˚˖𓍢ִ໋🩰˚ masterlist. taglist. introduction.
we're not kids anymore.

PR's Tumblrdome
Game of Thrones Daily
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
wallacepolsom
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
cherry valley forever

oozey mess

if i look back, i am lost

#extradirty
Stranger Things
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
No title available
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

Product Placement

Janaina Medeiros
Misplaced Lens Cap
styofa doing anything

⁂
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
seen from Argentina

seen from Australia
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Canada
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States

seen from Canada
seen from Türkiye

seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Italy
seen from United States
seen from Norway
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from Israel

seen from United States
seen from Canada
@fawn-ism
˚˖𓍢ִ໋🩰˚ masterlist. taglist. introduction.
gibson girl ♰
pastor!jack abbot x catholic!reader ⛪️
this fic is for my friend bella, who had this amazing idea and i generously wrote it for her 🐰🏹
this is extremely short, i'm sorry!!!!
The room was quiet. The white, big room with the dusty, decade old, cracked walls. The floorboards were somewhat loose and a creak could be heard every time someone walked along them. There were rows of long benches for the people to sit. In front of them was the long stage with an old, brown cross hanging on the wall.
At the foot of the stage, the audience could see a small podium, where an old man stood. His salt and pepper hair was curly, hanging down slightly at the sides of his head. His facial hair was the same color, pecked all around his face. It wasn’t excessive, or too long. It was just perfect.
The older man, Father Jack, gripped the edges of the old wood as he spoke into the mic, filling the silenced room. “I believe in God, the Father almighty,” came his rough, leathery voice. “Creator of Heaven and Earth. And in Jesus Christ, his only Son— Our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pintius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried; he descended into Hell.”
Not a single soul in the room dared to speak or interrupt him. They all stared ahead as he talked, like they’d been doing for the last 30 minutes. You, on the other hand, were wondering when he’d finally be done talking. Finally, so everyone could leave, and you could kiss his soft, pink lips— So he could corner you into the confession booths and slide his hand up your shirt like he’d been doing for the last 2 weeks.
It started when you’d pulled him away from the stage after Mass, asking him all sorts of questions.
"Do you think Mary and The Saints are currently in heaven?"
“Do you think of Hell as eternal torment?”
“Do you believe you’ll go to Hell for your sins?”
Him seeing you curious about the Bible, about him, all while you wore a white, lace dress with long, thigh high stockings and your brown, doe, yet seductive eyes? He wanted nothing more to pull you in, grip your curved hip, and ask if he could kiss you. And so he did.
Now, while he enlightened everyone at the stand, his eyes met yours, making him automatically stop speaking. He trailed off for a moment, before clearing his throat and looking away. “Sorry, uh… where was I?” He looked down at the booklet in his hand. “Right… here,” He muttered to himself, clearing his throat once more before straightening his posture.
“I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Holy Catholic Church, the communion of saints,” He paused for a second, shook his head, and continued, “the forgiveness of sins,” His eyes darted towards your face once again before returning to the sight below him. “the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting. Amen.”
“Amen.” Everyone around you spoke quietly in unison, tucking their booklets away. You didn’t say it, though. You mouthed it to yourself and continued to sit there while the others stood up, families and children walking over to the stage. They all got in line for communion, to eat the bread and drink the wine.
Sitting in the pews alone, you continued to read the small words in The Roman Missal, dragging your finger along the lines you read in your head. A couple stares came your way, but no one said anything, of course.
Around 10 minutes later, the building was completely empty— Thank God. You looked up, seeing Jack gather his things from the stage. He was now changed out of his pastor clothes, now wearing dark washed jeans and a green plaid T-shirt. He stuck his bible in a small brief case and was just on his way out, until you interrupted him. “Father Jack?” You spoke in front of the stage, voice soft, quiet, and seductive in a way. Like you were confident enough about the words that were gonna come out of your mouth.
He turned around, setting down his bag. “Yes?” He questioned, slowly stepping down the stairs.
You hesitated, mouth opened, yet nothing came out. “I have a confession to make.” The words came out forced, weird in a way. He raised an eyebrow. “Mass just finished. Why didn’t you let me know beforehand?”
You shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry, Father. I just… was a bit nervous before. I was afraid to ask you if it’d be too much for you to listen to.” He stood in front of you now, callused hand wanting so desperately to reach out. It made its way to your shoulder, holding it gently. “Why were you afraid to ask me? You shouldn’t be.”
Your lips formed into a line, not knowing what to say. He sighed and suggested, “It’s alright. I can spare another 10 minutes, no one’s rushing me home. Come on.” He led you to the reconciliation room, where you sat down on the other side of the booth. It was so dark and cold, you shivered slightly.
Jack sat on the other side of the booth, closing the curtain in front of him. “Whenever you’re ready.” He informed patiently, tapping his knee with his fingers lightly.
You pulled your dress down, noticing how much it had rode up when you sat down. You fiddled with your ruffled socks. “So… I, uh…” you trailed off.
You wanted to tell him how wrong this felt. The two of you sneaking around, hooking up, even though he was over 30 years older than you. The Catholicism in you told yourself you should stop— that this is totally and completely wrong, that you’re sinning and you’d go to hell.
But your heart— your desires, your needs didn’t care that you were sinning. Father Jack was objectively one of the most gorgeous men you’d ever seen. The way he was old and caring, caring for others, ones younger than him, including you even though you guys hadn’t met until last month. It made you feel things you couldn’t explain. Like some kind of warmth in your stomach along with butterflies and little devils on your shoulders telling you “Don’t break things off. This is good.”
Though, you knew it wasn’t.
But the intimacy between you guys was something you’d never felt in your 19 years of life. It was something different than dumb, 2-week long relationships you’d had in high school with the dumb boys who couldn’t even remember your favorite color or your favorite types of flowers.
Jack wasn’t like that.
He saw you— really saw you. He saw the deepest parts of yourself, parts you’d never even seen. He saw you in a way that no one ever could see. And maybe that wasn’t a good thing. But you didn’t care. It felt good to be seen by an older man who cared for you more than your own father had. More than your own family had.
Though, the realness of it all was effective at times. It could’ve been too much. Too hard on you, too hard on your mind when it was racing with thoughts and questions. You’d always wondered if this kind of sinning would stab you in the back later in life. If karma would come for you, if you’d go to Hell for the horrible sins you’d committed.
Those parts of your mind made you believe you weren’t overthinking it. Getting down on your knees one day for an older man you just met, then going home that night and getting down on your knees again for Jesus— begging Him for forgiveness. Trying to make Him believe that you weren’t the bad girl He’d probably thought you were— that you didn’t wanna go to Hell and you just wanted to feel better. To feel good about yourself.
Though, it never did afterwards. You just felt dirty, manipulative, like a slut who loved helping older men get off. Some part of you knew that wasn’t true— you just blocked it out.
“Am I going to Hell?” You spoke quietly, voice raw like the question came from the deepest parts of your soul and religious trauma. “Will these moments betray me later on in my life?”
Jack stayed quiet for a second, seeming to be deep in thought. “That’s… a difficult question. Reasonable.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“I feel guilty.” You admitted.
That got his attention. “You feel guilty?” He repeated. “For what?”
You sniffed, pulling your hands up to your chest. “For… whatever it is we’re doing. Whatever it is we’ve been doing. It’s a sin, y’know. You’re a pastor and you’re much older than me.”
“I’m aware.” He ran his rough hands up and down on his thigh. “At home… Do you get down on your knees and beg for His forgiveness?” Jack questioned, an alluring tone slipping through.
You hesitated. “Yes.” The big, brown cross on your bedroom walls wasn’t hung there for nothing. You’d sit on your bed and hold your hands up high to Jesus, praying for him to make it all be okay.
“Let me ask you this, Baby.” Jack’s fingers grazed on his dark jeans. “Do you like what we do?” His questioned, voice gruff and raspy. “When you corner me after Mass and cup the sides of my face? When you kissing me turns into me fingering you behind the stage? Do you like it?”
His words soaked your panties instantly. After moments of silence, you hesitantly replied. “I do.”
“Then do as I say.”
Your eyebrows knitted together, fingers fiddling with the threads of your white, lace dress. “Do what?”
You could hear the noise of Jack’s belt unbuckling, brown boots tapping against the floor. “I want you to take off your clothes. One by one. First, your shoes…” He declared, letting his belt hit the ground, buckle making a ‘clack’ sound. He then took off his shoes, prosthetic foot hitting the wood softly.
“Then, your stockings. Then, I want you to keep going until you’re sitting there in your bra and panties.” He finished, unzipping his jeans. The image in his head was a wonderful sight.
You raised your eyebrows, but obeyed immediately. Your shoes clattered to the floor, then your stockings. Once those were off, you pulled your dress over your head and let it fall atop your shoes. “They’re gone.”
Jack nodded to himself, palming himself through his boxers. “Good.” He panted. “Now, I want you to pull your legs up. I want you to spread your legs. Don’t take off your panties yet, okay?”
You did just that, legs coming up to the seat, spread and ready for whatever he was about to say next. “Father, what are you–”
“Rub yourself. Through your underwear. Don’t take them off, don’t go under. Rub lightly through the fabric.” He ordered gently, running a hand through his hair while his dick hurt under his boxers, needing release.
This definitely wasn’t the first time Father Jack had ordered you to touch yourself. Like last week, in his car after Mass. When you didn’t have a ride home and as a “thank you,” he made you touch yourself in the passenger seat with no release until you got inside, to your bedroom.
When he made you secretly touch yourself in the back of the pews during Mass, where there were families sitting beside you and you had to rub yourself dumb under your clothes.
When he was craving pussy after saying prayers and needed to eat you out on the stair steps of the stage after everyone had left. It’s not like there were cameras in the church anyway. No one would find out.
But it wasn’t like this. Him forcing you to touch yourself in the conciliation room. This was new.
But you weren’t complaining. You enjoyed taking risks like these— sex in public, secretive relationships, and whatnot.
Your fingers reached down to your core, rubbing light circles over the white cotton. Small, breathy moans left your mouth. “Father… what next?”
Jack slowly started stroking his hard cock through the thin, black fabric of his boxers. “Take off your bra. Can you do that for me? Play with your nipples while you rub yourself?” He spoke gutturally, free hand gripping his thigh.
“Y-Yeah,” You mumbled, feeling too much pleasure from something so little. Jack typically made you feel like that— like when he fingered you in his car and you came in under 3 minutes. It was highly embarrassing, but Jack seemed to love it.
You reached your free hand behind your back and unclasped your pink, lace bra, letting it clatter on the floor, along with all the other clothing items you discarded.
Your hand came back around to your chest, slowly caressing your nipple. The little pink bud slowly stuck out, now hard. Then the other one. Your fingers patiently twisted them and squeezed them while your left hand was wet on your core, rubbing in somewhat slow circles. “Can I– Can I go faster?” You panted.
Jack pulled off his boxers, stroking himself at a slow pace. “Yeah. Don't go too fast, Baby.”
You let out a small moan, rubbing yourself quicker now. You threw your head back against the hard wood. “Father— I need to–”
“Go ahead.” He said simply, stroking himself faster now, almost at the point of release. You guys could always make each other cum fast.
You shoved your fingers in your hole one at a time, letting them hit your gummy walls. They thrusted in and out of you, all 3 fingers. The hand on your tit went down to your clit, rubbing in impossibly fast circle movements. “Father.” You breathed out, moaning and whimpering here and there. “Father, I can’t–”
He made quick movements on his hard, long, 8 inch monster cock, pumping it up and down. “Baby, I'm so close.” He threw his head back as well, a hand running up and down his chest.
“Me… too– Fuck.” You cried out. “Father Jack, I’m gonna…” you trailed off, feeling close, a knot forming in your stomach. “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” you pathetically moaned as you came, juices squirting out of your cunt and all over the booth.
While you were cumming, Jack was whispering little incoherent things like:
“Baby, I need you so bad.”
“Mmph– yeah, fuck.”
He fisted himself harder now, almost at his climax. “Ba–baby, oh, fuck!” He groaned out. The sticky, white liquid spilled out from his cock, dripping down his shaft along with his abs. He squeezed every last drop out.
Both of your moans slowed down, panting and letting out heavy breaths. “Fuck.” You whispered, sucking your own liquids off of your fingers.
“Fuck.” Jack repeated, sitting upright now. He thought for a moment.
“Do you wanna come back to my place?”
Hii I was wondering if you could do reader trying to dry hump pope while he’s watching one of his nature documentary’s 💕🤭
mhmm this is yummyyy! poor popey hates to be distracted. :(
18+ ! mdni
pope wakes up early— sometimes it’s even a blessing if he sleeps at all, but once you came around he’s more sluggish in the mornings, wanting to hold you and lay in bed all day.
this morning, you find him in a chair in the living room, directly in front of the tv watching one of his animal documentaries.
walking over, still so sleepy in your rumpled pajamas, you silently straddle him, nudging your face in his neck getting comfortable as he settles his arms around you, wordlessly. <3
a couple minutes pass before you start to get antsy, roaming your hands up his chest and arms, playing with his curls at the nape of his neck. leaning up a bit towards his ear, you whisper, “morning, honey.”
he grunts in response, totally engrossed in the television. you give a little pout that he can’t see, deciding that you want his attention.
you adjust on his lap, not really cuddling anymore as you lift up to wrap your arms around his neck, settling down on the bulge in his shorts. pope mindlessly settles his hands on your back, rubbing up and down.
you whine lowly, kissing his neck slowly, making your way up to his ears and cheeks. pope’s dodging your head when you switch sides so he can still watch the show. “andrewww”, you whine out, starting to grind your hips down on him.
you throw your arms over the back of the chair and lay your head on his shoulder, focusing on the fact that is cock is growing under you, creating a delicious friction.
you start to moan quietly, breathing fast as pope brings his hands down to grip your hips, stilling you. “quit bein’ needy”, he grumbles into your hair.
you huff, “i just want you so bad, andrew. please? i won’t even say a word—you can keep watching.”
he looks down at you, cute little lips pursed, contemplating. finally, he relaxes his hands on your hips, giving you the go ahead.
you smile, kiss the side of his mouth and bring yourself back down on his now hard cock. “thank you, baby—mhm.” he grips your hair, forcing you to look up at his stern face, “you said no talking.”
after nodding with hooded eyes, pope releases your hair, smoothing it down before he lets you go back to fucking yourself on him. <3 feels so good he cums in his pants too.
oops!
this account is my holy grail
Until the Water Runs Clear
jack abbott x f!reader (resident!reader)
follow @mrshatosy for future hatosy fics from me ✨
synopsis:
After a bad shift, you come home and fall apart.
Jack puts you back together. Gentle and quiet. Until the water runs clear.
content: descriptions of patient death, blood, angst but fluffy in the end, hurt/comfort themes, mean!robby (but he's just stressed!!) inaccurate medical drama (i'm not a doctor and im working off of google searches sorry guys!!! established relationship, jack abbot soft top, implied age gap.
a/n: umm i know im supposed to be working on case files (and i DID write some today but i just can't get shawn hatosy out of my head rn so please take this abbot angst/fluff off my hands thank you
length: 3.5k
💧💧💧💧💧💧💧💧💧💧💧💧💧💧
The supply closet smelled faintly of antiseptic and cardboard, a dry, stale sort of clean that never quite masked what clung to it after days like this. You hadn’t meant to end up here. One second you’d been moving frantic, gloves snapping, voices overlapping, monitors screaming. And the next you were standing in the narrow dark between shelves, the door half-shut behind you, like your body had made the decision without consulting your brain.
fawk
tldr;; your favourite doctor is a porn va.
warnings. 18+ only. smut. jack abbot becomes an audio porn king. fem!reader. medical student!reader. but also patient!reader. inappropriate thoughts about a patient. age gap. power imbalance. hyde's input. shawn hatosy, consider me mad and mystified. god bless the women at quinn. follow @houseofjekyll + turn on post notifications to get notified when i post a new fic!
jack abbot who swears he was just trying to find a new hobby. after having the world’s most unstable man — more commonly referred to as doctor robby — call him out on his not-so peaceful hobby of getting shot at, he decides to go back to the drawing board. calls his therapist, asks for an honest opinion, and is met with the worst possible answer a man like him could receive: maybe something less physically demanding and endangering would do you good. have you tried golf?
jack abbot who has tried golf, actually... he almost sent a young caddie to the pitt, golf club swinging out his grip and crashing against the golf cart. second time is never the charm, so he skips golf and goes straight to padel. old man tennis, as doctor ellis so kindly puts it. after launching the ball out of the court one too many times, he gives up, declares the game is not fast-paced enough* for him (*read as: jack is too heavy handed).
jack abbot who goes through a whole list of hobbies. he’s too skilled for paint-ball. he’s too stiff for dancing. he’s too impatient for cooking. sports are not his forte, and he’s already dedicated way too many years of his life to education to fully toy with the thought of getting another degree — even if holding another masters over robby’s head does sound like fun. but he finds something easier, something quicker. his hand, his voice, and a microphone… that’s all he really needs to become an audio pornstar.
BAD JUJU
18+ account - minors do not interact
andrew ‘pope’ cody x f!reader Word Count: 5.3K Rating: E
Summary: You’ve been out of the game for years, but when the Cody family contacts you when J is injured during a heist… you decide to set aside your past and help.
Warnings: ex-situationship vibes (you were secret lovers back in the day), family dysfunction (reader’s dad is also in organized crime/works with smurf), angst, yearning, language, alcohol use, mutual pining, sexual tension, feelings, a pitt mention/brief crossover mention with jack abbot (i had too, reader is a doctor!!), emotionally constipated Andrew, descriptions & flashbacks of explicit smut (unprotected p in v sex, creampie), lavender shirt mention (it deserved a warning)
A/N: minor spoilers? This is set during the events of the Church Heist episode (2x05), but Pope is not dating Amy in this universe. Also, anything that doesn’t align with that episode just means I took creative liberties and made some changes. Also, I’m not a doctor, so let’s pretend what Google told me about sutures on a large wound is accurate. Thanks again to @wesandresons for da GIFs. Writing flashback sequences is always hard, so I hope you guys enjoy! Dedicated to @likedovesinthewnd for continuing to fuel my Pope obsession.
J was sprawled on the couch outside of your father’s scrapyard, his leg soaked in blood, the wound jagged and deep from the air duct’s sharp edges. Baz hovered nearby, eyes nervously flicking between the injury and the tools in your hand.
Deran was leaning against a nearby pile of scrap.
Watching intently.
You knelt beside J, your eyes assessing the damage. The bleeding was heavy, but you knew a better way than just stapling—something that would minimize scarring and promote healing. Carefully, you gathered sterilized cloths, antiseptic, and the surgical sutures you brought along.
"Thanks for coming," Deran said. "Really. I know it’s a lot to ask."
"Stop talking," you said curtly.
more college!mike headcanons
-you write college mike perfectly
college!mike wheeler headcanons II
──────────── ‘★ mike w. x reader ⸝⸝. pt1
college!mike wheeler who will send you pictures of things that remind him of you throughout the day, followed by an “i found you again” text (it’ll usually range from something like a pretty leaf on the sidewalk to a lipstick stain you’d left on his mug)
college!mike wheeler who can’t stand a moment without touching you. if you’re anywhere near him, he’ll have an arm around your waist, a hand on your shoulder, his fingers warming your side beneath your shirt, his chin in your neck—he clung to you like sweat on a hot summer day, and he was just as annoying.
college!mike wheeler who purposely feigns exhaustion when he gets home from class because he knows you put on that sweet voice and hold him when he’s tired (you know he’s pretending, you like it too) and he gets his princess treatment
college!mike wheeler who sends you instagram reels every five seconds with “🤣🤣🤣🤣” ironically because he likes pissing you off
college!mike wheeler who loves domesticity. he likes doing laundry with you while wearing old, tattered pajamas, he likes the quiet crackling of eggs on a pan in the morning along with your quiet hums, he likes seeing your reflection beside him while you brush your teeth together. In these moments he can only stare at you and think holy shit, he wouldn’t mind doing this for the rest of his life
college!mike wheeler who still uses snapchat just to send you selfies with the most atrocious filters on (it’s always somehow when you’re pissed off already. opening your snap to find a picture of your chud loser boyfriend is truly the cherry on top.)
college!mike wheeler who likes taking the long route home. he’ll drive around to that cafe you both spoil yourselves at anytime you see it, he’ll point out that one tree you both would meet at during your first semester, maybe the bus stop you’d met at— it’s like he’s micro dosing dopamine when he sees it. the memories are too precious not to look back on, he takes the opportunity anytime you’re in the car with him.
college!mike wheeler who treasures intimacy. you’ll never catch him using you as relief, never. now, maybe if you’re both drinking a little more wine than you should and you’ve got each other in a syrupy and overly affectionate mood, he makes that exception. but if he’s pissed off because of some paper? maybe a little stressed? he’d rather pick up smoking than get you in bed despite your reassurance that you didn’t mind.
college!mike wheeler who can either be a poet or a fucking moron. you’ll be on the subway with mike beside you obliviously blasting instagram on full volume, family guy funniest moments booming from his phone for the world to hear— then, that same week he’d read you the most well articulated thesis statement you’ve ever heard. he’s truly an enigma.
college!mike wheeler who doesn’t play about fortnite. you’ve never seen someone so driven at something they’re so bad at.
college!mike wheeler who is definitely a cat person.
college!mike wheeler who rarely argues. he’s craving wings tonight— oh, you want spaghetti? he hasn’t had pasta in a while anyways! overstimulated at a party? pfff he’s got a paper due tomorrow, might as well head out. mad at him for not doing the laundry? totally his fault, he’ll buy you dinner for the rest of the month. he folds under zero pressure, he wouldn’t dream of raising his voice or frustrating you any further, so why not just comply? happy future-wife happy life
✎𓂃 vrsey’s note … hi guys i’m back yayay! sorry if these aren’t much, i spent like two days trying to think of things ( ノД`) i have other hc requests to work on as well as a tonnn of unfinished drafts so hopefully i can get these out, i appreciate and love u guys so so much i missed you kisskiss!!!! ( *˘ ³˘) reqs open, esp for hcs hehe ! also posting this at 12 am, sorry for any typos
💌: @adygrace @someonessupersecretspam @onlinegutz @urofficialstalker @pier4clairofangirl @loonylups @jah0da @itsmetay @fuckodfff @mikewheeler123 @elomavola @glokkitty @dontmentionitseriouslyy
yuuuuup
guys my age
/ dbf!jack abbot x reader
summary: your dad made a new best friend, and he just happened to be the hottest man you've ever seen.
warnings/tags: age gap (reader is old enough to have a master's degree but no ages mentioned for her), f!reader, 3rd person POV (i cannot write in second, i'm so sorry), she/her pronouns for reader, female genetalia for reader, no physical description for reader, reader is a bit of a defensive mess, cringey music and style choices, boners, lotsa pet names, oral f!receiving, fingering, big dick jack abbot in the house, unprotected sex, doctor kink if you squint, um, everything's in lower case? i dunno if that's a warning but i just thought it looked cool.
a/n: here it is, my first fanfiction back after YEARS of not writing anything, so if it's kind of shit, that's why. i don't know how to write smut
w/c: 13.7k
fuck i need that man so bad
west coast ⋆˚࿔
older!secret!bf!jack abbot x younger!secret!gf!reader 🐈⬛
this is also so incredibly short, i'm sorry!
“stay still.” jack’s firm voice whispered in your ear, hot, heavy breath wandering down your neck. his rough, leathery fingers thrusted in and out of you at an increasingly fast pace.
you threw your head back against the mirror, legs spread on the women’s bathroom counter. the sounds of his fingers pumping aggressively filled the quiet room, along with your somewhat silent moans. jack had to put a hand over your mouth to make sure no one heard you, and even if they did— the bathroom door was thankfully locked with an “out of service” sign right in front.
"fuck!” you moaned, muffled in his calloused palm when his fingers curled into your g-spot. your sweet, sweet noises possessed jack's long, wet fingers. they moved at a frantic, driving pace. you felt a knot form in your stomach, warmth bubbling up in the lower part of your body.
whimpering and shaking from pleasure under jack, you croaked out, "i'm gonna—" and before you could finish your sentence, your hips juttered forward, squirting on jack's fingers.
to help you ride out your orgasm, jack thumbed your clit while his fingers still pumped in and out of you, letting you grind against his rough palm. "yeah, that's it, baby. cum all over my fingers." jack's firm voice came, mouth reaching down to flick at your clit.
"ugh— fuck!" you choked out, body twitching uncontrollably. jack's fingers started to slow down, letting your breathing calm. "you okay?" he whispered, voice incredibly raspy.
"y-yeah. i'm more than okay." you replied, sitting up slightly. "that was..." you trailed off, voice hoarse.
"yeah," jack brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them gently, making you chuckle. he pulled them out after a moment, leaning against the counter. "let's get this cleaned up before someone notices we're gone and tries to come in here."
hi sorry 4 how short this is... xx
anyways enjoy x💋💋🫧🍭🍭🐇🏹
west coast ⋆˚࿔
secret bf!jack abbot x younger!gf!reader 🐈⬛
this is also so incredibly short, i'm sorry!
“stay still.” jack’s firm voice whispered in your ear, hot, heavy breath wandering down your neck. his rough, leathery fingers thrusted in and out of you at an increasingly fast pace.
you threw your head back against the mirror, legs spread on the women’s bathroom counter. the sounds of his fingers pumping aggressively filled the quiet room, along with your somewhat silent moans. jack had to put a hand over your mouth to make sure no one heard you, and even if they did— the bathroom door was thankfully locked with an “out of service” sign right in front.
"fuck!” you moaned, muffled in his callused palm when his fingers curled into your g-spot. your sweet, sweet noises possessed jack's long, wet fingers. they moved at a frantic, driving pace. you felt a knot form in your stomach, warmth bubbling up in the lower part of your body.
whimpering and shaking from pleasure under jack, you croaked out, "i'm gonna—" and before you could finish your sentence, your hips juttered forward, squirting on jack's fingers.
to help you ride out your orgasm, jack thumbed your clit while his fingers still pumped in and out of you, letting you grind against his rough palm. "yeah, that's it, baby. cum all over my fingers." jack's firm voice came, mouth reaching down to flick at your clit.
"ugh— fuck!" you choked out, body twitching uncontrollably. jack's fingers started to slow down, letting your breathing calm. "you okay?" he whispered, voice incredibly raspy.
"y-yeah. i'm more than okay." you replied, sitting up slightly. "that was..." you trailed off, voice hoarse.
"yeah," jack brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them gently, making you chuckle. he pulled them out after a moment, leaning against the counter. "let's get this cleaned up before someone notices we're gone and tries to come in here."
love the idea that jack abbot gets cuteness aggression from his pretty girlfriend
everytime he hears that sweet little giggle of yours, he has to resist the urge to smother you in bite marks and kisses
and when you're feeling bratty, stomping around the house hoping he'll notice, he only squeezes your cheeks together with one hand, deepening the annoyed pout on your lips. n ur just whining at him cause he's got this lovesick grin on his face n he's not taking your little act seriously
also the king of very rough but loving hip squeezes, loves to do it when he's spooning you, feeling like the luckiest man in the world when he's got your soft skin pressed against his own. just can't help but squeeze at your sides til you yelp and squirm away
now he's gotta coax you back into his side, promising he'll stop so that you can get your beauty rest ♡
say yes to heaven ʚଓ ּ ֶָ֢.
older!jack abbot x younger!fem!reader 🩺🐈⬛🏹
"please," you pleaded as jack's fingers pumped in and out of you in the staff lounge. the doors were locked, curtains covering the sight of you lying there, squirming and jittering. "i need more."
his thumb rubbed your clit in circles while his fingers did all the magic. "patience," came his deep, husky voice. "let me take care of you." he whispered.
his fingers progressively went deeper in you as they hit your sponge walls. your legs kept attempting to close on default, twisting and writhing around on the couch. jack's arms then held them firm in place.
"stop squirming, sweetheart." he spoke with the slow, resonant rumble of a cello as his fingers started to slow down. "i wanna make you feel good, but i can't do that if you keep closing your legs on me, darling."
the words made you feel a bit guilty. you knew he just wanted to make you feel ecstatic after the week you'd both just had. "sorry," you whispered, spreading them as wide as you could.
"that's alright." he caressed your cheek with his rough, calloused thumb. his fingers then, unfortunately, left your hole, leaving you feeling empty and cold. you whined quietly. "jack..."
jack's voice immediately came, velvet and hoarse. "don't worry." he slid down to the edge of the couch, right between your legs. you could feel his heavy, warm breath right on your core, making you shudder slightly. "i wanna make you cum on my mouth, y/n."
the words made you squirm in excitement, holding onto the leather couch cushion for support. "make me cum, jack." you replied, voice barely above a whisper. he immediately got to work.
he licked a stripe from your core up to your clit, tongue focusing on the bundle of nerves once he reached the area. he sucked on it gently, leaving you a jittering mess. "j-jack, please." you fisted his hair in your hand, carefully shoving his face into your pussy.
jack's tongue lowered to your hole, delicately licking the sides of it, teasing you. his goal during these sessions was to leave you a whimpering, shaking mess. he succeeded every single time.
"p-please, i need more, i can't—" you whined, needing to feel anything and everything all at once. when his tongue reached your hole, he started fucking you with it, thrusting his tongue in and out of you delicately, every second or so.
you threw your head back in pleasure. "oh, jack!" you moaned out a bit louder than last time, not being able to restrain yourself.
"shh," jack hissed softly. "don't want anyone hearing us, now do we?" he moved away from you, just enough for you to be able to hear him speak before returning. but instead of sticking his tongue in you, he started sucking and lapped at your hood.
your eyes rolled into the back of your head. "jesus christ!" you groaned out as he slurped at your cunt, making the loudest noises even though you both tried to be as quiet as possible. it was pathetic, honestly.
occasionally, jack's tongue would make it's way back to your clit, sucking on it tenderly. after what felt like hours, you felt your climax reaching, it brewing in your stomach warmly. "f-fuck, jack... i'm gonna cum."
his tongue flattened against your pearl, fingers quickly ramming into you, more specifically your g-spot. jack knew your walls inside and out. he was always able to find your perfect, sweet spot within just seconds. "cum for me, baby."
you grinded yourself against his hand, hand gripping his hair tightly. "mph—" you came then, juices squirting right onto jack's face, along with his open mouth. his fingers were still intensely pounding into your spot, helping you ride out your orgasm. "fuck!"
once your liquid slowed down, so did his fingers. he removed them slowly while gently lapping up your overflow, guzzling them down his throat.
when you were clean, he brought his fingers to your mouth, expecting you to suck them clean. you opened your mouth wide, taking in his rough fingers quite easily. you lapped up your own juices, swallowing them.
jack took them out of your mouth, now cupping your cheek. "you did so good, darling." he coaxed gently.
"let me clean you up now."
say yes to heaven ʚଓ ּ ֶָ֢.
jack abbot x younger!fem!reader 🩺🐈⬛🏹
"please," you pleaded as jack's fingers pumped in and out of you in the staff lounge. the doors were locked, curtains covering the sight of you lying there, squirming and jittering. "i need more."
his thumb rubbed your clit in circles while his fingers did all the magic. "patience," came his deep, husky voice. "let me take care of you." he whispered.
his fingers progressively went deeper in you as they hit your sponge walls. your legs kept attempting to close on default, twisting and writhing around on the couch. jack's arms then held them firm in place.
"stop squirming, sweetheart." he spoke with the slow, resonant rumble of a cello as his fingers started to slow down. "i wanna make you feel good, but i can't do that if you keep closing your legs on me, darling."
the words made you feel a bit guilty. you knew he just wanted to make you feel ecstatic after the week you'd both just had. "sorry," you whispered, spreading them as wide as you could.
"that's alright." he caressed your cheek with his rough, callused thumb. his fingers then, unfortunately, left your hole, leaving you feeling empty and cold. you whined quietly. "jack..."
jack's voice immediately came, velvet and hoarse. "don't worry." he slid down to the edge of the couch, right between your legs. you could feel his heavy, warm breath right on your core, making you shudder slightly. "i wanna make you cum on my mouth, y/n."
the words made you squirm in excitement, holding onto the leather couch cushion for support. "make me cum, jack." you replied, voice barely above a whisper. he immediately got to work.
he licked a stripe from your core up to your clit, tongue focusing on the bundle of nerves once he reached the area. he sucked on it gently, leaving you a jittering mess. "j-jack, please." you fisted his hair in your hand, carefully shoving his face into your pussy.
jack's tongue lowered to your hole, delicately licking the sides of it, teasing you. his goal during these sessions was to leave you a whimpering, shaking mess. he succeeded every single time.
"p-please, i need more, i can't—" you whined, needing to feel anything and everything all at once. when his tongue reached your hole, he started fucking you with it, thrusting his tongue in and out of you delicately, every second or so.
you threw your head back in pleasure. "oh, jack!" you moaned out a bit louder than last time, not being able to restrain yourself.
"shh," jack hissed softly. "don't want anyone hearing us, now do we?" he moved away from you, just enough for you to be able to hear him speak before returning. but instead of sticking his tongue in you, he started sucking and lapped at your hood.
your eyes rolled into the back of your head. "jesus christ!" you groaned out as he slurped at your cunt, making the loudest noises even though you both tried to be as quiet as possible. it was pathetic, honestly.
occasionally, jack's tongue would make it's way back to your clit, sucking on it tenderly. after what felt like hours, you felt your climax reaching, it brewing in your stomach warmly. "f-fuck, jack... i'm gonna cum."
his tongue flattened against your pearl, fingers quickly ramming into you, more specifically your g-spot. jack knew your walls inside and out. he was always able to find your perfect, sweet spot within just seconds. "cum for me, baby."
you grinded yourself against his hand, hand gripping his hair tightly. "mph—" you came then, juices squirting right onto jack's face, along with his open mouth. his fingers were still intensely pounding into your spot, helping you ride out your orgasm. "fuck!"
once your liquid slowed down, so did his fingers. he removed them slowly while gently lapping up your overflow, guzzling them down his throat.
when you were clean, he brought his fingers to your mouth, expecting you to suck them clean. you opened your mouth wide, taking in his rough fingers quite easily. you lapped up your own juices, swallowing them.
jack took them out of your mouth, now cupping your cheek. "you did so good, darling." he coaxed gently.
"let me clean you up now."
babydoll ⊹ ࣪ ˖
older!jack abbot x younger!fem!reader 🏹🩺
“Fuck,” Jack muttered under his breath, watching your hands slowly stop their compressions on the man laying in the cot. The beeping on the EKG slowly came to a stop, now flat-lining. Your hands went limp, resting at your sides. The look in your bambi eyes was sorrowful, eyebrows furrowing just slightly. You took a shaky breath in while Dr. Robby called out, “Time of death, 6:27 PM, Cardiac arrest.”
Everyone in the room stands around quietly, taking a moment of silence for the death of this patient, while you mournfully stood next to the bed, tears pooling in your eyes. When Ogilvie attempts to leave the room, Dennis stops him quickly. “Uh— we actually stay for a brief pause of reflection, to respect our patient.” He spoke gently, which made the blonde step back into his place, holding his hands in front of him.
After the minute of silence, everyone stepped out of the room, getting back to their other patients— except for you and Jack. He stood hesitantly at the door, though, not knowing if he should leave you. But the pit in his stomach at the sight of you told him otherwise.
Jack stepped a bit closer to you, noticing your clear, gloomy expression. “Hey, traumas like that? They hit hard.” He spoke in a gentle, yet firm tone. “Even on the good days.” He added, watching you stand there and not speak, wondering if he should continue talking or give you a couple minutes alone. “Y/N, talk to me, please.”
You remained silent, not daring to speak, because you knew if you did, you’d end up in sobs and embarrassing yourself in front of Jack. “I uh.. I just— I knew him.” You spoke quietly, wiping the smeared blood off of your cheek, which did nothing more than just spread it to your jaw.
Jack’s face falters slightly. He swallowed and gave you his full attention. “You did? How?” His brows knitted together, watching you slide down the wall to the floor. He slid down beside you, eyes fixated on yours.
“He would uh.. He would come here a lot.” You nodded to yourself, your hands rubbing up and down your scrubs in a soothing manner. “His son died here, last year.” You swallowed. Jack’s face softened in an instant.
“I tried my best to save him. But I couldn’t. I failed his son, and now—” You cut yourself off, feeling a lump in your throat. “I failed him.” You croaked out, voice quavering.
“Hey, hey, hey,” He quickly scooted closer to you. His hand found yours, thumb gently running over your knuckles. “Y/N, you did everything you could back there. Don’t blame yourself, this is not on you.” He tried to reassure you as best as he could, but you weren’t having it. You shook your head repeatedly, tears rolling down your cheeks. “It’s all my fault—”
“Don’t say that— Hey,” he interrupted, wrapping both arms firmly around your trembling body. His fingers ran through your hair gently, chin resting atop your head. “You did everything you could back there, Y/N. Everything.” Jack spoke softly.
Your hands reached up and gripped his scrubs, giving you some sense of comfort. Salty tears wet his neck while your face was buried in the crook of it, but he didn’t care whatsoever. The only thing he cared about was making you feel safe in these troubled moments.
You’d never been well at handling the death of your patients, but this death specifically hit harder than all the others. Memories of you and P/N ran through your head on loop, like it was some black and white film from the 50s. You knew the guilt trip would leave you paralyzed in bed for days.
The room was filled with silence other than your sobs that made Jack’s heart ache more and more by the minute. He’d whisper little, soft reassurances every moment or so.
“You’re okay.”
“Don’t blame yourself.”
“I’m here.”
His touch was so achingly gentle, it made you feel all fluttery in the stomach. Fluttery in a way you couldn’t quite explain, but it definitely wasn’t your main concern at the moment.
After a few minutes of lying there in his arms, he spoke quietly, still not pulling away. “You okay?” his fingers stayed grazing your arm in a soothing manner. When you nodded slightly, he pulled away, just enough to catch a glimpse of your face.
He brought his hands up to your face and slowly wiped your tears away with the pads of his thumbs. Jack’s hands slowly fell down to your cheeks, cupping them. “It’ll be okay. I promise.” He assured, giving a small smile along with a nod.
You nodded back slowly. “I know.”
“You gonna be okay today? If you want to leave, I can cover your—”
You cut him off. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry. I don’t need to leave.” You spoke in a quiet tone. “I think I just need to get back to work— take my mind off of things.”
Jack nodded. “Of course.” He coaxed, thumb still gently rubbing along your wet cheekbone. “If anything happens, you know where to find me, yeah?”
“Yes, I will come and find you if anything goes wrong.” You nodded, jokingly reassuring him. He smiled softly.
“Alright,” he whispered and gave you one last smile before standing up, stepping out the bathroom quietly, leaving you there on the floor alone with your thoughts.
dom!lesbian!nat scatorccio hcs 🐈⬛
she pins by the throat first. not hard— just enough pressure with her thumb under your jaw to tilt your chin up and make you look at her. "eyes on me." that's the rule. you look away, she stops moving. you whimper, she smirks. she wants you watching her watch you fall apart, those eyes half-lidded and mean and so fucking pleased with herself.
she bites. inner thighs, hipbones, that spot under your jaw that makes your knees buckle— and she leaves marks on purpose. high enough that turtlenecks won't cover. she likes seeing you squirm at school the next day, tugging your collar, flushed every time she catches your eye across the cafeteria. her mark. her girl.
nat eats pussy like she has something to prove. which she does. flat-tongue, slow, dragging from your hole all the way up to your clit and circling it until you're shaking, then sucks it into her mouth and hums. she'll hold your hips down with both hands when you try to grind up— "uh-uh, you take what i give you"—and you can feel her grin against your cunt when you sob.
she sweetly degrades you. that's the trick. it's not mean-mean, it's "yeah? you gonna come for me, pretty girl? that's it, c'mon, fuckin' soak my hand."— voice all low and gravelly and almost tender while she's three fingers deep and curling them into that spot that makes you see god. she calls you baby and slut in the same breath and somehow they mean the exact same thing.
she does not let you reciprocate easily. first three, four times? she won't even let you touch her. "not tonight." she'll pin your wrists above your head and gets off on getting you off. you have to earn it. and when she finally lets you between her legs, she's already so wet it's running down her thighs. she fists your hair and rides your face like she's been waiting weeks— and she has.
nat loves fucking you in her car. backseat reeks of weed and her perfume, windows fogged, your skirt shoved up around your waist, her hand down your underwear in the parking lot of a gas station at 2 AM. "shh, baby, shh. someone's gonna hear you." she'll hush softly while she's deliberately curling her fingers harder to make you louder. sadist behavior.
post-sex, nat gets insanely soft. this is the secret. all that swagger melts and she'll lay on your chest, cigarette dangling, and trace shapes on your stomach and ask you about dumb shit— what your favorite song is, if you believe in ghosts, whether you think kurt cobain actually killed himself. she mumbles into your skin and falls asleep with her hand still between your legs. she's possessive even unconscious.
she has a bad habit of jealousy. anyone looks at you weird? nat's hand on the small of your back, low, fingers slipping just under your waistband in public. travis' friend compliments your hair? she's got you bent over her bedroom door before you even get your jacket off, growling "all mine." into the back of your neck while she fucks you stupid with two fingers and her thigh.
she'd carve her initials into the headboard. she'd write you shitty poems and then burn them before you could read them. she'd die for you and never say it out loud once.
god. she's so bad for you. you'd let her ruin your whole life.
dom!lesbian!nat scatorccio hcs 🐈⬛
she pins by the throat first. not hard— just enough pressure with her thumb under your jaw to tilt your chin up and make you look at her. "eyes on me." that's the rule. you look away, she stops moving. you whimper, she smirks. she wants you watching her watch you fall apart, those eyes half-lidded and mean and so fucking pleased with herself.
she bites. inner thighs, hipbones, that spot under your jaw that makes your knees buckle— and she leaves marks on purpose. high enough that turtlenecks won't cover. she likes seeing you squirm at school the next day, tugging your collar, flushed every time she catches your eye across the cafeteria. her mark. her girl.
nat eats pussy like she has something to prove. which she does. flat-tongue, slow, dragging from your hole all the way up to your clit and circling it until you're shaking, then sucks it into her mouth and hums. she'll hold your hips down with both hands when you try to grind up— "uh-uh, you take what i give you"—and you can feel her grin against your cunt when you sob.
she sweetly degrades you. that's the trick. it's not mean-mean, it's "yeah? you gonna come for me, pretty girl? that's it, c'mon, fuckin' soak my hand."— voice all low and gravelly and almost tender while she's three fingers deep and curling them into that spot that makes you see god. she calls you baby and slut in the same breath and somehow they mean the exact same thing.
she does not let you reciprocate easily. first three, four times? she won't even let you touch her. "not tonight." she'll pin your wrists above your head and gets off on getting you off. you have to earn it. and when she finally lets you between her legs, she's already so wet it's running down her thighs. she fists your hair and rides your face like she's been waiting weeks— and she has.
nat loves fucking you in her car. backseat reeks of weed and her perfume, windows fogged, your skirt shoved up around your waist, her hand down your underwear in the parking lot of a gas station at 2 AM. "shh, baby, shh. someone's gonna hear you." she'll hush softly while she's deliberately curling her fingers harder to make you louder. sadist behavior.
post-sex, nat gets insanely soft. this is the secret. all that swagger melts and she'll lay on your chest, cigarette dangling, and trace shapes on your stomach and ask you about dumb shit— what your favorite song is, if you believe in ghosts, whether you think kurt cobain actually killed himself. she mumbles into your skin and falls asleep with her hand still between your legs. she's possessive even unconscious.
she has a bad habit of jealousy. anyone looks at you weird? nat's hand on the small of your back, low, fingers slipping just under your waistband in public. travis' friend compliments your hair? she's got you bent over her bedroom door before you even get your jacket off, growling "all mine." into the back of your neck while she fucks you stupid with two fingers and her thigh.
she'd carve her initials into the headboard. she'd write you shitty poems and then burn them before you could read them. she'd die for you and never say it out loud once.
god. she's so bad for you. you'd let her ruin your whole life.
babydoll ⊹ ࣪ ˖
jack abbot x younger!fem!reader 🏹🩺
“Fuck,” Jack muttered under his breath, watching your hands slowly stop their compressions on the man laying in the cot. The beeping on the EKG slowly came to a stop, now flat-lining. Your hands went limp, resting at your sides. The look in your bambi eyes was sorrowful, eyebrows furrowing just slightly. You took a shaky breath in while Dr. Robby called out, “Time of death, 6:27 PM, Cardiac arrest.”
Everyone in the room stands around quietly, taking a moment of silence for the death of this patient, while you mournfully stood next to the bed, tears pooling in your eyes. When Ogilvie attempts to leave the room, Dennis stops him quickly. “Uh— we actually stay for a brief pause of reflection, to respect our patient.” He spoke gently, which made the blonde step back into his place, holding his hands in front of him.
After the minute of silence, everyone stepped out of the room, getting back to their other patients— except for you and Jack. He stood hesitantly at the door, though, not knowing if he should leave you. But the pit in his stomach at the sight of you told him otherwise.
Jack stepped a bit closer to you, noticing your clear, gloomy expression. “Hey, traumas like that? They hit hard.” He spoke in a gentle, yet firm tone. “Even on the good days.” He added, watching you stand there and not speak, wondering if he should continue talking or give you a couple minutes alone. “Y/N, talk to me, please.”
You remained silent, not daring to speak, because you knew if you did, you’d end up in sobs and embarrassing yourself in front of Jack. “I uh.. I just— I knew him.” You spoke quietly, wiping the smeared blood off of your cheek, which did nothing more than just spread it to your jaw.
Jack’s face falters slightly. He swallowed and gave you his full attention. “You did? How?” His brows knitted together, watching you slide down the wall to the floor. He slid down beside you, eyes fixated on yours.
“He would uh.. He would come here a lot.” You nodded to yourself, your hands rubbing up and down your scrubs in a soothing manner. “His son died here, last year.” You swallowed. Jack’s face softened in an instant.
“I tried my best to save him. But I couldn’t. I failed his son, and now—” You cut yourself off, feeling a lump in your throat. “I failed him.” You croaked out, voice quavering.
“Hey, hey, hey,” He quickly scooted closer to you. His hand found yours, thumb gently running over your knuckles. “Y/N, you did everything you could back there. Don’t blame yourself, this is not on you.” He tried to reassure you as best as he could, but you weren’t having it. You shook your head repeatedly, tears rolling down your cheeks. “It’s all my fault—”
“Don’t say that— Hey,” he interrupted, wrapping both arms firmly around your trembling body. His fingers ran through your hair gently, chin resting atop your head. “You did everything you could back there, Y/N. Everything.” Jack spoke softly.
Your hands reached up and gripped his scrubs, giving you some sense of comfort. Salty tears wet his neck while your face was buried in the crook of it, but he didn’t care whatsoever. The only thing he cared about was making you feel safe in these troubled moments.
You’d never been well at handling the death of your patients, but this death specifically hit harder than all the others. Memories of you and P/N ran through your head on loop, like it was some black and white film from the 50s. You knew the guilt trip would leave you paralyzed in bed for days.
The room was filled with silence other than your sobs that made Jack’s heart ache more and more by the minute. He’d whisper little, soft reassurances every moment or so.
“You’re okay.”
“Don’t blame yourself.”
“I’m here.”
His touch was so achingly gentle, it made you feel all fluttery in the stomach. Fluttery in a way you couldn’t quite explain, but it definitely wasn’t your main concern at the moment.
After a few minutes of lying there in his arms, he spoke quietly, still not pulling away. “You okay?” his fingers stayed grazing your arm in a soothing manner. When you nodded slightly, he pulled away, just enough to catch a glimpse of your face.
He brought his hands up to your face and slowly wiped your tears away with the pads of his thumbs. Jack’s hands slowly fell down to your cheeks, cupping them. “It’ll be okay. I promise.” He assured, giving a small smile along with a nod.
You nodded back slowly. “I know.”
“You gonna be okay today? If you want to leave, I can cover your—”
You cut him off. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry. I don’t need to leave.” You spoke in a quiet tone. “I think I just need to get back to work— take my mind off of things.”
Jack nodded. “Of course.” He coaxed, thumb still gently rubbing along your wet cheekbone. “If anything happens, you know where to find me, yeah?”
“Yes, I will come and find you if anything goes wrong.” You nodded, jokingly reassuring him. He smiled softly.
“Alright,” he whispered and gave you one last smile before standing up, stepping out the bathroom quietly, leaving you there on the floor alone with your thoughts.