stay right here with me angel-“ his calloused hand grabs your jaw and forced you to look back into his eyes. “Look at me baby- I need you to look at me so I can see those pretty eyes while I wreck you okay?” You nod along with him- obediently accepting your directions and fate. The drag- the long and heavy drag of his thick cock through your wet cunt has you spiraling, circling the drain between pleasure and pain. It feels so fucking good- his thick warm thighs bracing your own as he rocks into you devastatingly slow. The way he’s consuming you, all you feel is Michael. He’s the breath in your lungs, the taste in your mouth. It’s the scent of his cologne in your nose, the burn of his beard along your neck and jaw, the feel of his elbows digging into your shoulders with every deep, slow, hard thrust while the chain he had one is no longer cold- it drags, back and forth in the valley of your breasts.

“Just- fuck, just one more for me? Okay baby?” his voice cracks a bit- he’s almost coming to a close. He ducks his head down and swirls his tongue around your nipple then licks a hot stripe up your neck, coming to stop at your jaw and gently nipping at the skin there again while his hand gently brushes some strands of your hair from your face. Fuck- you feel it. You feel another fucking orgasm clawing its way through your body. Fuck. You have hot, frustrated tears running down the side of your face. The pain is so good. And the only thing that stops your from transcending into the fucking astral realm is how he grabs your hand, gently from its position that was locked on his back and no doubt leaving angry red marks along his skin- grabs your hand and threads his fingers between yours and squeezes gently- and kisses your hand once more. Yeah. Yeah you’re fucking cumming again. It’s ripping its way throughout your body now, hot- hot violent waves erupting from within you. Michael moans against you, feeling you clench around him and he’s letting himself go now, content that you’re spent and whimpering bonelessly under him. “That’s it- good fucking girl.” 

The tightening and shakes of your orgasm inspire one in him, he’s ready to fuck his cum into you again but he just needs to be a tiny bit deeper. Michael pants, tries to slow down so he can move you how he needs, sitting back slightly and grabs your leg to wrap around his waist and you whimper. Feeling just an inch more of his thick cock inside- you whine. He’s fucking you hard in contrast to the way he’s kissing you- pressing his sweaty forehead softly against yours and “so sweet baby- so fucking good for me angel, I’m gonna cum ok?” Nodding and slamming just a bit too hard- bordering on painful but fuck, it’s perfect. And that fucking headboard again- slamming against his wall in a heavy pace. Hard and rhythmic and starting to pick up speed just from the sheer force of how he was driving into you. The waves of your orgasm are riding out as he’s cumming finally. Hard. Hard- and a deep raspy groan is emitting from him while he continues fucking you through it, shoving the remnants of his resolve deeper with each sloppy broken few pumps of his hips. 

You lay there- sated and weak and let him kiss along your face with praises whispered between. He hasn’t pulled out of you yet- he needs a moment to enjoy you like this. To remember what this feels like next time he’s spiraling in his own mind. You have just enough energy to kiss his palm when he cradles your face- swiping at a stray tear and asking if you’re okay. Yes. Yes you’re okay. You’ve been fucked into his mattress, split open and completely sated. You’ve never felt better. You just wanted sex before starting residency because who knows when you’ll have time and- yeah. Michael definitely gave you more than you asked for. More than you ever bargained for. 

“Give me a second,” you whine into a kiss, “I don’t remember my name.” He’s chuckling- letting your hands lazily trail over his broad shoulders, card through his beard with a twirl or two of the hair around your finger, and you push his slightly sweaty hair back from where it had stuck against his forehead. He hasn’t stopped smiling. It was so- cute? Grown man with the softest brown eyes you had ever seen, smiling after sex and it made you smile too because yeah- it was fucking good. Finally- he pulls out of you with a bite of his lip and a soft sigh. Trying to commit the feeling to memory because he’s not sure if he’ll get to experience this again. It’s been a while since he’s had sex and he’s sure it’s never been like this. He would’ve remembered vividly it being this good. 

“Hey, wake up sweetheart,” you don’t even remember closing your eyes- don’t remember how long he was gone but he helps you sit up and has a glass to your lips and- “here, drink.” It’s cold, icy and immediately soothes your throat. And while you take slow sips he holds a washcloth in front of you and- “can I?” And- you just nod. You’ve never had anyone offer to clean you before. Few have even tossed you a rag but- he’s gentle. He apologizes when you gasp at the contact because you’re sore and overstimulated but the washcloth was fucking warm. He gently cleans you and kisses your temple. Who was this man? You just- you watch in awe as he cleans the mess he made of you and takes the glass from your hand to set on his night stand. 

“Um, I- I should go.“ you stutter out. You should- right? You’ve clearly overstayed your welcome from what’s acceptable after mind altering sex. But he just nods. 

“You don’t have to.” He doesn’t trust himself to not beg you to stay. He just- he wants more time with you. He just met you hours ago and he’s not ready to give you up yet. “You can stay- if you want. Only if you want. Offer stands.” He smiles, trying to not seem nervous because he genuinely never has done this before. He’s never taken a girl home from the bar. He’s only had sex with women he’s been in relationships with. But you just- he was fucking drawn to you since he landed eyes on you. When you tipped your head back laughing at whatever your roommate had said- he was struck. The way your eyes would dart over to him and then quickly back when he’d make eye contact. It was cute- how you bit your lip and tried to ignore him until you pat your roommate on the back and practically floated over to him. He knew he was a goner then. 

“Okay,” you bit your lip and nodded- “yeah- I’ll stay.” You smiled. Leaning in to kiss him and he’s offering you something to sleep in- one of his shirts or some boxers but you shake your head and smile wickedly at him as you slither back up his bed and in between his sheet, grabbing his hand to pull him with you. No. No clothes necessary tonight. 

It was his lips you woke up to, dragging along your neck with his beard in tow. You were sore and tired but it was hard to argue with the way your body opened up so easily for him. His hand splayed across your chest, not rough- just warm and resting along your skin while his lips mindlessly kissed your neck and jaw. 

“Good morning,” he rasps, feeling you stir against him. He woke up maybe 15 minutes ago, your legs tangled up with his longer ones. He took a moment for himself, a moment to enjoy the feeling of someone in his bed again- no matter how fleeting it would be. You would be gone soon. And he can’t- he can’t delude himself into believing he’s ready for a relationship right now. It been a while since Janey. He’s been focused with work and things have settled down, albeit slightly, pandemic wise. And you were so- young? Clearly a woman and old enough to drink but- you two did get to talking to be fair. He wasn’t drawn to you in a way that felt deeper than physically. And maybe that was his own clouded judgment but he wanted to get to know you. He wanted to see you again. But he wouldn’t say anything- not unless you did. He wasn’t ready to get rejected or shatter a perfectly harmless fantasy. But he couldn’t help tasting your skin one more time- seeing the erupting marks along your chest and smiling to himself a bit. 

“Good morning-“ you mumble, sighing into the way his lips felt along your raw skin. How was he so gentle? How could he rearrange your insides last night and place feather like kisses along your jaw now? Turning- you face him, throwing your arms around his neck and tilting yourself up to capture his lips. 

“I have to go-” you’re not really trying to leave the comfort of his warm bed- sighing into his mouth as he’s pulling you into his chest. “I’m gonna be late for work- it’s my first day.” mumbling against his lips, moaning at the feeling of his hands dragging down to your ass so he can grind you into him. Fuck. No. You know you’ll never be able to leave if you stay now- feeling his heavy cock start to stir against your thigh.

“Don’t go baby,” He was going to be late too, he had a fresh crop of interns to see to, so he absolutely had to be there today but- “stay here with me.” Fuck- why was it so hard to let you go? It was one night. Stranger at a bar, something he’d never allow himself to do and he was struck. He’s grabbing your ass to grind into him harder- smiling at the way you gasp into his mouth when the tip of him catches your clit. You can hear a phone vibrating on his nightstand- probably yours, most likely Langdon calling you and wondering where the fuck you were. He did call, 3 times and texted. He had your location and you were still alive at least. He was going to have to pick you up and haul ass to the hospital.

[Frankie]: 20 minutes away

[Frankie]: Be ready 

[Frankie]: Or I’m leaving your ass.

[Frankie]: Got your stuff tho

You groan, exasperated because you have to untangle yourself from Michael to walk to the living room for your clothes but you feel his strong, heavy arms circling around your waist as he’s coming up behind you to kiss your neck. God why was it hard to leave him? He was so funny, charming and- no. No, you just needed sex to get through your first day- one night stand. Someone you’ll definitely never see again because you’re starting residency and can’t afford to be distracted now. But- he was so fucking handsome. 

“I really,” you pause to kiss him, “really,” another kiss, “mm, really need to go.” A moan, kissing his swollen lips again but running a hand through his beard to hold him into the “last” kiss. You make it to the living room and sit on the couch to tug your underwear on, well- trying to, anyway, because he’s grabbing at it and pulling you back into his lips and your back hits the couch. He just- he needs to get it out of his system. One last kiss. Maybe a mark that he nibbles into the top of your breast. That’s it. And as you’re pulling on the rest of your clothes he’s going back to his room to find his boxers and walk you out the door but- 

“Just one more kiss-” you whine, pulling him hard and crashing your lips into his. You spend another 15 minutes trying to leave. Every time more clothes come on, one of you pulls the other back for ‘just one more kiss’.

You’re on his couch, pressing him into the arm rest now that your shoes are finally on- locking your lips against his.

He’s pushing you against his kitchen counter now as you’re reaching for your purse, hands coming on either side of you so he can cage you in and claim your lips once more. 

You grabbed handfuls of his Steelers shirt at his chest, forcing him against his front door now while you try to savor the possibility of a last kiss. 

He would walk you to the car- but he’s so fucking hard again that there would be no hiding it from his neighbors or your roommate in broad daylight. So he claims the official last kiss, cradling your face in his large hands and- this one was gentle. Not hungry. Not desperate. Gentle like- like it would be happening again. But you’re not delusional. It’s won’t happen again. You didn’t get his number, he didn’t ask for yours. You’re definitely never going to that bar again because this was a one time thing you allowed yourself to have. You need to be focused. Focused now because you’re gonna be so fucking late and it’s your first day and you got hardly any sleep and Frank is fucking honking-

“Hurry the fuck up- I have your shoes, clothes, and stethoscope along with a nice cold Red Bull.” Fuck he was the best. Sometimes it’s hard to believe you have a Frank Langdon in your life who can read your mind. “So did the old man lay it down good or?” You take the thought back immediately, jumping in the back seat to change into fresh clothes as you tell him to drive and not break any traffic laws to get to the hospital now. You’re running through the hospital- Langdon a few paces ahead because of his stupidly long legs and you’re chugging the rest of your Red Bull while running the ER nurses station to sign in and let them know you’re both here for your internship. 

“Barely made it.” A voice interrupts as you both are shuffling through the doors to who you assume is the Dr. Abbott the nurse mentioned- arms crossed and pointing to the locker room for you both to await further instructions. A few other interns are already inside and what you assume are some residents prepping for their shift. 

“ER?” One asks, throwing her hair in a bun while you shove what you can in an empty locker next to the one Frank picked out. 

“Yeah,” you nodded- offering your hand to her with your name and introducing your other half to her as well. “You?”

“Surgery, Garcia.” You wanted to ask more but Dr. Abbott is calling everyone outside the locker room for a briefing. God, why were you nervous? You’ve never been nervous- well about work or academics anyway. But your stomach won’t stop fluttering and you’re trying to pay attention to Dr. Abbott but something is gnawing at your gut. Langdon can feel your anxiety, can feel your antsy movements and see the way you’re chewing at your bottom lip And pulling at your fingers so he grabs your hand and gives it a squeeze- making you look at him to see his wink. A silent “it’ll be ok angel.” Like he always says. 

“Okay kids, the rest of this little introduction into your internship will be handled by Dr. Robby.” You don’t hear anything more- blood is rushing through your ears, mouth has gone dry, palms fucking sweating. Fuck. No? Fuck. There he was- Michael, in all his fucking 6’2, bearded, sad soft brown eyes, wide linebacker shoulders glory. As if on cue, your pussy clenched involuntarily- thighs started to ache from being held open by him for so long last night, scattered bruises across your chest started to sting. Every kiss and touch he laid on your body flared up like they knew their owner was near- like your body was calling out to his. As if your body picked up on the fact that he was near like some fucking homing signal for orgasms. And Michael, well- Dr. Robby actually, he’s as cool as a cucumber on the outside. Laying down some information and guidelines while trying to not stare at you. He doesn’t remember anyone named Angel on his list of interns. Did you lie? Of course you did- you just wanted sex and to be fair no one really calls him Michael so he can’t blame you. 

And next to you? Well Langdon is practically vibrating with excitement. He hasn’t been this happy since his med school acceptance. He’s trying to contain his joy while his eyes bounce back between you and your new boss. You’re speed running through all five stages of grief and he’s never been happier because that is definitely the old man you went home with last night. He’s excited for your debriefing and inevitable crash out session at home later because you have a 12 hour shift ahead of you both and you cannot spiral. Not now. Not yet anyway. 

The Newlyweds (jack abbot x f!reader)

18+ account - minors do not interact

jack abbot x f!reader Word Count: 1.7K Rating: E

Summary: You and Jack are enjoying married life.

Warning: established relationship, implied age gap, language, mentions of alcohol, possessiveness, domesticity, wife kink? ring kink? mentions of birth control (IUD), descriptions of explicit smut, breeding kink (this man would become insane if you brought up starting a family), jack is a loverboy (or pussy whipped), fluff, smidge dirty talk, implied smut, i think that’s it

A/N: Okay, I wrote a lot of Jack in the last week and a half because I had time off. I wouldn’t expect this type of consistency moving forward. Back to reality tomorrow… Sunday scaries are real. I hope y'all enjoy!

Jack Abbot Masterlist

No matter how much time had passed, Jack still found himself enamored by the very sight of you. He still couldn’t believe he was your husband. Because honestly, how the fuck did he land you?

He was the luckiest son of a bitch in the world.

He never thought he would be the type of man that was hosting a fucking housewarming party. He used to be so closed off and guarded—until you.

Before you, he was just a guy who thought he’d never find the one who made everything feel right. But you proved him wrong. You showed him that love didn’t have to be complicated or loud. It could be simple—sharing quiet evenings watching TV together, cooking meals side by side, and finding joy in the everyday moments.

Your love was steady.

You were laughing at something that Robby said while he shoved a taco down his throat. You were drinking a beer, wearing this pretty little dress, and spinning your wedding ring slowly with your thumb.

Jack's jeans suddenly felt tighter—cock stiffening behind his zipper while he continued to grill the burgers.

The truth was, Jack had never been a particularly traditional man. But…the day that he slipped that ring on your finger and made you his wife was the happiest day of his life.

You were officially his. His perfect girl.

You and Jack had never been too interested in the whole wedding day extravaganza nightmare. So, you got married in a simple, elegant, satin white gown at City Hall. Jack wore a classic black-tie ensemble. You two kept it very simple and stress-free, and had a very intimate contingent of friends and family during brunch at your favorite restaurant after signing your marriage certificate.

It was perfect.

Jack took two weeks off for the honeymoon. The Pitt was shocked at the amount of time he was taking off.

You were shocked yourself.

You split your honeymoon between the lemurs and landscapes of Madagascar and the white sand beaches of the Seychelles.

It was expensive, and he didn’t care. You two could afford it. The honeymoon had been paradise.

All that mattered was your happiness. He wanted to surround you with beauty, adventure, comfort—and most of all, love. Because seeing you smile, knowing that he could give you the world, that was all he ever truly wanted.

A year ago, a few weeks after your honeymoon, Jack remembered the day you first showed him the house. It was a modest place, filled with potential, but it was your eye for design that transformed it into something truly special. He knew nothing about choosing paint colors, art pieces, or arranging furniture, but he trusted your instincts completely. Watching you move from room to room, envisioning each space—bringing warmth with carefully curated decor, adding personal touches that made it feel alive.

There had been some renovations, a kitchen that needed modernizing, a backyard that begged for a little more life, and a basement that needed to be finished. You had handled everything, working with contractors and an interior designer. He knew, deep down, that while he was the breadwinner, you were the heart of this home. You were the one who made everything feel right, comfortable, and beautiful.

You had given him peace—something he had always craved but never thought he could achieve.

Later that night, after everyone had left with their bellies full of food and a nice buzz, Jack lay back against the headboard, his eyes drifting lazily as he watched you.

The bathroom door was still open, and he could see the way your shoulders rolled as you reached for the lotion, the gentle arch of your back as you applied it, the smoothness of your skin catching the soft light.

His gaze lingered on you, feeling a warmth settle deep in his chest. You were so effortlessly beautiful—every movement, every little gesture, made his heart squeeze. His eyes then followed as you stepped inside your shared bedroom and reached for his T-shirt, pulling it over your head with a soft sigh. The lace panties you slipped on were delicate, a subtle tease that made his pulse quicken. He appreciated the quiet intimacy—the way you made yourself comfortable, the simple act of slipping into his clothes and then into bed.

Finally, you crawled into the bed, your body curling toward him. You settled your head on his chest, right where he wanted it, and he instinctively wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. His fingers traced gentle patterns on your back.

Then you spoke.

"I’ve got a doctor’s appointment on Monday," he watched your face, noting the slight shift in your expression, the quickening of your breath. Jack’s instincts kicked in, and he couldn’t help but assess you—looking for signs, reading between the lines.

"It’s just my annual check-up exam with my gynecologist," you clarified with a small smile, sensing his concern. "I think…"

"You think what?" he prompted softly, his eyes searching yours for clues, for any hint of what was really going on behind that little smile.

You hesitated for a moment, then said, "I think it’s time I take my IUD out."

His mouth fell open, trying to process what he had just heard.

Jack's mind drifted back to a night when you two had been dating for about a year, and he had just spent Thanksgiving with your family. Your brother had just recently had his first child.

"Is that something you would want one day? Kids?"

Your eyes widened, lips parting in surprise. His question had clearly caught you off guard.

"Yeah," you had responded softly. "When my career is stable, I want kids someday. But only if the person I ended up with really wanted them too."

He could tell you were nervous. This was one of those serious relationship conversations. Jack paused, knowing what you might be thinking—how he was older than you, probably at that stage of his life where he would rather avoid changing diapers and sleepless nights. He realized that you might think that kids might be a dealbreaker for him.

Jack chuckled softly, teasing a little. "Am I not ending up with you or something?" he added with a grin. "Because let me tell you, I can’t wait to start a family with you someday."

Your eyes glistened with tears, and you reached up and kissed him sweetly, making him groan. One moment, you two were kissing innocently enough, and suddenly, he was pushing into you, nice and slowly, filling you completely. A gasp escaped your lips as he fed you his cock and watched your face as you took him inch by inch.

He loved seeing the look on your face and the noises you would make when he first stretched you open and filled you. He would never tire of feeling your pussy grip him tight and your fingers digging into him whenever your body would tense, and he would be mesmerized by your soft cries escalating as you got closer to the edge. He was selfish, and he wanted to ruin you for any other man as you had ruined him for any other woman. He loved watching you come apart, seeing your face contort in complete pleasure, and then work you through the aftershocks. He loved the scent of you, feeling surrounded by you, and feeling you everywhere whenever he would lose himself and come deep inside of you.

It was never enough, he always wanted more of you. All of you. You were his entire world.

He proposed a month later.

Now, he found himself coming back to the present, a quiet question lingering on his lips.

"Hey," he said softly, his thumb tracing the back of your hand. "I know you’ve been waiting for that promotion at work… are you sure you’re ready now?"

He wanted to make sure that you knew how much he valued your independence, and that your ambitions mattered just as much as his career.

"I’m ready."

Something primal emerged from the back of his mind as soon as you said those words to him—they went straight to his cock and his brain went fucking fuzzy.

He gently shifted your body beneath him. With a confident motion, he leaned down, his lips brushing against yours in slow, deliberate kisses. Each sweet kiss became more urgent than the last. His hands found your hips, guiding you to lie more comfortably as he pressed his body closer to yours.

He cupped your face with one hand, his thumb softly tracing your cheekbone, while his lips explored yours with hunger. His hands moved to smooth over your sides, guiding your legs to part slightly, giving him better access as he continued to kiss you. He couldn’t wait to bury himself in your tight little cunt and fuck his seed deep until it would fucking take.

Just thinking about it made him crazy.

He was so fucking hard.

Jack groaned, voice breaking as he rutted against you. "You feel that? How bad I want you? How much I can't wait to fuck a baby in you?"

"God, yes! Fuck, Jack, I'm—I need—" you whined brokenly. He shoved your panties to the side, and you felt his finger slip inside of your soaked cunt while his thumb caressed your clit.

He knew what you needed.

And even though he knew you wouldn’t get pregnant tonight...

He took pleasure in fucking you full of him.

Because—practice makes perfect.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

No Pressure Tags (folks who interacted with other Jack works): @abbotjack. @takingitdaybyday-1. @houseofodd. @midniqhtt. @letsgobarbs. @chixkencxrry. @akgirl1993. @roses-and-grasses. @hansfics. @strange-hyperfixations. @la-vie-est-une-fleur29. @stellamarielu. @emmalyn2233. @alyssaficdir. @marvlstark. @thiccstonmatthews. @butyoudidthis4what. @fanficsilike-okaylove. @billet-douxxx. @probablyreadinsmut. @beskardroids. @cosmoscoffeee. @mercvry-glow. @superhoeva. @asxgard. @abbotsanatomy. @thepencilnerd

Thank you so much for reading! If you like this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging thots.

Imagine how fucking awful you have to be as a failed convert for the Pope to die hours after meeting you lmao

Beautiful Reflection | J. Abbot

summary: Jack shows you what happens when you are mean to the body he worships daily.

warnings: 18+ mdni! CHUBBY!reader (chubby or plus sized, no difference just a gorgeous girl who has stomach rolls and love handles and thick thighs teehe) Smut, porn without plot, Jack being a MUNCH, oral(f), p in v, biceps choking, mirror sex, just Jack being a gorgeous dom to his chubby girl, body image issues, body dysmorphia, creampie, no protection, fingering, insecurities, stretch marks, Jack 🤝🏻 nasty backshots, mentions of Jack’s amputation, NO BETA!! English isn’t my first language<3

word count: 2.1k+

an: FIRST JACK FIC YES LETS GO AAAAAAAAA!!!! I’m also deeply open to discuss ideas and write drabbles!! this one was pretty self indulged because I just needed to write sth about my fave being like this 😭😭

comments and reblogs are so appreciated!!

It is strange to go from covering yourself with Jack’s very, very baggy hoodies and avoiding the mirrors around the house to clutching Jack’s head as he feasts on you with abandon, fully naked and withering under his touch.

  You have been pushing Jack away for the past few months, and he, ever the gentleman, respected your wishes, but when he found you today on the verge of tears as you poked around your body, looking at the new red stretch marks forming on your love handles, he had enough.

  That is what got you into this position; legs spread, Jack’s thin lips sucking harshly on your clit while he kneads the fat of your thighs, growling like a dog in heat when you squeeze your legs, trying to close them around his head.

  “Fuckin’ perfect,” his words come out in a groan, flattening his tongue on your folds as he laps up your essence like he has been left thirsty for days, “Tastes like nectar, baby.”

  “Jack—“ you gasp, bucking your hips desperately into his face, threading your fingers through the salt and pepper curls on his head as he detaches himself from you, grinning devilishly when you whine at the loss of contact.

  “What happened, baby?” He cocks his head to the side, narrowing his eyes at you playfully, tapping your thighs with his palms, “You want me to stop?”

  “No! No!” You rush the words out, trying to drag him down to your heat again, but he does not budge, craning his neck back to catch your wrist with his lips, kissing his way up to your fingers, taking them into his mouth while locking his hazel eyes with your glassy ones, twirling his tongue around the digits.

  “Jack, please!”

  “Please, what, baby?” He lets go of your fingers with a lewd ‘pop’ and you watch his grin widen when you throw your head back in frustration, “Did you learn your lesson or should I continue?”

  “Ngh, please, just let me come!” You cry out, letting go of his hair to fist the sheets when he blows gently on your throbbing clit, the cold air making you tremble slightly.

  Jack Abbot is a menace in bed; he gives and gives until he is sure he has nothing to offer, and for you to feel fulfilled for days, he gets an undeniable satisfaction of being the only one who can do that to you.

  But now, he is on a mission. He can’t take you being mean to yourself, not today, not ever. He has done everything during your relationship to make you feel safe, loved, and appreciated, and he has done an excellent job, but even he can’t stop the destructive thoughts from tumbling their way into your head sometimes.

  Time to put a stop to that.

  “I asked you a question,” he slaps the back of your thoughts gently, just rough enough to make a delicious sting across your skin, “And I need an answer, cause, baby, ain’t no way someone’s gonna be mean to the body I fucking adore and I let it slide.”

  “Please— fuck, okay! Okay!” You groan, chest heaving as you try to sit up on your elbows, looking into Jack’s eyes with a silent plea, “I learned my lesson. Please, I need to come—“

  “Did you now?” He chuckles darkly, sinking his teeth into your inner thigh deep enough to earn a delicious moan from you, pulling back to see his bite mark forming on your flesh, “I don’t think you did, though, baby.”

  “I swear!” You reply quickly, eyes wide and needy, and the sight of Jack’s unraveled curly hair and handsome face between your legs is making your heart beat so much faster, “I’ll never do that again—“

  “Let’s see how much of a good girl you can be for me,” he whispers against your soaked pussy lips, his warm breath fanning over your sex, “Because I’d be so so sad if I don’t get to come inside my pretty girl tonight. Now, are you my pretty girl?”

  “Yeah,” you nod, one hand reaching for his face, biting your lip as you stroke the stubble on his cheek, “I’m your pretty girl.”

  “I don’t think you believe in it as much as I do,” he kisses his teeth, kissing your navel before diving back inside, licking a stripe from your entrance up to your clit, making your hands clench into his hair, “But don’t worry, baby, it’s my job to show you how fucking perfect you actually are.”

  He presses his face into your cunt, moving his tongue in motions that have you falling back on the mattress, one hand in his hair and the other trying to ground you by digging into the bedsheets.

  You throw your head back when he pushes a finger inside you, and your eyes widen when you notice the full-length mirror standing right next to the wall. 

  The image is lewd, pornographic even; you can see the arch of your back with how high you are thrusting your hips into Jack’s face, and Jack… fuck, only his gray hair is visible but knowing who is between your thighs, fucking you with a finger and a mouth that can do magics is enough to make your head spin.

  “Fuck, Jack! I need to come, please,” you whine in pleasure when he adds a second finger inside you, curling them in and fucking you faster with them, hitting that sweet spot over and over.

  He wraps his lips around your clit, sucking harshly on the bundle of nerves. You can feel his smirk as your legs begin to shake around his head, and he takes pride in giving you what you truly deserve.

  Your orgasm washes over you, euphoria crashing against your veins as you quiver and drop back on the bed, arms falling limply next to your body as he keeps going and going to the point you have to literally pull him off by the roots of his hair.

  “I wish I could feast on you every day,” he whispers as he trails his kisses up your stomach, his rough fingers gliding over your skin gently, sucking love marks on every inch he can reach.

  “You already do that, love,” you sigh, biting your lip as you try to catch your breath, enjoying the contrast of the t-shirt he is still wearing against your exposed chest, but the urge to feel his skin overcomes you suddenly, “Take it off, please?”

  “Whatever my pretty baby says,” he kisses the line of your breast one last time before he sits on his knees between your spread legs, grabbing the back of his t-shirt before pulling it off in one move, sighing as the air in the room his his heated body.

  He nearly laughs out loud when he sees how you desperately reach for his chest. So he leans down completely, kissing your forehead while you caress the soft gray chest hairs, slowly moving down the hem of his boxers, biting your lips when you notice how hard he is for you.

  He looks down, tracing your stretch marks with the tip of his fingers, smiling when he notices your little gasp, leaning down to kiss on the marks, leaving his own red marks next to them as if he is drawing on the canvas of your body.

  “Jack…”

  “Shh, let me appreciate you,” he fixes you with a quick glare, kissing the new red lines, following the path from your upper thigh to your hips, “Fucking hell, baby, I would tie you up next time if you hide this from me.”

  “If a threat, then why does it sound like a promise?” You bite your lip, looking up at him, matching his grin shyly, but your smile soon turns into a shocked gasp when Jack closes your legs and grabs your sides, flipping you over on your stomach.

  “Watch it,” he grabs your hips and pulls them up, groaning when his eyes fall on the globes of your ass, kneading them roughly before he leans down to kiss the curve of your spine, “Maybe I should fuck some sense into you, yeah? Make sure you know how gorgeous you are, hmm?”

  “Please,” you wiggle against him, resting your forehead on the cold sheets under you, feeling how he presses his covered cock against your slit, “Need it, Jack. Need to feel pretty…”

  “I got you, baby,” he says and takes his boxers off, dropping them on the floor before he grabs himself by the base, stroking his cock before he lines himself up with your dripping entrance, “Gonna give you the best dick of your life, my prettiest girl.”

  “Yes, ah…” You moan when he pushes inside slowly, not stopping until he is fully sheathed inside you. You both take a deep breath, trying not to lose yourself in pleasure before you can even start.

  “Look at yourself in the mirror,” Jack groans, pulling his hips back before he thrusts forward, his thighs lower abdomen slapping against your asscheeks, “Look at my pretty girl, look how pretty she takes my cock.”

  You look up, finding yourself and Jack in the most obscene position; your lips are swollen, eyes hazy with pure pleasure, and Jack looking like a god with his broad chest and strong arms, fucking you like his only purpose in life is making you peak.

  His grip tightens on your love handles, quickening his pace as he fucks you with a newfound passion, driving his cock further into your cunt, making your eyes roll to the back of your head, your upperbody lying flat on the bed as Jack fucks you.

  “I said, look at yourself.” You don’t listen, you can’t, because honestly, how could you? How could you concentrate on anything but the way his fat cock is driving inside your cunt.

  He snaps his hips harder into yours, the sensation of your tight warm walls consuming him, making him throw his head back and groan, but when you don’t answer, he pushes your ass down with his hands, leaning down until his entire chest is pressed to your back.

  “I said look at yourself,” he groans into your ear, wrapping his arm around your neck gently, your chin resting over his biceps as he presses in slowly, testing the waters but when he sees how your lips fall apart and you moan his name, he flexes his arm further, “Be good and look how pretty you look when you get fucked.”

  His words have you clenching around him, making him groan loudly into your ear, his forehead resting on the side of your head, moving his hips faster and rougher back and forth, grinding himself into you as if he wishes to carve the shape of his cock inside you.

  You open your eyes as best as you can, nearly drooling at the sight of his bulging biceps against your neck, restricting your airway enough to make your mind go blank with pleasure.

  The tight knot in your lower stomach finally breaks and you gush around Jack’s thick cock, coming with a scream of his name, biting down his muscles to muffle the loud cries of his name.

  “Fuck, fuck, baby—“ he groans, his breath catching in his throat as he groans into your ear, thrusting his cock into your cunt before his movement halts and you feel his warm cum filling you. His dick twitches inside you, shooting ropes of his seed into you, giving you everything he has to offer.

  He lies on top of you for a few minutes, both of you trying to catch your breath while he distracts himself by kissing your shoulder, moving to your face, gently pushing the hair off your face to peck the corner of your mouth.

  “Look,” he gently moves his arm so he can grab your jaw in his palm softly, pressing his cheek against yours as the two of you look at your reflection, “Look how pretty you are.”

  “Jack,” your lips wobble as he looks at you through the mirror, his hazel eyes holding nothing but undying love and devotion, “I love you.”

  “I love you so much,” he smiles, rubbing the roughness of his stubble on your cheek, making you giggle, “Never shy away from me. It doesn’t matter how many times you slip away, I will grab you and pull you back because you are… fucking perfect. The most beautiful, the most perfect face with the… gosh, the prettiest body. I’ve never seen anyone as blindingly beautiful as you.”

  He kisses the single tear that falls from your lashes, letting his lips linger on your cheek before he takes most of his weight off you, never breaking eye contact in the mirror.

  “You do the same when I nearly trip over the edge of the hospital’s roof. You give me hope, a reason to keep going. You chose me, an amputee, a vet, a wounded soldier, you see the beauty in me at the times I can’t, and I want you to see the same in yourself.”