Trust The Universe, Friends. Apply For A Position Just Because You Feel Like Doing So, Forget About It

When people graffiti on buildings: Yes! Ha ha! Fuck yes!

When people graffiti on rockfaces and cliffsides on hiking trails: What the absolute fuck.

Even now, without the bronze of war adorning him, he carries himself with an authority that stirs something in you.

HO IS U SHAKESPEARE? 🤌🏽

The Heat of the Thermae | Marcus Acacius x F!Reader | ~4.2k wc | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: You’re not alone tonight at your favorite bathhouse.

Tags: smut, kat can’t not dress the scene, unprotected p in v, creampie kink is not explicitly stated but he does finish inside sooo, marcus is strong enough to fuck you standing up, lil bit of dirty talk, some latin terms of endearment, praise praise praise, probably not historically accurate we're just vibing here, no use of y/n, reader is afab and able-bodied, reader is a woman of color yet everyone is encouraged to read, reader is described to have a curvy figure, barely beta’d, sorry for any stray typos/grammatical mistakes, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay, thanks!

A/N: hi, i was not expecting to write something for the general again so soon but @ovaryacted is the queen of feeding into my delusions so this one is for you, primita 🖤 shoutout to @mandaloriankait for holding me accountable and cheering me on to finish this lol. as always let me know what you think and thanks for reading! 🖤

You slip through the quiet streets of the city, the woven handle of your basket looped gently over your arm. A soft hum escapes your lips, a tune only the night seems to know. The stones beneath your sandals are warm from the day’s heat, still radiating the sun’s memory as the hush of night begins to settle. Crickets and cicadas sing from dark corners, their chorus delicate, like lace threaded through the silence.

Rome is quieter at this hour. Not silent, never truly, but quieter. As if the mighty heart of the empire has finally begun to slow, to exhale.

You reach the thermae just before the moon crests its highest point. The structure stands like a temple in the dark, torchlight flickering along carved pillars and smooth marble that glows golden. Steam curls up from within the stone walls, thick and inviting, drifting like silk into the air. You slip through the arched threshold, and the warm, mineral-scented breath of the springs embraces you.

It’s nearly silent. Just the soft bubbling of water, the occasional drip of condensation down stone, the rustle of a breeze stirring one of the hanging silken banners overhead. This thermae has always been your favorite— nestled against a quiet hill on the edge of the city, tucked away behind a grove of flowering laurel and cypress. Fewer people frequent it. Too far, they say. But for you, it’s perfect.

You step onto the cool, patterned floor, marveling, as you always do, at the opulence. Intricate mosaics of Apollo and Venus glimmer beneath your feet, their mythic beauty frozen in tile. Wreaths of fragrant flowers wind up around the sculpted columns, fresh and damp with dew. The stone arches above are carved so finely that your eyes often lose themselves in the details: curling vines, the faces of nymphs, the wings of eagles, all staring down in solemn witness.

The water beckons beyond, a mirror of mist and light. Before you slip into it, you settle onto one of the marbled benches. It’s cool against your thighs, smooth beneath your fingers. You untie your sandals slowly, enjoying the rhythm of the ritual. The city feels so far away here. Its roar, its politics, its bloodstained spectacles —all of it muffled by marble, steam, and solitude.

You breathe in deeply. The air is rich with heat and something sweeter — honeysuckle, perhaps, or the lingering smoke of sandalwood incense still clinging to the stones. Your fingers drift to the lip of your basket. Oils, cloth, a small jar of fig balm. Enough to make the next hour utterly yours.

You do not hear him at first. Just the shift of shadows behind one of the larger columns across the way. A footfall, soft yet heavy.

And it is not until he steps into the light: scarred, sharp-eyed, leonine in profile, that your breath catches in your throat.

General Acacius.

You turn away before your gazes can meet. The water between you becomes a kind of sanctuary, veiling you in ripples and warmth, a safe expanse separating your solitude from his gravity. He remains on the opposite end of the thermae, partially obscured by a column and the rising curtain of steam—but even half-hidden, he draws the eye. This is the first time you’ve ever seen the general alone.

Usually, he is trailed by a flock of senators and sycophants, his path cleared by his loyal soldiers. Or he’s perched high above the chaos of the colosseum, cast in gold and shadow as blood paints the sand below.

Up close, in silence, without armor or ceremony, he is something else entirely.

The rumors are true. He is devastatingly handsome. A mix of the delicate beauty of poetry or painted heroes and the kind carved into marble— stark, masculine, impossible to ignore but made to admire. His frame is massive, the breadth of his shoulders a thing that demands reverence, the curve of his jaw like it was drawn with a honeyed blade. Even now, without the bronze of war adorning him, he carries himself with an authority that stirs something in you.

It is no wonder women speak of him with flushed cheeks and eager lips. Nor is it a wonder he remains unattached. No woman, no man, no lover could compete with the hunger in his eyes for conquest. War has claimed him, become his mistress. And yet… you find yourself wondering, perhaps foolishly, what it might be like to be taken with that same possession.

You keep your gaze averted as you reach into your basket, fingers finding the familiar pieces of your nightly ritual. You remove your jewelry then slowly peel the fabric from your body, exposing skin to the open air, to the eyes of gods and men alike.

You try not to think of whether he’s watching. You try.

Your foot touches the water first, heat curling up your calf, then your thigh, until you are swallowed by it. A soft, involuntary sound escapes your lips, a breathy moan that seems to echo louder than you intended in the stillness of the summer night.

You glide further in, deeper, until the water kisses just below your collarbones. You find your place, easing against the stone, eyes fluttering shut—but not for long. Curiosity, wicked and warm, coaxes them open again. And this time, you let them wander.

He is still turned away, his broad back like something from a myth, all sculpted muscle and roughened skin. The light of the moon and torches play against him, catching on every ridge, every scar, every flex and pull as he shifts to undress. Sweat clings to him, glistening down his spine, mixing with the dirt of training or battle, a sheen that only makes him more savage, more real, more desirable.

He bends slightly to unfasten his remaining garment, and when the cloth falls, your tongue twitches in your mouth.

His ass is nothing short of divine. Round, tight, perfect in its symmetry, in the way it moves as he steps out of the tunic. Your teeth find your lower lip and stay there, pressing hard. 

He turns and suddenly, the air shifts. Heat blooms low in your stomach, tender, slow.

Hazelnut eyes lock with yours—not passive, not startled, but piercing. Like he’s known all along you were there, and now he’s choosing to look. Choosing to see you. The connection is immediate, tangible, a pull so intense you feel it in your pussy, in the tips of your fingers beneath the water. His gaze does not waver. It devours.

Then, languidly, his eyes drag down your form. Over your bare shoulders, your collarbone, your breasts rising from beneath the water with each breath. He lingers there. Long enough for your nipples to harden. You can’t help the way your chest arches forward, as if offering him more of your full tits.

He notices. You see it in the slight lift of his brow, the shadow of something dangerous and amused that curls his lip.

You match his look without thinking, lips parting just enough to draw in breath as your gaze drops between his legs. And gods—there he is. Thick even while soft, his cock hangs heavy between his thighs, nestled in a thatch of dark curls that look fucking edible. Your thighs press together instantly, your cunt clenching around nothing as heat flashes in your gut like it’s trying to eat you alive.

It shouldn’t look that good. Not at rest. But it does. Your mouth waters, lips buzzing, and your fingers twitch at your sides like they don’t know why they aren’t already wrapped around him.

You don’t even realize how long you’ve been staring until he moves.

No words. Just that quiet, lethal stillness breaking as he steps into the water with the weight of a predator deciding when to strike. You don’t know if he’s doing it for you or simply because that’s just how he moves, but when his body sinks into the pool, muscles flexing, steam licking up his sides, it feels like something carnal crackles in the space between your bodies, more ancient than language, more honest than names.

He disappears beneath the surface, the water rippling out toward you like the heat radiating off your skin, and the soft splash of it yanks you back to yourself. Barely.

You sit up straighter, hand reaching for your cloth and small vial oil, your pulse beating wild behind your ribs. Your fingers tremble, though you pretend otherwise, smoothing the perfumed mixture over your skin in slow circles. Sensual. Like you’re bathing for an audience… because you are.

When he rises again, your eyes snap to him like they’ve been chained there since the moment he arrived.

His hair is plastered back, dripping. Water runs down his face, clings to his thick lashes, trails over the angles of his jaw and beautiful nose. He’s fucking gorgeous—soaked and gleaming and massive. Your eyes drag lower, over his chest, watching the droplets race across his pecs and down his stomach. The line of hair that starts beneath his sternum and leads right down into the water makes your whole body ache to see more. To touch. To taste.

“Are you here often?” He asks, voice low and rough like gravel worn smooth by time.

You blink at him, a little slow, and answer as best you can with a dry throat. “Almost every night.”

Acacius hums. A sound that seems to rumble from his chest rather than his throat. He reaches for his own items and begins to tend to himself with a practiced efficiency that only deepens your curiosity. He has no servant with him, no one waiting nearby with fresh linens or scented oils. For a man of his station, that’s rare.

His big hands slide over his own scarred chest like he’s used to being looked at. Used to being wanted.

And fuck, do you want him.

He’s here. Naked, alone, reciprocating this unspoken lust in your favorite bathhouse. With you. It feels impossible. Like a gift from the gods. Or maybe a test.

You don’t care which.

The silence that follows is far from empty. It brims with energy, charged and volatile. You bathe yourself in the same slow rhythm, cloth gliding across slick skin, never breaking eye contact for long. You keep looking. So does he. And every time your eyes meet, it’s like a match is struck right at your core.

There’s no way he doesn’t feel it.

The space between you shortens with every breath. Neither of you says a word about it. You just move. Drawn. Like animals circling closer. The scent of oil and flowers in the steam is thick as incense—sticky sweet, dizzying. Your nipples are hard, peaked above the surface, aching for attention, and his gaze drops there more than once.

There is desire. There is certainty. And you will not waste this night.

Your fingers brush under the water, barely, but the jolt of contact sends a spark straight to your pussy.

He doesn’t pull away.

Instead, his hand turns, clasping around your wrist and tugging you towards him, just enough to let you know what he wants.

What you want. You meet him halfway.

The water barely muffles the slap of your bodies meeting, chest to chest. You’re not shy about it. There’s no point pretending. You want all of him. When he reaches down and cups your jaw with one large, dripping hand, the roughness of his touch makes your pussy clench tight.

Acacius doesn’t ask permission. He doesn’t need to.

He kisses you like it’s owed. Like it’s overdue. His mouth slants over yours, fervent, lips parted before they even meet. It’s filthy and deep. His tongue slides past your lips, tasting you. Your fingers fist in his hair, still damp from the bath, nails scraping his scalp as you pull him closer, desperate to keep your mouth sealed to his.

His hands roam with no restraint. One grabs your ass, squeezing and savoring the plumpness in his grasp, while the other palms your tit, big fingers curling around the soft flesh, thumb flicking over your nipple as you curve into him.

You clutch at his broad shoulders, his back, the muscles shifting beneath your hands like carved stone come alive. He’s so solid, every inch of him hard and smoldering and built for war. You do a little jump then wrap your legs around his waist without even thinking, gyrating your hips against him in a silent, burning plea for friction.

His hand immediately go to cup the back of your thighs, strong enough to keep you sturdy against him as his dick slips between your slippery folds.

“Fuck…” you gasp when he breaks the kiss, head tipping back as your mouth falls open with a desperate whine, his lips dragging wetly down your throat. “Please do not stop…”

“Was not planning to,” he growls, teeth grazing your skin, biting and sucking, leaving a trail of heat that makes your pussy throb. You can feel his shaft thickening beneath you, half-submerged in the water, heavy and hard right between your legs. You grind down on it without thinking, your clit brushing along his length, desperate for more.

“You’re soft,” he murmurs against your neck, voice wrecked, “and sweet. Gods…”

Your only answer is a shuddered moan as his mouth trails lower, nipping your collarbone, dragging his tongue along the curve of your breast before he captures your nipple between his full lips. He groans like he’s been starving for it, like your taste is better than any wine in Rome. He nips at the sensitive bud—just enough to make you twitch—and then his tongue soothes, circles, sucks.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders. Your legs tighten around his waist as you continue to grind against him. The water sloshes and ripples between you, the scent of oil and sweat and arousal heavy in the steam.

You’ve never felt so thoroughly handled—his big, calloused hands roaming every inch of you, gripping, groping, pulling you apart and putting you back together. His body is a weapon, and right now it’s being wielded for you, on you.

“Please, Acacius… fuck me.”

Your voice breaks on the plea, the words melting into a high, desperate whine as he sinks his teeth into your nipple. The sharp bite makes your back arch with a moan, the sting blooming at your chest just as he pulls off with a lewd pop.

He licks up your neck, tongue moving slow and shameless over your pulse. “Marcus,” he sneers against your mouth, his breath warm, the edge of a grin playing at his lips. “That is what I want you to cry while I am splitting this tight little cunt open on my cock.”

You barely manage a gasp before he seals your mouth with his again, tongue plunging past your lips with a hearty groan.

Then his hand moves—leaves your ass to wrap thick fingers around the base of his cock. And gods, you feel it, the weight of him pressing against your slick, aching entrance. Hot as sin.

You barely have time to breathe as he pushes in deep.

You let out a ragged sob, mouth falling open as your walls stretch around his fat shaft, the burn sharp and sweet all at once. Your nails claw into the hard, oiled up muscle of his shoulders while your pussy tries to take him. Inch by inch, he feeds himself to you until he’s buried balls deep inside your clenching sex.

“F-fuck—oh Marcus—”

His intimate name rips out of your throat in a needy wail as your head tips back, spine bowing, offering him everything.

He snarls, low and brutal, muttering curses in his native tongue under his breath. You barely have time to recover before he shifts, hoists you higher and hooks the backs of your knees over the bends of his elbows.

He fucks into you savagely, like he’s meant to be deep inside you every night until the gods have to intervene and pull him from you. The power in his body is insane, thrusting into you while standing, while holding your curvy and heavier figure, every stroke punching up into your guts with obscene, wet sounds that echo off the marble.

The water thrashes around you, splashing wildly with every slam of his hips. Your tits bounce, nipples raw and exposed, while your ass claps against his thighs with every impassioned thrust. His cock is merciless, thick veins dragging against your fluttering walls, the fat head hammering that spongy spot deep inside you until you’re choking on every moan.

“Fucking… tight…” he spits between grunts, “had I known a praecantrix with a body like this was here every night aching for cock,” he pants, “I would have abandoned my duties and been buried in this sweet cunt instead.”

You clench hard at his words and he feels it, groaning through gritted teeth while your fingers twist in his damp greying curls as you tug his mouth back to yours.

You kiss him filthy, open-mouthed, tongues tangled, spit dripping between you. It feels so good knowing you’ve got one of the strongest men in Rome between your thighs. His beard scrapes your chin, making your skin curl in the best way, and you moan into his mouth when he sucks your tongue like he wants to devour it.

Your orgasm is coming fast. Titillating and climbing and climbing and climbing—

“Harder,” you gasp against his lips, nails sinking into his scalp. “Marcus, please.”

The salacious symphony of your fucking is beautiful, and Marcus gives you what you asked for, plowing into you with a force that knocks every breath out of your lungs and thought out of your head. 

You don’t even notice when he begins to move, strong arms locking beneath your thighs as he shifts, never once pulling out. He carries you backward, step by careful step, until he lowers himself onto one of the submerged stone steps, the heat of the water sloshing around your waist. You’re now straddling him, perched in his lap, knees spread wide on the slick surface. His cock stays buried to the root, making you keen.

You can feel everything. Every vein, every ridge, every throb. He leans back slightly, giving you space, giving you control—and gods, he looks bewitching. Half-lidded eyes drink you in, crooked scars slicing across his cheek and nose, only enhancing his brutal allure. Steam helixes around the angles of his face, water dripping down the hard lines of his chest, down his stomach, disappearing between your bodies where you’re still joined.

His hands find your breasts again, greedy and reverent all at once. Your skin is slick with water and oil, and he groans at the way your tits spill into his palms, nipples pebbling against his calloused fingers.

You start to move, slow at first, grinding down into him with insatiable want. Your clit presses into the coarse hair at the base of his cock, every drag sending white-hot sparks all over. The stretch of him inside you is overwhelming, the ache delicious. With every swivel at your waist, your slick spreads between you, smearing over his thighs.

Acacius watches you with worship and gluttony in equal measure, hands never leaving your skin, guiding your rhythm with subtle tilt of his hips.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, the reverence in it making your thighs tremble harder. “So divine like this.” He studies you, head cocked with a fascination and you can’t help but perform for him, willing your body to imprint on his memory as surely as he’s etched on your soul.

“That’s it,” he growls, large palm smacking against your ass, making it ripple and sting as your thighs tremble from the force. You scream out his name, hands finding purchase on his shoulders again. “Ride it. Use me, carissime.”

The term of endearment does it for you, spurring you to fuck him like he’s never been fucked before, grinding harder, rolling your hips, chasing the rising wave of release that corkscrews at the base of your spine. The slap of your bodies grows louder as you bounce in his lap. Your tits jiggle with every thrust and he’s mesmerized, the repeated crack of his palm smacking your chest making your toes curl and your cunt pulsate around his meaty cock.

You bury your fingers in his curls as you clutch him close, your mouths meeting in a kiss that’s all teeth and passion. His tongue tangles with yours, and when you moan into him, he groans deep and animalistic, like he can feel it in his bones.

“What a perfect cunt,” he mutters against your lips. “Taking it all. Men go to and die in war for pussy like this.”

His praise sends another shock of bliss through you, and your pace falters as your legs begin to shake. Yet he doesn’t let up. His hands grip your ass, helping you move, pulling you down harder, deeper, each thrust sending his cock punching up into that devastating spot inside you. You cry out, clinging to him.

“Are you going to come for me?” he taunts raggedly against your throat. “Soak my cock like the desperate thing you are?”

“Yes—yes, Marcus—fuck, yes!” The words spill from you in a delirious rush, your pitch climbing higher as you ride him with reckless desire. Every drag of your soaked cunt around his thick shaft sends another jolt up your spine. You know you’ll feel this for days; every step, every shift in your body will echo with the memory of his ruin. The sheer power of straddling a man like him and breaking apart on his cock.

Then his mouth is on your breast, downright ravenous. He devours you with ardent, open-mouthed kisses, lips sealing tight around your nipple as he sucks hard, his tongue flicking rapidly before his teeth sink in just enough to make you mewl out in gratification. His attention shifts from one bouncing mound to the other, spit-slick and gleaming in the moonlight, the sting of his teeth making your walls clamp down around him.

“Marcus!” You come apart with his name tearing from your throat. Your climax hits like lightning, sharp and blinding. Your vision splinters, black spots dancing at the edges as ecstasy rips through body locking down, muscles seizing as your pussy quivers around his cock, dragging a primal sound from his chest. Every part of you is slick—sweat, oil, steam, and arousal mingling on your skin as your orgasm wrings you out.

The tight squeeze of your pussy has him snarling, losing the last thread of control. He wrenches his mouth from your tits and sinks his teeth into your neck, spitting curses as he fucks up into you with brutal, punishing thrusts. His fingers dig into your ass, holding you down as he drives into your spent cunt.

“Fucking take it,” he grits. “All of it.”

You feel the heat of him flooding you, dick twitching deep inside as he spills into you with a low, lecherous moan, biting down harder as he rides it out, making you wince. He doesn’t pull out, doesn’t move, just holds you flush against him, chest to chest, your body trembling as his seed fills you.

There’s no pause for breath, only the ragged, desperate sound of two bodies ruined by pleasure, locked together in the heat of the bath, gods watching from marble pedestals as if in envy.

Acacius still holds you, his strong arms wrapped tight around your waist, anchoring you to him like he never wants to let go. His cock remains buried deep inside you, softening slowly, the warmth of his release cradled within.

He presses a kiss to your temple, and then another to the hollow of your throat, working his way down with lazy affection. His hands roam your body, no longer rough and demanding, but tender and adoring. Fingertips graze the curve of your back, the dip of your waist, the fullness of your thighs; learning every inch of you like a man starved for closeness.

Your heart hammers against your ribcage, and you nuzzle into the crook of his neck, catching the scent of warm skin, salt, and the faint hint of sandalwood oil still clinging to him. You lean in, lips brushing his, and he meets you with a kiss so slow you feel like you’re floating.

When you pull back, you pause to look at him—really look at him. His dark curls cling damply to his forehead, drops of water trailing down his neck. His eyes, deep and glistening brown, are locked onto yours, hungry still, but softened by something far more dangerous than lust. Something like longing.

“Marcus,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath.

His lips pull, slow and knowing. “Say it again.”

You smile, fucked out entirely. “Marcus.”

His arms tighten around you, and the two of you sit there in the warmth of the water, wrapped around each other. The steam coils around your bodies, carrying with it the heady scent of oils and sex. Neither of you rushes to speak again. There’s no need.

This night will linger in more than just muscle memory. It will haunt your thoughts. It will live in his hands.

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taking it slow

Summary: having sex with Carmy for the first time. Somewhere along the way… he discovers he has a bit of a size kink.

Warnings: size kink, piv no protection, Carmy has a rlly big dick okay, praise praise praise, soft dom Carm vibes, minimally proofread if you’re reading day of posting.

Word count: 2690

Carmen is nervous. It’s not his first time having sex, but it’s his first time having sex with you—which is a really big deal to him. His heart beats a mile a minute inside his chest as he walks hand in hand with you to his apartment.

Although he’s teeming with nerves on the inside, he doesn’t let it show for a second. Quite the opposite, actually. He’s the definition of calm when you press your lips against his in the elevator. You’re too eager to wait for him to make the first move, so you take matters into your own hands.

Carmen only pulls away from you for a moment when the elevator opens up. He deftly walks you backwards out of the elevator to the door of his apartment without letting his lips leave yours. After pining you to the door, he deepens the kiss, letting his tongue trace across your bottom lip while he digs in his pocket for his keys.

Once he opens up the door and guides you inside, you instantly try and pull him by his jacket to the first piece of furniture you see, the couch. He makes a noise of protest against your lips. “No—not gonna fuck you on the couch for the first time. Bedroom’s this way,” he says, holding your hand and leading you down the hallway.

He sits down on the edge of the bed, giving you half a second to take in your surroundings. It’s obvious he cleaned the place—there’s not a single article of clothing on the floor. There’s not much decoration, only a couple of—

“I can give you a tour later,” he smiles, interrupting your train of thought. “C’mere.” He pats his lap gently.

After you’ve settled on his lap, straddling his hips, Carmy takes your face in both of his hands and brings you in for a gentle kiss. It only stays gentle for a moment though. His thumb pulls down your chin, letting him explore your mouth with his tongue. He licks into your mouth like he’s trying to devour you, and you would gladly let him at this point. At the same time, he lets a hand drift to your hip, urging you to grind onto him.

Carmy’s touch is tentative—almost hesitant. His hands remain firmly planted on your hips. It takes a moment of grinding on his lap for him to finally nudge his hand underneath your shirt. “Can I take your clothes off?” he whispers against your lips. 

“Y-yeah—yeah, please.”

Carmy doesn’t even realize how big of a tease he is right now. He’s treating your clothing with a slow and steady mentality. As each layer is taken off, he pauses to kiss at your skin. 

When he takes off your shirt, he pauses to kiss your jaw. Your head instinctively falls back, giving him more room to move onto your neck, then your chest. He trades kisses for small sucks and bites on the skin as he grows more urgent. He treats your pants the same way, trailing kisses down your legs as he pulls the fabric down. 

He does not treat his own clothing with the same care. The second your hands slide underneath his shirt to feel his stomach, he rips the shirt right over his head. While Carmy works on his own clothes, you hastily unclasp your bra and push your underwear off. 

You're gazing back up at his figure as he’s pushing down his boxers, revealing his very hard cock. You don’t try to hide your staring. At first, your eyes start at his chest, wandering down to his chiseled abdomen. They finally end up on his, quite large, dick. Your eyes widen at the sight of it. 

Carmy turns pink under your gaze, heat rushing to his cheeks. He breaks eye contact by opening his bedside drawer, starting to rummage through it. “Uhm—I think I got some in here…”

You quickly grab his wrist to stop his searching. “I uh—m’on the pill, so you don’t have to if you’re comfortable…” you trail off. Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire.

His eyes dilate at your words. “Shit—yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah—that’s fine with me.” He’s nodding with those big thoughtless eyes as he speaks, and crawls over top of you.

His cock weighs heavy against your thigh as Carmy kisses you again. It’s a rough clash of tongues, leaving a string of spit between your mouth and his when he pulls away. 

Carmy breathes heavy when he takes his dick into his hand, giving himself a few pumps. You gasp when you feel the tip nudge against your entrance. “I don’t know if it’s gonna fit—“ he mumbles. 

“It can—I can take it.”

His eyes are locked at where he presses up at your opening, using his thumb to spread your fold apart to give him a better look. “I dunno, sweetheart. I think it’s too tight—I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Before you can voice a protest, he starts rutting his dick through your folds, instead. Every thrust bumps up against your clit, making you whimper. You’re thoroughly coating his cock in your wetness. 

You can only stand it for so long. “S’not too big. I can take it. I promise I can,” you mutter. Your legs spread wider, eager to feel him inside of you.

Carmen zones out for a second, staring intently at your entrance. You’re pulsing around nothing, slick starting to make its way out of you and onto the bed sheets. It takes a whine from your throat for him to snap out of it.

“Carm—“ you pout. “Need you, please don’t tease me.”

“Sorry, baby. Wasn’t tryin’ to.” In the next moment, he’s lining himself back up. He can’t help the groan that leaves his lips as his tip makes contact with your hot, wet center. Carmen eases his hips forward, slotting the head of his cock inside of you. He fights the urge to let his eyes close at the sensation, but he doesn’t want to miss a single moment of your facial expressions. 

Your mouth falls open as he presses inside of you. Your core pulses around his cock, wrapping him in warmth. He’s already losing his mind and he’s barely even inside of you. 

Carmy’s over half way in when your hands jolt out to grab his where they hold onto your hips. A sharp whine stops him dead in his tracks. He takes a hand off of your hip to hold your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours. 

“Shh—I know, sweetheart. You’re doing so good f’me,” he says in between kisses to your lips. He doesn’t press his hips any further. He pulls back a bit, not able to contain the low groan from the throat at the friction. “Already feels so fucking good. So fuckin’ warm and tight.”

“Just a little more, okay? You can take it—I know you can take it. Just tell me when you’re ready.” There’s no rushing tone in his voice, just pure sincerity. Carmen nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck while you adjust. He presses sweet, gentle kisses to the side of your face and your neck. After a moment, you nod your head. “You can move.” 

Carmy presses in again, watching your face for any sign of discomfort. The only sign is your eyes squeezed shut. It’s a stretch for the rest of him to fit. He’s average length wise—maybe on the larger side, but his girth was more than you’ve taken before. It feels like he’s splitting you in half—in the best way possible at least.

When he bottoms out, he’s holding himself up by his forearms overtop of you. He presses kisses to your cheeks and your neck, mumbling praises. “Did so good, baby—feels s’good. So fucking perfect.” He struggles to keep his hips still, grinding into you. 

The first true thrust makes your head spin. Carmy pulls out at a gentle pace until just the head of him remains inside of you. He pushes back in more quickly than before, taking your breath away. He’s just as affected as you are. His mouth is open, breathing deeply as soft groans tumble out of him.

He builds up the pace gradually, taking the time for you to adjust. It’s not long before you’re no longer wincing at the stretch. Finally giving you a chance to take in the sight of Carmen in front of you.

His hair is messily pushed back as a bead of sweat builds at his brow. His abs flex with every single thrust he takes. The gold chain on his neck swings back and forth, hitting his chest. You grab what you can of his body, one hand grabbing onto his bicep while the other holds onto the headboard for support. 

Every thrust fans the flames building in your belly. You squeeze at his arm, nails digging into his skin. It’s never felt like this before, and it’s starting to make you dizzy. The sounds coming from the room are erotic—the sound of skin against skin. You’re so wet it’s practically dripping out from around his cock. 

“I’ve never felt so full—you’re s’big, Carm.”

He pauses again, smiling at the way you whimper from the loss of movement. You can see the wheels turning in his head before he speaks. 

“Can I try something?” He says breathlessly, and you nod your head frantically in response. He accepts the wordless answer for now, but he’s going to have to work on getting you to use your words later. Carmy sits up on his knees while staying inside of you and grabs your leg from around his hip. He has a dark look in his eye when he lifts your leg and throws it over his shoulder. He thrusts gently into you, testing the waters. There’s a choked groan caught at the back of his throat that you don’t miss. His lips press to your calve, leaving a series of kisses on your skin. “This okay? Too much?” His voice is thin, like he’s barely holding himself together. 

Another moan slips out of your mouth when Carmy does another soft thrust of his hips. “Not too much—shit, Carmy. I think—I think I can feel you in my stomach,” you babble. 

At the sound of your moans, he increases the intensity of his hips. It’s not too much more; he’s still trying to take it slow and let you adjust. The words you just said are getting to his head, though. “You serious?”

“Mhm.” You reach for one of his hands at your hip and tug it up to your stomach. Carmy looks at you with a furrowed brow, but you completely ignore it. You manipulate his hand so that the base of his palm rests at your pubic bone, and his fingers splay in the space between your hips. You lay your hand flat over his and push down. “Feel it? Feel how deep you are?”

“Holy shit,” he whispers. 

Then he’s just keeping his hand there, making eye contact while he rolls his hips up into you. You can’t take it, closing your eyes in pleasure. That’s another thing Carmy was going to have to work with you. “Hey—keep your eyes on me, baby. Keep ‘em on me, yeah?”

Your eyes open immediately at his instruction, meeting his gaze. You can barely make out the bright blue of his eyes; his pupils have grown, making the color a thin ring. “S-sorry,” you blurt. 

“None of that,” he grunts. He’s still continuing to roll his hips while talking. “Nothing to be sorry about. I j’st wanna see those pretty eyes.”

He gets distracted by the pout on your lips, leaning down to give you real kisses again. This inadvertently pushes Carmy’s cock even deeper inside of you, almost like he’s folding you in half. All the while, he continues fucking into you. A sharp whine leaves your throat again, and your nails dig into the muscles of his back. Carmy freezes in place, worried he went too far—worried that he hurt you. “Shit—I’m sorry sweetheart—“

You vigorously shake your head. “Feels good—holy fuck Carmy.” You cry out. “Please don’t stop, please don’t stop.” You beg.

“That the spot? Yeah?” He murmurs as his thrusts start back up again. This time he’s more calculated, like he’s trying to hit that spot and make you lose your mind. “Such a good girl for me—taking it like you’re made for it.”

“Fuck. Squeezing me so tight.” Slick pools out from around his cock with every thrust, leaving a white ring around the base of him. “Those fuckin’ noises—shit,” he mutters. 

Your eyes flutter closed. It’s all too much. The heat in your stomach was going to consume you at this point. You don’t even realize you’ve closed your eyes until you feel Carmy’s hand on your jaw. 

“Remember what I’ve told you? Need to see your eyes, baby. Keep lookin’ at me and I’ll give it to you, I promise. Just keep you’re eyes on me; I’ve got you.”

In the next moment, he’s taking his hand from your jaw, and sliding it down your body to rub your clit with his thumb. Carmy is fully resting his forehead on yours, keeping his eyes on you. 

“C-Carmy I—I can’t I’m—“

“Let go, baby, let me feel you cum around me.”

Those words make the tight band in your stomach snap. You pulse around him as your orgasm washes over you. You’re probably drawing blood with how deep your nails are in his skin, but you don’t care at this point. 

Watching you come undone under him gets Carmy even closer to his peak. Your cunt squeezing him makes him pound into you even harder. 

He wants to be closer to you—needs to be closer to you. He drops your leg from his shoulder, and practically puts all of his weight onto you; your chest is firmly pressed against his chest. Both of his arms wrap around your back, keeping you tight to his body. Carmy buries in face in the crook of your neck, and begins a reckless pace that takes your breath away. He’s going to town now that you’ve cum, pressing kisses to your shoulder and collarbone to try and conceal at least some of his whimpering. 

He still manages to mumble more about how fucking good you feel, and all you can do is hold onto him just as tight as he’s holding onto you. You wrap your legs around his back and interlock your ankles to him even deeper. He groans loudly, like the wind has been knocked out of him. Your hands are tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. You make a soft “uh” noise with every thrust of his dick. He’s on the verge of exploding. You’re all over him. Pulsing around him. Leaking around him. He’s convinced he’s died and gone to heaven.

He glances down and sees the ring of your arousal around his cock for the first time, and damn near loses his mind.

His hips start losing their precision, sloppily rutting up against you. Carmy lifts up his head from the crook of your neck to rest his forehead against yours. “C-can I—fuck—can I cum inside? M’so close.” His voice is filled with desperation and need.

“Shit—please. Please, please, please. Want it inside—please fill me up.”

A few more sloppy thrusts and Carmy spills deep inside of you with a whimper. His hips keep moving after his orgasm ends, lazily grinding his cum further into you. 

He fully falls on top of you afterwards, trying to catch his breath. You muster enough strength to comb your hand through his curls. Your limbs feel like jelly. “Fuck, Carm.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever cum that hard in my life—holy shit,” he replies with a laugh. 

“No like, I don’t think I can walk. My legs feel like jello.”

He presses another kiss to your shoulder. “I can carry you to the bathroom and clean you up. How does that sound?”

“Sounds perfect.”

indulging in the beauty of vintage books and

coquette vibes ♡

Eliza is too fucking funny LMAO she was like just kiss already god damn 🤣🤣🤣🤣

I love the way you write Jack!! He deserves the world.

You Are In Love: Chapter Two

Jack Abbot x Reader

Warnings: Incredibly fluffy, trauma, Jack's widower status is slightly explored, light sexual references

Chapters: Chapter One, Chapter Two

Description: Jack and the reader haven't spoken since the night Robby's daughter broke her arm. Trying to get them back in the same place, Robby and his wife ask them to babysit the kids while they go to a wedding.

--

“What if one of them offers to go home?” Robby asked, slinging a powder blue tie around his neck, a move usually reserved for his stethoscope. 

His wife leaned over the bathroom counter slightly to get a closer view of her eyelashes in the mirror as a mascara brush painted them. “Neither of them will actually go home.” She answered nonchalantly. 

He raised an eyebrow as he snaked the tie into a Windsor knot. “And why is that?” 

“Eliza is going to beg both of them to stay.” She responded like it was an obvious answer. 

“You think that’s all it’ll take?”

“It’s hard to say no to those Robinavitch brown eyes.” 

Robby smirked and slid an arm low around his wife’s waist. “Oh, is it?”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless. “We do not have time.”

“We hired babysitters.”

“So we can go to a wedding.”

“What about after? I’ll show you a good time in the back of the truck. Just like your intern year.” A swat at his ass had him howling in surprise. “Oh, yeah, just like that, Mama.”

“Michael!”

—

You pulled up to the address that Robby’s wife had texted to your phone a couple of days ago. She had asked if you could babysit the kids for a few hours while she and Robby went to her cousin’s wedding. And, of course, you couldn’t say no after meeting Eliza and baby Abbot in the emergency department a couple of weeks ago. 

You turned onto their street as instructed by your phone, counted the mailbox numbers, and…that was weird. You knew Robby had a navy truck, but you didn’t recognize the second black truck that was sitting in front of the house. As you rolled forward, you parked behind the black truck so you wouldn’t obstruct the driveway. The license plate caught your eye, and…fuck. 

U.S. Army Veteran.

Jack was here. You quickly pulled your sun visor down to check your appearance in the tiny mirror. Light mascara and blush from your day of running errands. A lavender oversized sweatshirt and black biker shorts that hugged your ass (covered by the sweatshirt though). You didn’t look bad, but you certainly didn’t put in enough effort to be around him. 

The night Eliza broke her arm was the last night on your rotation with Jack. About thirteen days ago. Now you were on the day shift with Robby and his wife. Even though shift changes overlapped, Jack was always pulled immediately into a room when he arrived at dusk. And he never seemed to wait for you when you came in the mornings. 

Your last interaction with him was warm, tender, and promising. Talk of the future, even if it wasn’t explicitly about you and him. The innocent touch of your hands around his bicep. The press of his lips against your hair. 

You had expected a call or text. But you received nothing from him outside of work discussions. A piece of your heart crumbled every time his name popped up on your lock screen, just for it to be about a patient’s chart.

Robby’s wife made a thorough effort to become your friend. She was a senior resident, just returning from maternity leave. A couple of times, she asked how Jack was doing, assuming the two of you had kept in touch, but you couldn’t provide her with an answer. You didn’t know. 

You stared at yourself in the mirror, deciding that the only way to approach tonight was with confidence and grace. Don’t let him know you’re hurt. Don’t let him know you care. But still be sugary sweet. This wasn’t your first rodeo. 

You knocked on the door, not too loudly, and avoided the doorbell in case baby Abbot was sleeping. Following a click, the door swung open to reveal Robby, uncharacteristically polished in a navy suit, with Abbot tucked into his right arm like a football. 

“Hey! Come on in.” He greeted, stepping out of the doorway. 

You smiled, giving his wife mental props for scoring a hot older man, and stepped inside. Baby Abbot was kicking his legs, blowing spit bubbles. You tickled one of his bare feet. 

“Hey, handsome!” You cooed. “It’s only been two weeks, you look so much bigger!”

Robby chuckled and shut the door. “He is definitely not failing to thrive.” He commented.

High heels clicked on hardwood floor, softening as they hit the entryway hall runner. You turned to see his wife, looking elegant as ever, but certainly much more youthful than him. 

She greeted you with a hug and grabbed your hands. “Thank you so much for helping us out. This is actually the first time we’ve left them both behind...” She said, and a streak of anxiety flashed through her eyes. Her voice lowered to almost a whisper. “So we needed extra reinforcements. Jack usually watches Eliza, but she can be a lot. And with a 4-month-old…” She trailed off, looking to make sure nobody was behind her. “He’s just older, you know? Can’t get around like he used to.”

Behind you, Robby narrowed his eyes at the last sentence as he bounced baby Abbot in his arms. But you nodded in understanding. “No, yeah. I totally get it.” You replied, an unusual feeling wrestling in your stomach at the mention of Jack. 

“I mean, Robby already has a hard time keeping up with both of them when I’m away. With Eliza running around and Abbot learning to crawl-“

Robby stepped forward, throwing his free arm around his wife’s waist. “Okayyy, she said she gets it.” He cut the conversation short, but clearly he wasn’t too upset. “We need to get going.”

His wife giggled and leaned into his side. “Okay, okay.” She conceded before calling out, “Eliza! Come see who’s here!”

Robby looked to his wife as tiny footsteps grew louder. “For the record, I get around just fine. I’m in my physical prime.” He protested. 

All he received in return was a “Sure, babe.”

From around the corner, Eliza appeared in a pink, glittery princess outfit, wielding a star wand in her casted arm. As soon as she spotted you, she squealed your name and sprinted to you. 

You swooped her into your arms, matching the tight hug she gave you. “I didn’t know a princess lived here!” You exclaimed. 

Eliza giggled and did a spin in her dress. “I’m a doctor princess!” That’s when you noticed a toy stethoscope around her neck.

You nodded and tapped the plastic stethoscope. “Oh, I see.” 

“Uncle Jack gave it to me!” She explained.

As if on cue, you could hear his signature foot pattern. Slow, steady, but heavier on the right foot. Your eyes flicked up, meeting his piercing gaze. You couldn’t bear to hold it, so you looked back at Eliza. 

“That’s very nice of him.” You commented, standing up to adult height. 

The silence that followed was a half-beat too long. Robby received a say-something glance from his wife, and he cleared his throat. “Eliza, you get two babysitters tonight. Are you excited?”

Eliza looked between you and Jack, processing this new information. “But I only need one.” She replied as frankly as a five-year-old could. 

Robby’s wife carefully took baby Abbot from her husband’s grasp, kissing him on his tiny forehead. “That’s true, but your baby brother needs a babysitter, too.” She reasoned. 

Eliza tilted her head. “But Abby is little.” She replied. 

You and Jack gave identical looks of confusion to the parents, not exactly following the child’s statement, but they were just as lost. Robby shrugged, indicating to move along.

“I can-“ you stuttered, making an awkward step backward to the door. “I can go if that makes her more comfortable.” 

“No!” Four different voices exclaimed. Desperately from Robby and his wife. Loudest from Eliza. But surprisingly, from Jack. Even he was caught off guard by his response. 

You relaxed and smiled, feeling a little more welcome. “Okay, I’ll stay.” You replied. 

Eliza cheered, jumping up and down. “Two babysitters!” She shouted. 

Robby’s wife carefully transferred baby Abbot to your embrace, giving him one last kiss on the cheek. “Bottles are in the fridge, bottle warmer is next to the kitchen sink.” She told you. 

“Got it.” You answered, bouncing the baby in your arms. 

Both parents knelt to hug and kiss Eliza, sharing I-love-yous and goodnights. As Robby stood up again, the joints in his knees cracked, and he let out a slight grunt as he straightened out. 

“Physical prime, my ass.” You heard his wife say under her breath, earning a glare from the old man. 

Jack had made his way to your side, picking up Eliza in his arms as she waved goodbye to her parents. You took baby Abbot’s tiny hand and waved for him. 

“We’ll be back in a few hours.” Robby reminded, and the door shut behind them. 

There was a moment of silence. Eliza watched the door, fighting the urge to chase after her parents like every child. Baby Abbot stared up at you, holding your gaze with the same big brown eyes that matched his father's and sister's. Jack glanced down at you, trying to find the right words to say, but his search was cut short.

“Uncle Jack, can I paint your nails?”

—

Everyone was on the ground in Eliza’s room. Jack had laid a towel down for the inevitable nail polish spill that would occur. You set baby Abbot on a blanket, letting him lie on his tummy, and mirrored him on the floor. Eliza sat crisscrossed, the rainbow assortment of polish out in front of her. Jack sat with his left leg bent, right leg extended out, awaiting his glittery and messy fate. Peaceful instrumental music played from the tiny stereo in the bedroom, giving a warm aura. 

“What color do you want?” Eliza asked. 

Jack hummed in thought, browsing his choices. “Give me your best shade of pink. I want to look pretty.” He answered very seriously. 

Eliza giggled and snatched the light pink glitter polish before swiping the others aside. “This is the best pink.” She advertised. 

You couldn’t help but smile at Jack’s devotion to making his niece happy. The cynical veteran remained still with his hands pressed on the towel while Eliza slathered the nail polish onto his nails and knuckles. 

“I think he’ll need his toenails painted, too.” You commented. 

Eliza looked up to you, eyes blown wide like you’d revealed an entrepreneurial secret. “Yeah!” She exclaimed. 

Jack’s jaw slackened as he slowly looked over to you, tongue in cheek. You gave him a sweet smile before returning your attention to baby Abbot, who cooed as he tried to figure out how to crawl to you.

Eliza continued to work diligently, covering each nail with an excessive amount of polish. “Have you kissed her?” She asked casually. 

The color drained from your face, but you refused to turn around. You didn’t see his reaction, but his silence was deafening. 

“Not yet.”

Now that caused you to turn around, only to find him smirking right back at you. 

Eliza raised an eyebrow, the same look her mother gave patients daily. “Why not?” She asked.

You tilted your head in curiosity, smiling slightly at Eliza’s annoyance. “Yeah, why not?” You asked. 

Jack looked away for the first time with an odd look on his face. Was he…blushing? Was he getting shy with you? He shrugged with the bashfulness of a teenage boy. His lips twitched as he cycled through his answers. 

“She’s been working in the day with your mommy and daddy. Not at night with me. I don’t see her anymore,” was the answer he settled on.

Your eyes softened. For the first time in two weeks, you realized that maybe he was waiting for you to make the next move. After all, he was the older man, not wanting to seem like a perv by snatching up the young intern. 

Eliza closed up the pink glitter polish and wiped the residue from her fingers onto the towel. “Why don’t you work with Uncle Jack anymore?” She asked. 

You smiled at the child’s innocence. “It’s the rules at work. I’ll work with Uncle Jack again in a few weeks.” You explained, then gambled. “I miss working with him.”

Jack’s amber eyes flicked up to meet yours, a glimmer of something hopeful in them. One side of his mouth curled up just slightly, but not too much. Eliza pulled out her nail polish selection again and spread them out. “Uncle Jack, she misses you.” She reiterated. 

Jack chuckled, the smile pulling all the way now, dimples sinking into his cheeks. “I miss her, too.” He finally responded. 

You wanted to throw your arms around his neck and tackle him to the ground with a million kisses, but baby Abbot had other plans. The tiniest Robinavitch began to cry, face reddening as he fussed. You sat up on your knees and scooped him into your arms, shushing him gently. 

“I think it’s time for a bottle.” You said to the baby and moved towards the doorway. “Are you two going to be okay in here?” 

Jack watched you leave, resisting every urge to yank you down into his arms. “Oh, we’ll be fine. Besides…” He pulled off his left shoe and sock. “It’s time for my pedicure.” 

Eliza squeaked in laughter as he shoved his foot near her face. She tried to push it away, but Jack wouldn’t give in. “It’s gross!” She screeched. 

“I will leave a bad review online if I don’t get the pedicure I was promised.” He threatened, finally setting his foot down. 

Your cheeks ached from laughter that matched Eliza’s. You felt that odd feeling of warmth again, watching him. Jack was meant to be a dad. And deep down, you wanted to do everything you could to make that happen for him. 

—

After feeding baby Abbot, burping him, and giving him a quick diaper change, you returned to Eliza’s room. Jack now had bright green polish splattered across his toes. 

“Oh, I think that’s your color, Uncle Jack.” You complimented. 

Jack gave you that famous half-smile in response. “I think so, too.” He replied. 

Eliza typed at her toy cash register, tallying up the salon bill. “Your hands are a hundred.” She announced, then pushed a few more buttons. “Your foot is not a lot because you only have one foot.” She added. 

An unexpected laugh escaped you, and Jack snapped his head up at you. A wide grin slapped across his face as you covered your mouth by pulling baby Abbot closer, hiding your snickers. “Oh, you think it’s funny?” He challenged. 

You sat down next to him, carefully shifting the baby in your arms. “Half off discount, right?” You teased. 

Jack laughed with you and nudged your shoulder with his. He fished his wallet out of the pocket of his jeans, opening one of the folds to reveal Monopoly money. “Here ya go.” He tossed the assorted colored cash to the register. 

Eliza let out a big yawn as she shoved the paper into the register. “Oh, are you tired, baby?” You asked.

She didn’t say yes. No child ever admitted to being sleepy. But she rubbed her eyes before saying, “We have to do snuggle pile.” 

You looked to Jack for an explanation, but he just furrowed his brow. “What’s snuggle pile?” He questioned. 

Eliza pulled at Jack’s hand to make him stand up. “We have to do snuggle pile before sleeping.” She explained. 

Jack carefully put his weight on his left leg, slowly standing with a practiced ease until his right foot could drag up with him. “You’ll have to show me what you mean.” He replied. 

The little girl then pulled at your shirt to help you up. Jack took baby Abbot into his arms so you could stand up as well. “We have to go to the couch.” Eliza said before leading you both to the living room. 

She first pushed Jack into the corner of the L-shaped sectional. “That’s where Daddy goes.” She listed. 

Still holding baby Abbot, Jack was unable to reach for his right leg to pull it onto the couch, and you saw the brief conflict in his eyes. You gingerly grabbed the ankle joint of his prosthesis and lifted until it rested on the cushion. Jack watched you with a vulnerability that you’d only seen the night Eliza broke her arm. Before he could thank you, you were being led by a tiny force to sit down. 

“Then Mommy goes here…” Eliza explained. She pulled Jack’s arm out, the one that wasn’t cradling baby Abbot like a football, the same way Robby had. Then, she pushed you down into his embrace. “Uncle Jack, you have to hold her.” She instructed. 

Your face reddened as Jack shifted on the couch, lounging against the cushions. But he kept his arm out for you, waiting like the spot had always been meant for you. You slowly sank back, not breaking eye contact with him as you did. Once you had settled, he curled the arm around your waist, the motion turning your body more towards him, more against him, the closest you had ever been to him. His breath pooled against your cheeks, warming them further. For the first time, you could smell more than just antiseptic and coffee on him–a blend of sandalwood and citrus. 

Eliza marched to the other end of the couch and hauled a fluffy blanket in tow back to you. She climbed into your arms, cuddling between you and Jack. “And I go here.” She finished her tutorial. 

You spread the blanket across your bodies, securing the warmth. Not another word was said. Only the hum of the fan above accompanied the soft breaths from each of you. Baby Abbot already had his eyes closed, snuggled into Jack’s arm. Eliza began to drift off, turned towards you, head on your chest. 

But you were lost in Jack’s eyes, and the perfect blend of every color stared right back at you. Blinking slowly in your haven of peace. You caught him beginning to smile, the real one with dimples, the corners of his eyes crinkling. And it was so beautiful. You had no choice but to smile with him. There was nothing that needed to be said. You could hear it in the silence. 

—

It was midnight when the front door opened. Jack was the only one awake, still holding together the snuggle pile. You had dozed off, unable to fight the alluring urge to rest in his embrace. 

Robby and his wife entered the living room, both smiling at the sight before them. “Snuggle pile?” Robby whispered. 

Jack just smiled and nodded, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. The deep vibrations were enough to wake you from the best nap you’d had in years. You felt a weight being lifted off you as Robby carefully lifted his daughter from your body. Flustered, you sat up quickly, disoriented. 

“I-I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I’m so sorry.” You breathed. 

Robby’s wife waved you off. “You’re fine. The Lieutenant Colonel kept watch.” She replied, lifting baby Abbot from Jack’s arms, allowing him to sit up as well. 

Both parents left to transport the children to their respective bedrooms. Jack slid his right leg off the couch, his foot hitting the ground with an ungraceful thud. “Did you sleep okay?” He asked quietly. 

You nodded. “Yeah. I did actually. I didn’t even mean to. I wasn’t tired.” You rambled. “I just felt…safe.”

Safe. That was the perfect word. And Jack’s chest puffed out with a primitive pride. Then he smirked. “You talk in your sleep.”

Your eyes widened. “No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you absolutely do.” He was smiling, dimples and all. “You were reciting the steps for a laparoscopic appendectomy. Correctly, I might add.”

You wanted to feel embarrassed, but you just giggled. “I can’t stop studying. Even in my sleep.” You joked. 

Jack chuckled with you and ran a hand through his silvered curls. “Do you need me to drive you home?” He asked, genuine concern in his voice. 

You shook your head, smiling still. “No, I’ll be okay. Thank you, though.”

“Then let me walk you to your car.” He offered. 

Robby reentered the living room, and you heard his wife moving in the kitchen. “Let me update her on how the baby did. Don’t leave without me.” You said before standing to go to the kitchen. 

Jack watched as you walked away, and there was an involuntary ache in his chest just at the notion of your absence. Robby flopped down on the couch next to his friend. 

“Sooo…” He started, trying to pry. “How’d it go?”

“I got overcharged by your daughter for a mani-pedi.” Jack flashed his pink glittery nails as he spoke. 

Robby laughed, examining his own nails that he’d scrubbed with nail polish remover just before the wedding. “I’ll wire you some more Monopoly money at the end of the week.” He joked, but then shifted to face his friend more. “How’d it go with her?” He tilted his head towards the kitchen, where you spoke with his wife. 

Jack sank into the couch, uncharacteristic of his natural military posture. “I feel like I need to wait. I don’t want to rush into anything or scare her off.” He admitted. 

Robby raised an eyebrow. “Wait? Jack, you’re almost 50. If you wait any longer, you’ll turn to dust.” 

Jack shook his head, fiddling with his hands in his lap, another oddity from the veteran. “Michael, I’m scared.” He finally said. 

Robby’s brow wrinkled in surprise. Of all the things they had been through together, all of the traumas, all of the disagreements, all of the near-jumps from the roof of the Pitt. Jack had never admitted to being scared. And he had never, ever called him "Michael."

“Scared of what?” Robby finally asked. 

More silence. And then, “I don’t want to lose her, too.” The tiniest crack in Jack’s voice threatened to unleash a reservoir of tears if he said anymore. 

Robby scooted closer on the couch and threw an arm around his friend’s shoulders, pulling him close. “Jack, listen to me.” He whispered. “You’re ready for this. You have been for years, you admitted it yourself.”

Jack looked to him with glassy eyes, bottom lip quivering ever so slightly. “Tonight, when I held her, watched her sleep, heard her breathing. Holding the kids. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. And the thought of losing that…of losing her. I can’t go through that again. You saw what it did to me the first time. I don’t know that I could come back from it a second time.”

Robby felt tears sting his own eyes at Jack’s words. The suffering his friend had endured when his wife passed away almost a decade ago was insurmountable. The only thing he could do to escape was go on another tour overseas, and it cost him his right leg and sanity. He tightened his grip around Jack’s shoulders. 

“Do not let fear keep you from being happy.” He said firmly. “Jack, you deserve this. You are ready for this. You know I would tell you if I thought otherwise.”

Jack just nodded, taking in a heavy breath to control his emotions. “I don’t like silence.” He said simply. “I mean, you know that. Always have the police scanner on, always have music playing, always finding ways to fill the void. Because silence is when I go back to a dark place. Or that’s what my therapist says anyway.”

He looked to the kitchen, and he could see your reflection in the window as you chatted with Robby’s wife. “But tonight, for the first time…I enjoyed the silence. I didn’t go to a dark place. I was happy with her and the kids. Just at peace.”

And with that, Robby smiled and nodded. “I’ll tell ya, brother. Being able to hold my entire family in my arms at the end of a shift from hell…no amount of therapy could equate to that.” He said. “My only regret is that I didn’t let myself find happiness sooner.” His eyes trailed off to the window, watching the reflection of his wife. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Jack smiled slightly, stretching as he prepared to stand. “You’re an hour late, by the way.” He mused. 

Robby hesitated for a moment, scratching the back of his head, a dead giveaway. “Uh, yeah. It was a Catholic wedding, so the ceremony ran a little long, and-“

“You have lipstick on your neck, and you’re missing two buttons on your shirt.” Jack cut him off. 

Robby shrugged, still rubbing the nape of his neck. “What can I say? She keeps me young.” 

“What are you boys talking about?” His wife asked as you both reentered the living room. 

Jack shrugged casually. “Ah, not much. Quick question, though. If I go to Robby’s truck right now, am I going to find the two missing buttons from his shirt in the back seat?” He asked. 

“Michael!”

Robby glared at the silver-haired man. “Snitch.” He hissed. 

—

You walked outside, and Jack shut the door behind you. He placed a protective hand on the small of your back as he led you down the driveway.

“Are you sure you don’t need me to drive you?” He asked. 

You smiled, walking slower to savor your time with him. “Jack, I’ll be okay. I’ll even text you when I make it home.” You promised. 

That was good enough for him. You both passed his truck to get to your car. Instead of opening the driver’s side door, you leaned against it, facing him. 

“Is this the last time I’ll see you until I’m on nights again?” You asked. 

Jack watched you for a second, memorizing the way the moon lit up your features, highlighting every perfect ridge and curve of your face. “I don’t want it to be.” He admitted. 

You smiled and grabbed his hands in yours. The smooth pads of your thumbs traced against the rough, slightly wrinkled skin of the back of his hands. “I’m honestly surprised you can work nights. Guys your age are usually in bed by 9 pm.” You teased. 

Jack huffed a laugh, and his grin twinkled like the stars behind him. “Guys my age?” He repeated, stepping closer to you, placing a hand beside your head on your car window. 

His body was nearly pressed against yours, but you knew you could reel him in some more. “Oh, you know. Old.” 

He inched closer, the harsh denim of his jeans brushing against your exposed knees. 

“Ancient.” 

His free hand mirrored the other now, enclosing you against your car door. 

“Elderly.” 

His chest bumped against your breasts with every inhale. Your fingers looped in the belt buckles of his jeans, closing the gap between your hips. 

“Archaic.” 

His smile was gone. It had been long gone since the first brush of contact. 

But your smirk remained. His breath was hot on your cheeks, just like before, but there was a new energy in the heat. “You better wipe that smile off your face.” He warned. 

Jack’s piercing eyes bore into your soul, and you had to look away, blushing at the strong eye contact. “Or what? You’ll wipe it off for me?” You called his bluff. 

He was as still as a statue, and even his breathing had stopped. 

“Look up.”

It was a command from your soldier, and you obeyed. There was that look in his eyes again. The vulnerable one. And suddenly you realized he wasn’t going to make the first move. He couldn’t do it. He was scared. 

You moved your hands from his hips, trailing up his upper body, muscles trembling underneath your fingertips. You cradled his face on either side, brushing your thumbs across his cheeks. He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple visibly shifting. He whispered your name, a shaky resonance from his throat. 

You stood on your tiptoes, brushing your nose against his. His breathing stuttered, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Please.”

That was the final drop that broke the dam. You pulled his face close and kissed him hard. He let out a desperate, pathetic moan of relief, like he had been in agony until your mouth was on his. One hand anchored to the back of your head, the other dropping to your waist. 

The kiss was ethereal. Your face buzzed like you’d had an entire bottle of wine. Jack’s stubble nearly cut your skin, but the sensation was addictive. Finally, he grabbed your face, pulling you away just enough to look at you. 

“Come home with me.” He pleaded. 

—

Robby’s wife sat on the edge of the bed with her phone in her hands, a frustrated look on her face. “They’re not doing anything.” She mumbled. “They’re just talking.”

Robby pulled the knot out of his tie, slipping it off once it became loose. “Just give it a second.” He said.

His wife zoomed in on the security camera app, adjusting the brightness on her phone to see better. “Waiting…waiting…waiting…” She tolled. 

“A watched pot never boils.” He mumbled. 

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Aristotle.”

He chuckled, walking to the closet to hang up his suit until a squeak of excitement drug him back to the bedroom. 

“There it is!!” His wife cheered. 

Robby sat next to her, focusing on the phone screen. Sure enough, you and Jack were kissing. “Atta boy, Jack!” He high-fived his wife and tackled her in a hug. 

Their plan worked.

--

A/N: I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! I love writing domestic fluff for Jack, so I had to do more than just a two-parter. Also, I love writing for Robby and his wife (aka the reader, which is why she has no name lol) as an intro and an outro like a shot and chaser before the actual fic.

thinking of you

jack broke up with you because he said you needed someone younger. yet, he's still offended when he hears you're going on a date with someone else. you show up to his apartment to set the record straight.

cw: MDNI, make up sex to the max, pinv, no protection, kind of angsty but like not really, reader is independent and sort of snappy (for good reason), nipple sucking, pet names (angel, honey, sweetheart), not sure what else lmk if you see anything!

a/n: i wrote this off two beers so i'm gonna say i proofread it, but who knows...

wc: 2k

Jack didn't get pissed off. Sure, he would get mildly annoyed. He could snap. But he was never filled with unbridled rage. He could contain himself, calm himself down. He learned it in the military. He knew you couldn’t fight as well if you were angry, it clouded your judgement too much, you have to keep, at least a little bit, of a level head.

But tonight, Jack was pissed off. Robby had told him you had a date tonight. He told Jack over text, saying he, ‘figured he should know.” Jack couldn’t decide if he was thankful for the message or not.

That is what he said to you, when it ended. That you needed someone your own age. That you needed to get out there and act your age. It wasn’t good to work with someone and date them, act older than you need to. It was self-defense, he later realized. He was insecure about himself, and what he could or could not give you, so he ended it. He couldn’t believe you had listened to his incoherent ramblings. What he said made no sense, and he knew that now, but he also knew he had to take a step back and leave you the hell alone. He had fucked up, that was for sure. Begging for you back, when you had no reason to come back, would be even more fucked up.

He was regretting that mentality right now, all he wanted to do was call you. To tell you to come home. To come back to him. That guy didn’t know how to treat you, he didn’t know what you needed. He was only there to get in your pants. You were far too fucking intelligent for some immature douchebag. Jack knew what you needed, he was the only one who knew how to treat you right. He would give anything for you. This kid would not. Jack didn’t even need to know his name to know that.

Jack’s finger hovered over the call button on your contact. He tried to think of some emergency to get you to come see him instead of being on that date. But he couldn’t think of anything. There was no reason, fake or real, why you shouldn’t be on that date. 

He sighs, puts down his phone, sits in his recliner. His cushy chair, one of the only things he has splurged on in his life, faces the window, which overlooks the city. The buildings sparkle at him. It’s around seven, usually he’d be at work by now, but it was his day off. He wishes it wasn’t, he wishes that he had something to distract him. He thinks about grabbing his go bag, thinks about changing into what he wears under his scrubs and telling Shen and Ellis to just leave him the hell alone and let him work. But, he hears you in the back of his head, telling him to slow down, telling him to wait a moment, to sit with what he’s thinking instead of shoving it down.

So that’s what he does. He sits. And he thinks. And he fucking prays to whoever is listening. That you’re safe. That you’re having an okay time. That maybe you’ll come back. Even though he’s a piece of shit. Even though he’s the one who told you to leave. You’re just following his orders, after all. 

Three small, basically unhearable, knocks strike his door. He pushes off his chair with a sigh, thankful he didn’t take off his prosthetic yet. He figures it’s a neighbor, he lives by a lot of older women who tend to check up on him. 

He opens the door with a force, but his eyes get heavy when he realizes it’s you standing there. 

“Did he fucking hurt you?” Jack thunders.

“What? How do you even know where I was?”

“Answer me.”

“No, he didn’t hurt me. He just–”

“You’re scaring me a bit, sweetheart.”

You let out a long breath, Jack has both of his hands on your shoulders, giving you the eye exam of a lifetime.

“He didn’t hurt me, he’s just not you. He’s too, spritely. Too eager. I don’t know.”

Jack fights a smile, he bites the inside of his cheek. “No one is me.”

“Not the time to be fucking cocky, Jack. We need to seriously talk.”

The smile he was fighting fades from his face. He becomes pale, his heart is tachy. 

“You fucked me up real good. You told me I was wrong about something that felt so right–” you say, crossing your arms and staring. You’ve entered the apartment at this point. You stand at the island in the kitchen.

He cuts you off. “I was wrong. I’m wrong. You’re what I need. I need you more than I need work, and I’ve never said that about anything.” 

Jack swipes a hand over his face, crossing the room to come stand in front of you. “I was scared, I was being a fucking pussy. Worrying about what people would think, worrying about you.”

“I don’t need anyone to worry about me.” you state firmly.

“I know that. I know that. Please, give it another go with me. I won’t fuck it up. I won’t. I see what it’s like now. I see it. I hear it. Loud and clear.” he’s inches from your face, holding you at your hips. 

You don’t move just yet. Your eyes scan his, you're used to his eye contact by now. You’re searching for any signs of lying, any signs of unseriousness, but there isn’t any. Jack gives you a sharp nod. His eyes are so sharp, you think that they could cut daggers into yours.

You swiftly nod back, just once. Up and down. And that’s all it takes.

Jack’s lips are on yours before you can inhale. All teeth and tongue, he wastes no time showing you how much he missed you. The grip at your hips tightens, and he pulls you closer to him, so that your hips grind against his. So that your stomach can feel his abs through the worn gray cotton t-shirt he has on. You try not to notice that it’s the shirt you would sleep in when you slept over, but you do. Because he’s a sentimental man, because he’s obviously been punishing himself with his memories of you.

He comes up for air and shakes his head at you. “Thank you.” he kisses you again.

“Thank me?” you query.

“Thank you for coming back. You know what I need.”

“You know what I need. I never had to fucking ask for anything. You just knew. Before I did.” you admit.

“You know me too. You know me better than anyone does, angel.”

You pull his face back to yours. Eager to feel his lips after a long five months. 

He grabs your hips again, hoisting you up onto him. You wrap around his midsection. The friction from your jeans rubs you just right and you moan into Jack.  

“Tell me more,” is all he says in response. 

You groan. “I didn’t miss your old man jokes.”

“Yes you did, that’s why you’re here.”

He lays you back in the bed and doesn’t give you a chance to respond. The kisses become more fervent as he pushes the gym shorts off of himself. You make quick work of your jeans, unbuttoning them and pushing them down, along with your underwear. 

You and Jack didn’t need to talk it through any more. You were on the same page. You just understood it. You two could go hours without speaking, and still say a million words to each other. 

It’s like at work, all you had to do was shoot him a look and he understood. When a patient wasn’t going to make it, when something suspicious was going on, when something hysterical was going on, but you couldn’t laugh. You didn’t need words to convey how you were feeling. And if your eyes weren’t going to tell him tonight, your cunt definitely was. You could feel yourself dripping onto his sheets. 

“I don’t think I have any condoms. I–” Jack’s eyes dance around his minimalistic bedroom.

“I don’t care. I’m clean, you’re clean. Please, I need it.”

Jack doesn’t need to be told twice. He lines himself up, groans at the wet spot on the bed. And then he goes in. One long, deep, thrust. He bottoms out. You throw your head back onto the pillows before you’re reminded of his ‘thing’. Your eyes snap up at him and he grins. A cheshire smile. One that you couldn’t forget if you tried. 

His cock curves inside you like you’re two puzzle pieces. You clench around him until he has to ask you to let up.

He sets his pace. Long, deep, hard. Jack wasn’t one to fuck fast. He needed to enjoy it. To soak it all in. To feel you, to remember every inch of your walls. He wanted to always remember each individual fuck. What sets them apart? How did you look when you came this time versus the other fifty times? He once told you he thought about starting a sex journal so he could become the best at getting you off. 

Jack has about zero thoughts in his head that don’t surround around making you finish. He wants it like a prisoner wants an escape. He feels like he just saw his parole officer and they set him free, or put him on house arrest, he’s sure he’s not completely out of the dog house, but none of that matters to him now.

He’s inside you, and you’re making the noises he’s dreamt about every night since you left. “That’s it, pretty girl. That’s it.”

You clench again, hard. “I wanna– fuck– be on top.”

He doesn’t respond, just flips you over.

You straddle his waist and he pulls you in closer, sucking on your pert nipple. Jack guides your hips up and down before giving into what he really wants to do. 

Instead of moving you, he holds you still, opting to drive his cock up into you. You hiss, make a noise between a groan and a squeal. You bury your head into his shoulder and it moves you impossibly closer to him. 

He shifts so that one arm has a hold of your waist. The other comes between your two bodies, searching for your clit. He finds it, without looking, and rubs sharp circles that follow his pace on it. Your head flies back. 

“Fuck I’m—”

“Yup, me too, honey. C’mon, let me have it. Let it all go.”

You gasp at the feeling. It rushes out of you almost as soon as you recognize the tight knot in your stomach.  You can’t control your noises anymore, and neither can Jack.

He comes with you, burying his cock into your heat. He groans, over and over, and then pants.

You hum against him, resting your sweaty forehead against his. He moves so he can place a kiss on yours, a sweet one, to tell you you’re okay.

Neither of you make any effort to move, pleased to stay intertwined after being separated.

“What was his name?”

“Here come the questions. Can’t you let me enjoy this?”

“Never,” Jack quips. He shoots you a look, waiting for his answer.

“His name is Jack.”

His face turns pale, all jokes leave his brain, “You went on a date with someone who has my name?”

“I thought it would make the transition easier! I was hoping you wouldn’t ask!” you shake your head in shame. 

“How old was he?”

“Oh my god. That I am not answering. It doesn’t matter. The whole time I just thought about you, and your bullshit excuses for ending it. Telling me I need someone younger, c’mon.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Forgotten. We’re here now. Just don’t ever fucking do it again. I hate working day shift.” your face lights up. “Is that how you found out? Did Robby say something to you?”

Your mouth falls open at Jack’s cackling. 

“So old men gossip too, got it. This is fucked.” 

Jack shakes his head at you, calms himself down. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re here.”

“You don’t have to. I know.”

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