calantha

20! bite the apple, baby🧃

[hanasnx]

you, harry osborn, and peter parker decide, “why not get an apartment together?” to cut costs when attending the same college. it works. it’s small, a little shabby, old, but it does the trick. you three live together while the two of them are in love with you

[hanasnx]

this peter w this harry btw

[hanasnx]

oh and they’re your bestest friends.

[murdrdocs]

prone bone with peter parker. 18+ MDNI

him asking, “yeah, you like that?” but not in the cocky sense (okay well maybe a little). mostly because he’s genuinely curious. he can’t believe that you love having his weight on you like this.

although he’s holding back, most of his weight settled into the forearm he has pressed into the mattress. his other hand grips your jaw, fingers spreading down to your throat and when you jerk your chin up, it takes him a second to put together what you’re nonverbally asking for.

but when his hand tentatively wraps around your throat and you moan, unabashed and raw, it all clicks.

“yeah, you like that,” he concludes, now completely cocky and confident in his ability—devotion, actually—to give you everything you want. always.

[purecinema]

The Battle of Algiers, 1966, dir. Gillo Pontecorvo.

[neviye]

(18+) sae’s hand always finds a way into your panties

req, i tried the bts oreos cause theyre finally in the uk n theyre good but wayyy too sweet, even for a sweet tooth like me😕also idk if i explained it well but theyre in this position, i literally had to go digging for an accurate pic bc pinterest was no help

one of sae’s favourite things to do was finger fuck you after a long day. you just assumed it was a sort of stress relief. with a bunch of upcoming matches and a stack of long winded, weary training sessions, it was only natural that he’d want to blow off some steam.

your routine would go like this — he would come home and find you in the bed per usual, already waiting, and spread you open on his lap. he’d take his time with you, sinking his fingers into your wet cunt, watching how your gloss would gather as he pumped them in. when you’d reach the edge and eventually cum, he would pull out slow and admire the filthy shine on his hand, eagerly licking up your sweet juices.

so most of the time you’d understand, he was overworked and you were happy to help him loosen up when needed.

but when he began sneaking his hands into your pants nearly everyday, bending you over the nearest surface and edging your poor pussy, teasing you till you couldn’t take it anymore — you started suspecting that it wasn’t simply in the name of ‘relaxation’ anymore.

tonight being no exception.

“that’s so stupid, why the hell would he do that?” you sighed, cuddled up with sae on the couch, back slumped to his chest and head snug against his shoulder. a bowl of popcorn sat in your arms, the sweet treat all to yourself because sae was always on going about how ‘unhealthy’ snacks like that were. you two had agreed on a movie night — no work, no phones and definitely no interruptions. just you, him and some much needed quality time.

but the movie was irritating, full of miscommunication and mediocre acting, the story was recycled and it was getting repetitive, sae’s eyes drifting down your figure instead of focusing on the screen.

with his body being behind yours, he could see everything. his gaze travelled over the outline of your tits, nipples slightly hard under the fabric of his oversized top you were wearing. then it shifted down, along the softness of your thighs and the way the shirt rode up slightly, displaying your underwear.

you were oblivious, of course — still in a world of your own, grumbling as you dipped your hand into the popcorn, trusting that sae was listening to your complaints. when in truth, his mind couldn’t have been further away right now. his hand resting on your shoulder was slowly inching down, stopping at your chest to give a small squeeze.

“sae,” you whispered, quickly aware of where this was headed. his fingertips were running over your nipple, pinching it between his index and thumb, making you lean closer into his touch as you set your bowl down.

“you do this all the time.” you sighed, even though you were letting him feel up your chest, rubbing your thighs together gently. “you said you’d watch a movie with me.”

“the movie’s shit,” his fingers were now trailing down the plush of your stomach, watching your legs spread as he went lower and lower. “i’ve never seen something so boring in my life.”

it was true, you don’t know how you had managed to sit halfway something so mediocre. “well yeah, but you picked it...” your voice lowered when his hand finally met your pussy. your slick was prominent on your panties and the dampness was only spreading, humiliating and exposing you.

sae wasn’t sparing you the shame either, chuckling as he ran over the drenched fabric. “you’re soaked,” he snapped the elastic back, watching it stick right back against your cunt. “still gonna try pretend?”

god he was annoying.

catching your bottom lip between your teeth, you shifted your hips into his hand, his thumb circling your clit, ever so lightly, through the cotton. “but our movie night.” you grumbled even though you were actively going against your words.

“you pick a movie, we’ll watch.”

he was handing you the remote, fingers still stroking over your cunt and finally dipping under your waistband. you really were embarrassingly wet, like you had just been waiting for him to try something. you had definitely been. that’s why you had chosen not to wear anything underneath. you knew with sae, it was only a matter of time before he was finding his way into your panties.

with your composure slipping, the remote was clammy, sweat gathering on your palm as you handled it, quickly trying to put something, anything on, so you could fixate on the feeling of his fingers.

“you better pick a good one.” he pushed a finger in and you gasped at the depth it reached, “keep me entertained.”

“f-fine.”

you were flicking through different films, barely paying attention as he pressed another finger in, his fingertips pressed up at that sweet spongy spot that made you squeeze around him on impulse.

his fingers were bigger and longer than yours, stretching you open so perfectly on simply two of them and he hadn’t so much as even thrust them yet, just applying a tingling pressure to that point deep in your walls, but he had you itching for more.

“you’re back at the beginning.” sae’s voice near your ear made you jump. “you just skimmed through all the movies.”

your eyes refocused on the screen and you saw that you were, indeed, right back where you had started. oh. you remember nagging away at sae to hurry up and pick something, impatience making you eat away at the popcorn as you fussed. but now that you were in his position, you were the exact same. the list of films felt unbelievably short and the options all looked as boring as the next.

you tried to play your spacing out off, “yeah, i know,” swallowing the spit gathering in your mouth, your throat tight and dry. “i was just looking over them again, y’know, can’t pick another terrible one.”

your voice was shaky and clearly lacked confidence, it was feeble attempt at taunting him, you thought — till he was adding his thumb to your clit, massaging rapid circles into the bud. your body jerked almost instantaneously, nerves in your body blazing as his fingers began to pump, slick gathering over his fingers.

“how about you find one first before being so chatty?” he spoke so casually like he wasn’t scissoring you open, juices dripping down the crack of your ass as he pushed in knuckles deep. “then we’ll see.”

your mind felt muddled trying to concentrate on the pleasure of his fingers and the tv screen at the same time, your breaths heavy as you tried to recollect yourself. you scrolled through the films again, selecting one that looked mildly interesting. it had some well known celebrity on the cover, didn’t look too overdramatic and was new, it should be fine.

“i f-found one.” your body shuddered as the knot in your stomach formed, his fingers continuing their plunging.

“wasn’t that easy?” he stroked over your twitching clit, fingers speeding up knowing you were close to push you to your orgasm. your legs were shaking, his lean fingers burying themselves into your gushing cunt and the sound of your juices squelching echoed around the room.

“i’m so close, mmh, please don’t stop.” you panted, putting the movie on although your eyes were wringed shut and neither of you were paying attention. your hand found his wrist, nails carving indents into his skin as your abdomen went fuzzy, orgasm so close you could feel it throughout your entire system.

your grip on his wrist only tightened when you felt him slow, fingers setting an unrushed and deliberate pace that kept you right on the edge. “sae please...” you sniffled, feeling the knot in your stomach dissipate, wrenching lighter now.

“you don’t want to watch the movie anymore?” he pulled his fingers out despite your hold on him, slapping them down against your sticky cunt. the contact stung, the harshness of it going straight to your aching clit. “you picked this remember?”

“but—” a moan bubbled out of your lungs as he ran along your moist folds, toying with your pussy as his fingers pressed into you lightly, then came back up to catch your clit. you swear your brain was short circuiting, the denial of your orgasm only making you desperate.

“sae please.” your hand curled around his wrist trailed up to his bicep in an attempt to convince him, your head raised towards him and eyes pleading as you whispered, “pleasee? i wanna cum so bad.”

you were peering at him only to find that he was now seriously watching the film. eyes glued to the tv and ignoring your begging face, his fingers rubbing over your pussy like it was second nature, the grind of his palm driving you crazy.

it seemed like he was going to take his time with you and you knew tonight wasn’t going to end until he had denied and drawn at least three orgasms out of you.

[hmione]

Julia Stiles as Kat Stratford 10 Things I Hate About You (1999) | dir. Gil Junger

[snowluvvie]

MDNI 18+.

WARNINGS. fem!reader, crying, oral (f. receiving)

“JJ, stop, we can’t—”

Your mumble against his lips was halfhearted, not even committed to the words you were saying as you pressed a hand to his chest to pull away from him. The drying tears streaking his face shined slightly in the moonlight filtering through the window, his eyes were half-lidded.

“Why can’t we?”

You chewed at your lip, still slick with his spit. As badly as you wanted to—desperately wanted to—the way he’d lurched forward to capture your mouth with his when he was in the middle of crying on your shoulder had told you his motives weren’t exactly pure.

“You can’t just—” He was leaning forward again, you barely dodged him, and your already fragile willpower was weakening by the second. “You’re sad, okay, this isn’t how you fix—that.”

JJ grabbed the hair at the nape of your neck, holding onto you tightly as he clumsily pulled you back to him. He was so warm. His mouth was hot and he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, angling your head to get a better angle. You couldn’t stop the moan that you let out into his mouth, which only made him attack your lips more fervently.

It could’ve been seconds or minutes or years with JJ’s tongue exploring your mouth, you had no idea, it was like you couldn’t think when he was touching you like this. It wasn’t until he pressed his body closer to yours and you felt the outline of his dick through his shorts, shoving up against the front of your panties, that you were snapped out of it again.

You gave a pitchy whine at the pressure, pulling back, and he chased your lips with his.

“JJ—you need to—can you just—” He was interrupting you, kissing you to stop you from talking while he rolled his hips harder against yours. You held your breath to stop the loud whimper threatening to be heard, shifting your weight at the feeling of your panties sticking to you.

“Not like this, please.” Your voice caught in your throat, and this time he gave you the benefit of an answer, at least.

“Not like what?” JJ asked, still an inch from your face.

“It’s not like I don’t want you… I just mean, I don’t wanna. Y’know. Just cause you’re sad and don’t wanna think about it.”

He nodded slowly. “What if I said I already wanted ya? Would that… change your mind?” His words were slow, the look in his eyes all hazy.

You swallowed thickly. It took you a second, but you managed to shake your head. “No.”

He let out a long, slow breath, pressing his forehead against yours. If it were anyone else you’d think they were feverish, but you’d come to learn that was just JJ. He was always a million degrees, his skin was like the surface of the sun.

“Let me eat you out, then.”

You choked out: “What?”

“Please.” He mumbled. “Don’t wanna think about things. Just let me eat your pussy. It’ll feel s’good, I swear. It’ll be good f’both of us, right?”

He wasn’t waiting for an answer, not really. His fingers were sneaking up the inside of your thigh, breaching your shorts to rub you through your panties, and he gave a tiny smile as he felt your arousal soaking through. He was close enough that you were sure he could hear your heartbeat thundering, your breath picking up more than it already had. You dug your teeth into your swollen lip painfully to contain the sounds that wanted to come out.

You didn’t say anything. He just fumbled with the button of your little shorts, tugged them down a little bit, not all the way. You wanted to squeeze your eyes shut and pretend this wasn’t happening, like that way you wouldn’t be complicit in it, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him when he got down on his knees in front of you to slot his head between your thighs.

JJ didn’t even look human, with his blonde hair a total mess from dragging his hands through it, perfectly carved shoulders rippling as he held your thighs apart, his eyes half-lidded and hazy. He looked you dead in the face when he connected his mouth to you, wasting no time dragging his tongue through your folds to collect the moisture before wrapping his lips around your clit.

Whimpers and whines fell from your mouth, which had fallen open in surprise, and JJ held intense eye contact with you, watching your face and devouring every overwhelmed, pleasured expression. Every sound and tensing of your body in reaction to him spurred him on. The way your eyes rolled back, fingers wrapped in his hair for some semblance of grounding had him sliding his middle finger inside of you, pumping it in and out easily from the way you were gushing all over the couch. You jolted from the sudden stimulation, leaving your head practically empty aside from him, and his fingers, and his mouth devouring you.

When he pushed you over the edge to your relief you were crying out desperately, yanking sharply at his hair as you tried to move away from the pleasure that was overwhelming you.

“Don’t fuckin’ run.” JJ mumbled against your pussy, pulling your hips forward and flush against his face so you were forced to ride out the waves of your orgasm against his mouth, clenching around his finger as it curled inside of you.

The room was dead silent aside from the way your own heartbeat thundered in your ears, when he let your hips go and pulled your shorts back up for you. He wiped his hand off on them in a way that made you grimace, and his face caught the light and illuminated the way it glistened, his mouth and his chin and his nose shiny with your juices. The tears had dried, his red-rimmed eyes the only proof he’d been crying just some minutes prior. You stared at him with wide eyes, though he leaned forward to give you one last sloppy kiss, harshly pressing his lips to yours and prying your mouth open with his so you could taste yourself on him. Once he was satisfied, he wiped his face off with his hand, grinning.

Your fucked-out mumble was half sarcastic: “Feel better?”

He was still grinning, giving one last sniffle before he replied: “Much.”

[gnawu]

here’s the entire bus scene, for the one who asked

[lonelybonniexx]

god he just looks so big and beefy like ik its hugeee

[letterstotheflre]

just saw a reel of a girl saying “what do you mean you’re pulling out… do you hate me?” and it made me think of reader and frank

waitt i'm thinking it's one of those days where you're extra sensitive and need a little extra love and care :c frank doesn't even think you might take it the wrong wat. you've done it multiple times-- him cumming on your stomach or back or painting your face. so, really, this is nothing out of the ordinary.

except that when he drags his cock away from the depths of your warm cunt, you whine sadly. pathetically even. "do you hate me?" you press your foot against his tailbone to keep him in place.

"huh?" he grunts, confused. he stops moving out of sheer bafflement, only the tip still inside you.

you raise your hips, pulling him in deeper. "do you hate me?" you whine again, although a little quieter this time-- a little embarrassed at your own reaction.

"baby," he chuckles, "i'm literally inside you."

and? he could be inside you and still hate you. men are mean like that. what isn't he getting?

you wrap your arms around his neck, dragging him down for a kiss. "y'were pulling out," you whisper against his mouth sadly. "why? don't you like me anymore?"

"baby," frank sighs, hips pressed to your as he bottoms out once more. he drags his cock out, then back in again, starting a slow but deep pace that has you keening. "i love you."

he nudges your face with his nose, pressing a series of wet kisses down your cheek and jaw. you shiver beneath him. "my pretty girl, y'just wanna be close, hm? wanna feel it?" he coos when you nod, moving his own head along. "yeah, i know. poor baby," he picks up the pace a little and his eyes roll from the way your pussy flutters around him. "i'll give it all to you, don't worry."

[saetiate]

I love the concept of someone teaching you how to fuck. how to kiss, what it feels like to have someone else’s hands on you, someone else’s tongue. all under the guise of them being helpful, sweet to you, so you’re not nervous for when it ‘really’ happens. only for them to make sure they’re the only ones who ever get to see you that way

[lovelikelandslide]

Idk if your still taking fic suggestions but a muke x reader vibe (their most recent era) would feed me.

muke x reader

warnings: smut, emotionally cheating if you squint, threesome, barely any plot

word count: 3,718 words

pairing: michael clifford/reader, luke hemmings/reader, muke/reader

a/n: titled tba. I kinda got carried away also recently watched skins so luke is accidentally tony kinda

WARNING! RPF CONTENT DONT LIKE DONT READ

You were curled against Luke's side on the couch, knees tucked beneath you, while his arm hung lazily across the cushions behind your shoulders. He'd pulled you there a while after you started greeting your guests, settling you against him while he talked with a few of his friends, including Michael, who sat across from you in an armchair, fidgeting with a pick from the show from earlier that night.

The venue had been tiny, but impressive in a way that made your chest ache with pride every time you looked at Luke. The music rattled through the floorboards hard enough for it to feel in your ribs. The band had only been together for a little over a year, yet somehow people already knew the lyrics.

They’d shouted the band’s name afterward while Luke stood sweaty and breathless beneath the stage lights, curls sticking damply to his forehead.

The party afterward in Luke's apartment was mostly for networking, according to him. Producers, other musicians, friends-of-friends crammed in with drinks balanced carelessly in their hands. Luke had dragged you along with him the second somebody invited the band over, fingers hooked through yours as he disappeared easily into conversation after conversation. You mostly stayed put next to him while people talked about gigs and recording sessions and people you’d never met or even heard of, smiling politely and giving you two cents despite feeling a little lost.

You decided to get some air eventually, more out of boredom than anything else.

Luke noticed the second you started untucking yourself from his side, his hand sliding from your thigh while he glanced up at you through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Where you goin’?” he asked

“Outside for a minute,” you murmured.

His fingers caught briefly around your wrist before letting go again. “Don’t disappear.”

Michael seemed to notice your state.

He leaned back deeper into the armchair across from you, boot nudging lightly against the leg of the coffee table while he still rolled the guitar pick between his fingers, his eyes followed your movement and watched you disappear.

The chill hit immediately. It felt good after being packed inside warm bodies all night. You sat down on the metal steps with your drink between your hands, elbows resting on your knees, while the noise from inside dulled, and the smell of cigarettes drifted to your nostrils.

The fire escape window opened again a minute later.

“Knew this wasn’t really your thing,”

Michael stepped outside, the apartment light spilling briefly across the stairwell behind him before closing it once again.

“Figured I’d come keep you company.” he said after a moment

You looked down toward the drink balanced between your hands instead of directly at him. “That obvious?”

“A little.”

There was amusement sitting quietly underneath his words, though not enough to make it feel mean. He stepped down onto the stair beside yours, close enough that your knees could brush if either of you moved wrong.

Michael was somewhere in that strange space between acquaintance and friend. You saw him often enough because of Luke and spent enough late nights around him after rehearsals and shitty diner trips, yet the two of you had never really been alone together before.

There was something easy about him. Familiar, you would say. You trusted him instinctively, in the way you trust somebody who’s seen you half-asleep in the backseat at three in the morning or listened to you ramble tipsily on somebody’s kitchen floor without ever making you feel stupid for it.

And maybe that was part of the problem lately.

The last few weeks had felt off, you had no other word for it, in a way, you were trying very hard not to examine too closely. Nothing obvious. Nothing bad. Just little things that had started to linger longer than they should have.

Michael looking at you across rehearsal rooms a second too long. Your stomach flipping stupidly whenever he brushed past you in cramped hallways. The kind of tension you could still pretend wasn’t there if you never faced it.

“I think Luke forgets these things are actually boring if you’re not in a band.”

Yeah,” he murmured. “You kinda need to care at least a little.”

“I tried caring.”

“I’m sure you did.”

You glanced sideways at him finally, catching the faint grin sitting at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t mocking. If anything, he looked entertained by you in a way that made heat creep faintly into your face.

“You liked the show though?” He asked.

Your expression softened automatically. “Obviously.”

“You looked proud.”

“I was proud.” You smiled a little to yourself. “You're all getting the recognition you deserve, you're even getting invited to places like these.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Still feels kinda weird.”

“We were playing to like,” he laughed quietly, “fifteen people six months ago.”

“And now random girls know your lyrics.”

“That’s mostly Luke’s fault,” Michael said easily. “People like looking at him.”

You snorted softly into your drink. “You say that like people weren’t staring at you too.”

His mouth pulled slightly at the corner afterward, he muttered. “Were you?”

You were shocked because the answer should be obvious? Luke.

Luke, your boyfriend, all sweet and pretty smiles and endless love.

But maybe Michael, too.

Michael, with his guitar hanging low against his hips, head tipped down while he played. who barely seemed aware when people looked at him, which somehow made it more endearing.

The realization made the feeling of guilt twist softly in your chest.

Still, your eyes flicked briefly down toward Michael’s mouth before you could even stop yourself.

“Both.” you admitted quietly, and regretted instantly. What the fuck.

You felt it immediately, awfully in your chest, like you’d said something you weren’t supposed to out loud.

Michael noticed too. You could tell by the way his expression shifted slightly, the corner of his mouth pulling faintly like he was trying not to smile too much at your obvious panic.

You stood up too fast, nearly spilling your drink down the front of yourself in the process. “We should probably go back inside.” you said quickly.

Michael got up a second later, slower than you, hands slipping into the pockets of his jacket while he watched you carefully for a moment. He didn’t push you further, and that somehow worsened it all.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “okay.”

You suddenly felt too aware of your surroundings inside, after the quiet, warmer outside.

Luke was across the room, laughing at something while he leaned back against the counter.

His eyes found yours when you came back in. Then shifted briefly toward Michael, climbing in after you.

Something unreadable flickered across his face for half a second, you could tell, but it went as fast as it came.

The rest of the party blurred a little after that. You mostly pretended to listen to conversations while your brain replayed the fire escape over and over again in humiliating detail. And every now and then, you caught Michael looking at you from across the room, while Luke's hand rested on your waist.

Eventually, the apartment thinned into just the three of you.

Michael stayed. He always did. Which was unfortunate for your current situation, considering his presence in your apartment felt almost as familiar as your own by now.

By the time the place finally quieted down, it was almost three in the morning, and the three of you had fallen into cleaning without really talking about it, drinking more halfway through. Luke moved around the apartment gathering empty bottles into trash bags while you stood at the sink rinsing sticky alcohol from cups. Michael dried them beside you with a dish towel thrown over his shoulder.

Luke moved around easily behind the two of you, and every so often, he’d pass by and drag his hand absentmindedly over your hip or the small of your back like he needed to touch you on instinct alone. Casual.

Still, every single time he did it, you became painfully aware of Michael standing right there.

The last bag of trash was tied off. The final glass sat drying on the rack. The silence that settled over the clean-ish apartment..

“Can we not move for a second?” You groaned, leaning heavily against the kitchen counter.

“Please,” Michael mumbled.

Luke pushed off the counter immediately, a small smile dedicated to you. “Come on.” He caught your hand and pulled you towards the living room.

He fell onto the cushions first, landing with a soft oof, and pulled you to rest on his chest. your body molded to his with the ease of a year's habit.

He smelled like beer, and home. His arm came around you, heavy.

Michael followed behind, dropping onto the seat next to you.

The three of you lay there in a comfortable, drunk silence for a few minutes.

The streetlight outside cast long, lazy shadows across the room. Your mind drifted, floating hazily on the feeling of Luke’s heartbeat under your ear and the solid, quiet presence of Michael beside you.

Luke’s hand, which had been resting on your hip, began to move. It was absently-minded stroking you, his thumb tracing idle circles through the fabric of your dress. It was the same casual, instinctive touch from the kitchen, but here in the dark quiet, it felt amplified.

And each pass of his thumb sent a little spark through the pleasant fog in your head.

You tilted your face up toward his, and he was already looking down at you, his eyes dark and soft in the shadows. A slow, lazy smile touched his lips. He bent his head and kissed you.

It was a tired, beer-flavored kiss at first—soft, closed-mouthed, a simple love you. But then his hand slid from your hip to the small of your back, pressing you a little more firmly against him, and the kiss deepened. His tongue slid against yours, seekingly so, and a low hum of pleasure vibrated in his chest.

You kissed him back, the familiar taste and feel of him a comforting anchor in the sleepy, spinning room. Your hand came up to curl in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. The world narrowed to the soft sound of your mouths moving together, the scratch of his stubble, the heat of his body under yours.

Michael had turned his head on the cushion.

He was watching you, not with shock or jealousy, but with a kind of hungry fascination. His eyes were glassy from drink and tiredness, but they were fixed on Luke’s mouth, then on yours.

He quickly looked away when he saw you’d noticed, a faint flush visible even in the dim light, his throat working as he swallowed.

Luke followed your gaze. He didn’t seem surprised. He looked from Michael’s averted face back to yours, his expression thoughtful.

His hand resumed its slow stroking on your back.

“Comfy, Mikey?” Luke asked, his voice a low rumble.

“Yeah” Michael muttered

“Good.”

Luke kissed you again, but this time it was different. More deliberate somehow, like he was showing off.

He angled his head deeper against yours, making a soft, pleased sound into the kiss while one of his hands slid up to cradle your jaw. It was the kind of kiss that normally would’ve melted you instantly, but through the lingering haze in your head,

“The whole night,” he continued softly, thumb dragging once along your jaw. “The way he looks at you. The way you look back.”

Heat flooded your face so fast it almost hurt.

“Luke,” you whispered, horrified. “I didn’t mean—”

Michael let out a quiet strained laugh from next to you, more nervous than amused. “Dude—”

“Relax.” Luke cut in easily, though his eyes stayed on yours the entire time.

There was still something unfairly calm about him. He had no jealousy or anger. If anything, he looked too focused, like watching the two of you together had flipped some switch in his head that he hadn’t expected.

His hand slid from your jaw to your throat, loosely.

“It’s kinda hard not to notice,” he said quietly. “You get all shy around him lately.”

Your pulse jumped.

“And he looks at you like he wants to eat you alive.” Luke huffed out the faintest laugh through his nose after that, almost disbelieving. “Think I’d have to be blind to miss it.”

Luke shifted beneath you, his arm extending past your shoulder to grip Michael’s wrist where it rested on the armrest, pulling his hand forward until his fingers splayed warm and heavy against your hip alongside Luke’s own. "Touch her" Luke murmured, his voice wrecked against your ear, his thumb stroking the inside of Michael’s wrist where the pulse hammered wild.

Michael made a broken sound, his fingers flexing hard into your waist, and then he was surging across the narrow space between you, his hand coming up to grip your jaw, fingers sliding into your hair.

Michael kissed you like he’d been starving for it, months of sidelong glances and yearning finally breaking surface. His hand came up to grip your jaw, fingers sliding into your hair, and when he pulled back barely an inch his breathing was ragged against your lips.

“This okay?” he whispered, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. “’Cause I can—”

“Don’t stop,” you said, your voice sounding foreign, thick. “Please. Just don’t stop.”

You felt Luke shift behind you on the couch, his chest pressing harder against your back. His hand didn’t leave your waist—his fingers dug in possessively as he watched over your shoulder. Then his mouth was on your neck grazing the tendon there and you were trapped between them, gasping.

“You sure?” Luke murmured against your skin, his hand sliding up to cover Michael’s where it gripped your jaw. He laced their fingers together, a silent question passing between them. “We can just—”

“I want you both.” you said, the words tumbling out before you could catch them. You felt your face burn, but Luke groaned, low and wrecked, right against your ear.

“Fuck,” Michael breathed. “Okay. Yeah.”

Luke’s hand slid up roughly, pushing the strap of your dress off your shoulder. The fabric loosened, and Michael’s hand immediately slid inside, his calloused palm cupping your breast. His thumb found your nipple, rolling it until it hardened. You gasped, arching into it, your head falling back against Luke’s shoulder.

“You’re shaking,” Michael observed, his voice unsteady. He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. “We can slow down.”

“No,” you said, reaching out to fist your hand in his shirt, pulling him closer. “I’m not scared. I just—God, I’ve wanted this. I didn’t know how to say it.”

Luke’s other hand worked the back of your dress, zipper grinding down. He pushed it down your hips, his knuckles dragging against your skin. “You don’t have to say anything,” he said. “We know. We’ve known.”

The dress pooled on the floor. Michael broke away just long enough to pull his own shirt over his head, tossing it aside, and you reached for his belt, fumbling with the buckle. Your fingers were clumsy, trembling.

“Here.” Luke said, his hand covering yours. Together they worked the leather free, the metal clinking softly in the quiet room. Michael’s jeans unzipped, and his cock sprang out, thick and flushed. You reached for him, wrapping your hand around the baseand he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.

“Your mouth,” he managed, his hand coming up to cup your face. “Can you—?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, and Luke was already guiding you forward with a gentle hand between your shoulder blades, bending you over Michael’s lap.

You took Michael into your mouth, tasting salt and heat, and he groaned above you, his hands threading into your hair—not pushing, just holding, his fingers trembling against your scalp. “Fuck, that’s—” he cut off, his head dropping back.

Then Luke was moving, kneeling on the floor between your spread knees. He shoved your underwear down your thighs, leaving them tangled, and pushed your legs wider with his shoulders. “Lift up a little,” he murmured, his hands sliding up your inner thighs. “There. Just like that.”

His mouth found you immediately—hot, wet, filthy. His tongue dragged up from your entrance to your clit, then he sucked the sensitive bud into his mouth. You moaned around Michael’s cock, the vibration making him curse and jerk his hips.

“Feel good?” Luke asked, pulling back just enough for you to feel the words against your thigh. He pushed two fingers into you, curling them, and you bucked against his hand.

“Yes,” you gasped, pulling off Michael with a wet sound. “Luke, don’t—don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning to,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. He went back to work, his tongue circling your clit while his fingers fucked you slow and deep.

Michael’s hand slid down from your hair, his thumb tracing your swollen lips. “Come up here,” he said softly. “Wanna see you.”

Luke’s hands gripped your hips, helping you turn, guiding you up and around. You settled back onto Luke’s lap, facing Michael now, your knees bracketing Luke’s hips. Luke’s cock was hard and hot against your lower back, and he reached down, grabbing himself, aligning himself with your entrance.

“Slow,” he breathed against your neck. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

You sank down onto him, inch by inch, the stretch burning perfect. You both groaned—low and guttural—as you took him to the base. “Not too much,” you panted, your head falling back against his shoulder. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

Luke’s hands came up to grip your waist, his thumbs pressing into your hip bones. “Ride me,” he said, his voice wrecked.

You started to move, rolling your hips, grinding down. Michael watched from the couch beside you, his hand wrapped around his own cock, stroking slow. His eyes were dark, fixed on where Luke entered you.

“Come here.” you said to him, reaching out. “I want you closer.”

Michael moved immediately, shifting up onto his knees on the couch beside Luke’s head. You leaned forward, taking him into your mouth again, and the angle was different now—deeper.

Michael groaned, his hand coming to rest on the back of your head, not guiding but feeling.

Luke thrusted up into you from below, meeting your downward grinds, his hands tightening on your waist. “Look at you,” he rasped. “Taking us both. You’re so beautiful like this.”

You pulled off Michael with a gasp, your hand replacing your mouth, stroking him firm and wet. “Switch.” you managed, looking back over your shoulder at Luke. “I want—can I?”

Luke understood immediately. He slowed his thrusts, his hands guiding you up until he slipped free, wet and hard against his stomach. “Turn around,” he said softly. “Get on your knees.”

You turned, facing away from him now, on your hands and knees on the couch. Luke sat back against the arm, positioning himself in front of you, his cock upright and glistening. Michael moved behind you, his hands gripping your hips, his chest against your back.

“You good?” Michael asked, his lips at your ear. His cock was pressing against your entrance, not entering yet, just teasing through the wetness there.

“Yes,” you whispered, pushing back against him. “Please, Michael. I need you inside.”

He pushed forward in one slow steady thrust, filling you completely. You gasped, your forehead dropping to Luke’s thigh. The feeling was different from Luke—and it sent a sharp spark of pleasure up your spine.

“Fuck,” Michael breathed, his forehead dropping to your shoulder blade. “You’re so tight. So wet.”

“Okay?” Luke asked, his hand coming under your chin, lifting your face. His eyes searched yours in the dim light.

“Better than okay,” you said, and you meant it. You leaned forward and took Luke’s cock into your mouth again, the taste of yourself mixed with his pre-cum, and the position was perfect—you impaled on Michael from behind, your mouth full of Luke, the two of them filling you from both ends.

They found a rhythm together, natural and unspoken. When Michael thrust forward, you rocked onto Luke’s cock. Michael’s hands gripped your ass, his fingers digging in, while Luke’s hands were gentle in your hair, his hips making small, shallow thrusts into your mouth.

“Touch her,” Luke said to Michael, his voice strained. He reached down with one hand, finding Michael’s where it gripped your hip, and guided it between your legs. “Rub her clit. She’s close.”

Michael’s fingers slid between your legs from behind, finding your clit, rubbing tight, hard circles while he fucked you. The dual sensation was overwhelming—his cock hitting deep, his fingers on your clit, Luke’s cock sliding over your tongue.

“Is that good?” Michael asked, his voice breaking. “You gonna come for us?”

You couldn’t answer, you just moaned around Luke, the vibration making him groan and tighten his grip in your hair.

You were babbling incoherent, the pleasure building sharply, coiling tight in your belly.

“I’m close,” Michael choked out, his thrusts stuttering. “Fuck, I can’t—”

“Come in her,” Luke said, his voice a rough command softened by the way he was looking at you, his eyes dark. “fill her up. Let me see.”

Michael’s hips jerked hard, and he buried himself deep with a ragged cry, his cock pulsing as he came inside you, hot and thick. The feeling of him coming, the squeeze of his fingers on your clit, sent you over. You came with a moan around Luke’s cock, your body convulsing, your pussy milking Michael’s cock as he groaned above you, his weight pressing you forward.

The tight clenching of your orgasm and the sight of you falling apart sent Luke over the edge. He pulled your head back slightly, his hand gentle in your hair, and came spilling over your tongue and lips, his hips bucking up, his hand gripping the couch cushion white-knuckled.

You collapsed forward onto Luke’s chest, Michael’s weight heavy and perfect against your back for a moment before he carefully pulled out, falling sideways onto the couch with a groan.

You lay there, a panting mess.

Luke’s cock softening against your stomach while Michael’s hand lingered on your thigh.

[capecastellan]

perfect give me 15 of ‘em

[sizzlingsandwichperfection-blog]

there's literally nothing more radical in 2026 than believing that humanity can become good news for each other and the only world we'll ever share.

[liminalbeauty]

Saving the tags.

[supervillainny]

If humans are good then crime is a failure of society - of opportunity, of education, of resource, of equity - and punishment is not the answer.

[capecastellan]

i officially have a boyf i am officially a girlf

[gothredy]

[stargirldotcom]

hang in there girl. we’re gonna have 8pm sunsets again and greenery and warm summer night air and rainy spring days again soon!

[alinathinkstoomuch]

it's a little bit messy | jack abbot

jack abbot x younger!reader ⋆˚꩜｡ 18+ MDNI !

summary: abbot’s hand should’ve never ended up between your thighs—because now you’re both trying to pretend it meant nothing, and neither of you is getting very far. [can be read as a standalone, but it's a loose pt 2 of this fic]

warnings: smut! car sex, panties being ripped, abbot yearns to the point of concern because he's down BAD for reader, reader cheats at beer pong & UNO because she can, a lil bit of angst but they fuck nasty so it's ok! thumb sucking, a lil bit of drooling, BITING, age gap implied, bad decisions being made, creampie (dont be like them), sexual tension, reader can't decide what she wants so abbot natrually fucks the decision into her ᝰ.ᐟ

wc: 7.9k

Abbot was certain you were avoiding him. It was the only explanation that made any kind of sense. It’d be impressive if it weren’t so annoying, the way you kept managing to be somewhere else the second he came into view. Turning corners like you’d just remembered something urgent, suddenly very invested in literally any patient that wasn’t his. 

He could stop it. He’s your superior, he could just tell you to assist him with a patient, he’d even take the scraps of your attention if it was just to discuss something medical. All he’d have to do is say your name in that tone and you’d come over, all professional and tight around the edges, and help him like you’re supposed to. 

He doesn’t, though.

Which is its own kind of pathetic.

Because apparently the possibility of you looking at him like he’s something you’d rather not touch is enough to keep him quiet. Enough to have him standing there, fully aware of what’s happening, and letting it happen anyway.

He knows why you’re doing it. There’s no mystery there, no confusion or theories he could hide behind. He crossed a line. A very clear, very avoidable line, and he crossed it like he wasn’t thinking. 

His hand should’ve never ended up between your thighs. 

For a lot of reasons. One, because he’s had the temptation for months and somehow managed to keep it under control until now, which makes this feel less like a mistake and more like a failure of character. And two, because he knew—knew—it was never going to be a one-off for him, no matter what the two of you said at the time.

You’re not the kind of girl who should settle for something casual, and he’s too damn old to be the kind of man who makes you come and sends you on your way, like that’s all there is to it. He’d want to make you breakfast, take you out to dinner, make space for you. Literally. A drawer at the very least. 

Which, when he actually thinks about it, is a problem in itself.

The whole thing was a bad idea from the start.

And judging by the way you’ve been treating him since, you’ve come to your own conclusion about it. Pretend it didn’t happen, and hope it quietly dies if you starve it of attention. 

And it pains him that you seem to be doing that so effortlessly. 

Because he can’t get away from it. Not at work, especially not at home, not even in the stupid in between moments where his brain should be empty for once. 

His kitchen, for example, is now completely unusable in any normal, mentally stable way. Even when he’s making his coffee, all he can seem to hear are the breaths and whimpers of you coming on his fingers, and not at all the beans being ground.

His shower is something else entirely. He can’t even wash in peace anymore, which feels like a new low. All it takes is one stray thought and he’s right back there, stuck on you admitting  that you touched yourself in there. 

He can’t even pretend these thoughts are occasional either. They’re constant. Always there. Even when he tries his hardest to drown them out. Which, again, is not ideal, given his job requires a baseline level of focus he is currently failing to maintain.

“Earth to Abbot. What do you want to do?” Shen asks, eyebrows raised, elbows and gown smeared with blood. “You’ve just completely dissociated on me, man.”

Abbot blinks. “Right,” he clears his throat. “Okay—no, we’re not happy with that. Suction.”

Shen passes it without comment, though there’s a look there. Curiosity? Mild concern? 

“BP?” Abbot asks.

“Eighty-five systolic and dropping.”

He exhales through his nose, refocusing. “We’ve still got a slow bleed somewhere. Pack that for a second—no, properly, you’re not putting enough pressure on it. There.” He adjusts Shen’s hand without thinking. “Hold it like you mean it.”

Abbot was getting increasingly irritated as the night dragged on. 

Usually that irritation worked in his favour, making him quicker and more precise, less tolerant of mistakes, including his own. It was useful. 

Not tonight though. 

Tonight that irritation sat under his skin, and refused to morph into anything productive. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, but nothing felt right either. And on top of that, there was an endless stream of patients, the usual rotation of problems that should be routine by now, but somehow tonight they felt entirely foreign. His hands didn’t even feel like they were attached to him properly. 

And his thoughts, all they seemed to do was circle back to you. 

The worst part of it all was that you were the one who said it was a one-off, implying you could both return to some sense of normalcy after that night, but you were doing everything that made him feel the opposite.

“Come get me if anything changes,” he says, voice clipped enough that Diaz doesn’t even try to say anything back, just nods like he knows better. 

His gown comes off in a rough pull, fabric sticking slightly before it gives, not even close to white anymore. Gloves go next, snapped off quick, dropped wherever.

He doesn’t even really think about where he’s going until he spots you. Your back’s turned, which means you haven’t had the chance to clock him and disappear yet. There’s a second where he considers leaving it. Just walking the other way. But he’s never really been particularly good at making sensible decisions when it comes to you. 

“You got a sec?” he calls out. 

You turn, distracted at first, and then do a double take when it clicks that, yes, he’s actually talking to you. “Me?” you ask, pointing at yourself. “Surgery has already been paged twice for my patient in bay one.”

He almost sighs at that. Not because it’s wrong, but because of course it’s something that’s already spiralled into multiple specialties and escalating calls and everyone pretending they’re not responsible for it.

“Yeah,” he says anyway, stepping closer before he can overthink it, then lowers his voice. “Not about that.”

“Right,” you drag out slowly, like you’re trying to decide whether that’s better or worse. 

A trolley clatters somewhere behind you, someone swears, an alarm rings before it’s quickly switched off. The department keeps on moving like it always does, indifferent to anything happening between the two of you. 

Abbot looks down the corridor, exhales through his nose and looks back at you. “Just—five minutes. Somewhere that isn’t here.”

You nod, fingers drifting up without thinking, fidgeting with a necklace tucked under your scrubs. You’re wearing a yellow undershirt today. He tries not to think about that too much.

“Bathroom?” 

You nod again. “Yeah, okay. Lead the way.”

He does just that, hoping you don’t vanish the second he turns his back to you.

You don’t.

That alone feels like a small victory. 

He pushes the door open, holds it long enough for you to slip in first, then follows after you, turning the lock. 

Suddenly it feels a lot more intimate than Abbot intended, especially considering what happened the last time the two of you were left to your own devices. You’re leaning against the sink and counter, thighs shifting slightly from the pressure of it, filling out your scrubs in a way that makes his mouth go dry for a second before he can stop it.

He drags his eyes back up to your face, hand scratching at his stubble. “You’ve been avoiding me.” It’s meant to sound like an accusation, but it doesn’t land as one. Instead it sounds like something he’s been holding in his mouth too long, wrong shaped and stripped of any pride. 

“I—not intentionally. It’s just been a busy week.”

“Please don’t lie to me.”

You break eye contact, hand falling from your necklace as you let out a small sigh. 

“Okay,” you admit eventually, softer. “Maybe I have been.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

He nods, swallowing. “Do you regret what happened that night?” he asks and you still can’t quite meet his gaze. 

You bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Do you?” he presses, a little quicker now, like if he doesn’t keep moving the question forward it’ll get stuck in him. “Because that’s the only reason I can think of you going out of your way to avoid me. We can’t even act professional at work?”

“I have been professional,” you argue reflexively. 

“Are you going to answer my first question?”

He watches your face like he can find the answer there before you say it, like he’s already halfway convinced he’s not going to like it but needs you to say it anyway.

“Because if you do,” he adds reluctantly, “then I need to know. So I can stop making it worse for you.”

“Of course I don’t regret it,” you answer like it’s the most obvious thing and he feels his chest loosen. “We said it’d be a one-off and I’m just trying to find the best way to work around that.”

“And you think this is the best solution?”

“Obviously not if you’re cornering me in the bathroom.”

It’s meant to be a joke but neither of you laugh. 

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately. “I crossed a line that night and I shouldn’t have done it and it’s completely my fault for even putting us in this position, I—”

“Don’t do that,” you cut him off and he raises his brow at the interruption. “Don’t make this out to be something it’s not. It wasn’t just you that crossed a line, I did too, more than you. Please stop making it sound like something I was forced into.” You pause, taking in a breath, wiping your palms on your thighs. “I don’t regret what happened. The only regret I have is that it clearly can’t happen again. And I'm sorry that I’ve been avoiding you. It's obviously not working in the way I intended.”

Clearly can’t happen again.

You’re not wrong. You’re not. It can’t happen, there are actual rules about this, policies written in language so dry it makes your eyes glaze over but still very real, still very much enforceable, and it would completely jeopardise your future if anyone got wind of the two of you. Whether it turned into something serious or stayed exactly what it was that night in his kitchen two weeks ago, it wouldn’t matter. It would still be a problem. A big one.

He knows that. Of course he knows that.

Yet his brain doesn’t quite…stop there. Doesn’t neatly file it under sensible and move on like it should. Instead it lingers on the wording, on the way you said it.

Can’t.

Not don’t want to. Not even shouldn’t.

Your only regret is that you can’t do it again. 

Which might actually make him go clinically insane. Manic. Deranged. Because it’s clear now, isn’t it—the both of you want this, but can’t have it without consequences that would only land on you. 

“Yeah…you’re right.” Is all he manages at first, then scratches the back of his neck, and when he looks back up you’re actually meeting his gaze and holding it properly. Longer than you have in the past two weeks.  “Can we find a way to move past it without you ignoring me?”

Your face warps slightly, an immediate telltale thing you do when you’re trying to bite back a smile.

“What is it?” he asks, narrowing his eyes. 

You shake your head. “Nothing.”

“You’re laughing at me.”

You shrug. “If I’d known giving you the silent treatment was this effective, I would’ve enforced it months ago.”

“Good to see you’re back to making jokes at my expense again.”

“Clearly you missed it.”

There’s silence again, and if he’s serious about getting the two of you back to something resembling normal, he’s going to have to stop doing that—letting every word you say lodge somewhere in his head and sit there, overanalysed to death. Because he did miss it, and he needs to stop acting so…weird about it. 

“Maybe.”

You smile at him, pushing yourself off the sink. “You going to Ellis’s housewarming this weekend?”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

“Why not?”

He pulls a face, turning towards the door. “Not really my thing.”

“Well why don’t you come,” you press lightly, “we could hang. Be normal about things.”

His head tilts a fraction, like he’s checking he heard you right and also like he’s trying not to read into it at the same time. “Hang?” 

“Yes. Hang. That’s what friends slash work colleagues do. Hang out socially with other people.”

He nods, fingers finding the lock. “I’ll try and stop by.” 

Even as he says it, there’s still a brief sliver of doubt, because it’s probably not wise, but then again, what could possibly go wrong this time? What line could the two of you cross in a house full of people, full of noise and movement, nowhere private, nowhere for anything to accidentally tip into something else?

When Saturday finally came, Abbot didn’t really get a chance to second-guess going because Shen was already outside his place, leaning on the horn like he couldn’t cope with even a second of silence. Which would make sense if they were running late. They weren’t…Shen just got the time wrong. 

Ellis didn’t seem to mind when the two of them turned up an hour before everyone else was meant to arrive though, not with how quickly she put both men to work helping her set up.

In fact, when people did start showing up, it sort of worked in Abbot’s favour. He could stay long enough for you to see he’d made an appearance, then slip out early with a perfectly reasonable excuse of being there early and helping set up. 

It’s a win-win, all thanks to Shen’s poor time management for once lining up in his favour. 

He’s halfway through nursing a lukewarm beer that’s gone as flat as a puncture by the time you show up, a large basket balanced in your hands.

Everyone else had brought the usual, bottles and more bottles, nothing you have to think about too hard. But from where Abbot’s standing your basket was filled to the brim with actual things you’d need when moving into a new place. Blanket, food, cleaning supplies, probably an overpriced scented candle nestled somewhere in there. 

He’s not surprised. You’re always showing up over-prepared for even the smallest of things. He takes another sip of the beer and quickly regrets it, eyes drifting back to you before he can stop them.

You don’t notice him straight away, too busy unpacking the basket and explaining everything you brought to Ellis. She looks genuinely grateful, keeps nodding along, but about halfway through she cuts you off, takes the basket from you and dumps it on the counter, then grabs your wrist and drags you towards the drinks like she’s saving you from yourself.

And he just…watches. 

Not in a weird way. He tells himself that at record speed. He just can’t seem to help the habit that’s formed of tracking you in every room. 

Ellis pours you a glass of whatever Shen’s attempted to pass off as sangria, watching you take a sip, face scrunching up almost immediately. 

He huffs quietly to himself, shifting his weight, fully aware of how this must look from the outside. Him standing off to the side, completely blanking Robby who’s right there, still talking, mouth moving, hands doing something vaguely animated, and Abbot hasn’t caught a single word of it. Not one. 

“We don’t sleep with the residents, man.” 

Abbot does a double take, like he’s been caught mid-thought and dragged back too fast. “What?”

Robby doesn’t even look at him, just tips his beer in your direction. “You’re practically fucking her with your eyes and she hasn’t even put her bag down.”

He scoffs, taking a sip of beer to buy him some time. 

“I’ve already got Gloria breathing down my neck about budgets and patient satisfaction,” Robby goes on, “I don’t need her adding fraternisation to the list.”

“Nothing’s happening.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Shame,” Robby adds, almost idly. “Because if this is you not doing anything, I’d hate to see what it looks like when you actually are.”

“What, now you’re encouraging me?” 

Robby snorts, shaking his head. “No. I’m just saying—if there is anything happening, keep it the hell out of the ER.”

“There’s nothing going on, man. You can drop it,” he mutters, knocking back the rest of his beer as he spots you walking over, unsure whether that’s the best decision with what Robby’s currently insinuating. 

“Okay, well, I don’t need to be privy to this conversation,” Robby sighs, noticing you heading their way. “I’d like some plausible deniability.”

Robby gives you a quick nod as you pass him, then veers off towards Dana without another word, leaving Abbot standing there with absolutely nothing to hide behind, nowhere to look except you. 

You’re wearing a sundress again. 

And his brain just…malfunctions for a second. There’s a slight lag when his eyes fixate on the way the material sits against your hips, the neckline lower, the hem shorter than the one he’s seen you in before. It’s stupid how quickly he notices it, how it registers before he can even think to stop it.

This is exactly what Robby was talking about, and he’s stood here proving him right, fully incapable of acting like a normal person for five seconds when you’re in front of him.

“Ellis said you helped set up,” you say, coming up beside him. “That was nice of you.”

“Didn’t really have a choice, she had us working the second we stepped through the front door. Didn’t even get a tour or anything.”

“Is that why you decided to give everyone alcohol poisoning with the sangria?”

Abbot laughs, setting his drink down on the fireplace. “That was all Shen.”

There’s a stench of silence and it makes him realise how bad the two of you are now at this whole normalcy thing. There never used to be silences like this, not ones that felt like either person was thinking about something else. The obvious elephant in the room, even to Robby apparently.

“We’re setting up a round of beer pong,” Shen announces, appearing out of nowhere with a red cup filled to the brim with his sangria. “Next round is me and Ellis against you two—” he points between you and Abbot. “Be there or be square.”

Abbot glances at the cup, then back at Shen. “How about you be sober since you’re my ride?”

“You can just catch a ride with Robby,” Shen shrugs. “He drove.”

He shakes his head because he knew this would happen. Shen is the least reliable method of transport known to man. Abbot’s half surprised he even makes it to his shifts on time.

“You playing?” you ask, glancing between him and Shen.

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

Shen groans. “You’re both playing. I’ve already decided.”

Abbot has come to realise that you’re actually really good at beer pong. Whether that’s down to your aim or just sheer desperation to avoid drinking whatever the hell Shen’s made, he’s not entirely sure. Either way, the two of you are winning.

Which should be what he’s focusing on.

It isn’t.

Because you keep leaning forward to line up your shots, bending over the table, one hand braced against the edge, the other hovering with the ball, squinting like it’s a matter of life or death. And it’s endearing how focused you get, how your tongue presses against your teeth, how you don’t even seem aware of anything else when you’re aiming.

And he’s meant to be watching the cups. The game. Literally anything else. 

Instead his eyes keep catching on the same things. The way the hem of your dress shifts when you bend, the brief flash of skin at the back of your thighs when you straighten and then lean again, the way your legs move when you step forward to grab the ball. 

He drags his gaze back to the table just as you release the ball. It arcs cleanly and drops straight into one of Shen’s cups with a splash. 

“No fucking way,” Shen scoffs. “We need to step our game up.” He nudges Ellis like she’s personally responsible.

“You need to step your game up,” she shoots back, grabbing the cup. “I’ve been carrying you this whole time.”

Abbot can feel eyes burning into the side of his head. He turns enough to see Robby watching him with a smirk, shaking his head, as though Abbot’s hitting every milestone on a very predictable recovery plan, like a patient progressing exactly as expected. Which is irritating, because Abbot is not, in fact, improving.

He rolls his eyes at him and turns back to face you. “Nice shot.”

“Yeah?” You glance over at him, mouth tipping at the corner. “You sure you saw it? You seem a little distracted.”

“Distracted? No, not at all,” he manages, which makes him sound like he was, indeed, distracted. 

You don’t comment though, just take a small step back so you’re beside him, shoulder brushing his as the two of you watch Ellis down the drink with visible regret before she’s reaches for another ball. 

“Jesus,” you mumble under your breath. “She’s going to hate us in the morning.”

“I already hate you,” she calls back, giving herself a dramatic shake like that might undo the damage. Ellis aims her ball like she’s about to shoot, but Abbot sees you stepping to the side. 

“El, your foot’s over the line,” you call out, all sweet and helpful.

She freezes mid-aim. “What?”

“Your foot,” you repeat, pointing vaguely. “You’re fully cheating.”

“I am not—” Ellis glances down, shifting her stance to check.

The second she looks away from the cups, you go still beside him, lips pressing together like you’re trying not to laugh.

“Just shoot,” Shen groans. “I’m ageing.”

“I was about to—” Ellis snaps, readjusting, rushing it now. She throws the ball too quickly. It hits the rim and bounces straight off the table.

“You’re full of shit,” Abbot mutters, just to you, eyes still on the table. “Her foot was not over the line.”

“I’m driving tonight.” You shrug, giving him a smile. “A girl’s got to do what she has to do.”

Ellis and Shen argue in front of you two, voices overlapping, something about angles, and you rushed me and you distracted me. 

Abbot scoffs, looking at you. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone cheat at beer pong.”

“It’s okay to say you’re impressed. I won’t tell anyone.”

“I prefer to win fairly.”

“Oh yeah,” you hum tauntingly. “I forgot you’re such a rule stickler. Always doing the right thing. Never crossing any lines.”

“Ouch,” he clicks his tongue. “You always get like this when you’re caught cheating at frat boy games?”

“Like what?”

He tilts his head, crossing his arms as he studies you. “I think there’s a vein of rage popping on your forehead.”

“Yeah? Nice of you to notice instead of trying to look up my dress all evening.” You give him a bratty smile, grabbing a ball and pressing it to his chest. 

“There she is,” Abbot hums, satisfied, because this version of you is exactly what he was waiting for. With this version there’s no awkward push to get back to normal, no weird pauses where it feels like one of you should say something just to prove everything’s fine. This is easier. You push, he pushes back. You get sharp, he gets worse.

You’re too nice at work. Too polite. Too put together, all neat edges and carefully chosen words and that calm voice you use with patients that makes everything sound under control even when it’s not. And he likes that, he does, but this…this is better. This is you slipping a little, dropping it, letting him see the part that doesn’t behave, doesn’t follow the rules you keep going on about. 

“Your turn,” you say, pressing the ball into his chest again. “Try not to miss.”

He takes it from you, hand covering yours before the ball settles in his grip. “Lots of attitude for someone who needed to cheat two minutes ago.”

“I didn’t need to,” you correct promptly, following him as he steps up to the table. “I just wanted to.”

“Right. That definitely makes it better.” 

“My eyes are up here,” you remind him, tapping two fingers from your chest up to your face.

He wasn’t actually gawking this time, but that’s a weak defence considering every other time he has been, so he doesn’t bother arguing with you.

“Wouldn’t want you getting distracted and making us lose.”

Several hours later, you’re pulling into Abbot’s driveway, the solar lights along the path flicking on like they’ve been waiting for him specifically. The engine idles for a second before you switch it off. 

“There you go.”

He unclips his seatbelt, keeping a hold of it as it slides back into the mechanism, his thumb pressing into the fabric. “Thanks,” he says, glancing at you. “You didn’t have to.”

“Well it would’ve been rude not to. Shen’s asleep on Ellis’s kitchen floor and Robby disappeared without saying goodbye.”

“Yeah. Hope Ellis doesn’t trip over him in the morning.”

It was meant to be quick. In and out. Show face, have a drink and leave early. But the opposite of that ended up happening, the majority of the night crew sticking around longer than the day shift. Now it’s later than he planned, and you’re here, in his driveway, with neither of you moving.

He should get out.

But you’re genuinely smiling at him, and he’s not sure he has the willpower to leave. 

“You had fun,” he notes, quieter than before.

“I did,” you confirm blithely. “You?”

“Mm.” He nods once, like that’s enough of an answer. He glances down without meaning to, tracking the line of your milkmaid neckline where it dips as you move in your seat, and that’s when he catches it. 

A black card with a white outline peeking above the fabric. Something that looks suspiciously like one of the UNO cards Whitaker had insisted everyone play with. A game you somehow won three times in a row. 

He huffs out a breath, not sure whether to be amused or surprised that you’d go that far to win a cards game meant for eight year olds. “You’re unbelievable.”

 “What?”

“You’re absolutely unbelievable,” he laughs dryly, turning towards you in the passenger seat. “You cheated.”

You raise your brows, and he watches you physically fight the grin trying to break through. “At beer pong?”

“Yes, that too.” he replies, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t play dumb.”

“I don’t quite know what you mean.”

He gestures vaguely towards you, unsure how to phrase it without sounding insane. “You’ve got a card tucked in your—” he cuts himself off, dragging a hand over his jaw. “You know what I mean.”

“Bra?” you supply for him.

“Yes.”

“Funny, I don't seem to be wearing one.”

“Jesus Christ you need to stop doing that,” he hisses, words coming out harsher than he intends. You have to be doing it on purpose at this point, there’s no way you’re not aware of what you’re saying, what that does to him, how it lands and then just sits there in his head, repeating, expanding, getting worse the more he tries to ignore it.

Because now that’s all he can think about, not the card, not the game, not anything remotely normal, just that. The fact you said it so casually, like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t drag his attention right back down again, like he hasn’t already had to physically pull his eyes back up to your face several times tonight.

“You’re accusing me of hiding cards in a piece of clothing I’m not wearing.”

“I saw it. Don’t try and twist it.”

“I’m not twisting anything,” you reply, but there’s that look again that tells him you know exactly what you’re doing to him. And, frankly, it's cruel. 

“You cheated,” he repeats, leaning in. “Everyone thinks you’re all nice and polite and—” he lets out a short, disbelieving breath, shaking his head. “You’re a cheater. A serial cheater.”

Your brows lift, but instead of being offended, there’s something else there, something that almost looks like interest. You undo your seatbelt, tilting your head. “Yeah? What else?”

“You’re manipulative.”

“What are you going to do? Pull my dress down and check?”

“Is that what you want?”

“I don’t think that’s a normal activity friends slash work colleagues do—”

“You know damn well nothing’s been normal between us since that night. You’re the one who said it was a one-off,” he goes on, because it’s been sitting there waiting to come out. “But then you look at me like this and say things like that and expect me to just—what, ignore it?”

Your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip and his hand tightens where it’s resting against his leg, fingers pressing into his own palm. “I didn’t say ignore it.”

“Then what did you say?”

“That it couldn’t happen again.”

“Right. And this is you… sticking to that?”

You don’t answer him, but you’re breathing has picked up. 

“Yeah,” he mutters to himself. “Thought so.”

And then he just moves, like a car running every red light. His hand comes up, fingers firm at your jaw as he pulls you in, rougher than he means to be. The kiss lands messily, noses knocking, teeth catching because neither of you slow down enough to make it neat. It starts all wrong, rushed and badly aimed, with no patience from either of you to do it properly.

There’s a moment where he registers what he’s doing, where his brain catches up enough to go this is a bad idea, but then you’re kissing him back, deepening it, and that thought doesn’t stand a chance. 

He exhales against your mouth, thumb pressing into your jaw as he pulls you closer, like the extra inch matters, and it does, because the angle changes and your mouths fit better this time. 

“Come here,” he murmurs, one hand sliding from your jaw to your neck while the other drops to your waist as he shifts, pulling you towards him. You let him, moving over the console, the whole thing awkward and uncoordinated, things getting knocked in the process, your knee bumping into him, his elbow catching against the door.

He makes a frustrated sound when you finally settle into his lap, like the movement wasn’t fast enough, like even now he’s impatient, still pulling you closer once you’re there, his cock aching for friction. 

“Still think this is a one-off?” he mumbles, words uneven, breaking between kisses as they drop from your mouth to your jaw, then lower.

Your fingers bunch in the fabric of his shirt, tugging it up, chasing the heat of his skin. You pull it over his head, your hands coming to rest on his shoulders as his dig into your hips.

“You’re not very good at sticking to your own rules,” he adds, leaning in to press another wet kiss beneath your jaw. He sucks at the delicate skin before swiping his tongue over it to soothe. 

“We—we both—” you start, breath catching when his hand comes to palm your breast, “—agreed it’d be a one off.”

“Nu-uh,” he tuts. “You said you’d be able to move past it. I told you I couldn’t.” His fingers hook into your dress, tugging it down, the off-the-shoulder sleeves giving just enough for the fabric to slip, exposing your chest to him.

He’s imagined you like this more times than he’d ever admit, and he’s almost surprised he even registers the small cascade of UNO cards slipping free. The cards hit him, light taps against his stomach before they’re sliding down between the both of you. 

“You’re fucking joking.” 

You just shrug, like it’s nothing, like you’re not currently straddling him with evidence of your cheating scattered in his lap. You shift to reposition yourself, and he feels it immediately, his cock aching to be inside of you.

“Unbelievable.” His hand lifts, coming up to your chest, fingers closing around your nipple as he pinches it between his thumb and index finger, his eyes dragging over you, taking you in like he doesn’t know where to look first, like he wants all of it at once. “You cheat, you lie, and then you just—what—sit here like this?”

You tip your head back at the feeling, and he follows, bringing his mouth closer, tongue swiping over the nub as he watches you through his lashes.

“You don’t seem that upset,” you slur, hand digging into his shoulder as you roll your hips against him.

“Baby, with the view I have right now, I don’t think I’d notice if someone dropped dead in front of me.”

A soft sound slips out of you, half laugh, half moan, and it only makes his jeans tighten. He swears under his breath, pressing his forehead against your shoulder like that might help. He needs to control himself. He has to. He’s already finished in his pants prematurely like some horny teenager once before, and he really doesn’t fancy doing it again unless it’s inside you.

“Need your jeans off,” you mumble, hands reaching for his waistband, fingers deftly working the buttons. 

“Yeah? Think we might struggle in here.”

You shake your head, lifting yourself, balancing on your knees, the absence hitting him, a brief void he feels but doesn’t dwell on, not when your hands are right there, working each button open one by one.

Without warning, your hand dips under the denim, and Abbot inhales sharply as you palm him through his boxers.

“Huh,” you breathe, a smug edge to it, and he already knows what you’re about to say, can feel it in the way his precum has soaked through the fabric. “Have you been this worked up the whole night?”

He lets out a strained laugh because he’s been caught out and doesn’t have the energy or focus to deny it. His head tips back against the seat, eyes squeezing shut before he looks back at you. 

“Answer the question,” you press, your hand slipping underneath his boxers. There’s not much room for you to move, but the second your hand wraps around his cock, his breathing turns frantic, his hands digging harder into your hips.

“Yeah,” he grunts. “Been like this since you walked in.”

Your brows lift, impressed, like you weren’t expecting him to actually say it. “Good.” 

You lean in to kiss him, and he tries his best to reciprocate, but all he manages are sloppy pants because your hand is still doing its best to pump him and he can’t concentrate.

“Help me out,” you murmur, biting his lip as you pull away. Your hands move to the waistband at his hips as you tug, and Abbot pushes himself up, giving you just enough space to drag his jeans and boxers down halfway to his thighs.

Your hand grips him properly now, sliding up and down his length, your thumb brushing over the tip. Your mouth parts as you do it, like you’re getting drunk on the sight of it, on getting him off. He finds himself thinking—briefly, unhelpfully—about what it would feel like to have your mouth on him instead. Whether you’d look the same. Whether you’d get that same faraway, intent expression.

But there’s no space for that in your cramped car.

And he’d rather feel your pussy swallowing his cock instead. 

His hand closes around your wrist, stopping your ministrations in one decisive move. “Wait,” he says, though he doesn’t actually give you time to respond.

Because then his mouth is on you instead.

Your dress is already pushed up, bunched carelessly at your waist, and his hands follow without needing to think about it, sliding underneath the fabric, mapping their way upward along your thighs with a familiarity that feels…earned.

He finds what he’s looking for.

Hooks his fingers into it.

Then pulls.

It gives immediately, the rip louder than it should be in the enclosed space. 

“Abbot!” you gasp. “What the hell?”

“They were in my way. Sorry, baby.”

You blink at him, still catching up. “They were expensive.”

“I’ll get you new ones.”

“How am I meant to drive home?”

That—apparently—is the wrong question.

He pulls back to look at you, and then he scoffs, quiet and disbelieving, like you’ve said something so wildly off-base it doesn’t even deserve a serious response.

“Drive home?” he repeats.

There’s a beat.

“You think you get to just leave?” The question isn’t really a question. “Not a chance.” His thumb finds your clit, applying light, deliberate pressure. His mouth follows, pressing a tender kiss to your neck. “You’re spending the night,” he murmurs against your skin. “I’ve got plenty of boxers.”

Another kiss. Slower this time.

“Or,” he adds, like he’s genuinely considering alternatives, “you can walk around without anything at all.” His thumb circles your clit again. “I don’t mind.”

You wither against him, your body registering the touch before your brain has had a chance to catch up. “Jack,” you start, but it falls apart halfway through, the rest of it never quite assembling into anything usable.

He hums delicately against your neck, like he’s listening, like he might even care.

He doesn’t stop, his thumb moving in an achingly slow rhythm. “You’re thinking too much.”

“M’not—”

“You are.”

You shake your head anyway and he doesn’t accept that. His free hand comes up to your face, settling at your jaw, thumb just beneath your cheekbone. Not rough but not optional either. “Look at me.”

You do. A little slower than usual. A little softer around the edges. Like you’re already halfway gone somewhere else and he’s pulling you back just enough to see it.

“You are,” he repeats, nodding once like that settles it. As though it’s something observable, not arguable. His thumb picks up the pace and he watches the moment it lands. The way your expression shifts around it. The delay. The way your focus slips, then tries to come back.

Interesting. 

There’s something almost clinical in the way he tracks it, the small details, the cause and effect. Detached, if it weren’t for the fact that his own breathing has started to change, slower but heavier, like he’s not as removed from it as he’d maybe prefer to be.

“That feel good?”

You nod. 

“See?” he says, voice dropping. His other thumb drags slowly across your lips, catching on the slight part of them. He stops there, just for a second, feeling the warmth of your breath, the softness of it, like he’s deciding something.

“Stop arguing with me.”

There’s a pause.

Then he presses his thumb into your mouth.

He feels the moment you take it, the way your lips close around it, the faint pressure of your teeth as you bite down.

“Sit up for me, baby.” He reluctantly pulls his hand away from your warmth, only for it to settle on your hip instead, guiding you up gently. You meet him halfway, lifting yourself and grabbing him again, both of you glancing down as you line him up.

You press the head of his cock against your clit, rocking yourself against it. 

“Jesus,” he bites out, his thumb slipping out from your mouth with a thin string of drool stretching between. “Slowly—go slow.”

You nod, as you ease down, taking him in bit by bit.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, sharp enough to make him suck in a breath, and for a second he thinks about telling you to keep going until you draw blood but he’s not sure that’s wise in your dazed state. 

“Fuck,” you grit, stopping yourself before you’re even halfway down him.

“Too much?”

“Mhm.”

“S’okay,” he slurs, focusing on your puffy clit again, drawing slow circles, helping you take all of him. “You can do it.”

His grip tightens at your hip, thumb pressing in harder as he watches you, completely locked in, like if he looks away for even a second he might miss something important. The way your face pinches. The way your breathing shifts. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs, softer now, coaxing more than anything. “You’ve got it.” He watches every inch of it, the slow give, the way your body takes him, the hesitation that never quite turns into stopping.

“Yeah… there you go.”

You’ve bottomed out now, all of him deep inside you, gripping him so tight he’s not even sure how much longer he can last, and you haven’t even started moving yet. He goes still, in an attempt to chase composure.

“Don’t—” he starts when he feels you shift,  then stops, jaw tightening as he recalibrates. “Just—stay there a second.”

His forehead dips forward, almost brushing yours, his eyes half-lidded as he tries to steady himself through it.

“Tell me when,” you whisper. 

That nearly undoes him more than anything else.

There’s something about the way you say it. Gentle. Willing. Like you’re handing the control back to him without even thinking about it. Trusting him with it. 

He leans in for a kiss, and it’s slower than the ones before. Thought-out. Intentional. All that earlier hunger still there, but pulled tight beneath the surface now, tempered by the fact that he’s already inside you.

It changes things.

Makes it heavier.

He presses in deeper, tongue sliding against yours, and you let out a broken whimper into his mouth. “Go ahead,” he says, pulling back enough to take in the way you’re looking at him now. 

You lift your hips, then lower yourself again, and he can feel the way your body adjusts around him—your walls clinging to his cock as you start to find a pace that works for you. 

Abbot searches for your hips, guiding you, pushing you down onto him when you reach the base again, the curls there brushing against your clit. 

Your eyes are screwed shut and he takes this time to watch you shamelessly, The sheen of sweat starting to gather along your forehead, the way your breath hitches every time he pushes you down just a bit further.

It’s fucking euphoric. 

You keep moving, whining—half-words, curses, his name slipping in and out—as you pick up the pace, losing whatever rhythm you started with in favour of something needier.

“Such a greedy girl,” he mutters, watching the way a slick ring of wetness gathers and drags along his cock as you bounce up and down, your cunt squeezing him so tight he’s grasping at straws to make sure you finish before him.

His thumb finds that sweet spot, making you go limp against him, your forehead sprawling against his shoulder.

“Yes—keep doing that,” you mewl, and he’s the kind of man who follows orders, even when he’s not sure he’s got anything left to give.

Your teeth sink into his shoulder, and it pulls a husked sound out of him.

“Yeah? That’s what you do?” His hips meet yours, as he plunges in and out of you, feeling your thighs tighten and shake around him. “Didn’t take you for a biter,” he mocks, but there’s no surprise in it, in fact he sounds pleased. 

You say something incoherent back and he just laughs. “Go on,” he encourages, tilting his head to the side to give you better access. “If you’re going to do it, don’t half—”

He cuts himself off with a sharp exhale when you do, the pressure of it shutting him up completely.

“Christ—”

“M’close, Jack—so close.”

His head drops again, eyes finding you like he needs to see it, needs to confirm it’s actually happening and not something he’s made up to torture himself with later. “You like that? That’s what gets you going?”

“Yes—fuck, yes.” 

Abbot feels you tense around him, your movements losing whatever shape they had, turning messy as the two of you dissolve into nothing but a tangle of limbs and half-formed sentences. Fragments of words, sounds that don’t even belong to language anymore.

You come undone with a cry, muffled against his skin that’s probably raw and marked now, something he’ll notice later. Your whole body tightens, then gives, your grip on him turning desperate while it rushes through you. 

It hardly takes Abbot a minute before he follows, the sight of you—like this, because of him—pushing him past whatever control he thought he still had. His hips jerk with a force that pulls a string of curses from him that are grunted into your hair, his cock twitching inside you as he thrusts into you one last time.

There’s no other sound for a few minutes, other than the two of you trying to catch your breath. Abbot can hear your heartbeat where you’re pressed against him, feel his own still thudding hard in his chest.

He leans back, resting his head against the seat, eyes closing.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

His eyes open immediately at that because you sound horrified, like something’s gone wrong, and his stomach drops at the off chance you’re regretting all of this already.

“What?” he starts, already bracing for the worst. 

He then follows your line of sight, your gaze fixed on his shoulder and immediately relaxes. “...That?” he asks, glancing back at you. 

You wince, reaching up like you’re not sure whether to touch it or not. “I didn’t mean to—I just—”

“Hey—it’s fine.”

You look unconvinced.

“It’s not fine, I—Jack, I think I actually made you bleed—”

“I know. I was there.”

That earns him an embarrassed huff. “I didn’t even realise I was doing it.”

“I did,” he replies smugly. “Didn’t hate it either.”

There’s a pause as you study him, like you’re trying to figure out if he’s serious or just trying to make you feel better. “...You’re weird.”

“Yeah, says the one who was doing all the chomping.”

Your mouth drops open. “Okay. I’m leaving.” You pull your dress back up over your chest and try to shift up, since he’s still inside you, but Abbot’s hands clamp around your hips, holding you in place.

“Not a chance. I already told you you’re spending the night.”

You catch the inside of your cheek between your teeth. “Do you think that’s wise?”

“Probably not,” he admits. “But I’m still not changing my mind.” He leans in, placing a kiss on your shoulder. “Plus you’re not exactly in a state to go anywhere.”

“I could,” you mutter.

He raises a brow.

“…I could try.”

He shakes his head, an amused exhale leaving him “Stay. Just for tonight. We’ll figure the rest out tomorrow.”

Your body sags against him, the fight easing out of you as your fingers brush lightly over the his raw skin. “Just for tonight,” you repeat.

Though neither of you can really pretend this is just a one-off anymore.

➜ find my abbot masterlist here ⋆˚꩜｡

......fancy fussing over a different old man?

[heavenlycreatures]

finland, pietarsaari, 2020