writing sideblog :]

intro post :]

i’m duck, this is a sideblog for writing. i mostly write x reader and occasionally ship content.

currently writing for the pitt (mostly robby)

masterlist

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His fingers slick through your folds, wet with your come as he pulls them back, your arousal threatening to drip from his wrist to the sheets below. You’re breathless, nerves still singing with the sharp burn of release, Abbot’s hand easily steadying the tremble of your thighs as your fingers curl in his hair.

you’ve never—no one has ever done that. and it coming from someone like abbot, well. no wonder you’re a little flustered.

embarrassingly, you can’t stop thinking about it. and later, at night, when you’re not thinking so straight—well.

you’re biting down on your knuckles, fingering yourself and imagining it’s him. abbot, teasing you for getting so flustered, him kissing you like it’s nothing, him, with his rough hands and easy laugh and that fucking voice—

you’re groaning into the pillow at the stretch of three fingers. pretending it’s him pushing at you roughly, getting you to arch your hips for him. 

it’s so easy to slip into that fantasy, those thoughts, to act like it’s abbot praising you, “doing so good for me, yeah?” whispered against your neck as you grind back against him and openly moan into your bedsheets.

he wants to see your face, wants all your pretty noises to be unmuffled. so when you get all embarrassed, hiding your face in the bedsheets, abbot stills his hips.

he’ll kiss you, sure. pressing soft kisses to your neck, or your lips. but he won’t move. instead, he’ll rub calloused hands up your thighs, your stomach. coaxing you to look at him, cooing when you do.

“there you are,” he’ll praise, voice reverent. loving. one hand strokes over your cheek, the other dips low. a reward—abbot loves pleasing you, after all.

it’s not something he’s really thought about before. but robby is obsessed with it.

you’re so sensitive, legs trembling as he spreads your folds open and licks against your clit. the metal glistens with how fucking wet you are, the obscene sight making heat twist low in his stomach.

he presses his thumb against the piercing, feeling you throb, and you whine. fingers tugging at his hair, silently begging him to finally get his mouth on you.

the photos don’t leave much to the imagination—warm lighting, and you. legs spread, eyes half-lidded, lace underwear curling across your hips and between your thighs. fingers dipping low, leaving abbot to imagine what’s underneath the flimsy lace.

his cheeks are warm as he unzips his pants, shame curling hot in his stomach as he palms himself over his boxers. what would you sound like if he replaced your hands with his own? soft, needy? would you whine for him? say his name “—jack, please—“ as he curls his fingers and presses them up against your sweet spots?

he curses under his breath, hissing as he cums in his hand. it’s a lot, and apparently just the thought of you is enough to get him there. 

it’s a one night stand, the choice made after he offered you a ride home after the bar. cheeks flushed, head still spinning with the alcohol in his system, robby isn’t really thinking when you drunkenly kiss him.

he could pull away. tell you that you’re drunk, that it isn’t a good idea. but he doesn’t.

instead, robby memorizes.

how you feel against him, cheeks warm when he cups them to pull you in for another kiss.

slower, deeper, savoring you even as he pulls away. mapping you with rough palms—the curve of your spine, the tilt of your head. hands fumbling with clothes, eventually giving up and opting to kiss you again.

the noises you make when his fingers find the slick heat between your thighs, the breathy, needy gasp that escapes your lips as he curls his fingers and presses them deep. 

what you feel like. tight and clenching around his fingers, messy and slick as his cock slides between your thighs. “just the tip,” robby chokes out, rough against your neck, because he can’t admit he wants to see you unravel underneath him.

you unwind in slow, deep thrusts and the gravel of robby’s groans, heat building until you snap. gushing all over his cock, his thighs. robby’s pace increases, spurred on by you. he cums so easily when he’s drunk.

meaning, by the end of your weeks, he’s a little desperate.

abbot barely waits until your scrubs are off before he’s capturing your lips in a hungry, eager kiss in the front hallway of your apartment. his mouth is all over—your lips, your throat, the skin revealed to him when he pushes up your shirt.

“wait,” you gasp, then arch into his touch when his fingers dip below your waistband, finding you already slick, worked up from his touch. “what about—we should go to the bedroom—“

and then abbot’s mouth finds your clit, and calloused hands wrap around your thighs to pull you farther into his eager mouth, and you find you don’t really care. 

memorizing everything—how you fall apart underneath him, shuddering as he eases into you, praise whispered against your neck, cooing at you when you cum around his cock. it doesn’t hurt that he has easy access to kissing you, either.

vs

robby who likes doggy.

He constantly goes over shift hours, staying even when night shift has taken over and Abbot tells him to go home, take a break, relax. 

But when they’ve known each other for years, been married even longer, it all just…goes in one ear and right out the other. Robby will brush him off, mutter a “sure,” or “later,” and Abbot knows that he’s already planning to stay overtime.

Until you start dating them, and Jack finally has some leverage. 

Robby hasn’t quite built up any defenses with you yet, still weak to soft words and gentle touch. And Abbot is just persuasive enough to use it to his advantage. 

It only takes a “Robby looks tired, right?” And you’re already dragging both of them to bed, smothering Robby with pillows and blankets so he has to cuddle you and Jack. Wrapping an arm around him until he leans into you, finally relaxing. 

Or a “Good job on that last operation. Want a break?” 

And you perk up a bit, snagging energy bars from the break room, pushing one into Robby’s hands. Standing there until he eats it—and with your sweet insistence that he at least take a bite, and Abbot pausing a few rooms down, keeping an eye on him—he really can’t refuse, can he?

Even just something small, bringing up those movies he wanted to watch last week, or a new T.V show that just came out that he was interested in. Something that shows that you care. And before he can blink, you’re both snuggling him on the couch, and he doesn’t even have to do anything except accept it.

maybe it’s his way of saying you’re his, maybe it’s his oral fixation kicking in. but either way, you’re getting some marks.

he’ll curl close, teeth pressed to your pulse. feeling it flutter under his lips before he gently bites down, leaving a mark behind. he continues, trailing down your neck, your collarbone. lips pressing to every inch of skin he can access.

down your chest, your midriff. biting at your hip and feeling you shudder, humming softly in response. he can see your arousal, but robby’s not interested in that. moreso in how he can work you up with no touch and just his mouth. 

it was cute at first, seeing you giggle when his hand slid along your hip, or shivering when he got just a bit too close. feeling you unconsciously lean back into him when he leans over you.

but despite his efforts, you don’t exactly seem aware of what he’s trying to do.

so after his shift, after twelve hours of you, he corners you.

voice quiet as he asks if he can touch, your pulse stuttering under his fingers as he tilts your head up, eyes wide like it’s finally clicking. “you look cute,” abbot teases, savoring the hitch of your breath. 

you melt when he kisses you.

it’s a little clumsy, a little awkward. you tremble against abbot and he easily settles you with a hand on your shoulder. but getting to kiss you, finally getting to feel you against him, hearing all your pretty noises…

And, really, he shouldn’t be surprised. He’s already seen the ones in your ears, that brief flash of metal when you turn your head to smile up at him.

But when you kiss him, and the hard edge of metal on your tongue slides along his? It has his knees buckling, has him groaning against your lips as his hands clutch your shirt.

And of course, he’s near breathless as his palms skim your sides, thumb catching on the piercings adorning your chest, the metal warm from your body heat. Pressing down just a bit harder to hear the gasp it tears from you, shuddering as his lips brush over your chest, pressing soft kisses to your skin.

As his fingers brush through course curls slick with your arousal, he’s swallowing hard, pushing down the groan that threatens to escape his lips. 

You have a clit piercing, and his fingers are slick with your arousal, and his cock throbs in his pants so strongly that for a second, he thinks he might pass out.

it’s…odd, at first. 

feeling him twitch, getting stiffer underneath your fingertips. something twinges low in your stomach when you hear the little groan he makes as you clumsily twist your wrist and stroke upwards.

a rough palm settles over yours, robby’s thumb brushing over your wrist as he cups your hand. “like this,” he instructs, voice low, half-caught on a moan. you adjust your grip, acutely aware of how he twitches when you squeeze.

he likes to see you wide-eyed, trembling, flustered but eager for more. and abbot knows how to poke.

sliding rough hands up your sides in the middle of a seemingly innocent kiss, dipping under your shirt and brushing over your chest just to hear the way you gasp, making those embarrassed little noises he loves so much.

kissing at your neck to make you whine, biting down hard and teasing you when you whimper. pressing open-mouthed kisses to your neck, hands pulling at your hips to get you to grind down against him.

even when he’s inside of you, he can’t help but tease. hand sliding low to toy with you, arching his hips and grinding down particularly hard just to see you fall apart underneath him.

things like his knuckles, which are rough and calloused. pressing soft kisses to his fingers, noting the way he swallows hard, a soft blush coloring his cheeks at your gentle touch.

or maybe he’s self-conscious about his body, about how hairy he is and the fat and muscle padding his stomach. you brush all those thoughts away, settling onto the bed beside him, brushing your hand over his stomach with an appreciative hum.