[stgrants]

I’m sorry I don’t think I’m gonna finish my Jack abbot fanfic ughhh I lost my hyperfixation 😣 I WANNA WRITE CLARK KENT FICS IM SORRYYYYY

[sc3ptre]

Lessons on sex

Pairing: Scott Miller x Storm Par partner!reader

⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-181938

a/n: Here’s my little “get well soon” gift for @kryptidfiles !! Imagine this wrapped in a huge bow with flowers sticking out from every side. EVERYONE GO FOLLOW HER BLOG and I hope you enjoy!!

Summary: You made the mistake of turning sex into casual conversation with your coworker and accidentally start the worst HR violation of your life.

Classification: Smut +18 | coworkers to lovers, several smut scenes, alcohol consumption, rude/arrogant Scott Miller, oral sex, fingering, dirty talk, rough sex, rough groping, protected and unprotected sex, doggy style, missionary, squirting, ass smacking, marking/bruising, praise, dom/sub dynamics, workplace boundary issues and emotionally repressed idiots in love.

Word count: 9,2k

There was a difference between good sex and great sex, the same way there was a difference between getting fucked and being made love to...

Good sex was what you expected from anybody decent enough to make it that far with you. It was the kind people talked about casually with their friends, the kind that came up over drinks after someone asked, “So, was he good?” Good sex happened on Tuesdays after work with the guy from Hinge who insisted on taking you out somewhere too expensive for a second date. You split a basket of fries, drank half a beer because you still had work in the morning, drove home with exhaustion sitting heavy behind your eyes, then let him fuck you well enough to sleep for four uninterrupted hours. 

Good sex was practical and predictable. It convinced your body you were living a normal life.

Great sex was different. Great sex happened after work parties when your mascara was already smudged and your heels were in your hand by midnight. It happened on weekends with nowhere to be the next morning. You never talked about great sex because it sounded exaggerated the second you said it out loud, like you were overselling a man nobody else would understand. Great sex made you cum or at least brought you close enough that your stomach tightened every time you remembered it afterward. You thought about great sex while driving long stretches of empty highway, your hands steady on the wheel while your mind wandered somewhere warmer. 

Great sex stayed in your body for days. You caught yourself replaying parts of it absentmindedly while standing in line for coffee or brushing your teeth before bed.

Then there was getting fucked…

There was no cleaner way to define it. It lived somewhere between fantasy and urban legend, passed around between women in half-serious conversations that always dissolved into laughter. Everybody claimed to know someone who’d experienced it but nobody could explain it properly. Getting fucked was the kind of sex that distracted you in the middle of the day badly enough to make you stop what you were doing and change your underwear. It sat dangerously close to the limits of what sex could actually be before the whole thing collapsed under its own weight. 

If a guy treated you too much like an object, it fell apart immediately. 

If you didn’t orgasm, it didn’t count. 

If you weren’t still thinking about him six months later at red lights and in grocery store aisles and during lonely hotel nights, then it wasn’t that either. 

Getting fucked sat at the very top of the scale, lit up like something obvious and somehow most men still missed it completely.

Being made love to was worse and more dangerous, honestly.

For somebody like you, it could become embarrassing fast. Storm season kept you on the road for months at a time, bouncing between states, sleeping in motels with stiff sheets and weak air conditioning. Off-season meant office buildings, weather models glowing across multiple monitors, long meetings about funding, new equipment and data collection. Your life moved constantly and men liked that at first. A woman who was smart, busy, gone half the year, financially stable and difficult to pin down. 

Men loved the idea of you because it excused the fact they never had to give very much. Most of them thought they were in love but really, they just liked access to somebody they found impressive.

Before all of that, you used to think being made love to meant passion…intimacy. That it was slow sex with somebody who knew your body so well they could pull an orgasm out of you patiently and confidently, like it mattered to them as much as breathing did. You imagined hands lingering at your waist, sleepy conversation afterward, somebody brushing your hair away from your face before kissing you again.

Instead, you ended up underneath men who mistook enthusiasm for intimacy. You stared at ceilings while they grunted above you, listened to them breathe your name like they were performing something instead of feeling it. Sometimes you felt your stomach turn from the boredom alone, your body rocking mechanically with theirs while your mind drifted somewhere else entirely to storm reports, grocery lists and whether you needed to change your oil before the next drive west.

You never let them finish once you realized you hated it, that was the one thing you refused to fake. You pushed them off, sat up and reached for your clothes while they blinked at you in confusion. You told them it wasn’t going to work, sometimes you said it gently and other times you just didn’t bother. Either way, you watched realization settle over them while they sat there flushed and humiliated, their ego bruised worse than their feelings ever were but somehow your harsh words still made them cum…

Needless to say, after a while, you stopped having sex altogether.

You were in your rental house after a long day spent staring at storm data and listening to Javi ramble about whatever breakthrough he thought he’d made this time. It was late, the entire house felt heavy and warm, every light dimmer than usual and lately, you weren’t alone nearly as often as you used to be.

Scott sat at your dining table with your laptop open, shoulders slightly hunched, completely absorbed in columns of numbers and radar models. You’d known him for two years and he’d been your partner for one of them. 

People were right about him. He was direct to the point of rudeness, arrogant enough to make most people defensive within five minutes and mean when he thought someone deserved it but unlike most men in your field, Scott had learned how to admit when he was wrong, far from gracefully or happily but still, he did it.

The two of you were impossibly stubborn in almost identical ways, so sharing space with him sometimes felt like being trapped in a room with a sharper version of yourself. Separately, you were both good at what you did but together, you were nearly impossible to beat.

You couldn’t pinpoint when “coworkers” had turned into Scott walking into your house without knocking, helping himself to your fridge and sitting at your table like he paid rent.

“Best orgasm you’ve had during sex?” His voice came from across the room, casual and flat, like he’d asked you about rainfall percentages. He didn’t even look away from the laptop while he said it.

You’d forgotten he was meeting you there before the two of you drove to the bar together, which was why you were still walking around in sleep shorts and a bra, trying to find something decent enough to wear without looking like you’d spent an hour trying.

You took a sip from the beer he’d already pulled out of your fridge and nearly snorted into the bottle. “You think men do that?” you asked as you disappeared into your bedroom.

“To you?” Scott finally looked up. His eyes tracked your movement automatically while he reached for the beer the two of you were apparently sharing now. “I hope so.”

He took a drink as his eyes followed your movement.

You walked back into view holding two dresses on mismatched hangers. “You’re a fucking idiot,” you said plainly. “And maybe a pervert.”

Scott pointed at you immediately. “You’re changing in front of me. I could probably keep count of your bras at this point and I don’t. That actually makes me less of a pervert.”

You disappeared back into your room. He could hear hangers scraping against the closet rod while you searched through clothes with growing irritation.

“Just because it doesn’t make you hard doesn’t make you not a pervert,” you called back, your voice muffled through the wall.

“How do you know I’m not?” he shot back instantly, sounding almost offended by the assumption.

Silence followed but about a minute later, you walked back out wearing a dress he’d never seen before. It was simple, fitted enough to make his eyes stop for a second before continuing downward automatically. You crossed the room toward him, letting your heels drop onto the hardwood before slipping them on one at a time.

“You’re not attracted to me, Scott,” you said flatly.

He looked up slowly then, his eyes dragging over the length of the dress with enough attention to make most people nervous. On you, it just made you impatient.

“You seem awfully confident about that.”

“I am.” You adjusted the strap on your shoulder before glancing toward his laptop screen. “So don’t say shit that makes me sound stupid.”

Scott looked back at the laptop fast enough to make the movement obvious. He pretended to scroll through data he’d stopped reading the second you started undressing in the next room.

“I’m ready,” you said. “Good to go?”

“Need five minutes,” he muttered.

You walked behind him toward the front door, tapping his shoulder as you passed. “The data will still be there tomorrow. C’mon, Scotty.”

The teasing grin in your voice made something in his jaw tighten. You disappeared outside before he could even think of an answer.

Scott closed the laptop harder than necessary and stood, quietly adjusting himself through his jeans with the irritation of a man betrayed by his own body. He shut off the lights one by one and grabbed your keys from the counter before locking the door behind him.

The porch light was off so you couldn’t see the tent in his jeans. Thank fuck for that.

“Scotty was an eight-year-old with chubby cheeks,” he muttered while locking the deadbolt. He glanced over at you waiting by the passenger side of his truck. “It’s Scott.”

“It’s whatever I decide it is,” you replied easily.

He rolled his eyes and walked down the porch steps, unlocking the truck with a sharp click.

“Come open my door.”

“Since when do you need me to do that?” he complained, already circling the hood anyway.

“Since you got comfortable commenting on my bras.”

Scott stopped in front of you to stare before reaching around your waist to pull the handle open. The movement brought him close enough to smell your perfume underneath detergent and beer.

You smiled to yourself while climbing into the passenger seat because for once, Scott didn’t have anything smart to say.

Talking about sex with your coworkers was probably the least professional habit you could develop but professionalism stopped mattering after twelve-hour drives, shared motel rooms, gas station dinners at midnight and enough close calls together to make normal boundaries feel unnecessary. There were barely any women in the field to begin with, which meant the few of you that existed clung together fast and Scott, despite being deeply irritating most of the time, was easier to talk to than most people. 

Brutally honest people usually were.

At some point, conversations that started as jokes during long drives turned into real discussions about relationships, sex, exes and every disappointing person either of you had ever slept with. It happened slowly enough neither of you noticed the line moving until it was already somewhere far behind you.

HR would’ve had a heart attack.

That night, you learned Scott Miller did not do good sex. If good sex existed to him at all, it involved two people fully clothed and standing on opposite ends of a room.

The bar was more crowded than you expected, packed wall to wall with storm chasers, meteorologists, researchers and people who somehow always smelled faintly like dust and gasoline no matter how clean they looked. Whenever women in the field found each other, there was an unspoken tendency to group together immediately, so you spent most of the night at the bar talking with another researcher from Oklahoma while music pounded so loud you felt it vibrate through the floor beneath your heels.

Eventually Javi appeared beside you carrying drinks you absolutely weren’t going to refuse. He handed one over before leaning closer, lowering his voice.

“What’s wrong with Scott?”

You blinked at him. The question caught you off guard enough to make your brows pull together immediately because nobody ever asked about Scott. People either tolerated him, argued with him or avoided him entirely. Whatever problem Scott had, he usually fixed it himself before anyone could notice it existed.

Your eyes scanned the crowd automatically until you found him near the back corner of the bar with a soda in his hand. Of course he wasn’t drinking, he stood half-shadowed against the wall looking deeply unimpressed by the concept of social interaction…and staring directly at you.

Your eyes narrowed slightly until Scott finally got the message and looked away first.

You turned back to Javi. “Do you mean tonight or in general?” you asked dryly. “Because I’m pretty sure he was dropped as a child, but you’d have to ask his mother for confirmation.”

Javi frowned harder. “I mean tonight. He looks tense and it’s making me uneasy.”

“It’s Scott. He always looks tense.”

“More than usual.” Javi glanced over his shoulder carefully. “Tell him to relax for once…and to make some friends. That’s literally why we came here.”

You pointed at yourself immediately. “Why am I responsible for that?”

Javi shrugged like the answer was obvious. “Because you speak ‘Scott’ fluently. Translate what I just said into something he’ll actually understand.”

Your gaze dropped to the drink in your hand. “You’re bribing me.”

“And that drink cost me twenty-five dollars,” he replied. “So yes. Go.”

You snorted into the rim of your glass. “Pretty sure stress is what’s making you bald, by the way…not Scott’s burning gaze.”

Javi adjusted his baseball cap defensively. “Just go talk to him.”

You shook your head, already grinning despite yourself and pushed through the crowd toward the back of the bar, which Scott noticed immediately. 

The music got louder the closer you got to him, voices bleeding together into useless noise, so instead of trying to shout over it, you reached forward and hooked one finger through the belt loop of his jeans.

“Outside,” you said simply, tugging once as you moved toward the exit.

Scott followed without argument, that alone should’ve concerned you more than it did.

The plan was for him to ask what you wanted once you got outside. Instead, somewhere between the crowded bar and the exit door, he got distracted watching you walk ahead of him. Your dress moved against your hips every few steps, exposing flashes of leg skin under the low bar lights and the muscles in your bare back moved subtly every time you pushed through another cluster of people.

Inevitably, Scott’s eyes dropped lower before he caught himself.

By the time the two of you stepped outside into the cooler night air, he still hadn’t said a word.

You finally let go of his belt loop once the two of you were far enough from the entrance that the music had dulled into muffled bass behind you. You turned to face him properly, folding your arms across your chest as you looked up at him.

“What’s your current issue?” you asked.

“Current?” Scott repeated, brows pulling together.

You nodded once like the question made perfect sense.

“When’s the last time you had sex?”

A startled laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Excuse me?”

He shrugged carelessly, shoving one hand into the pocket of his jeans. “What? Are you the only one allowed to ask those questions?”

You laughed again, this time shaking your head as you pointed at him. “Yes. Obviously.”

Scott snorted.

“And those are long-drive questions,” you continued, motioning vaguely toward his truck behind you before pointing back toward the crowded bar. “Not ‘parking lot outside a packed bar’ questions.”

“You still need to answer.” He shrugged again. “Those are the rules.”

“Have I ever told you how stupid those rules are?”

“First time I’m hearing complaints since you’re the one who made them,” he replied with a grin.

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered under your breath before taking another sip of your drink.

Scott stayed quiet as he just watched you over the rim of his own soda, patient and expectant in a way that immediately irritated you because he clearly thought he was getting an answer eventually.

“Are you seriously gonna make me answer?”

“I can’t make you do anything,” he said calmly. “But I can wait. I still have to drive you home.”

You looked up toward the entrance of the bar. Through the windows you could still see people packed together under neon lights, laughing too loud, talking over each other about work, storm patterns and equipment failures. You’d already reached the point of the night where conversations started blending together into white noise.

“Can we leave now?” you asked.

Scott didn’t answer verbally. He just pulled his keys from his pocket, unlocked the truck with a click, then held his hand out toward your drink.

“Get in and lock the doors,” he said as he took the glass from you and turned back toward the bar to return it.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you called after him while walking directly to the passenger side and doing exactly that.

Honestly, you didn’t mind answering the question. The problem was that once you actually thought about it, you realized you weren’t entirely sure how long it had been. It had been long enough that you had to start considering technicalities and long enough that the answer became embarrassing and unfortunately, thinking about sex while sitting alone in Scott’s truck immediately led your brain somewhere unhelpful…

Scott eventually climbed back into the truck and shut the door behind him. He didn’t start driving right away, he just sat there in the dark, one hand resting on the wheel while the dashboard lights cut sharp shadows across his face…waiting, because the thing about car questions was that silence usually came first.

“A year and a half,” you blurted out finally. “Give or take.”

Scott’s head turned toward you so fast it almost looked painful. “No,” he said immediately. “I don’t believe that.”

You laughed in disbelief and looked toward him. “Believe whatever you want, Scott. I answered the fucking question. That’s the game.”

“A year and a half?” he repeated, staring at you like you’d confessed to murder. “What the hell do you even do on weekends?”

“Currently?” you replied dryly. “Sit in your truck while you annoy me.”

“No,” he said, already turning the key in the ignition. “You’re irritated because you’re sexually frustrated.”

You barked out another incredulous laugh. 

“And you’ve been sexually frustrated since I met you,” he continued as he shifted the truck into reverse. “Which explains why you piss me off every single fucking day.”

“Excuse you?” You turned toward him fully now, half laughing from sheer disbelief. “First the bra comments and now this? What’s next? Are you gonna set me up with one of your friends so he can fix me?”

“Put your seatbelt on.” The command came out flat and automatic.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Don’t fucking tell me what to do, Scott. I’m not drunk enough to–”

The words died in your throat the second he reached across you.

His arm slid in front of your chest while the truck reversed smoothly with his other hand still turning the wheel. His forearm brushed against the underside of your breasts accidentally…or maybe not so accidentally and your breath caught hard at the sudden closeness. Scott grabbed the seatbelt beside your shoulder, pulled it across your body in one sharp movement, then clicked it into place at your hip without looking away from the rear window once.

You drove home in complete silence.

No radio or conversation, just the steady sound of tires against asphalt and the occasional flick of the blinker while Scott kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead. You’d heard every version of his voice over the last two years, sarcastic, irritated or sharp enough to make grown men defensive in meetings but hearing him tell you to put your seatbelt on while his arm pressed across your breasts had done something deeply unfortunate to your brain.

This was entirely your fault. You were the one who made sex an acceptable topic between the two of you, you were the one who turned it into a game, into background conversation during long drives and late nights. Somewhere along the way home, your definition of good sex had rewritten itself around that precise moment. 

For most people, that probably counted as foreplay, but for you? It counted as a serious fucking problem.

By the time Scott parked outside your house, your thoughts had spiraled so badly that you barely registered the truck stopping. You stayed seated even after he cut the engine, staring forward blankly while the silence settled heavier around you.

Scott got out first without saying anything and walked around the front of the truck toward your side.

The passenger door opened. You looked up just in time to feel him lean in and reach across you again, fingers brushing lightly against the fabric stretched over your waist as he unclipped the seatbelt. The contact lasted maybe a second but that was already too long.

Only then did you finally move. You climbed out quickly, making an effort to keep close to the truck instead of brushing against him, then headed straight for your front door while digging through your purse for your keys even if it was practically empty and somehow that made it worse. You found lip balm…receipts…some loose cash, everything except what you actually needed.

Scott followed behind you quietly.

You still hadn’t found the keys when his arm appeared beside you, reaching around your body with frustrating familiarity. He’d had your keys the entire night, he usually did whenever the two of you went out together because you constantly lost track of them.

The metal clicked softly as he unlocked the door for you.

Your breath stalled as Scott stood so close behind you that you could feel the heat coming off him through the thin fabric of your dress. His chest nearly touched your back, one arm still braced near your shoulder while he turned the lock. It boxed you in completely, your body caught between the door and him and the worst part was that it felt good.

The sharp heat low in your stomach made that painfully obvious.

Good sex, apparently, was standing fully clothed on your own porch while your coworker unlocked your front door…all while standing right behind you.

The lock finally clicked open. You pushed the door open and stepped inside fast to put distance between you before turning back toward him. 

Determination sat stiffly in your chest now…You were staying dressed. Whatever this weird tension was had to be alcohol-fueled, temporary, deeply stupid or preferably all three and gone by morning.

Unfortunately, Scott looked unfairly good standing on your porch under weak yellow light.

At some point he’d taken off his cap, you didn’t know when and hadn’t realized until now. Why did he look dreamy!? His hair was messy from running his hands through it all night and the expression on his face had settled back into that unreadable calm that somehow made things worse.

“Night, Scott,” you said quickly, then shut the door directly in his face…very determined to remain dressed.

“Are you gonna set me up with one of your friends so he can fix me?” That sentence replayed in your head later for one humiliating reason: Scott Miller had never been the kind of man to hand off work he could do himself.

You’d been wrong earlier, completely wrong.

Great sex didn’t happen on weekends or after parties or during long-awaited moments with somebody you trusted. Sometimes it happened five minutes after you slammed your front door in a man’s face and tried convincing yourself you still had common sense.

You stayed standing by the door after closing it, palms warm against the wood, waiting to hear his truck start. You expected the familiar sound of the driver’s side door opening, shutting and the low rumble of the engine before he pulled away but nothing happened.

At first you told yourself you were imagining the silence because you were still too aware of him…then a full minute passed…followed by another and then three more.

Five long, miserable minutes where your brain refused to focus on anything except the fact Scott was still outside your house.

You opened the door expecting embarrassment or maybe annoyance, maybe him realizing he forgot something. Instead, he was still standing there in the same position with that same unreadable expression, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans like you hadn’t just shut the door on him…five minutes ago.

You stared at each other for a second too long.

You never figured out what exactly snapped first. Pride, self-control or curiosity…maybe all of it at once again.

One second he was standing on your porch and the next you were grabbing a fistful of his shirt and pulling him forward hard enough to make him stumble into you as your mouth crashed against his.

The moment the door clicked shut behind you, the fragile determination to stay dressed shattered. You didn't just invite Scott in, you practically hauled him across the threshold, pulling him into a kiss that tasted of alcohol and months of suppressed frustration. It was messy and desperate, a collision of teeth and tongues that left you both breathless.

You stumbled backward, the friction of your bodies fueling a fire that had been simmering for far too long. As you navigated the space, your heels clicked erratically against the floor until you kicked them off with frantic movements, one flying toward the wall and the other sliding away as you backed into the dining area.

You hit the edge of the heavy wooden table and Scott didn't miss a beat. He gripped your waist with bruising force and hoisted you up, the sudden elevation making you gasp into his mouth. He didn't stop kissing you but his path shifted, lips sliding down your jawline to your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. His hands were everywhere, frantic and demanding, sliding up the fabric of your dress and bunching it up around your waist until your thighs were bare and shivering against the cool wood.

You felt his fingers hook into the elastic of your panties, tugging them down with a sharp, decisive motion until you could kick them off, exposing you to the air. As he lowered himself, his mouth found the swell of your breasts through your dress, biting lightly against the fabric on his way down between your legs.

"You don't need to do that," you managed to moan, your voice trembling as he moved your weight, sliding you toward the edge of the table until you were perched precariously, your legs naturally falling open.

"Shut up," Scott muttered against your skin, his voice a low, arrogant growl that sent a jolt of electricity straight to your clit as he finally settled himself firmly between your thighs, the heat of his body radiating against your wetness. 

Then, he dipped his head. The first touch of his tongue was a shock of heat, it was wet and precise. He dove right in, tongue licking upward from your perineum to your clit in one long, sweeping stroke. You arched your back as a loud moan escaped you since it had been so long since you’d felt anything this raw, this focused. You were starving for it and Scott was feeding off of you with a primal intensity that blurred everything else out.

He used his hands to grip your hips, pulling you closer to the edge so he could bury his face in you as he kneeled. He began to lap at you with a rhythmic, punishing speed, his tongue flattening out to cover as much surface area as possible before narrowing into a sharp point to flick relentlessly against your clit.

The sensation was overwhelming. You began to squirm, hips jerking instinctively against his mouth as your fingernails clawed at the tabletop. You weren't just enjoying it, you were unraveling.

"Fuck…Scott...please," you whimpered, though you didn't know what you were asking for.

He responded by changing your position. He pushed you flat onto your back on the table, the hard wood pressing into your spine and hauled your legs up, draping them over his broad shoulders. The position left you completely exposed, your pussy flared open and glistening in the dark room.

He didn't stop the oral but added more by sliding two fingers deep inside you, stretching you open while his tongue continued to hammer away at your clit. The combination of the internal pressure and the external friction was too much. You were shaking, breath coming in short, jagged gasps as your feet drummed against his back.

He could tell you were close, encouraging him to increase the pressure, fingers curling inside you to hit your G-spot while his tongue sucked your clit into his mouth, creating a vacuum of pleasure that felt like it was pulling your entire soul out through your cunt.

“Holy s-shit!” Your head thrashed from side to side, a loud, unrestrained scream tearing from your throat as the orgasm hit you like a freight train. It was violent and all-consuming, your internal muscles clamping down hard on his fingers as waves of intense pleasure crashed over you, leaving you whimpering and twitching on the table.

As the peak slowly subsided, Scott didn't pull away immediately. He stayed there, his breath hot against your sensitive skin, slowly lapping the remaining juices from your pussy. He cleaned you thoroughly, his tongue lingering on every inch of your swollen cunt until you were completely spent, lying limp and shivering on the table, finally satisfied.

He straightened slowly from between your legs, chest rising hard with uneven breaths that matched your own. His mouth was swollen and wet when he licked across his lips absentmindedly, eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made heat crawl back under your skin even while your body still twitched from the orgasm.

From your place sprawled across the dining table, you stared up at him in stunned silence. Your thighs were still trembling now against his sides and you were almost certain your expression looked ridiculous, wide-eyed and dazed in a way you hadn’t allowed yourself to look around another person in years.

Scott held a hand out toward you and you took it automatically.

He helped you sit up first before guiding you carefully off the table, one hand steady on your waist while your legs struggled to cooperate beneath you. The second your feet touched the floor, your knees nearly gave out entirely.

Scott wiped his mouth with his palm. “Goodnight,” he said and the gentleness of it caught you off guard more than anything else that night had.

His hand slipped away from your waist and the two of you just stood there for a second, staring at each other while trying and failing to breathe normally again.

Then Scott turned and walked toward the front door.

You stayed frozen in place while he opened it and left your house without another word. A few seconds later you finally heard the sounds you’d been waiting for earlier, the truck door opening, shutting and the engine starting before he drove off into the night.

You tried walking toward your bedroom afterward and immediately realized your legs barely worked. You ended up half stumbling down the hallway, one hand dragging along the wall for balance because your entire lower body still felt weak and oversensitive.

Great sex…that had been unbelievably, painfully great sex.

You thought about it constantly afterward. In the shower, during calls and meetings, while sitting in traffic or lying awake at night staring at the ceiling with your thighs pressed together. You didn’t mention it to your friends or talked to Scott about it, even during the long stretches of silence that filled the truck during drives. The two of you understood what happened without discussing it directly, you’d crossed a line and both of you seemed aware that talking about it too much would probably drag you over it again.

The following mornings, you waited for him outside on your porch instead of letting him walk into your house like usual. Mostly because you’d spent the entire week masturbating to the memory of him between your legs on your dining table before getting ready for the day and you didn’t trust yourself to survive seeing him inside your kitchen before sunrise.

For one solid week, you slept perfectly. No insomnia or late-night work spirals, no pacing around rooms or answering emails at one in the morning just to keep your brain occupied. Whatever tension usually sat under your skin had disappeared completely and now it sat between you both instead.

Every drive felt heavier, the silence stretched longer and every sharp inhale from him made your stomach tighten unexpectedly until eventually you got sick of pretending neither of you noticed it.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” you interrupted suddenly.

Scott glanced toward you briefly, eyes leaving the road for barely a second before returning forward. “Do you want to?” he asked.

“I don’t,” you admitted. “I feel like you do though.”

“You’re right.”

You snorted quietly and looked back down at the laptop balanced across your knees. 

“I thought you liked being right.” Scott added.

“Fucking love it,” you replied automatically before grimacing. “Usually.”

Silence settled again until you broke it. “Okay,” you sighed eventually. “Maybe one thing.” You turned to him properly this time. “I wasn’t that drunk that night. Actually, I wasn’t drunk at all. I had that one beer before we left my place and the rest were mocktails.”

Scott turned his head enough to study your face for a second. “I wouldn’t have touched you if you were drunk,” he said flatly. “I’m an asshole, not fucking stupid.”

You leaned back against the seat slowly. “Even that’s changed.”

His brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

“The coffee for starters,” you said. “The lunches, too. You stopped buying disgusting gas station sandwiches and now we actually eat dinner out like normal people.” You gestured vaguely toward him. “You used to hand me coffee with five sugar packets on the side because you couldn’t remember how I took it. Now it’s magically perfect every fucking morning.”

Scott adjusted his grip on the steering wheel.

“I thought eating around other people would make this less weird,” he admitted. “And I got tired of sugar packets all over my truck.”

“Our truck,” you corrected automatically before pointing at him accusingly. “And nothing about this is normal, Scott! You ate me out on my dining table!”

“Stop yelling at me.” His tone stayed frustratingly calm.

“Why?” you shot back. “Is it making you hard?”

Scott shifted in his seat hard enough that you noticed instantly. Both his hands locked tighter around the steering wheel while he stared straight ahead at the road. The tension in his jaw became visible because unfortunately for him, you weren’t wrong.

The last week had changed things. You looked less exhausted and less tightly wound. You hadn’t snapped at him once during work and he hadn’t gotten a single unhinged one a.m. email from you all week because for the first time since he’d met you, you were actually sleeping.

“So when are we doing it again?” he asked finally, against every ounce of common sense he had left.

NEVER…that should’ve been the answer. It was the logical answer, the responsible one, the answer two coworkers with already questionable boundaries should’ve landed on immediately.

It just wasn’t the truth.

You had always maintained that getting fucked couldn’t happen in motel rooms. It didn't matter how good the sex was, the second cheap carpet, bad lighting and a rattling air conditioner got involved, the whole thing dropped several levels automatically. 

Motel sex could be great, sometimes even memorable but it couldn’t be that, so the next time it happened definitely wasn’t in a motel room.

The weather that day had turned bad enough to keep everyone grounded but not dangerous enough to send your team chasing storms through three different counties. There was heavy rain, low visibility and too much lightning for comfort but not enough rotation to justify going out.

At some point, without either of you actually saying it outright, waiting the storm out in Scott’s apartment became the plan instead of sitting cramped inside the truck for hours pretending the tension between you didn’t exist.

You still couldn’t pinpoint who made the first move once the elevator doors closed behind you.

One second you were standing beside him soaked at the edges from the rain, listening to distant thunder through the concrete parking garage and the next, Scott’s hand was inside your pants like it belonged there.

You gasped hard into his mouth as his fingers slid against you immediately, already somewhat familiar with exactly what made your hips jerk forward. The kiss that came after barely counted as one, it was messy and distracted, interrupted constantly by your breathing and the quiet sounds you kept failing to swallow down.

The elevator ride lasted less than a minute but by the time the doors opened onto his floor, your orgasm was already hitting you in sharp waves around his fingers while your forehead pressed against his shoulder to keep yourself standing.

If you weren’t already fucked, you were about to be.

You’d been inside Scott’s apartment before. A handful of times after late nights working or when weather reports needed reviewing somewhere quieter than a crowded diner. You remembered the big windows first, stretching across the living room area with a full view of the skyline in the distance. Tonight they framed heavy gray clouds and rain pouring so hard that it blurred the city lights into smears of white and yellow.

Scott barely gave you time to look around because the second the apartment door shut behind you, his hands were on you again. He walked you toward the living room with rough impatience, pulling your pants down from behind while you stumbled against the edge of an armchair. Your underwear followed immediately after, dragged down together in one quick motion before pooling around your ankles.

The air in Scott’s apartment was heavy, charged with the static of the storm raging outside. The gray light of the overcast sky filtered through the windows but the atmosphere inside was scorching.

"Kneel," he commanded as he pointed toward the armchair, his voice a low, authoritative rumble.

You didn't hesitate. The tension that had been building between you for weeks, the unspoken glances and lingering touches, had finally snapped. You sank to your knees on the plush seat, your heart hammering against your ribs. You leaned forward, gripping the headrest with both hands, body already trembling in anticipation. You were completely exposed to him, your ass tilted back and waiting.

Scott disappeared for a moment, leaving you in a silence broken only by the distant roll of thunder. When he returned, the sound of a foil packet tearing echoed in the room. You heard the metallic click of his belt unbuckling and the slide of a zipper.

The anticipation was agonizing. You heard him roll the condom on, followed by the wet sound of him spitting on the head of his cock to make the entry smoother.

He stepped up behind you, heat radiating against your backside. He lined himself up and then, with one powerful, decisive surge, he thrust deep inside you.

You let out a sharp, strangled whine, your fingers digging into the fabric of the headrest. It had been so long since you’d felt a man inside you and Scott was massive. The initial stretch was borderline painful, a blunt force that filled every millimeter of your tight, starving pussy. You blinked rapidly, tears pricking your eyes as your body struggled to accommodate his size, your breath hitching in your throat.

Scott didn't give you time to adjust. He reached forward, his large hands clamping onto your hips with bruising force and yanked you backward, pulling you deeper onto his cock until there was no space left between you.

"I wanna see you," you moaned, your voice broken and desperate, trying to twist your torso around to look at him.

He didn't let you. Instead, he leaned in and sank his teeth into the skin of your shoulder, a sharp bite that made you moan despite your best efforts. His hand moved from your hip to your jaw, gripping it firmly to keep your head pinned forward.

"Just focus," he rasped calmly against your skin, the contrast of his steady voice and his firm grip sending a shiver of submission down your spine.

He let go of your jaw and began to thrust. He didn't start slowly, he hit you with a rhythmic, punishing intensity. The apartment was suddenly filled with the sound of your sudden, loud moans and frantic curses. You collapsed forward, your chest pressed against the headrest, your body jarring with every hit.

As he hammered into you, Scott reached around, his hands finding your breasts. He didn't bother undressing you further, he grabbed your boobs firmly over your clothes, squeezing and kneading them with a rough, possessive grip that matched the violence of his hips.

"I'm gonna fuck you on every surface of this apartment," he growled. "You'll be seeing a lot of me."

The sex quickly became raw and primal and so, so fucking good. The sound of skin slapping against skin, mixed with the wet, rhythmic thud of his pelvis hitting your ass filled the room, competing with the roar of the thunder outside. Every thrust shook your entire frame, quaking your body from your head to your toes. You were whimpering loudly now, the pain of the initial stretch having completely melted into an overwhelming, white-hot pleasure you never thought you could feel.

Your eyes watered, staring out into the distance of the room, the world blurring as the friction built. It was fast, harsh and so perfect that you found yourself wanting to bite the armchair, your teeth sinking into the fabric as your back arched violently. You were unraveling, the long period of abstinence making you hypersensitive to every inch of him.

"I'm right there, keep going! Scott, please! Don’t fuckin’ stop." you whined, voice echoing through the apartment.

He didn't, he instead increased the pace, his thrusts becoming shorter and more frantic, drilling into you with an obsession that felt like he wanted to merge his body with yours. The thunder peaked with a deafening crash that seemed to trigger something inside you.

Suddenly, your internal muscles spasmed. A wave of heat exploded from your core and you felt a sudden, uncontrollable gush of fluid. You were squirting, something that had never happened to you before, the hot spray soaking the armchair and your own thighs. You began to shake uncontrollably, your legs giving out as you sobbed out of pure pleasure into the headrest.

Scott let out a guttural groan, the feeling of you flooding around him driving him over the edge. He loved it, hell, he was obsessed with the way you were falling apart under him. He kept going, ignoring your tremors, continuously driving himself into you as you peaked into a mind-blowing, screaming orgasm that left you completely breathless.

With a final, deep thrust, he groaned loudly, coming hard into the condom.

The momentum stopped abruptly. He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, both of you frozen, chests heaving in unison.

Slowly, he withdrew, the wet sound of his exit punctuating the silence with an obscene pop.

You both watch the rain lash against the glass, the gray light illuminating the wreckage of your passion. You took a long, shuddering breath, body still twitching from the aftershocks as your pussy twitched around nothing, back arching further needily, earning a smack from him.

"Holy fuck," you both breathed simultaneously, the weight of the encounter settling over you in the heavy, humid air.

There was no going back after that day. Not to abstinence, not to disappointing hookups or to pretending sex was something casual and forgettable that fit neatly between work schedules and storm reports.

Once Scott got his hands on you, everything else lost appeal embarrassingly fast.

What started as isolated incidents quickly turned into a pattern neither of you seriously attempted to stop. It was a terrible idea professionally, obviously, but somehow the two of you functioned better afterward. Meetings became easier, long drives felt lighter and you argued less viciously because the tension always had somewhere to go now instead of festering under your skin for weeks.

You started going home together most nights under the excuse of saving gas money. Then showering together afterward became another practical decision because apparently water bills mattered too now. Somewhere between shared coffee in the mornings and him keeping spare clothes for you at his apartment, things moved quietly into something neither of you had planned for and the worst part was that it worked.

The sex stayed incredible. Sometimes rough enough to leave hickeys along your skin and fingerprints fading across your thighs and hips by morning, or other times slow enough that you ended up tangled together for hours afterward while thunderstorms rolled outside the windows. Every now and then he fucked you hard enough to leave you shaking afterward, staring blankly at the ceiling while he stood in the kitchen making you food like that was a normal sequence of events but eventually you realized it wasn’t just about that anymore.

You started having actual dates without calling them dates, it was dinner after work that lasted until restaurants closed around you. You went grocery shopping together because both of you were too exhausted to go separately and you began falling asleep on opposite ends of his couch while weather models played quietly on television screens neither of you were really watching.

Off-season made it worse.

Without constant travel, motel rooms and adrenaline keeping you both distracted, there was finally time to explore whatever this thing between you had become. You drifted naturally between your house and his apartment depending on whose place seemed closer to the office that day. Half your belongings somehow ended up at his place and vice versa. You texted each other constantly during meetings despite sitting twenty feet apart, phones hidden beneath desks while coworkers talked around you.

Scott started bringing your coffee to your desk already made exactly how you liked it before you even decided you needed one. You started buying his preferred cereal without asking if he wanted any. He slept better with you in his bed and you stopped grinding your teeth in your sleep when he stayed over.

So naturally, being made love to finally happened exactly the way you once thought it would and it wasn’t some exaggerated version of romance men convinced themselves they were capable of after two drinks and mediocre conversation.

It sort of snuck up on you. It was Scott pulling you into his lap while both of you were exhausted after work, kissing your shoulder absentmindedly while you read through data on his laptop. It was him waking you up slowly on Sunday mornings with his hand sliding under your shirt and nowhere either of you needed to be. It was sex that lasted forever because he knew your body well enough to take his time with it, knew exactly what made you gasp, what made your legs tense and what made you hide your face against his neck when the pleasure became too much.

He paid attention and it made all of the difference. Scott learned your body like he learned storm patterns, thoroughly and obsessively, until touching you became instinct to him and it showed…

The morning light filtered through the curtains of your bedroom in soft, golden slats, painting the sheets in hues of amber and cream. The house was silent, save for the rhythmic sound of your shared breathing and the distant chirp of birds welcoming the dawn. You were tangled together, skin on skin, the warmth of the duvet trapping the heat of your bodies in a private, humid cocoon.

There was no rush, no storm to outrun and no urgency born of desperation. There was only the heavy, sweet weight of Scott pressing you into the mattress. You were both fully naked, your limbs entwined in a lazy, possessive knot.

Scott began slowly, his lips tracing a path of fire across your collarbone. He wasn't just kissing you, he was tasting you, tongue swirling against your skin in slow circles that made you shiver. He moved lower, mouth finding the sensitive curve of your breast as you let out a soft, airy moan. He took your nipple into his mouth, sucking firmly while his thumb and forefinger pinched the other peak, twisting it just enough to send a jolt of electricity straight to your core.

You arched your back, your fingers sliding into the thick hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. The friction of his chest against your breasts was intoxicating, the rough hair of his torso grazing your sensitive skin.

He shifted, sliding his body up so he could look into your eyes. His gaze was dark, filled with an intensity that felt more overwhelming than any of the rougher encounters you'd had. He didn't move to flip you or push you into a different position, instead, he settled between your thighs in a classic missionary stance and pushed inside. There was no latex barrier this time, no clinical snap of a condom. It was raw, wet and absolute. 

The sensation of his bare skin sliding against yours was a revelation. You gasped, your eyes fluttering shut as you felt the full, throbbing heat of him filling you completely. It felt different, more intimate and permanent. The lack of a barrier made every ridge of his cock feel amplified, every pulse of his blood echoing against your own internal walls.

He didn't start with the punishing pace of the past. Instead, he began to rock, his movements slow and agonizingly deep. He pressed his palm flat against your stomach, pushing down firmly to tilt your pelvis, ensuring that every thrust hit the deepest part of you.

"Gripping me like a fucking vise…so perfect." he groaned, his voice a gravelly morning rumble that vibrated through your chest.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles to pull him even deeper. You were lost in the rhythm, the slow, sliding friction creating a build-up of tension that felt like a tightening coil in your belly. You ran your hands through his hair, your nails lightly scratching his scalp as you moaned into the first rays of the morning sun.

The intimacy was suffocating in the best way possible. As he continued to rock, his movements grew slightly more urgent, the slow glide turning into a passionate, driving force. He leaned down, his lips brushing against yours, tasting the salt and sweetness of your skin while he continued to pinch and tease your nipples, hand roaming your curves with a familiarity that spoke of a deep, obsessive knowledge of your body.

It didn’t take long for your breath to become shallow, chest heaving as the pleasure began to peak. You could feel the walls of your pussy clenching around him, milking him with every deep stroke. Your body tensed, toes curling into the sheets as a wave of heat crashed over you. You cried out, a long, melodic sound of surrender, as your orgasm ripped through you in slow, pulsing waves that left you shaking beneath him.

Scott didn’t slow his pace as his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing heavily. He continued moving, the intimacy of the connection almost too much to bear.

"Want to be done?" he whispered, his voice strained, muscles trembling with the effort of holding back.

You looked up at him, eyes hazy with pleasure and affection. The thought of him pulling away felt wrong because you wanted everything. You wanted the weight, the heat and the mark of him.

You shook your head with an escaped whimper, pulling his face down to yours. "Don’t you dare pull out…’want you to come inside." You breathed.

The request broke the last of his restraint. Scott let out a guttural sound, a mix of a groan and a sob and began to drive into you with a renewed, primal intensity. It was a desperate, loving hunger. He hammered into you, movements strong and deep, each thrust a claim and a promise.

As he reached his limit, his grip on your hip tightened, fingers digging into your skin. He thrust one last time, burying himself as deep as physically possible and you felt the hot, thick bursts of his cum flooding into you. The sensation of him filling you from the inside out was the most intense feeling you had ever experienced, a physical manifestation of the bond that had grown between you.

In the height of his release, as his body shuddered violently against yours, he gasped out the words he had been holding back.

"I love you," he choked out, the confession raw and unplanned.

The world seemed to stop for a heartbeat. You felt a surge of emotion that rivaled the intensity of the orgasm, a warmth that started in your chest and radiated to your fingertips. You tightened your hold on him, pulling him down for a deep, searing kiss.

"I love you too," you whispered against his lips.

He collapsed onto you, heart drumming a frantic rhythm against your own, both of you spent and glowing in the morning light, finally and completely entwined.

A few years ago, you would’ve hated the idea that Scott Miller of all people would end up teaching you everything worth knowing about sex. It would’ve bruised your ego badly, especially considering how seriously you once took those stupid categories and scales in your head before Scott showed up and ruined all of them completely.

Good sex stopped mattering. 

Great sex became expected.

Getting fucked became routine enough that you lost count somewhere along the line, usually around the third orgasm of the day and definitely before he started dragging you into his lap halfway through work calls just because he felt like bothering you…with his hands and dick.

But somehow, even after all the rough sex and ruined schedules, Scott still managed to make love to you exactly the way you once imagined it should feel.

So if somebody offered you the chance to go back and do it all over again, you would without hesitation.

You were an absolute HR nightmare now and what a fucking delight that was!

A/N: If you enjoyed this story, feel free to explore the archive for more! Liking and reblogging helps others discover my writing and comments always make my day, they’re a huge encouragement for me to keep creating. Thank you so much for reading!

Look at him just chewing the FAWK out of that gum 😭 (wait chew me next)

[evilgrl-ssn]

who is spreading the agenda that shawn’s eyes are blue? that man’s eyes are NOT blue. further evidence under the cut

they’re hazel.

[stgrants]

“little bit”

18+ MDNI

title inspired by; “little bit” by lykke li

WC: 1,632 approx

TAGS: Smut, Jack abbot x afab!reader, amputee!jack, dom!jack x sub!reader, porn without plot, agegap, fingering, piv sex, unprotected sex as always (wrap it before you tap it readers!) very tiny degrading nicknames sprinkled in there, reader is implied to have a big (or loud) family, reader wears an anklet, and thats it.

CROSSPOST on ao3 here.

AN: this was a tiny tiny blurb I made a bit ago. Dw, other fanfics I’ve promised are on their way!! this is just to satiate yall for awhile ! love you, enjoy!

do not feed my writing into ai, I do not consent!

you sunk into the bed, freshly showered after an entire day of working out, your legs freshly shaven and your hair washed. Nights like these—where everything was fuzzy and warm and you were allowed to just relax—were at a premium nowadays.

And it was quiet—so quiet—in the house. Growing up with an extremely loud family really made you appreciate the silence.

But—your half asleep daze was interrupted by the rustling of your boyfriend arriving back home from his double shift.

You blearily blinked your eyes open, your eyesight focusing on the vision that was Jack.

Weary, he placed his bag down with a heavy hand, grunting as he started to take his shoes off.

This Jack wasn't weary in the sense that he'd thought about the shift he'd gone through the entire ride home, but more hungry. This Jack was frustrated—angry—and ready to take it out on someone.

"Oh, hey honey. How was work?" You mumbled, sitting up on your elbows to look at him more clearly. The light of the kitchen shone from behind him, his figure dark in the doorway.

"…take your underwear off."

You paused for a moment, your eyes trying to find his in the darkness—but… failing. There was something about the way he stood there, the way his voice bubbled with a sort of deep, pent up aggravation that wasn't there the night prior.

But just as quickly as he said it, you took your underwear off, sliding it down your legs and into his palm. He didn't explicitly say he wanted them for himself, but… it was implied.

"…Good girl." He whispered, coming to the side of the bed, his hand gently caressing the skin on your face, thumb brushing over the small flourish of blood covering your cheekbone.

"…I'm so lucky I get to come home to you." He whispered once more. The look in his darkened eyes made the comment seem more inwardly focused than a compliment to you. It felt more like a little thought said out loud than something he knew you wanted to hear. And in that aspect it almost held more weight than it would've had if he'd just said it to appease you.

"…lay down on your stomach and close your eyes, pretty girl."

For a moment before you obliged, you closed your eyes—the feeling of his thumb trailing down your skin and into your mouth made your breath hot and dense, the stolen second of his touch under the duress of his order igniting a sort of urgency in your mind—the knowledge that there was a timer to his command and that you must rush to complete it—made your heart flutter.

Quietly, you adjusted, laying down on the bed and in the plush sheets, now only in your baggy crop top and anklet. You could hear him rustling behind you, presumably taking off his boots and prosthetic, sliding his scrubs off his back and crawling over you, pinning you under his hips.

"You heard me. Close your eyes, sweet girl." He warned lowly, burying his face in the curve of your neck, his left hand trailing down your arm and intertwining between your fingers, his breath hot on your throat as his other hand reached between the sheets and your body, the heat of your excitement making the hairs on his arm prick up.

Slowly, the tips of his fingers explored past the divot left by the hem of your panties, reaching the peak of your folds.

Laying there, feeling his hands explore and take their time with you—it made you feel explosive. There was a heat to you that could only build from then on, and you just wished he'd deem you good enough to take him fully. Your breath slowed as he compressed you into the mattress, the sensation of his hips dragging into the back of yours making your head spin. You needed him, and he knew it. He knew you were already so riled up just from this, and he definitely knew how submissive he's taught you to be.

"Dirty girl." He groaned in your ear, the nerves in the tips of his fingers sending the information that you were completely and utterly soaked up to his brain.

Slowly, he traced the bumpy, warm surface that was your enterance, just barely pressing his fingerprint against your g spot as his palm painstakingly brushed against your clit.

You whined impatiently—the lacking stimulantion making you squirm in frustration.

"Jackie, please." You whimpered, now honing in on the feeling of his breath on your neck, reading how fast it was for clues on if he'd ever give you peace.

"What? You want me to give in? Make you come immediately? That's reserved for girls who don't ask their boyfriends to stick their fingers in their mouths. Hm? Ain't that right?" He kissed your temple, goading you to nod.

"…yeah, that's right." You muttered, a small flush burning its way up your neck and into your brain, his words floating up and into your mind like a hazy poison, rendering your body completely numb. God, his words could just… affect you. Make your body calm, make the buzzing in your head stop. And that's all you needed most times.

"Look at you, all mushy and pliant. This all for me babygirl?" He murmured, his finger sliding deeper and deeper, curling just right, making the walls surrounding his fingers clench.

"…s'all for you." You mumbled, your eyes fluttering closed once more, thighs twitching—begging for any amount of friction, something—anything.

And, he finally gives it to you. He inserted one more finger, the thickness of the two fingers combined making your mind go all soft and fuzzy.

He sped up, massaging your insides, palm rubbing against your now puffy clit, hips grinding into you from behind. it made your grip weak, the way his fingers were moving inside you—goading you to the edge.

"You want to come, pretty girl? Yeah?" You nodded, whimpering as his fingers attacked the spongy spot inside you over and over again—relentless and fervent. Being under him—compressed—his hand running down your sides and pressing your back into the mattress was… so intoxicating.

"…yeah, yes… yes." You mumbled, your hips rutting against his palm, your body honing in on the sensation of his chest pressed against your back, the feeling of his head right next to yours, whispering in your ear lowly as he pleasured you.

"…j-Jackie, I think I'm gonna…" you moaned, eyes fluttering open in a noisy daze, your vision eventually clearing to see Jack. As soon as your eyes locked, he could tell it pushed you over the edge.

Messily—you came, moaning in his face as your body tried to shrink up on itself. But—luckily—he was there, holding you down, making sure you don't crumple.

"Sweet girl…" he tutted, kissing your neck as you rode out the wave of pin-pricks washing over your body.

Unfocused and lazy, you murmured something. "jus'… wish you were inside me." You laid there, panting, looking like you'd already been spent.

But, suddenly, before you could process it, he pulled his fingers out, the sounds of his mouth sucking on the juices coating his appendages echoing out behind you.

"…you want me inside? Hm? Do you think you deserve it?" he pushed his boxers down, the bulge under the fabric emerging as a 6.5 inch Beauty, thick—as you initially expected—and had little freckles on the base. But you couldn't see that since your head was buried in the soft pillows he'd let you splurge on with his credit card a couple months ago.

"I… I dont know…" you mumbled hesitantly, making him shake his head. "You don't know? Come on babygirl, you have to be more confident. We've talked about this baby. Do you deserve this or not?"

"…I-… I deserve this. Please."

"Say it again, and say it like you mean it."

"…I deserve this."

He nodded proudly, kissing the back of your neck quickly as he smiled. "See? Was that so hard?"

He spread you apart, the small spread of your slick glistening in the low light, his thumb slowly circling the rim of your pert hole, then trailing down to your entrance.

He slapped the tip on your puffy cunt, tutting as he slowly pushed inside, hands pushing your ass apart to see just how smoothly he could slide in.

"…look at 'chu, you're so wet. Just from a couple little commands. Such a good girl, such a good little slut for me." He murmured, suddenly pushing inside fully, making you gasp.

"Oh- fuck, Jackie…" you punched out, hands coming up and gripping the sheets, feeling the way the blood rushed to your cheeks as he slowly started to move.

In and out, in and out. It was so fucking intense, so painstakingly slow yet painfully fast. You needed him to slow down—you needed him to go faster—you weren't quite sure he could give you what you were asking for. But—right as your mind started to race again—his thick, broad hand slowly gathered the hair collecting your scalp, tugging on it to make you look at him.

"Do you need me to fuck you dumb again? Huh? Need me to make all those thoughts just go away?"

Helplessly, you nodded, sniffling a little. "Yeah." You murmured, looking at him with half lidded eyes, your weak hands slowly being guided behind your back, and into his hold.

Resting your face on the pillow, you could just rest your head and relax—knowing he'd take care of you, make all the thoughts clouding your mind just float away.

[stgrants]

Jack abbot moodboard idk (*´꒳`*)

[stgrants]

blurb!!

this photo is when you finally drag Jack to go get a professional haircut instead of cutting it all jagged and blunt like he did once every 6 months and you start teasing him by taking photos. he in turn flips you off and scrunches his lips together like he so often does. after his hair is fluffed and styled you get home and immediately ruin it.

[groovyangelkisses]

JACK ABBOT NATION YOU CANNOT DIE YET WE HAVEN’T EVEN GOTTEN TO THE SUMMER BBQ DADS BEST FRIEND FICS!!!!

[stgrants]

wrote about scratching jack abbots chest up and next thing I know in episode two of yes chef they wrote in; “use your nails on my chest.”

MANIFESTING THINGS WORKS GUYS.

[stgrants]

“Wasted days and sleepless nights”

Title inspired by; “is this love” by whitesnake

pt 1 pt 2

18+ mdni!!

TAGS: oral (m!receiving), piv sex, switch!jack x switch!reader, afab!reader, agegap (think 27-29yo reader x 42-49yo Jack), fingering, Jack has a slight cum kink, mean!jack if you squint, several sloppy makeout sessions, medical inaccuracies, reader is implied to be chubby and have stretch marks, angst, depressed!reader, widow!jack, amputee!jack (his prosthetic is mentioned several times), hurt/comfort, TW suicidal ideation for both reader and Jack, headcannon of his late wife dying by suicide

A/N: I’m paranoid someone’s gonna think I used ai because I use so many em dashes and Oxford commas 😭 I reassure you I didn’t!! Also, this could probably be read as a standalone, if you’d like. This is also a lot more thought out and better written than part one, so please forgive me if any details from the last part were different. enjoy!! 🤍

do not feed my writing into ai, I do not consent!

2026, December.

His eyes slowly fluttered open, his body fuzzy and pliant, hands already searching for you before he could even fully wake up, only to be met with a cold spot on the other side of the bed.

He sat up, gathering his sweatpants and socks he’d gradually kicked off during the night, rubbing his face as he slowly recounted what had happened the night prior.

The light gaped through the curtains, his hands adjusting his prosthetic. He hadn’t planned on staying at your place, and he didn’t have his arm crutches.

He walked out, rubbing his achy shoulder as the sound of the local news anchor echoed through the hall. He turned the corner, finding you curled up on the couch, chomping down on a spoonful of fruitloops as the news anchor recounted the events of last night.

“Reports have shown the blizzard has produced 23 inches of snow or more. Officials recommend staying inside, as the lows this week will be below freezing. Stay tuned for more detailed weather reports, after the commercial break.”

As the anchor finished, you finally noticed the hesitant steps towards the living room, turning your head to see jack, in his sweatpants, shifting on his feet awkwardly.

“Oh… hey, jack.” He walked down the steps and into the sunken living room, hesitating to sit down, given the memories on that couch.

“So… i guess we’re snowed in?” He asked, stepping closer. You nodded solemnly.

“Yeah. Thank god were not scheduled today, it’d be hell to trek through all this snow.”

“Well, they’re probably gonna call us in anyway. Lots of hypothermia cases, lots of black fingers and toes.”

You frowned at that, remembering the realities of your job.

“Shit. Yeah, they probably will.” You sighed. As he carefully sat down next to you, you laid the blanket over his lap, garnering a small smile from him.

“…i guess we’re gonna have to wait to get called in.” You sighed.

2024, summer.

It was 2 am in Pittsburgh, the night shift exhausted after a wave of concert-goers had fainted due to heatstroke. The er had been getting more and more heatstroke patients due to concert season, sometimes it was hard to expect anything but heat related injuries.

You were checking on a woman who fainted due to dehydration, having garnered a concussion on the way down. She was young, maybe a few years younger than you.

As the IV drip worked its magic, you stitched the small gash up on her head, conversing with her about the concert.

“So, what concert were you seeing?” You asked.

“Oh, it was a metric concert.”

“Oh my gosh! I love metric. What songs were they playing?”

As you both gabbed about your favorite songs, Jack passed by. He overheard your love for metric, smiling softly, the memory of going to a concert with you about a year ago flooding his thoughts.

“Knock knock.” he rapped against the door, entering. “Hey, we need you in room 9.”

You turned to the woman, frowning as your conversation got cut short.

“Oh, uh… Sorry. I’ll be back soon, okay? Keep thinking of bands to recommend me.”

You fell into rhythm beside Jack, walking over to room 9.

“Okay so… what am I looking at?”

“30 year old male, fell into a sinkhole a couple blocks awhile while out on a jog, got a big ol’ gash on his leg.”

“Okay… why’d you ask for me?”

“Because something tells me this guy only responds to hot doctors.”

You side-eyed him, smirking. “And what, you didn’t make the cut?”

He huffed, shaking his head as you neared the door leading to the man.

“A hot, female doctor.”

“…well, I’m glad I’m the first person you thought of.”

You smiled, pushing the door open.

“Hello, I’m Dr abbot, and this is my resident. She’s going to help stitch up the gash on your leg.”

The man’s stubbly frown immediately lifted, eyes glimmering with cockiness as you entered.

“Hello… If I had known a pretty nurse was gonna help me out, I would’ve freshened up a bit.”

“Doctor, not nurse.” You corrected, slipping on your gloves.

“Ah, my bad… maybe I’ll just call you by your first name instead.” You rolled your eyes at the flirtatious remark, sitting down on the stool next to him to gather a history.

As you both started talking, Jack slipped out, shaking his head as your voice faded out of earshot. Something in his stomach ached when he walked away, his hands clenching as the thought of you potentially flirting back with the man filled his mind.

Robby, having stayed a little late, immediately took to the patient with Jack, leading the gurney to the closest trauma room.

It was a 35 year old man who got a broken arm and head injury due to getting up on stage and being bombarded by a couple of crazed fans. Luckily the fans were arrested and taken to the precinct, but the popstar still needed medical attention.

“What happened here?” Robby asked, slipping on his gloves as he examined the man’s rather red arm.

“I don’t fucking know man—I got up on stage and these guys just started attacking me—AH!”

Robby hit a particularly sore spot, immediately backing off.

“Somebody call Garcia, he needs surgery.”

“Clean break?” Jack asked.

“No, definitely not. The bone is shattered.”

“Hm, okay. See how long it’ll be until we can get an OR free.

2025, Fall.

You were hiking up a long trail with Ellis and Abbot, chugging atleast 20 ounces from your water bottle all at once, the October sun glaring into your eyes.

“How much longerrrr…” you whined to Ellis, forehead collapsing onto her shoulder as the group stopped to catch a break.

“Two more miles. Can you handle that, wimp?”

“No. I can’t, frankly. And—why’d you even invite me? You both are experienced hikers, It’s so unfair. I mean—the bionic-man over there has yet to sweat. How is he not sweating?!?” You gestured to Jack, happily stretching—seemingly unbothered by the 3 miles you’d already trekked.

“It’s all in the stretching, sweetheart. You’re too tense, you need to loosen up.” He chuckled.

“You guys just invited me to see me sweat. Here—are you happy?? I’m sweating waterfalls!” You flailed against her shoulder, making her laugh.

“Yeah, speaking of your sweatiness, get it off me. You’re sopping.” She pushed you off her, making you giggle.

“This is what you wanted! What, now that you’ve gotten your use out of me, you’re gonna toss me aside? Like trash?”

“Like sweaty trash, yes.” She pushed your face away, laughing at your over-exaggeration.

“Now cmon, breaks over. We need to keep going, or else we’ll miss golden hour.” She grabbed your wrist, dragging you along. You groaned, lazily following after the two. “Just two more miles… Ugh.” You whined.

Later, as you approached the end of your hike, you were greeted with a nice, thick river, and a log to sit on. They were right, it was beautiful. Immediately—you took your shoes off, running into the river.

“Come on guys! You have to be hot, you know you are.”

You threw water up in the air, smiling brightly. Ellis soon followed, but for a moment Jack stared at you— smile softening at the sight of you. With the sun reflecting onto the river and onto your back, there was almost a halo behind you of just… pure light. And for a moment, he could soak it up.

“Jack! Get in here. You know you want to, come on.”

He smirked, removing his shoes and shirt, wading into the river. And he had to admit, you were right. It was refreshing. You and Ellis both followed suit, changing into the swimsuits you wore underneath.

Ellis had originally found this route on her own, and had invited both of you to join her on a day off. Described it as quote unquote—“a verdant, inspiring landscape that made you feel like a child again.” You were amused at first, but you had to agree with the picture she painted.

As you settled onto a log nearby, perfectly angled to where you could dip your legs in the river, you remembered you brought a couple beers in your backpack.

“Oh—I brought beers. Lemmie go get em.” You hopped up, prancing over to your backpack, leaving the both of them to converse.

“…beautiful place, right?” Ellis commented, obviously fishing for compliments.

“Yes yes, very beautiful. Also very uh.. how do you say, very verdant? It’s oh so verdant.” He teased, making Ellis smack his arm.

“What? I’m just saying—it’s SO verdant. You were right.”

“Shut it, abbot.”

“Where’d you even get that word?” He chuckled.

“I do a lot of crosswords, alright?”

He squinted, taking in the information.

“So you’re saying you’re even older than I am?”

As she turned to insult him, you arrived back, interrupting the squabble she was about to initiate, holding three lukewarm beers.

“Sorry, they got a bit warm on the ride here… and during the hike.” You chuckled, sitting next to Jack. You passed them out, Jack taking his bottle opener keychain and cracking your bottles open.

“How do you always have every thingamajig on hand whenever we need them?” You asked, taking a swig of your beer.

“It’s called old man magic. Look it up.”

You chuckled, hopping off the log and wading into the water.

“Well, can your old man magic make it so I don’t have to hike the 5 miles all the way back to the car?”

“Well, I could carry you.” He leaned forward, smiling smugly.

You chuckled, taken aback by the concept of his… big strong arms carrying you. And you knew he could.

“Well, looks like we have the solution to those wimpy legs of yours.” Ellis chuckled, glancing between you two. She was sensing something, but she didn’t quite know what yet.

You sunk down into the water, trying to cover up the blood rushing to your cheeks. “Well, maybe I’ll just call up my armada of muscle men in my contacts. You don’t want to throw your back out carrying me.”

“Your armada, huh? Didn’t know you were getting busy.” Ellis chuckled, quickly swimming over and dapping you up.

As you two moved on in the conversation, Jack thought for a bit. Armada? Getting busy?? He shook his head, quickly rejoining the conversation.

2026, fall.

As your car rolled into the poorly marked parking spot at the drive in movie theater, you stepped out, boots crunching against the ground as you rolled out your comforter to settle it in the bed of your truck.

As you set up your snacks and got comfy, you realized you forgot drinks. Sure, you could survive without a few beers through the duration of this movie, but you really didn’t wanna watch Betty white prance around in a forest singing; “get low” sober. It just wasn’t as fun.

As you made your way to the concession stand, waiting in line, you spotted a familiar truck. A navy blue, vintage, Ford truck. Something about the very obviously well-taken-care-of car struck a sense of familiarity inside you. Like suddenly smelling a scent you had loved as a kid.

You stepped forward in line, paying for a case of beer and a bag of chips. As you were just about to walk back to your truck, you heard a familiar voice echoing out from behind you.

“Hey!” You turned, finding Jack a couple yards away, smile wide, a big bag of Hershey’s kisses tucked underneath his arm.

“I didn’t know you went to these things.” You walked over, stopping just a two or three feet away.

“Well, my therapist said I needed a hobby.” He shrugged.

“And you chose watching rom-coms at a drive in theater?”

“Hey, it’s not just rom coms, last week they had the terminator two, and the week before that, they had dead poets society.”

“True, true. But I’m surprised we haven’t seen each other, I’ve been going for like two months each week.” You shifted on your feet, the people surrounding you starting to settle into their cars, the proposal’s intro just now starting to play.

“Well, I guess we just parked on opposite sides. Missed eachother by a few acres.”

As you both sat there awkwardly in the darkness, you realized that the movie was starting.

“Oh, I should probably… ah..” you gestured to your truck, backing up a small bit.

But, before you could fully take a step back, he stopped you. “Do you wanna watch it together?”

A small silence filled the air, grasshoppers softly chirping in the distance, a breeze washing over you both, carrying your scent to him.

“…do you have extra blankets?”

He smiled softly, nodding.

“Yeah, follow me.”

Settling into his truck bed, you found yourself smushed up against him, snacks in both your laps, his blankets hogged by your cold-running body.

“This is cool, I’ve never really… gone with anyone to these things.” You muttered, fidgeting with the loose thread hanging from the edge of his blanket.

“Really?” He chucked a Hersheys kiss into his mouth, moving his attention away from the movie.

“Yeah. It’s more of a me thing.” He nodded along, noting that you seemed slightly… anxious.

“Well, I like having the company. Having commentary isn’t too bad.”

You chuckled. “You don’t mind me rambling about the scenes?” He shook his head.

“No no, I like it. Sometimes it’s… too quiet, too heavy. Commentary breaks it up. You… you break it up.”

You smiled shyly, tugging up the comforter you were buried under.

“…cool.”

Your eyes fluttered open, your body warm and pliant, and it took you a few moments to get your get your bearings.

You looked around to find the screen for the movie blackened, the entire drive-in empty, and Jack cuddled up next to you, just waiting for you to wake up. You had unknowingly fallen asleep on him, watching the very cozy scene where ms Sandra bullock and Ryan Reynolds’s characters opened up to eachother while ready for bed.

“Oh-… god. Did I fall asleep on you??” You sat up, checking the time on your watch.

“Didn’t wanna wake you up.” He muttered, dismissing it like he hadn’t spent two hours after the movie had already ended, just… holding you.

“Shit I… I’m sorry.”

His brow quirked, torso twisting towards you in confusion. “What for? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You sighed, looking away.

“…i… I don’t know at this point.”

You sat there for a moment, just… clinging to him, shivering. Despite having warmed up in your sleep, the chill of the late summer breeze seeped into your bones.

“I should probably… go back to my car.” You motioned to get up, but he gently tugged your hand back down.

Before he could start his monologue about how in love with you he was—staring into your eyes like you hung the moon—you kissed him. Something about the way he clung to your wrist, and how desperate his eyes looked when you looked into him, made you just kiss him without a second thought.

Sloppily—your lips clashed together in a haze of confidence, hands grasping at his shirt—searching for a reason to hold onto him.

You could taste the remnants of beer across his tongue, the alcohol seeping into your bloodstream the longer you made out.

You moved onto his lap, Jack letting out a small groan of surprise as your hips dragged across his bulge.

“Sweetheart-“ His breath hitched, realizing how out in the open you were. I mean—you were literally in the bed of his truck in an open field. This was as exposed as it could get.

“Take off your pants.” You interrupted, your fingers slithering through the steel bundles of hair brushed against the nape of his neck, his fingers tingling against your waist as you ground down against him.

His stomach throbbed as the excitement of doing this out in public settled in his mind, hands shooting out to unbuckle his belt. He’d never done this before. As much as he’d like to think he was “experienced,” you were… much more of a freak than he was.

You dropped down to his knees, helping shimmy his belt buckle off, licking your lips deliciously as you spotted the shadow of his bulge peeking out from under his jeans. He cupped the back of your neck, the thick strands of your hair weaving in between his fingers.

“Sweetheart- you don’t have to…” he trailed off, his body language saying otherwise—his hips bucking into your touch imperceptibly.

“Please.” That small whisper caught him off guard, his hands holding tightening on your hair as he caught the petite, pleading look in your eye.

“…baby, how could anyone say no to that face…?” He sighed, giving you the go ahead, your pout soon morphing into a smirk as you licked your lips, tugging his tumescent cock out of his briefs.

Fuck, that look on your face… the way your eyes when from pure to mischievous within a moments notice. It made the heat in him ache, it made his hands clench and his body quiver.

You slapped the ripe tip on your tongue, wetting it, making sure you’ll be able to take it. And trust me, you wanted to take every inch. You sank down, your eyes fluttering closed as you bobbed your head, slow—agonizing strokes, savoring the sound of your attending moaning and grunting above you.

You tuned into him—his body, the way his thighs tensed when his tip hit the back of your throat, the way his head tipped back and thumped against the metal of his truck as you took him in his entirety. Feeling him—All of him—felt like heaven.

“B-baby, slow down… god…” he groaned, eyes flicking into the back of his head, hips rutting and fucking into your tight mouth. But you just kept bobbing—up n down—relentless. He couldn’t stop you even if he wanted to.

Spit trickled down his balls, your free hand fondling and squeezing, choking out a whimper from his lips. “You’re doing so good baby. Fuck.” He groaned, fisting a hand through your hair so hard it made your grip weak.

You could tell he was almost there, somehow the sound he made when he was about to sneeze was the same sound he made when he was about to cum. Knowing this, you reached up, taking a fistful of his taut pectoral, dragging your hands down along his torso, the painful sting of your sharp nails sending a jolt of pleasure rippling down his veins and into the throbbing head of his cock.

His eyes fluttered closed as he came, a small, choked groan escaping his lips as he thrust into your cheeks sloppily, the wet sounds echoing throughout the field as your throat was painted white. Just as he was opening his eyes, he saw your mouth—open—small spurts of his seed seeping into the soft, plush material known as your tongue. And god, did that make his cock stand at attention again. He hadn’t been able to get it back up that fast in years.

You panted, swallowing every last drop like the trained champion you were, and… Like the gentleman he was, he couldn’t just… leave you like that. Throbbing and aching, the scales unbalanced. God no, what kind of man would he be?

He pulled you up, gently kissing the corners of your mouth as his hands pushed your mini shorts down, long stripes of stretched skin sowing your hips, his eyes locking in on the small wet patch dabbling the fabric covering your cunt. He tutted, thumb grazing your clit as he inspected you.

“Poor girl. You’ve probably been throbbing this entire time, hm?” He murmured, your hips twitching in his hands direction, giving him all the permission he needed.

“Looks like we need to take care of you. You want that, honey?”

You nodded, lazily kissing him back.

“Yes… god yes. Please.”

He helped you shimmy off your delicate panties, tossing them aside somewhere as he pumped himself a few times, helping the blood rush back.

He nudged the tip against your entrance, easing you onto him. Taking him inside you was different. You were a lot more experienced giving blow jobs, and to be honest you hadn’t encountered many girthy, big dicks like the one attached to him.

And the stretch was… magnificent. Down to the last inch, it was magnificent. The slight curve to his cock fit locked inside you, Your clit catching on the long vein running up his pelvis, the small bud nudging against the silver wefts carpeting the base of his cock as he ground up into you, hands clutching the fat of your hips, guiding you up and down.

“There we go… good girl…” he purred, nuzzling his face into your chest, kissing and biting the skin—adamant on making a mark on that velvety skin of yours.

“…f-uck… Jack, you’re so thick…” you mumbled, starting to tear up. He pulled back, looking at your teary waterline, shushing your small whimpers.

“You can take it baby… just take it. You’re strong enough, right?”

You reluctantly nodded, letting his hand come up to your face, pushing past the plushness of your lips and letting the pad of his thumb run up the line on your tongue, pressing down. You sucked on the digit, temporarily soothing your whines as he started grinding into you faster.

Soon, it was just full on thrusts, the stimulation making your legs shiver and shake over and over again. You could tell your muscles were getting tired from the way your hip movement slowed, so… Jack took over.

He flipped you on your back, moving your legs so they were resting on his shoulders, and he resumed with no warm-up, pounding into you—making the truck shake. He cupped the back of your neck, bringing your face up to his, swallowing your whimpers with his tongue.

“S-so deep…” you moaned, eyes almost rolling back in your head at the feeling of the relentless pounding of his hips, your eyelids just barely fluttering open to find the most focused look on his face, his eyes glued to the sight of your pussy swallowing him with every thrust, sucking him in.

“Good girl. Taking me so well… Christ.”

The ball of his palm stroked against your clit, brushing it just slightly—sending a jolt of pleasure up your body. “Jesus baby… you’re a squirter, Huh? Just gushin' all over my cock…” he commented, pushing you down even more—effectively folding you in half.

The last thing you saw before you came was the veins trickling down his arms, the way his hands held your thighs in place—pressed up against his broad shoulders—the faint light of the moon highlighting the freckles adorning his arms.

Soon, your vision went white, body trembling as his thrusts soon slowed to a stop. “Oh-… oh fuck, m'cumming… ughhh…” you whined, nails digging into the skin on his back, leaving the most delicious sting in their wake.

After a minute or two, you regained your sight, looking down to where you to were joined, seeing the frothy ring coating his cock as he pulled out.

You both stayed silent for a moment, letting him hover over you as you caught your breath. You sat up, shimmying your panties and mini shorts back on, looking up at his tired figure.

“…thank you.” You whispered, the moon peppering small dots of light onto your face, making you glow.

You got up, kissing his cheek, leaving him in the truck of his bed, soaked with sweat.

…

Thank you.

For some reason, that stuck with him. Thank you. What did it mean? Were you thanking him for fucking you, for wanting you, for treating you okay? He couldn’t get it out of his head. Soon, he heard your car rolling out of the field, watching your headlights fade into the distance.

2025, December, a month before the present.

for awhile after that, you avoided him. He didn’t know why, but it got to him. You switched to the day shift, dodged him like the plague, and tried to leave the ptmc before he got there, and arrived after he left.

But sometimes, you caught his eye in the parking lot, fumbling with your keys, and before he knew it… you were gone.

Not talking to you was rough. Before you hooked up, you’d been… best friends. You were his favorite resident—favorite person in general. He’d get you snacks and place coffees on your desk when you were charting, drive you home after doubles, and you’d support him. You’d let him stay on your couch after his ptsd flashbacks or a particularly bad shift, you’d even learned how to take off his prosthetic for him. You liked taking care of the people you loved, it was just in your nature. And he was someone you… nevermind.

One night, you had worked a double, still avoiding him. But he couldn’t take it anymore. Walking around, asking Shen and Ellis where you were, he eventually found you sitting on the edge of the roof, trying to not have a breakdown after an infant died due to shaken baby syndrome. The mother went catatonic after the 4 month old died, her own body bruised and battered due to her own husband. He had been arrested and taken into custody, pending investigation, and you had stayed by the mothers side all night long, comforting her, getting her water, and you watched as the police tore her down as she was trying to give her statement. Seeing her having to leave—more alone than ever, never to see her again… it made you wonder why you even went into emergency medicine, the sight of that worn down woman leaving the emergency room doors, her hands shakily clutching her purse—having refused to talk to any social worker on hand. And you knew the cycle would continue long after she left.

Walking up behind you, he could hear small mutters coming from you, your body shaking as you sloppily pushed your hair back.

“…I can’t. I can’t I can’t I can’t…” you cried, your eyes screwed shut, everything so loud you almost couldn’t hear him approaching.

But you did.

As soon as you heard the small clank of his prosthetic hitting the ground, you froze. It was surprising to him, how quickly you could just… stop. Stop every bit of outside evidence that you were going crazy.

“…don’t. Just don’t, Jack.”

He sighed, his hands clenching as he took another half step forward. He never really had a sense for comforting people. He mainly just displayed his care through acts of service, and he loved to avoid these situations—loved to avoid having to talk to a loved one until the very last moment. Losing his wife amplified that lack of skill, she was always the more… confrontational type. She would always know just how to ease him out of his shell, how to get him talking without having to force him every time. Losing her, losing the extroverted-ness only she could bring out of him, made his ability to communicate diminish until it was effectively gone.

“…you.. you okay?” He asked, fiddling with his hands—with his ring.

“Of course I’m not fucking okay, Jack.”

He took another step forward, hands twitching—almost desperate to pull you back, get you away from that ledge. Despite your efforts to disguise your obvious trauma, he knew it was there, lingering. You’ve casually said multiple things to him that was… deeply concerning, at times. And seeing you on that ledge—fuck, it made his heart lurch. He couldn’t go through that again, he couldn’t lose another person he cared about like that. Too many of his friends took their own lives because of ptsd from the army, or from medicine, and… god, his wife.

“Please, please get up.” He muttered, not even able to crack a joke like he usually did in these circumstances, just… needing the anxiety and distress of your legs hanging off the ledge to go away.

For a minute, you sat there, almost like you were debating your options. He couldn’t see your face, he was facing your back, but god could he read you. Read your body language. He saw how you leaned forward, your line of sight toppling over the edge, almost like something was dragging you down—calling you—waiting for you to give it just one thought before pulling you in.

But, you felt his arms wrap around you, pulling you into his hold—the warmth of his chest seeping into your back, grounding you.

“…this ed needs you.” He whispered, sitting down with you, gradually being able to pull you from the edge. You trembled in his arms, silently sobbing. You hated crying infront of people, and he knew that. He had seen you sneak into the bathroom or storage closet way too many times after being too harshly reprimanded by Robby.

“…I’m not looking. I promise.”

At that, you sort of relaxed, letting out a few more choked sobs. It wasn’t just the mother, it was everything. You were starting to get wary of your skills, the confidence you arrived with all those years ago had diminished, leaving only a few semi-decent thoughts about yourself from time to time. Your parents hated that you moved and got a career, when they thought you were meant to be a housewife, and a mother. Robby for some reason despised you, taking his frustrations out on you and your other female coworkers. You felt like a coward, not being able to stand up for yourself or your peers like you used to. Now you were just some… husk. Incapable. A coward.

“Jack, I don’t know if I can do this anymore.” You whispered, tears bubbling up in your waterline once more. “I’m not.. skilled, I’m not sociable, I’m not a good doctor.”

“…Jesus, Robby’s really been riding you, huh?” He turned you around, gently cupping your face—wiping all the salty tears away. Somehow, his hands holding your head—almost keeping your skull intact, made you slowly calm down, sniffling as your blurry eyesight could finally focus on him.

“…you’re an amazing doctor. And you treat your patients like humans, not clients. That woman, that mother… she’s gonna look back on you, and think fondly. You treated her like a human being. And that’s what matters, you made her feel seen. And… not to mention, you also have some of the most steady hands I’ve ever seen.”

“…but is that… is that enough? Do I belong in emergency medicine?” He sighed.

“…do you want to be in emergency medicine?”

“…I do.”

“…then you belong.”

You pressed your forehead against his, letting out a sob of relief, the reassurance—not only from him—but your attending… made it all better. He made it better.

Slowly, he kissed you. And you weren’t surprised, you didn’t resist, you just… kissed him languidly, the physical intimacy slowly ebbing away at your sadness.

As your tears dried, he pulled back just an inch, breathing you in. “…let’s get you home.” He whispered, gently petting the side of your head, pushing your hair away from your face. You nodded along, clutching the side of his shirt still as he pulled you up and lead you away from the ledge.

After that, you hadn’t really talked about your whole… hooking up thing. Sure, you sort of went back to normal, being best friends again, but… he took the hint that you weren’t ready for a relationship. And he wasn’t either.

2026, December, present day.

After learning how snowed in you both were, you decided to take advantage of the fact that he was forced not to work—and basically shoved him into the bathroom to take a shower. You could tell he was getting more… focused on his work, considering he stunk like an oyster.

Feeling the warm, soothing nature of the water running down his back, he could relax a little. Last night… on that ledge… the drive in movie theater… the image popped inside his head once more. Anytime he heard you groan, or whine at work, he thought about the time in his truck bed. And obviously—he didn’t overstep any boundaries, but… he thought about it a lot.

His hands—covered in soap suds—slowly trailed down his stomach as he thought about how pretty your eyes looked when they rolled back, how soft your lips were when his thumb pushed past them and pressed against your tongue. Soon, he found his hand stroking his semi-hard cock, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he saw your face under his body, breathless, moans slipping out of your throat as he pounded into you over and over.

He needed some fucking relief. He hadn’t had any ever since your little movie night, and to be honest… just being around you made him long for your touch, your lips, your affection. Lately it felt like he got antsy coming into work, excited on the concept of even seeing you. God, how pathetic was that? Even Robby had noticed, and he felt so embarrassed he was acting like this at 48. He wasn’t a teenager for Christ’s sake, he was a man. A man who had a crush on… you.

You.

The thought of your pretty face circled back in his head, and immediately—he hit his tipping point, gripping the loofah hung from a peg on the shower—hot liquid spurting all over his hand, but inevitably diluted by the shower water.

He buckled into his hand a couple more times, fighting to savor this orgasm, as he thought it might be his last one for awhile. As soon as his eyes lazily fluttered open, he heard you knock on the door—jolting him back into reality.

“Hey, Jack? Breakfast is ready.”

“Uh- be out in a sec.” He choked out, soon rinsing his hands off and wiping the water off his face.

He walked out in the pjs you’d given him the night prior, steam emanating off the two plates of creamy, scrambled eggs and bacon. “Sit down, I’ll get some drinks.”

He obliged, carefully sitting down at your table, inspecting your utensils, your glassware. While he’d been to your house before, he hadn’t really looked at it too closely. Mostly it was just him stumbling in through the dark and landing on your couch, so there really wasn’t any time for detours.

“…after this, I think I might take a shower. I’m exhausted, and I need some me time.”

You mumbled, picking at your eggs, the slow, morning light grazing over your back through the window over the sink in your kitchen.

“yeah, I get that. My shower is basically my sanctuary after work.” He agreed.

“…I’m sorry you have to be… stuck with me in this blizzard.” You sighed. He immediately disagreed, leaning closer—pressing a warm hand on the back of your arm.

“No no, god no. It’s fine. I just… I wish we got stuck at mine. My crutches are there.” He joked a little, the pad of his thumb smoothing over your skin, in turn helping your heart rate return to a normal rhythm.

“…I have uh… I have old crutches in my garage from when I broke my leg in college, if you need em.”

“Nah, I’m fine. Got my prosthetic.” You smiled wearily, leaning into his touch. “Okay, well… if there’s anything I can do…”

“Trust me, there isn’t.”

“…okay.”

After eating, he was left alone with his thoughts, you having hopped into the shower to clear your mind.

He sat down on the couch, turning on the news—then quickly turning it back off because the news was way too descriptive for his own good.

Returned with his own thoughts, he sat there for a good, long while, thinking about everything. About the night at the movie theater, the time he basically had to pull you off the ledge, and he thought about all the other intimate moments before all that.

sure, you were being more intimate with him after the whole roof incident, but… he wanted you. Fully. And he’d thought about this for a long time. He had only lost his wife 5 years ago, a year before you’d joined the ptmc. He still loved his wife, he still wanted her and missed her. But with you, it was a different kind of want. He wanted your body next to his every night, your laugh stuck in his head. And while he felt that with his late wife sometimes, it was all he wanted with you. He was so old, so tired, and he wasn’t available for all the cat and mouse thing all the young people had going on. Being this old and being this into you… felt like a death sentence. And it was rough, knowing you had so much ahead of you, you were so young—and he… he felt like he was stealing your youth, your time.

He couldn’t deny the aching in his heart when you ignored or avoided him, but he realized maybe… maybe this wasn’t the best idea. Maybe… he needed to distance himself from you. You had everything ahead of you. Everything. And he felt like he was just starting to roll to a stop. He didn’t want to withhold you from achieving your dreams, your goals. What would happen if you had gotten together? He’d die in like 20 years, and he’d effectively make you a widow at the same age he was widowed. He couldn’t do that to you. He couldn’t put you through that, he couldn’t make you experience the grief he had 5 years ago.

Before that thought could go any deeper, you appeared behind the couch, having just been looking at the back of his head for like 3 minutes.

“…hey Jack.” He could tell from that tone, the floodgates were about to open. And he’d been simultaneously avoiding it, but also hoping it’d happen.

“…hey sweetheart. Take a good shower?”

You nodded solemnly. “Yeah.”

You moved next to him, his hands immediately searching for yours, gripping them tight, his lack of a wedding ring burning into your hands.

“…we need to talk.” You sighed.

“…yeah.”

Turning to him, your wet hair trailing down your slightly damp shirt, you gripped his hands harshly—almost to disguise the tremors rippling through them.

“…listen Jack, I…”

He interrupted you. “Hold your horses.” He sighed.

“…you know you’re my favorite resident. You know you’re… my favorite person in general. But i… I care for you so much. And whatever you want to do, I’ll respect. But I just… need you to know I care. If you died tomorrow, I’d cry my eyes out, alright?”

You shook your head. “I’m not worth that, Jack.”

“Yes you are. And dont ever deny that. You deserve to be taken care of, to be loved. And I… I want to give that to you. Let me give it to you.”

You paused for a moment, not being able to look him in the eyes.

“…Jack.”

“…yeah?”

“…I’m not… Im not good. You’re gonna get into it with me, and eventually you’re gonna realize I’m too much, and… I… I’m terrified I’m gonna lose you.” he let you finish. No interruptions, no general declarations of love… he let you finish.

“I’m gonna be slightly pathetic here, and admit that you’re… you’re all I got left. It’s easy with you because we see eachother everyday, we’re around eachother 15 hours out of 24, and… maybe you fill a slightly bigger hole in me than id like, but… its easy with you.”

“…yeah?” He cupped your face.

“…yeah. And… I really need easy right now.” You breathed out, sniffling. Soon, he leaned in, letting a small breath ghost over your lips before kissing you, your tears trailing down your cheeks and on your lips, mixing with the amalgamation of your mouths, your hands trembling as you pulled his hands closer—his arms closer, desperate for him to just… hold you. Compress you.

“…then just… let me be easy. Okay?” He muttered into your ear, kissing your temple.

“…I need you.” You whispered.

“…I love you.” He whispered back.

You laid there, letting his hands caress your heart, wiping away the tears and pain, finally letting him in. You loved him, he loved you. Simple as that.

[stgrants]

I promise I’m working on pt2!!! it’s just taking me a long time 😓 don’t quit on me!!!!

[stgrants]

I KNEW dr Robby had mommy issues. It’s canon now

[stgrants]

officially started writing the pt two to

“who’s gonna drive you home tonight”

stay tuned!!!

[stgrants]

“who’s gonna drive you home tonight?”

title inspired by; “drive” by the cars.

pt1 pt2

18+ MDNI, smut!!!

TAGS: jack abbot x reader, afab!reader, fingering, reader has tattoos, alcohol, tipsy sex? also medical inaccuracies.

a/n: first time writing an abbot fic. It might be sort of shitty. 🤍

Do not feed my writing into ai! I do not consent.

Jack was a complicated man.

Between his shifts at the hospital, and the field medic jobs here and there, he didn’t make any time for himself. Sure, sometimes he tinkered with his car, or even drank a few beers in the darkness of his own home, but other than that… it was work, sleep, therapy, and thats it.

Robby tried to convince him to get into motorcycles, which probably wasn’t the greatest idea—considering how blank faced Robby got when someone asked him if he was safe on the road. Abbot thought—maybe golf, maybe watercolors, maybe working out? Nothing was really a turn on for him. Well—besides working.

But, one evening, he finally found his hobby. You.

You were a fresh R4, having moved from somewhere in the southwest after finishing your internship. You were confident, empathetic enough for the er, and most of all—experienced. Luckily abbot didn’t have to you how to de-escalate situations, or how to intubate. He swore—sometimes med students and interns would be the death of him.

But having you here was a breath of fresh air. You were competent—actually competent. He doesn’t wanna bash all his other subordinates, but you were by far his favorite.

Sometimes it was hard, being in the presence of someone so… capable. It was sort of hot, watching you command a trauma bay like you owned the entire hospital. But he kept that to himself well enough.

“Hey, jack?” He turned his head, setting down his chart.

“Hm? What’s up?”

“Can you help me with a patient? He doesn’t want an MRI, and something tells me an old white guy will do the trick.”

“I’m not old. I’m seasoned.” He got up, following you along as you lead him to the patient.

“That’s what you took away from that statement? That you’re old?”

“Ah-ah! Seasoned.” You both chuckled your way to the patients room him adjusting his stethoscope as you introduced him.

“Mr Eden, this is my attending, Dr jack abbot. He’s here to review my case.”

“Hello Mr Eden. Our resident here tells me you hit your head?” The man nodded, wincing as jack slowly inspected the gash on his head.

“Yeah, i uh… I was skating and someone collided with me while i was going down. Head went smack down on the railing. She—she didnt… tell you about all this?”

“No, she briefed me. I just wanted to hear what happened in your own words. Sometimes things can get lost in translation.” The man scoffed, glaring at you. “Yeah, you got that right. People sure can be incompetent nowadays.”

“Well trust me, you’re in good hands. Shes an excellent doctor. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, thats correct.” He chuckled at the confidence that rang out in that sentence alone, finishing up his inspections on the patient.

“Okay, Mr Eden. Looks like you’re lightly concussed, we might need an MRI to get a good look at the scope of your injures.”

“No, i don’t want an MRI.”

“Hm. Uh, is there any reason why you’re apposed?”

“I don’t want to be charged for something i don’t even need. Besides, that thing gives off radiation, i don’t want it to go Chernobyl part two on my brain.”

“I assure you, an MRI is perfectly safe, and necessary. if you go home now, you could have the chance of a brain bleed, hemorrhaging, even a stroke. As doctors, we want to make sure you’re getting the best care, and that includes ruling out life threatening possibilities, even if you might not have them.”

The man glared at jack, debating in his mind whether it was worth it or not. “And according to your file, your insurance will cover most of it. So… it’s completely your choice, you just need to sign a form stating you’re leaving against my professional opinion—and hers.”

He sighed for a moment, head dropping.

“…fine. Yeah, get the MRI, or whatever.”

“Great. A nurse will come get you when it’s time.”

You and him soon walked out of the patient room, him sighing heavily. “You were right. You needed me.”

“Stop.” You slapped his arm, scoffing.

It was winter, the snow having piled up on the sides of the building, the chill in the air seeping into the bones of people unfortunate enough to be outside. Jack fumbled with his keys, the cold making his hands jitter more than usual. As he finally got the key in the hole, he heard something only a few feet away. He turned, finding you having slipped on the ice, straight on your stomach. Immediately he ran over, cradling your back as you slowly got back up.

“Woah—are you okay?” You nodded, shivering as your bare hands came in contact with the ice below you.

“I’m okay, just… slipped while turning back. I forgot my keys.”

“Forget your keys, I’ll drive you home.”

“What? No, i—“ he immediately shushed you, helping you up.

“Listen, you’re shaking like a leaf, you’re running on two days no sleep, and it’s dark as hell outside. if you drive you’re gonna end up in a ravine. Wait in my car, I’ll grab your keys, and I’ll drive you home. Okay?”

Your lip quivered as you looked up at him, tentatively taking his hand, letting him guide you to his car. “You’re sure it’s not too much trouble?” He opened the car door for you, reaching behind the seat to grab you a blanket. “I wouldn’t have offered if it was.” He sighed, hands on his hips as he looked at you.

“Wait here, I’ll go get your keys. Uh- where are they?” “I think they’re in my locker. The code is my birthday.” “Okay, be right back.” He shut the door, leaving you to your thoughts. You looked around, glancing at the mints in the cup holder, the blackberry air freshener hanging from the mirror, the pillow in his backseat. Did he sleep in here?

Soon, he arrived back, shivering as he adjusted his coat.

“Okay, got your keys. Let’s roll.”

He turned into a back road, the warmth of the heater slowly permeating your body. It was silent—almost awkward, fingers twisting and turning around each other as you tried to warm yourself up.

“Thanks for driving me home, jack. I really appreciate it.”

“No, dont thank me. Really, it’s no big deal.”

“Well I’m thanking you anyway. Thank you.”

He let out a short huff from his nose, glancing at you.

“Don’t thank me yet. You never know, we could get stuck in this god-awful weather.”

“Hey, don’t jinx it.” You paused. “…but if we did, we’d have all the supplies.” You gestured towards the blankets and pillows in the back. “You sleep in here?”

“Uh.. yeah. Between shifts. Just sometimes, i-… i have a house.”

“Well, with how much time you spend at the ED, I’m surprised you don’t already live in the hospital.”

“I don’t spend that much time working.”

“Yeah, you don’t… just teasing.”

As you drove farther and farther, the weather slowly got worse. It was only a matter of time before the radio would start telling people to stay inside. Even with the heater on, the cold started to bleed through the metal walls of the car.

“Man, it’s getting rough out here.” He murmured, finally pulling into your driveway. You both paused for a little bit, contemplating.

“…you shouldn’t be driving back home in this weather.”

“Trust me, I’ll be okay.”

“No, you wont. Stay. And before you say anything else, don’t worry. I have a spare room.”

“…i… you sure its not too much trouble?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if it was.” He chuckled, his lips curving into a small smile at the reference.

“…okay. Just… be aware about the fact that i snore.”

“Oh great, you’re one of those guys?”

You both picked up the blankets and pillows he stored in his car, venturing up the driveway to the front door. Patting yourself down, you soon realize;

“Uh… you have my keys.”

“Oh—yeah.” He hands you your keys, both your hands shivering in contact. You carefully open the door, hastily throwing his pillow and blankets on the couch and shedding your winter coat. He chuckled at your eagerness to relax, soon taking off his boots after you.

As you spread yourself out, he started looking around. It was nice, slightly cluttered but nice. Lots of funky decorations, brightly colored accents… something about it all made him realize how old he was.

“So, uh… first things first, lets get the fireplace going. It’s freezing in here.” You walked over, kneeling down and lighting it.

“You have a very nice house.”

“Awe- thank you. Not everyone likes my taste.”

“How could they not? I totally see the thing you’re going for.”

“Well, tell that to my mom. Anytime she visits she keeps telling me i need to replace the furniture, just because i burns her eyes. How horrible is that?” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Pretty horrible.”

As the house started to warm up, you set up his room, pulling the curtains together, smoothing out the bedsheets.

“Okay, uh… the bathroom is down the hall, and my room is right next to it, so… if you need me, I’ll be there.” He nodded, sitting down on the bed. You sat in the doorway for a moment, before remembering something. “Oh—here.” You reached into the dresser, pulling out a spare sleep shirt. “Oh, thanks.” “No problem.”

You stood there for a moment, fumbling with your hands, unsure of how to end the conversation. “Uhm… goodnight.”

“Goodnight. Warm up, you’re still shaking.” He observed, smiling at you, helping you relax. “Hm, okay.”

You stepped out, closing the door behind you. He immediately collapsed onto the bed, sighing heavily. The sheets smelled like you. As he took off his prosthetic and changed into a sleep shirt, he thought about it. You know that thing where you enter into someone’s house for the first time, and the air smiles different? He got that feeling. But it wasn’t bad, just fresher, more fragrant. Made him feel clean.

As he settled into bed, he found that he couldn’t sleep. Despite the extremely cozy mattress and sheets, he was tossing and turning. Thinking about this situation. He wondered about you, what type of nightwear you wore to bed. He was sort of embarrassed—having his mind wander to such intimate places, but what could he say? He’s been crushing on you for like a year, and now he finally got to see your house, sleep in your guest room… god, he couldn’t get over how everything in this room smelled like you.

After an hour or two, he heard some rustling in the kitchen. He stepped out of bed, walking out to find you sat at the island, pouring yourself a glass of wine and beginning to doom-scroll. He knocked on the wall, gathering your attention.

“Hey. Can’t sleep?” You turned, shaking your head. “Ah… no. Even when working a double, insomnia always finds a way.”

He chuckled, walking closer.

“You uh… want some?” He nodded silently, stepping behind the island as you poured him a glass.

“Just to let you know, this is shitty gas station wine. So don’t be surprised if it tastes bad.” You handed it to him, watching his face twist up into… displeasure? You weren’t sure.

“I uh… i didn’t expect wine to taste like this.” You chuckled, watching him swirl the wine around in the glass. “I don’t typically drink wine, but this is…” “shitty?” “Yeah.”

He put the glass down, chuckling a little. “Got anything else?” You nodded, opening your fridge, your hand emerging with a nice, clean bottle of vodka. “Oh, thats what I’m talking about.” You grabbed two more glasses, pouring a generous amount of liquid into the servings. “here’s to… sleepovers?” He chuckled, raising his glass alongside yours. “Here’s to sleepovers.”

You both sat on the couch, turning on the lamp. His eyes tracked down the satin slip you were wearing, the lamp highlighting the folds and creases of it. So thats what you wore to sleep…

As you talked more and drank more, you started seeing what he was like outside of work. And also when he was tipsy. And he got to know you. It was hard, seeing the outline of your body in that lacy satin slip you were wearing. Fuck, just knowing that’s what you wore to sleep ruined him. He was going to be using that image to “help himself” from then on.

“so Jack… I always wanted to know… do you have any tattoos?” You asked, taking another swig of vodka.

“Uh… I have one.”

“One? Ooo- show me. Or wait—is it too private?”

“No no, not too private.” He rolled up his sleeve, revealing a small tattoo on his shoulder. It read; “memento mori.” You studied it for a moment, taking the chance to also admire his bicep.

“…I uh… got it after my i lost my leg. Felt pretty hopeless after that, and got it when I was really drunk. I don’t think I regret it though.” You nodded a little, tracing your hands against the text.

“…I get that.”

“…do… you have any tattoos?”

“Uh… a couple.” He smiled a little, beckoning you to show him. “Show me, come on.”

“It’s a bit…” you sighed. “…fine.”

You turned, slipping both straps off your slip off—to his surprise. You let the slip drop just enough to where it showed ink trailing up the crease of your back. At the very top, it bloomed into a flower, maybe a lily—he thought.

“…got this when I was hopeless too. I was 19.”

He moved closer, taking his turn to trace his fingers down your spine, making you shiver.

“…it’s… s’pretty.” He murmured, pressing his thumb into the flower. “…you’re pretty.”

You looked over your shoulder, just in time to see him kiss the flower blooming up the back of your neck. Your breath hitched, holding the front of your slip up with your hands as he breathed into you.

“…Jack…”

“Please. Just… please. Let me feel you.”

Slowly, you relaxed in his hold, letting his hands slip up your nightgown. His lips dragged down your neck, fingers searching for the hem of your panties when he found that… there weren’t any.

“…were you expecting this?”

“…I was hoping.”

“…fuck, baby.” His fingers dipped into your folds, making you gasp as he rolled your clit between his fingers.

“Jack-“ Your hands went to clutch the arm of the couch, the front of your nightgown slipping off as you did. His other hand trailed up to your torso, cupping your tit.

“You’re so wet. It’s downright obscene.”

“J-Jack…” your hand shot to his bicep, gripping for dear life. His fingers were thick—and thicker than you imagined. They fit… nicely inside you. That’s how you described it.

“You keep calling my name. Speak. Or do you just like how it sounds leaving your mouth?” Your cheeks burned at his words, caught off guard by how accurate it was.

“I just-… I.. I need you, Jack… please…” you rut into his hand, whimpering as his fingers hit that one spot that made you lose your breath.

“You need me? Huh?” His fingers pushed deeper and deeper, curling just right. “F-fuck!” You moaned, your eyes fluttering shut, praying he’d let you get some sort of release soon.

“Right there, hm? Right there?” He queried, pressing on that spongy part inside you, watching your face crumple up.

“It- s’not fair.. you’re a doctor, you naturally… know… Oh-!”

In tandem with his fingers, he starts rubbing your clit once more, pressing and fidgeting with it, teaching himself how to pleasure you based off the way you moaned. He felt so lucky, being able to do this with you. He’d been jerking himself off multiple times to the thought of this, thinking about how you’d moan, if you’d rather be taken care of or manhandled. Looked like the latter. He can’t even tell you how lucky he felt.

“…handling my fingers so well… jus' gushing all around em, yeah?”

“yeah…” you whimpered, walls clenching around his fingers, letting him know you were close.

“…keep grinding into my hand sweetheart. Doing so well, keep it up.” He murmured. His fingers went the slightest bit faster, the small uptick in speed pushing you over the edge.

“Jack-!”

He rode it out, still rubbing your clit, helping your orgasm slowly wash over you. As soon as he felt your walls relax around him, he pulled out his fingers, licking them clean. He was a retired freak after all.

“…you okay, honey?” He whispered, turning you around and brushing your ruffled hair out of your face.

“…I… just came… so hard.” He chuckled at that, kissing your temple.

“…you took it so well.” He pulled you into his lap, running his hands through your hair, feeling you pant in his arms.

“…all of that and I… I didn’t even get a kiss.”

He chuckled, pulling away slightly, looking into your eyes.

“…you want a kiss?” He ran his thumb over your bottom lip, collecting some of the saliva coating it.

“…yeah.”

Gently, he leaned in, kissing you. It was soft, slightly salty from your own fluids on his tongue. But through all the fluids and liquor, you could taste him. And god, did he taste good.

As your heartbeat slowed down, he gracefully picked you up, bringing you to your own bed. After all that, you were pretty conked out. You didn’t expect the night to end up with your attending fingering you to sleep.

“…god I’m so… I’m so tired.” You whispered as he laid you down, pulling the sheets up over both of you.

“…I’m ready to conk out…” he chuckled.

“Go ahead, sweetheart. Conk out. I’ll be here.”

And with that, you let your eyes flutter closed, the alcohol and post coitus bliss helping you get the best sleep you’ve ever had.

credits to @uzmacchiato for the lace dividers!

[tomr1ddleswhorecrux]

If a 50 year old man started hitting on me i’d call the police…. However, if that 50 year old man was Jack Abbot 😏 …

[mistandshcdow]

reblog this if you think samira mohan should be allowed to kill robby

[valentineshearts]

Everyone on the internet saying that no one likes pope in the first season but like…..I like him. I like that autistic man

[bunnywritesfanfic]