^_^

bathing with jack abbot in the early hours of the morning, when the sun has barely started peeking over the horizon and jack’s shift is done.

hours of saving lives reduced to hot water and bubbles.

he likes the fancy bath salts and the smelly soaps, likes telling you good morning as he kisses your hair as you settle between his thighs in the tub.

he’s one for splurging on fancy shampoo, and lets you comb nimble fingers through grey curls with fancy shampoo that foams up as you scrub. he mumbles praises as you go,

“your doing so good”

“so good for me,”

“so good with your hands baby”

freckled calloused hands would wash your arms as you wash his hair, mumbling how soft you are and how he wishes he could just touch you forever.

“you have an addiction” you’d mumble affectionately

“can’t blame a guy you’re so good to me” he’d smile tiredly

nuzzling into robby’s belly like it’s your personal pillow, kneading it when your on top of him and kissing down his naval like it’s your birthright. he doesn’t understand your obsession with it, to him it’s just some pudge he’s put on as age has weathered his metabolism. to you? it’s something to rut against and to worship.

“what are you doing?” he’d smile as you kissed down his happy trail fingers using his belly to hold on

“lovin you”

“right” a little frown on his mouth in the form of a pouty lips watching as your lips brush the skin like it was worth something to be kissing.

“just love this” you accentuate your point smoothing hands across his abdomen

for once, robby robinavitch flushes an unruly pink.

zombie apocalypse rabbot lives in my mind rent free

za! robby who fusses over supplies constantly, he’s naturally a worrier

za! jack who takes his frustrations of the world on the zombies and comes back blood splattered

za! robby who separates rations like its soothing and gives jack the extra piece of canned peach ( because he can )

za! jack who always takes first watch because he’s “used to being up at night” but in actuality wants to make sure robby gets some actual sleep

za! robby who has nightmares that shake him awake every night no matter where they’ve set up camp

za! jack who carries around a hunting knife and twirls it when they’re on the move

za! robby who keeps his weapons tucked in his backpack unless absolutely needed

<3

bonus: they come across you injured and desperate for shelter and food, and nurse you back to health step by step with kisses on your head and hands and pieces of canned foods they’ve found.

professor! jack abbot who invites you to his after hours to teach you anatomy.

professor! jack abbot who kisses and mumbles anatomy as he touches and squeezes.

professor! jack abbot that explains everything that he’s doing to you between groans.

professor! jack abbot who uses his tongue like he’s mapping your body out as if he didn’t know everything already.

professor! jack abbot that mumbles something about endorphins and dopamine when you come undone.

the cool metal of din’s helmet digs into your back as his hips rut, the coolness of it against heated skin a break from the friction that he’s using. leather gloves hold onto hips like handles, and guide like you needed it, flesh meets flesh yet you only feel metal and leather. his voice box grumbles and pants and your certain you committed it to memory.

۶ৎ chef!jack abbot x sous chef!reader

chef abbot likes teasing you. you like him. chef abbot likes your dishes. you like him.

۶ৎ warnings: sexual tension ? reader is younger than jack

۶ৎ a/n: hi omg so i haven’t written fanfiction in years but I’ve been an avid reader and pretty much decided to give it a shot again! none of this has been proofread or anything but I’m excited to be making stuff again! my requests and inbox are open for blurbs or short fics :3 and i’m incredibly multifandom

you really shouldn't have looked at the way Jack was slicing tomatoes mid service, fingers firm pressed against the fruit, long digits wrapped around keeping it in place while his forearms flexed as he pushed the knife through the flesh of the tomato.

it was embarrassing really, you were a sous chef, talented and capable but the older man was making your chest tight, and the freckles certainly did not help.

"four minutes!" you hear him bark as he throws the sliced tomatoes into the pan of pasta.

and oh god his voice.

"yes chef!" you answer snappy as always as you pull the duck off the sizzling pan and run it to the plating station where Dana takes over with tongs

it was like clockwork.

sear, season, run to plating, and repeat.

you thought you had shook the nerves the silver haired chef had given you but when he guides your hands near the end of service as you sear duck in butter it resurfaces like eggs boiling.

by the time service ends your heart is fluttery and your hopeful that you did at least okay in the new environment.

you may think you did well

but Jack tells you so.

“your dish was a real hit” he leans against the surface of the counter.

“you think so?” your eyes flicker to the sweat that’s beaded on his forehead.

“I know so, front of house said that it was the most ordered all night” the curve of his jaw was sharper under the lighting of the kitchen.

a smile works its way onto your lips, “that’s great,”

“thank you chef”

“Jack” he corrects tapping his fingers against the counter. you watch as his eyes flicker across your face to your dirty apron covered in sauce and seasoning.

“thank you…Jack”

he nods once, before he lifts himself up and moves to help clean up, he always did after service. Even if his leg was killing him, even if it was a shitty service he always stayed.

“do you ever sleep?” you question a half joking tone on your voice as you grab a rag to wipe your station clean

he glances up at you, “do you?”

“what do you mean?”

“you’ve been all over the world so i’ve been told,” his eyes are analyzing you and you can feel the familiar heat of your embarrassment creeping up your neck.

“oh.” you blink

“yeah I mean, I wanted a wider perspective new experiences” your explanation feels dumb on your tongue.

“new experiences?” he inquires and you can’t tell what he’s thinking. you never can quite get a read on him.

“yeah you know like, different cultures and food” your gaze flickers across his face down his bare freckled arms that flex as he pauses scrubbing the grill to watch you.

“huh” is all he says before focusing on his task at hand.

“what?” you ask instead eyes watching the muscles in his teeshirt flex with each push of the grill brush

“nothing just, wondering why if you’ve got all that experience why your here” he glances over his shoulder at you

“maybe I like helping the elderly” the joke slips from your lips

“oh ha ha” he remarks sarcasm dripping from each sound like it came directly from his pores.

“i’m serious I saw your restaurant and thought this old guy needs help, thought i’d offer my expertise”

he steps toward you, “i’m not that old”

“your fifty”

“so?” he steps forward again,

you can smell the sweat on his skin.

“so your gonna break a hip”

you watch his jaw twitch.

“if you thought I was gonna break a hip they wouldn’t let me cook”

he crowds you against the counter.

“they probably owe you a favor”

you feel the warmth he radiates now.

“is that what you think?”

you swallow hard, feeling the heat of a flustered blush working its way up your neck.

his eyes are heavy on you watching. analyzing. waiting.

“can you handle the heat?” his words are gruff

“what?” confusion settles in the forefront of your mind

his lips hover close to yours, you can feel the exhale of his breath across your skin, it makes your mind fog.

“if you can’t handle the heat rookie get out of my kitchen” he exhales hard before he pulls back just as fast as he approached.