bottmless-pitt

[bottmless-pitt]

something something jack abbot who is sleeping with one of the residents just because she's pretty and he gets off on the power trip and he can. no guilt, no concerns about ethics. she followed him around like a lost puppy eagerly soaking up every scrap of attention and information he shared with her, and it took him about two and a half shifts before he realized he had to have her.

he saw something (someone) he wanted, so he took it. because jack abbot is not somebody who is used to be denied or told no. in his ED, things go his way. there is no alternative. he doesn't even try that hard to keep it a secret, because he's an attending with tenure and he knows PTMC could never afford to get rid of him. especially not for something as simple as fucking a resident.

she would try to talk him down, of course. redirect his advances. 'jack, we can't do this, i'm a resident. you're my attending.' but that's part of the fun to him, really. so he's just hushes her and says something like, 'of course we can do this, just listen to your attending, kid.' and how do you say no to that?

[bottmless-pitt]

IK IM NOT A STAR WARS BLOG ANYMORE BUT MY BABY RETURNS FROM WAR 😭😭😭😭

knight of ren

[bottmless-pitt]

Call Robby a “good boy” in bed and he’s flushing the prettiest red from his ears down his neck and al over his chest 🥰

[bottmless-pitt]

in my head, Jack Abbott is a total sweetheart. i mean—yes, he has bad days and sometimes snaps and yells at people who don’t deserve it—but he totally apologizes later! he even buys something from the cafeteria that he knows the person likes and gives it to them as a way of saying sorry for being an asshole. anyway, im rambling. where I wanna go with this is: imagine poor Jack with his r3 (or R2, day shift obvi!) girlfriend. shes younger, beautiful, funny, and a fucking great doctor—and he’s totally head over heels.

but in the very beginning of their relationship, when they flirt every chance they get, share meals, visit the rooftop, and even go to the other house to hang out, Jack moves very slowly. they kiss and make out a lot, but! he really, really wants to do things right with her. In his old-man head, that means he won’t fuck her until everything is talked out and they’re at least four months into the situation. (the fucker is really patient and has incredible self-control, even when he fucks his fist almost every night thinking about her—but he wants to be a gentleman!!!)

soooo he has to take loooong inhale-exhale breaks whenever she looks up at him with those pretty, gleaming eyes—every time he praises her for doing a good job or when her voice gets soft and she says, "do you need anything, dr abbott?" and his mind spirals into every scenario where she gets on her knees for him. he’s a kinky man. a little filthy and a little disgusting—not too much, but certainly not into just soft, vanilla sex (at least not all the time). but he can’t bear the thought of her thinking he’s a weirdo or some sick old man, so he’s doing everything he can to keep it low and sweet for her. (he’s obviously failing miserably every time his cock gets hard when her breath hitches as he manhandles her at work or when he gets a little mean about something stupid on a bad day and she bites her lip almost unconsciously)

so the first time—very special dinner, just one glass of wine—he takes her to bed and fucks her with his mouth and fingers until she comes twice. dnd then it slips out of his mouth when she looks so pretty, all flustered and just “so desperate to get fucked, aren’t you slut?” and the moan she lets out brings him back to reality. he immediately starts apologizing “I’m sorry, baby, i— i didn’t mean it like that— we can stop if you—” and she stops him by sitting up in bed, pulling him close for a kiss. “Jack, look at me. I know you tried really hard, but stop holding back, okay?”
“I really, really like it when you’re mean,” she admits, a little shy but determined enough that he believes her and finally stops feeling bad for calling her a slut just a minute earlier.

the way my eyes went so fucking wide when he says that oh my god oh my god oh my god I don’t even have anything to add to this, but it HAS to be shared with the public good gracious!!!

[bottmless-pitt]

Oooh I've read some fics with this plot of dating son but fucking the father. It's so yummy. Let me tell you this: at first, you really liked him, he's sweet but a bit slow useless dumb boychild you want a mature man. And you found it. It's your boyfriend father. The first couple interactions makes your squirm, he's watching you calculating, testing the waters. Then, when you sleep for the first time in their house, he corner you in the kitchen when you go down to drink water. He almost made you come there, just some touches and his heavy cock resting against your ass. The next time you interact with him, he's always pressing his body and dick on you. And you stay put, you let him, you wanna feel him. Then, one night your boyfriend acts stupid w you, and his father comfort you with his cock inside you. It's a game. He fucks you better, treat you better. Your bf is playing with his friends, forgetting about you again. But this time you don't cry anymore, no. His father is taking care of you, making you cum every time he can and fucking you everywhere he can. And when his father brings an opportunity to his son across the country or the world? That's fine. You don't care about the boy.

AHHHHH

Charlie is rubbing up against you every moment he gets. You're at the stove cooking dinner for your boyfriend and Charlie? That's so sweet. Charlie's behind you, reaching above you, whispering in your ear to watch your head as he grabs the plate from the cabinet above. He's pressed against your ass. You freeze but you don't say anything, you don't move.

There's one bad night when your boyfriend is out with his friends. You feel stupid for being upset about it. The two of you said you were going to look at baby names tonight and he cancelled so he could hang out with his friends. He said he needed the "night off" and some stress relief. It made you feel like you were a job to him.

Charlie comes home to see you wiping your tears away. It's a beautiful sight. You're wearing the maternity dress he bought you. It's soft and flowy, yet hugs you in all the right places. There's a book of baby names in your lap. He sits down next to you on the couch. You shouldn't talk ill of his son but who else are you supposed to talk to. Charlie listens and rubs a hand on your back. He wipes the tears from your face and tells you you're too pretty to cry. He says he'll help you look at baby names. His hand is lower than it should be as you lean against him. He slips his readers on and points out two baby names, one girl and one boy. He's naming his own child.

[bottmless-pitt]

identity

[bottmless-pitt]

AHHHH This rewired my brain just now.

Robby who is entired single minded on getting you pregnant. He's INSATIABLE. He's fucking you in Jack's guest bathroom, one hand on your hips to steady you as he bends you over the sink, the other muffling your sounds. Robby leaning over and whispering "keep it down sweatheart, don't wake the baby."

Robby who keeps your hips propped up for at least 30 minutes after finishing in you, to make sure it takes. Robby who can barely wait out the 30 minutes before he's hard and ready to go again.

Robby who tracks your ovulation and takes a whole day off work- which is unheard of for him- just to keep you full of him all day.

Robby who will have you barefoot in his kitchen

I'm ovulating on the streets today 🫩

Time to be horny again babes

Yk what I’m thinking? Baby fever with Robby😵‍💫 especially when you see him hold Mohabbot’s baby for the first time after a month the baby is born. And she looks so fucking tiny compared to him when he holds her, her little neck resting against his elbow and his biceps bulging as he bounces her slowly.

And he just looks so good I NEED TO FUCKING PULL HIM IN A ROOM AND MAKE HIM GET ME PREGNANT

[bottmless-pitt]

you know how charlie reid finds you? it's because he's come to the conclusion that he hates brats. unfortunately for him, the age range he dates is usually filled with them. the girl he’s seeing—because dating is not accurate to describe whatever that was and fucking isn't descriptive enough since she was spending his money pretty freely—before he meets you fits into that category pretty well. he thinks he’ll give it a try because he doesn’t care about money or commitment or anything else in that realm. what he does care about, he learns, is making sure she listens. he needs a girl who listens to him, who doesn't make him repeat himself. a girl smart enough to pay attention but not enough to question him. that's just what he wants and he's patient enough to wait to find it. in fact, he makes a goal out of it.

when he stumbles onto you, he realizes he may have hit the jackpot. he's going to some event inside one of the rooms of the big public library and he holds the door open for you. and jesus, is chivalry really this dead? the way you beam at him like he's just saved your kitten from a tree or carried you out of a burning building, thank him twice and smile sweetly and politely. he thinks after all these years in the city he's pretty good at figuring people out from first impressions and what he knows for certain is that he wants to know more about you. people aren't just nice like that for no reason. when he follows you inside, you end up heading behind a counter because you work there. it's almost five, and he concludes this must be your part-time job. perfect, he thinks to himself, staring at you smiling at your coworkers and listening patiently to whatever they must be telling you because you're too sweet to not pay attention. part-time is perfect because convincing you to leave your job would be a lot harder if it was full-time and something you had already incorporated into your routine. you walk away with a cart of books to put away when he flags you down, this time to ask for your help finding the room he's supposed to be in.

charlie is not stupid—he could have easily found it himself. in fact, it would have taken much less time and energy to just find the room himself. but he wants to hear what your voice sounds like and see how sweet you are about helping him, particularly your reaction when he thanks you for your help and makes eye contact that he thinks will fluster you. you lead him to the room right away, abandoning your cart of books immediately and just like he thought, when he tells you thank you, sweetheart, your eyes get big and you look away and stutter out something like oh it's no problem. the correct answer, charlie thinks while watching you walk away and turn back once, only to see him still staring at you, is you're welcome. he'll have to teach you that. he'll get to it in due time.

there's no other reason for him to be at that library besides to see you—and yes, technically it might be a violation of your privacy to have someone in his office find the library's worker schedule, but that's besides the point—though he still 'runs' into you and has you track down a book for him. really it's just the first book that came to mind, but you had recognized him immediately and smiled brightly and it's almost as if you forgot to be nervous for a second there, leading him to the correct row and shelf. coincidentally, you start talking about how much you loved this book and that you can't recommend it enough. he doesn't even think he has a library card. from there on it's easy work to read the damn thing and come back to return it and then tell you he'd like to take you out to dinner so you two can have a proper discussion about it.

and you, poor thing, it's like the first time you've ever been treated right. you seem surprised when he knocks on your door, and you're scrambling to put your shoes on as if he expected you downstairs by now. your eyes are wide like coins when he hands you the flowers, expression shifting into something that makes an uneasy feeling spread throughout his chest. something he doesn't like—how reactive you are to things that charlie considers the bare minimum. he notices it for the rest of the night—when he opens the door to his car for you, when he pulls out your chair at the restaurant, when he asks you what you want to drink before the waiter gets there and then tells him your order for you. he notices it all night long—the fluster while you answer another question he's asked, the continual, repeated thank you to him, to the server, to the waiter, and how you look at him when the waiter hands him the check instead of putting it on the table. he stares back at you—because surely, chivalry can't be this dead, that you expect him to split the bill with you? it's then and there that charlie decides he'll have to teach you what a real relationship with a real man is supposed to be like, because you must not know.

it's just by chance that you also happen to be great at listening—the one thing he was looking for. he kisses you goodnight by your door after the first date, and on the second one, you bring up all the things he had mentioned on the first. you ask him about two different cases at work, another book by that same author he had said he wanted to read (not really, but if it's for you, he supposes he'll read it), and the fact that he said he liked this restaurant. the place he brings you is slightly closer to his side of town, and you thank him profusely for picking you up even though it's out of the way. charlie's a little confused—it's barely out of the way, and of course he's going to pick you up. but that's besides the point, the point being that he had a secondary reason for picking this restaurant. he wants to show you more of the area where he lives, get you more comfortable with it, since it'll be your area soon enough. at the end of the night, he kisses you outside your door again and he tells you that he'll call you tomorrow, and he does, another thing which confuses him about people your age.

on the third date, he gets an invitation inside. breathless from the usual kiss, you quietly ask him do you want coffee or something? when he accepts, you seem to regain your senses and realize it's almost ten-thirty and fluster while telling him you don't have any decaf. you offer to make him hot chocolate and he laughs, settling onto your couch while you come sit beside him, thinking of how you won't have this problem soon. he always has decaf and regular at his place, and though your apartment is charming, it's certainly not big enough for you both. he has a house and there's extra rooms, and that's exactly the sort of place you need. he even gets distracted looking around at your belongings—knick knacks and an overflowing bookshelf and all the other things he can imagine fitting in nicely with his own things. but you put your hand on his arm to get his attention and he forgets about all of it temporarily.

he doesn't actually sleep with you until two dates after—which is right around the time he starts spoiling you. he shows up with a pretty necklace for you and you try and fail to explain why you can't accept it, but when he says the magic words—let me take care of you—you give in easily. and right around that fifth date is when you've become a little bit needy, the result of one too many prolonged good night kisses and staying horizontal on your couch until he's hard and you're soaked. when he takes you back to his home, he gets hard just thinking about how perfectly you'd fit in here. he makes you cum once just against the door as soon as he gets you inside, and then twice on his bed. in the morning, you wear his button-up while he makes you both breakfast and it's a little too easy to imagine you there every morning.

but charlie doesn't just imagine things and leave it at that—he makes them happen. after the first night, it's all too easy to convince you to sleep over and start leaving things. you work short, periodic shifts, but his place is closer to the library anyways, so you really can't complain. besides that, you have a noisy neighbor and there's construction down the street and charlie's place is peaceful and quiet. perfect for sipping coffee and reading whatever book you've taken out from the library. he tells you he doesn't like all the rooms in the house and if you have any ideas to change it, he'd listen to you, and you do the thing you always do where you flush and pretend that he's just saying that to be nice, when really, he's not. it's going to be your house anyways, relatively soon at that, so you may as well decorate however you please. that's the sort of thing charlie knows to leave for his wife.

it's easy after that—you barely make enough to cover rent each month and when you get a letter from the landlord that rent is going up starting next month, well, it only make sense to move in with charlie. things have been going great for months and there's no use in wasting money. so the playing house gets much more intense after that—charlie has a strict routine and you blend in perfectly with it, though he could have guessed that. it's all the things he didn't expect, the things he's not used to, that take him by surprise. how when his alarm goes off—six fifteen sharp—and he goes to shower, you get up too. you make him coffee and breakfast like it's second nature to you, yawning and stretching in whatever one of his shirts you had slept in the previous night. how easy it is for you to remind him of commitments—a meeting or someone dropping by at his lunch or a friend's birthday.

it turns into a routine, one that he likes very much, and when he surprises you with a ring at the same restaurant he took you for that first date, it's ultimately so easy to say yes. to get compliments at the library on the gigantic rock on your finger—for people to wonder why you still work if your fiancé can afford something like that. and then it's way, way too easy for charlie to convince you that wedding planning and redecorating and thinking about what to do with those empty rooms in the house are going to take up more time than you have. to bid your job at the library goodbye, to focus on your future life as a housewife. one night charlie comes home to you debating between two wallpapers and you let it slip—well, i think this one would be nicer for the baby's room—and after that, it's like you've created a demon. and then charlie reid has a new goal, because he's always been like that, always been focused on a goal—meeting you, getting you on that first date, moving you into his home, making you his wife. the latest goal is to see how quickly he can get you pregnant.

[bottmless-pitt]

GUYS! I love tumblr!! I'm so happy to be back!! This is what it's all for fr!!!

[bottmless-pitt]

Chance Encounters

Content: Jack Abbot X F!Reader, use of She/Her pronouns, Jack Abbot x Shy!reader, (20's reader & Late 40's Jack), Smut, Thigh riding, handjobs, spit, Grinding, Mentions of Abbot's Prosthesis, Bars, Drinking, and rusty writing. A/N: One day I will emerge from a smut scene victorious, today may not be that day but I put some good reps in. I'm open to writing for anyone in the Pitt tbh so let me know who/what you'd like to see next! :P

You were never the kind of person who could sit at a bar alone.  You were never attracted to the dim light, sticky countertops, and endless top 20 hits. You weren’t built for that, but tonight, tonight you were going to sit on the very far end of the dingey dive a block and a half away from your apartment, and you were going to nurse a lukewarm shitty cocktail as long as you wanted. You were going to finally stop putting everything on hold, and you were going to re-join society.

Jesus Christ. Please get it together.

You were a grown woman, who had accomplished things, you didn’t live with your parents, you paid your own bills, you generally try your best to take care of yourself. The only thing you couldn’t seem to figure out is your job. The repetitive cycle of waking up, spending 8 hours a day mindlessly droning through work, being too tired to move, going to bed, and repeating again was unbearable. So, one random Friday morning, with too little in your savings account and even less left of your soul, you decided enough was enough.

There wouldn’t be any more morning chats by the coffee maker, useless one-on-ones with management, or special projects dumped on your plate. You were done. And it wasn’t the lingering fear of your own impulsivity or failure that greeted you when you walked home that night, it was the realization you had nothing else to show for yourself.

There were no boyfriends to come home to, kids to raise, or really anyone to call except for a few old college buddies that were nudging you to get yourself out there for months. The reality was finally dawning, you had put your entire life on hold for a job, and it hadn’t given you anything in return.

 So here you were, half-exhausted, half-terrified, begging the universe for a second chance to shape yourself into something. The stale lifeless reflection staring back was not the picture of happiness you were hoping would follow you home that afternoon but, rather than wallowing in your own mistakes, you decide to go out.

The walk to the bar had been nothing short of rejuvenating. The dulcet sense of your own freedom grounded the moment. Sunshine setting on your face reminded you of summer breezes flitting by and warm evenings under the stars. It had been years since you had allowed yourself this pleasure. The golden cast made the world vibrant again. You couldn’t help but stop for a moment, pressed against the brick facade on the corner of your street to feel the pulse of the city around you. Nothing seemed to move until the sun was tucked behind the tree line, and you didn’t dare disrupt the peace until the chill of the evening settled into dusk all around you, and the only place left to turn was the dive bar at the end of the street.

The bar itself is something that had never really tempted you before that night. The music always skewed a little too country for your liking, and the patrons always seemed to be on the wrong side of leering versus gawking. There was a clear view of a pool table in the back and the dark wood seemed to match the deep whiskey bottles that lined the back of the bar. At least, that’s what you could tell from the few moments the door was left just open enough for you to peek in when passing by.

Now though, now you had an unabashed view of the entire bar, and it was enough to remind you why you’re not usually in places like this. The crowd itself wasn’t too dense for a Friday, but you could tell it would only grow as the night went on. There were patrons scattered around, some sitting in booths exchanging stories of their weeks, others leering from dark corners. You scanned the room quickly, opting for a seat on the closer end of the bar, right against the wall. Completely isolated, a little pocket of stillness, you settled in for a night of true transformation.

It wasn’t long before you realized you were probably a little in over your head. The thing about going out is, you’re sort of stuck with yourself when you get there. Your brain supplies the helpful commentary.

After sipping on a drink for a little over twenty minutes it was starting to feel like you were waiting for something to happen, that wasn’t going to happen. There wasn’t going to be a divine intervention nor was God going to part the crowd and hand you over the ideal life. You had hoped maybe someone would sit within three seats of you, or perhaps you’d get a chatty bartender. There had been no such luck, and you wondered if you were the weird one, cornered alone at a bar on a Friday Night.

This isn’t an episode of Sex in the City girl. The clock doesn’t strike 7:30 and poof you’re Samantha Jones. It’s pathetic, the feeling of shame that builds. The first time you really put yourself out there only to realize everyone else had been out here without noticing you were still stuck in your shell. The watery drink melts away from the heat of your hand and you really start to wonder, what am I doing wrong?

Had the doe-like naivety and melancholy so damaged your persona that people physically recoiled from your space? A million thoughts run through your head, and the ever-mounting urge to run home with your tail tucked between your legs only grows. As the clock struck eight behind the bar, more people wandered in. The crowd steadies out, steering clear from the aura of self-realization oozing out of you.

“Want another?” The bartender asks. It’s really a simple question, and this poor guy is really just trying to do his job. Frankly you really think you shouldn’t but just on the other side of the bar something catches your eye.

A man settles in your direct line of sight. A very attractive man. A very attractive, older man, who is definitely watching you. You feel your jaw go slack and your back straighten alerted to the danger lurking. Your eyes darted to meet his, then away, then back again in a cycle of curiosity and embarrassment. The man only smirked. Fuck me.

“Another round?” The bartender asks again. This time, with an edge of impatience, you just nod dumbly. You knew you were out of practice, but you weren’t expecting to be so bothered by a stranger just looking at you. Your eyes peel from the bar top to settle on his again.

Even in the smoked room the depth of his gaze is intense, like a magnifying glass under the sun. He was entirely concentrated, fixated on your singular point. He wasn’t staring at you; he was devouring you. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had even wanted to talk for longer than twenty minutes, and this was the first time a man had ever looked at you like that.

He seemed to enjoy the way you squirm under his watchful eye. He takes a sip of his beer slowly. Where the hell has this guy been? He’s gruff, the stubble tracing his cheeks only accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw. You feel your thighs press together, imagining the tender sting that he could make between them. He sits at the bar like he was made for it, and when he gives you his attention, you’re glued to it.

This man is a stranger. It’s meant to be a warning, a moment to pause and reconsider if that second drink was worth it. To turn back while you can, because you know if this man comes over, you’ll be going home with him.

And yet, it has the opposite effect. This man, this stranger, has more intrigue in his gaze than all of your past romantic encounters combined. The heat that had begun with small licks to the back of your neck was sweeping through your stomach and settling in for the night.  It's unlike anything you have ever experienced. It’s carnal, the need that floats to the surface. Years of pushing down the most basic desperation in favor of practicality shoot to the surface. You smile to yourself; this might be the most exciting thing you’ve done in years.

--

You feel him before you see him. He’s stalking you from across the bar, closing the distance easily. You can’t help but lean against the wall for support, but his presence doesn’t bring the wave of nerves you had anticipated. His approach alone is calm and clear and only serves to produce hordes of butterflies in the pit of your stomach. His confidence reveals a predation, a swagger that comes when the cat gets the canary.

“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” He asks, a boyish smile racking across his face. He knows it’s all too much, just too unrealistic, too much pressure on the moment, so he pops it with the careful precision of a man in complete control. The line hits you in your stomach. He could’ve said anything, he already has you in the palm of his hands. He knows it too. But instead of some half-fumbled small talk or uninteresting humble brag, he’s funny.

You let out a laugh, and it wasn’t funny enough to laugh this hard, but the small shrug he gives in defeat is worth it. You feel your shoulders drop and the moment relaxes. He tilts his head to look at you, and from this angle, you can see the hazel flecks in the bar light.

“Ok, maybe too cheesy.” He accepts it with ease that drips with charm. What is he so handsome for?

“Not too cheesy.” You peek up at him through your lashes, thanking your younger self for her fleeting interest in Vogue advice columns. “And for the record, I’m not usually in a place like this.” He watches with vested interest, as you gesture to the bar’s surroundings.

“Well, I’m lucky. I caught you passing through.” He lets his eyes rake down without shame, and it leaves you twisting your legs tighter to keep them from dropping open.

“What’s your name?” He asks. When you manage to say it, he hums it to himself like it’s a secret.

“I’m Jack.” He takes a long sip of his drink, keeping his eyes trained on you, and you sit obediently across from him, letting him take all the time in the world. “So, who do I have to thank for getting you in here tonight?” He’s all listening ears, and it’s not fair how easy he makes it look. He was so at ease, perfectly in his element.

It was almost painful, to be in such direct contrast. His measured gravitas makes your chest tighten, it’s infuriating but hypnotic.

“My job- or maybe my boss?” you concede, feeling heat creep up in your face. He lifts an eyebrow and waits for you to continue. Following on your every word with amused rapture. “I finally quit my job and didn’t really feel like stewing over it in my apartment. So, I decided to come out.” He couldn’t help but let a chuckle past his lips.

It’s almost like he’s patting your head, saying slow down, enjoy the ride. That visual alone is enough to send a pulse of heat through your core. He latched onto anything you would give him. Drinking down your reactions and savoring them for later. As if you weren’t fully intending on making sure you were the only thing he was savoring later.

“Well, can I buy you a drink then?” He moved his stool closer to yours, still giving you enough space to slip by him if you really wanted to go. Not enough space to get out without inconspicuously brushing past him. Now you could see everything on him so clearly, his freckles shining through, the bags that sat pretty under his eyes, a small scar on his hairline, almost obscured by his hair. His cologne clouded your senses, drawing you in like a drug. The musk and smoke smell that sat on his skin was complimented by a lingering antiseptic note.

“To thank you.” He clarified, letting his hand slide around the bar, blocking out most of the chaos behind him. You nod again, and he flags the bartender down.

Jack, as it turned out, wasn’t just an older, attractive man. He was an older attractive doctor, who worked at the ER a few streets over. He spent all of five minutes on himself before turning the conversation back to you. Asking where you grew up, what you used to do for work, favorite songs, movies, and foods. He was invested in your every word, turning a simple question into a whole interview.

He wasn’t without his own commentary, interjecting just as many quick quips of his own life to make it seem like he wasn’t totally letting you dominate the conversation, even though he wanted you to. Where moments of silence would fall flat and leave both parties floundering with the need to fill awkward silence, Jack excels. His silence is never a lull, but a breath, a moment for both of you to steal glances, shaking each other down and building each other back up again.

“I haven’t done anything like this before.” You admit, after an hour of easy banter. He was steady and took the news without surprise. His eyes were the only tell that he had heard you over the blare of music from the speakers, darkening significantly.

“Do what? Talk to strangers?” He teases, leaving your ears burning. He reaches his hand up and tucks a little hair behind your ear, “You’re too good for me, sweetheart.”  

This was it, this is how you’d die. The blood circulating through your head is long gone, and the ache in your thighs clouds all judgment. Breathing was no longer necessary, the feeling of his heavy hands running through your hair was the tie grounding you to this moment. He read you like an open book and sat back with the satisfaction of guessing the ending correctly. He had you entirely figured out.

He takes the opportunity to throw a few bills on the bar, presumably freeing you both to slip out of the pulsing crowd of drunk coeds. You reach for your wallet, following suit, but he stops you.

“I got yours,” He lets his arm sit on your shoulder. He allows himself to rake his eyes down you entirely. You passively wonder what you look like, half-drunk on his attention, wobbly, and nervous. Perhaps a slightly pathetic sight, but Jack only steadied himself under your eyes. “Told you I’d buy you a drink.” He mumbled.

“Oh,” You froze, of course, he said that you smiled up at him earnestly. “Thank you, for the drink, and the company.” Finally, your words seem to knock him back, and it’s deeply satisfying to see him collect himself even for a moment.

He groaned under his breath and let himself invade your space until he was almost completely against you.

“Let me walk you home?” He offers, and you know it’s just words, but you feel your entire body buzz when your head bobbles yes. He takes a deep breath in through his nose, seemingly regaining his composure. Jack was barely hanging onto a thread, but just as soon as he was in your space, he pulled away. He had taken your hand, pulling you into him as you made your way to the dark street.

It only takes three minutes before you’re at the steps of your apartment, and neither one of you hesitates to climb the steps to your front door. It takes about ten seconds for you two to breathe before he has you fully pressed against him, crashing his mouth on yours carefully.

Jack kisses the way every girl hopes someone will kiss her. He kisses you like it’s his sole purpose in this moment, is to forget the rest of his life to make you feel this. His large hands always grounding, always centering your focus, while his tongue slips in with practiced precision. Jack was an exacting passion, that took no shame in pulling the most lewd reactions from your body.

You respond with equal enthusiasm, perhaps more impassioned and sloppier than him, but he only groans into your mouth and presses you into the door. His hands slip down to your waist while yours wind around his neck, pulling him down onto you, into you.

“Jack,” You groan against his mouth when you feel a particular hardness pressing into your stomach. “I really meant it when I said It’s been a while.” This only spurs him on, pressing your body to his closer, trailing kisses down your neck. His kisses, once rough now deadly, against your neck leave unapologetic marks you will question in the morning. Now, it’s liberating to feel the burn of stubble and teeth against the sensitive flesh of your neck. On a particular enthusiastic bite, your eyes roll back in your head with pleasure, and all other thoughts leave your body.

“You’re just so sweet,” he lets his breath trail up your neck until he steadied himself. “Need to taste you, see how sweet you really are.” He was lost in the pleasure of the moment, watching you blissed out in your hallway, waiting for him to ruin you. He cornered you again, letting your bodies slot together. “Need you to unlock the door for me, baby.”

And your body responded in kind like his words were a mission, you fumbled for your keys before slipping through the doorway. He can hardly wait for your door to shut behind him to pounce once more. Now that he had you, he wouldn’t stop until you were writhing around on his cock.

His kiss was all fire and urgency, little time to brace yourself against him before he slipped his hand under your shirt. Not quite wandering, but inching up, teasing you. You let out a pathetic whine, and he only laughs down at you, relishing in your frustration. You feel like you’ll die if you don’t get his hands on you right now, he said he wanted to, and you were past the point of waiting.

“Jack, please,” You beg, and in a moment, you’re dragging him to your room. He has you in pressed against your pillows in record time. Standing at the foot of the bed admiring your frame.

You take the moment to inch your shirt up until it’s sitting just below the line of your bra. Once you watch him a moment you pull the shirt and bra up and over your head, leaving your entire top half bare. Jack is frozen to his spot, his Adams Apple bobs, and his jaw tightens, but he can’t seem to tear his eyes from you for even a moment.

He admires you with quiet intensity, he revels in the pride that swells when you reach for him to kiss you again. He can feel you through the thin material of his own shirt, and it’s a useless task distracting him. Before you know it, he’s kissing his way down to your breasts and admiring them once more.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He worships your tits, sucking on one, drinking down the pathetic mewls that escape your mouth. “You’re so fucking ripe.” He lets his teeth scrape your skin until red welts bloom, admiring his own artistic signature. And you’re writhing under his ministrations, your panties were soaked by the time he finished. Desperate for more friction, you buck your hips upwards until you meet his thigh.

“I-I need-“You gasp as he anchors your center onto his thigh for friction. “I need you!” He guides you to rotate your hips against him until you’re fully grinding on his thigh.

“Shhh, let yourself enjoy this Sweetheart,” He encourages, his kisses only clouding her senses further, “I got you.” Your eyes roll back as he breathes into your ear. The firm denim perfectly rubbing against your clit. He ducked his head back down to watch you as you chased the pleasure relentlessly. When he notices a large wet patch collecting beneath you, he has to stop himself from rutting into you.

“Shit, sweetheart you’re so messy.” He admonishes, but when you let out a wine of protest, your hips pick up in pace. Jack watched as your face twisted in concentration, chasing a high, and he couldn’t decide what was more erotic, the noises coming out of your mouth or the feeling of your wet pussy dragging down the length of his thigh.

Suddenly he pulls back, dragging his thigh away, eliciting a sound that would’ve made you turn bright red if you weren’t so close to your orgasm. Jack doesn’t pay mind to your protests, tugging your panties down, laying you out bare before him.

“Am I the only one getting naked tonight?” you ask, coy, frustrated, and ready for the reckoning that was Jack Abbot’s dick. He sucks in a breath.

“I just want to warn you,” He starts to explain, and the shake in his voice has you closing your legs and sitting up. The eternally confident ladies’ man laid bare. “I have a prosthetic leg.” He says it and waits. You crawl to the end of the bed meeting him on your knees.

“Do you need to take it off?” You asked, and he furrowed his eyebrows, “Or is it more comfortable on? Or how do you normally do this?” You stuttered through, tugging him down to sit next to you.

“I don’t,” He laughs at you, “normally do this actually.” He shrugs, and it makes him just that bit hotter. Jack wasn’t trying to be anything but honest and reasonable, it only made you want him more.

 You lean your head up and capture his lips in a soft kiss, letting him take comfort in you. Letting him experience the scent of your shampoo as a gift, the sensation of your nails through his hair as a memory, and pressing him down to lie back on the bed as a command.

You swing your legs over his hips, letting your chests press to one another. You let his hand explore you, experiment as you made out like teenagers. Jack pressed his, still clothed, erection into you. You let your head fall back in pleasure, as he rocked into you, building you back up to something wild and dangerous.

You reach down and rest your hand on the zipper of his jeans, tracing the outline of his bulge. You work curiously, learning his anatomy, and swallowing any reactions Jack chokes out. Once Jack decided you were done playing games he interrupted to unzip his jeans slowly. You feel his chest hitch when your hands skim along the elastic of his boxers. He tips his hips enough to allow his pants to fall away, and you shove his boxers down until he’s bare.

Jack was a sturdy man, he was not insubstantial by any means, and you knew he would be sizable but the dick he pops is thick and rabid. You can’t quite fit your hand around him, and the veins just under the skin are throbbing with unrestrained need. Jack is only able to hold himself back until you open your mouth and let a glob of spit drop down onto his vibrant pink tip.

“Please baby-oh Fuck!” He moans out when he feels your hand lubing him up with your own saliva. His mind races, and he imagines the plush comfort only your throat could bring him. “Sweetheart, let me make you feel good first.” You continue your ministrations while pondering his request, savoring the newfound control he has given you.

You allow yourself a moment of temptation and press yourself down on top of him, producing pornographic moans from both of you. Once the fire picks back up you can’t stop yourself from allowing the indulgence of him sliding through your folds with ease. When Jack’s tip catches on your clit you feel your walls contract in a pulse, gushing a new wave of arousal on him. You begin to feel the tension build up your spine, warning you.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” He murmurs, sitting up to suck one of your nipples into his mouth like a man starved.

“Need you, Jack, I’m gonna die-“He drops his thumb to rub at your clit and suckles harder. The once subtle tug now building into something more intense. “Need you inside, please!” Jack hummed before tugging you down to kiss him, his thumb picking up pace. It wasn’t long before you felt your walls tightening and your jaw drop. Jack grounded you as your orgasm crested, his thumb maintaining constant pressure until your body began to shake with overstimulation. You catch your breath as you collapse on top of his chest.

He smirks up at you, slipping you onto the bed to lay you on your stomach. He takes a moment to revel in maneuvering you back under his control. You whine for him to come and fuck you, but he doesn’t slot behind you as you had anticipated.

You turn your head lazily to catch a glimpse of him at the end of the bed removing his leg and setting it to the side, before shucking his pants all the way off. He peaks over at you, laying pussy out, already half-fucked just from rubbing yourself on him, watching him with rapture as he takes care of himself.

You reach out your hand to him until he’s back in your reach and you can take it. Raising them to his lips before placing a tender kiss on your thumb.

“You’re so sexy, Jack.” He chuckles before returning to you, lining himself up to your hole, ready to give you everything he has.

“I’m so fucking glad you were in that bar tonight.” He admits before his hips push forward, splitting you open, and fucking you into your mattress until you’re begging him for mercy.

[bottmless-pitt]

Bottomless-Pitt Masterlist

Updated 6/21/25

Welcome to Bottomless-Pitt! Here's my updated Masterlist:

The Pitt:

Dr. Jack Abbot:

Chance Encounters: (Jack Abbot x Reader Smut)

I'll Be Right There: (Jack Abbot X Reader Angst)

You can find my old ADCU Masterlist here!

[bottmless-pitt]

I give you wifey reader struggling to hold pope down whilst she attempts to suck a heart shaped hickey on his neck

oooh i love this. the best part is he could easily overpower you if he wanted, he lets you play along and gives it like a fifth of his strength to make you think he's fighting. on the inside he's so lovesick he wants to puke and listening to you giggle and feeling your lips on his skin. he's in heaven for those ten minutes and wears it like a badge of honor while grumbling to you about it....

[bottmless-pitt]

Let me be SingleDad!Robby's Nanny.

Robby, exhausted, and his young new nanny going through his child's nightime routine. Robby and his Nanny whose conversations get a little longer every night. Robby and his Nanny who can't deny the attraction anymore. Not when his hand ends up on your thigh, or when you straddle his hips. Not when you're pressed against his mattress with his hips driving into you.

Let me give him a second kid

DOMESTIC ROBBY DOMESTIC ROBBY DOMESTIC ROBBY DOMESTIC ROBBY 🤤🥰

via isa @tomswrren on twitter

[bottmless-pitt]

I find it wild that people think "x reader" fics are cringe.

you're telling me you've never day dreamed about you and your fav fictional character/characters being in various plots together??????????

[bottmless-pitt]

Want to go to a really nice dinner with Jack, get too full for dessert & end up aimlessly walking through a Home Goods.

Want to point at every funny looking object and tell him it reminds me of him (& vice versa)

I want to end up bringing the ugliest decor home just because we couldn't stop laughing at how ugly it was & it would go perfect in the guest bath.

I want to listen to him have small talk with the cashier even though he's barely paying attention.

I want Jack Abbot in the most mundane sense.

[bottmless-pitt]

SHAWN HATOSY as JACK ABBOT The Pitt | 8:00 P.M.

[bottmless-pitt]

Hi there new friends and lovers of The Pitt! I'm like fully shocked that people are here, but hope you're having fun!

Part 2 for I'll be right there is coming soon! I'm hoping to finish before Friday, but will definitely depend on my work schedule!!

Thanks again, to everyone who's here & enjoying themselves!!!!!