Ex!wife!reader and Jack Abbot who refuses to take off his ring. You two have been split for months, almost a year. You never had a certificate, too much legal trouble if you two ever called it quits, you were young and nothing but trouble when you got hitched, a small gathering of friends to watch you two share vows and rings to signify the promises you made at the most fundamental moment of your relationship the only evidence that you were man and wife. You were cordial, had to be at work, he’d weasel his way into your space, any excuse to be around you, and you let him. At the end of the day he was still your best friend, the person you went to for everything no matter how wonderful or awful your day was. When you had sex you swore it was a one off, a moment of weakness, familiarity and the fact that no fling could ever handle your body the way your ex husband did, so finely tuned with your pleasure, what made your legs shake, what had you keening and writhing against the sheets. His hands would find you for days after, grasping to the slope of your shoulder, the back of your neck, the cool press of his wedding ring still adorning his ring finger. You’d tell him to take it off, that you two were no longer married, he was not a married man he couldn’t wear the ring, and he’d shrug, hardly acknowledge it while you huffed and called him stubborn before dignify your irritation with a response, “I take off this ring, and it tells women that I’m available,” he rumbles, eyes raking over your frame too slow to be appropriate in a hospital setting, “And I am far from available.” He leaves you all too casually, mused grin on his lips as he walks away from you.
blakekathryn
germansingergirl
2087
areudirty
snowghoul
turnnoffyourmind
gummygunk
discoholicmusic
romaincrisis
