Cosmic Funnies
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ojovivo
Product Placement
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
ellievsbear
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
if i look back, i am lost
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
🩵 avery cochrane 🩵
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
macklin celebrini has autism
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The Stonewall Inn
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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RMH
Kiana Khansmith
almost home
blake kathryn
seen from United States
seen from Ecuador
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seen from United Kingdom
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@devilpeqch
DEVILPEQCH'S MASTERLIST
Series:
Still Water (Andrew “Pope” Cody)- ON HIATUS!
Oneshots:
Jack Abbot:
-Never Fall in Love with Your Stripper! / Always Fall for Your Stripper! (Part 2) / Never Disrepect The Stripper! (Part 3)
-Snip, Snip!
-The Case of The Annoying Attending!/ Pleasure is The Best Medicine!
Steve Harrington:
-Oh to Be in Love!
goodbye.
i’m sorry i haven’t posted anything in a while, ik y’all miss me. but life has been uber crazy lately, but i’m planning on starting to write new stuff soon.
send me any ideas y’all have! any fandom, any prompt!
if idk the fandom, i will do research
love you guys!
details! 👀
woah
Pleasure is The Best Medicine!
sub!Jack Abbot x dom!fem!reader
Synopsis: Sometimes the best cure for having a rude attending is going to his house and having sex with him.
CW: SMUT, 18+, sub! Jack Abbot, devilpeqch's clear lack of knowledge of how sex works, my first time writing smut, small mention of Jack having a mommy kink at the very end. This is very self indulgent. Jack is a sad, old man.
Masterlist
The drive to Jack’s home was quiet. Not awkward, just expectant.
Over the course of the truck ride, your hand slid onto his knee. His hands gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white– he kept forgetting to turn on his turning signal, you had to remind him.
When you arrived at his townhouse, you realized how real this was. You were about to have sex with an attending– the same attending who made your shared shifts hell, the one who apparently did it to hide his crush on you.
Jack jumped down from his side of the truck, and quickly ran to your side, opening the door and offering his hand to help you climb down. He led you in the house, and let you gawk at the massive home. He offered you a drink, and you asked for water. He walked to the kitchen and handed you a glass.
“So, how are we gonna play this?” he asked.
“What?” you didn’t hear him, your head swimming with thoughts, fantasies and insecurities.
He cocks his head to the side, a small smile pulling on his lips.
“You are the one calling the shots, aren’t you?” he reminds you.
Right, you’re here for sex.
You look deep into his eyes, as if trying to read his mind. Maybe trying to find a shred of doubt, or maybe that this was all an elaborate prank and your fellow doctors and doctors-to-be will pop out at any second and laugh.
But no, all you see is hope– a tiny ball of hope in his eyes. Hope that you’ll kiss him again, or even get close to him again.
“Show me your room,” you finally command.
Jack springs into action, grabbing your hand and guiding you to his room. There were pictures all over the walls of the hallway leading to his room– pictures of him and Robby, him and his fellow combat medics, him and his family.
You never took Jack for the sentimental type.
His room was clean, not freshly clean, but homely. You could tell he took pride in his space, and you took pride in being in it.
Jack’s bed was in the middle of the room, with sheets and a navy comforter, there was a small cream-colored, fluffy pillow perched up on the bed.
“Decorative pillows, Jack? Seriously?” you joked.
“A man in his 50’s knows how to decorate a room,” he quipped back.
You both stood at the foot of the bed for what felt like ages.
You pushed Jack onto the bed, half expecting it to creak due to all the force it took you to push him. He lets out a breath and chews on his lip, not to seduce you but from nervousness.
“Take off your shirt,” you tell him.
In a flash his black t-shirt is on the floor. You study the light sparse hair adorning his chest, down his stomach. Your eyes move back up to his neck, and you can see his jugular pulsing heavily.
Jack is just as excited as you are.
“Now your pants.”
This time Jack hesitates for a second, but still proceeds to take off his pants. Leaving him in black boxer briefs, which finally convinced you that Jack wanted this just as much, if not more, than you.
You walk up to him, dropping down to your knees and put your hands on his thighs. You caressed up and down, stopping at his prosthetic. Jack’s eyebrows shoot up, unsure of what to say.
“Is this okay?” you ask as you slowly begin to take off Jack’s prosthetic. “It must hurt, you’ve been on it all day.”
Jack nods, his eyes closing as he begins to drift into a certain mindspace.
“I need words, Jack,” you stop your ministrations when Jack doesn’t answer. “You’re a big boy, you can do it.”
Jack shudders, the slight emasculation travelling up his spine.
“Y-yes, it’s ok,” Jack pants. “You can do anything.”
You coo at him. It was cute how eager he was. His eyes were wide, like a puppy.
You fully take off his prosthetic and you could see the relief in his face. You then stood up and threw yourself at him, kissing him and pushing him down on the bed. Successfully on top of him, you seated yourself on his lap.
You could feel him underneath you, hard and leaking. Your hands travelled to your own jeans and started unbuttoning them, you had to unstick yourself from Jack to pull them down, making him whine in protest.
With nothing between you except for the sad excuse of your panties and his wet boxers, you began to grind yourself on his dick. Both of you letting out sighs of satisfaction.
“I’ve wanted to do this for a while,” you admit, while removing your shirt. Officially in just your underwear now.
Jack can’t even begin to comprehend your words, his brain short-circuiting from your movements, and the fact that he can finally see your bare skin.
You continue your ministrations before you get the idea to slide your hand up Jack’s throat, playfully squeezing and saying, “you have to answer when I speak to you, baby.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jack gives a delirious smirk, savouring your hand on him.
Growing bored of just grinding on him, and frankly, too close to your orgasm, you decide to give Jack what he truly wants. You move to take off your bra, a simple black bra that you’ve had for years– Jack’s breath catches.
“Holy shit,” he whispers, his eyes wide and darting between your breasts.
“Go ahead, Jack,” you nod, giving him permission to get close to them.
Jack reaches one hand up and brushes his thumb over your nipple, making you let out a small moan.
You push Jack’s boxers down, tired of fantasizing about how he would look and feel, and move your panties to the side. You look down and gasp.
Jack’s cock is red with want, standing and drenched with precum. It twitches the second you grab a hold of it, you can feel it pulsing and growing impossibly harder.
“It’s like he has a mind of his own…” Jack tries to joke, but you shoot him a glare that shuts him up.
You fully wrap your hands around it, giving it a few strokes while you instruct Jack, “I am going to make myself cum, and you are going to sit there and take whatever I give you until I tell you to cum.”
Jack nods and you finally sit yourself onto his cock. You exhale through your mouth as you slowly make your way to the base, wanting to feel the coarse hairs of his happy trail on your clit. Once fully sat, you don’t move, you lean over and grab Jack’s face and kiss him. You softly bite his lip and shove your tongue into his mouth.
Jack;s hands settle on your hips, moving you to grind yourself on his lap once again but you slap at his hands.
“Bad Jack!,” you reprimand, half serious, but also taking notice of Jack’s visceral reaction. His mouth parts and his eyebrows furrow, a high-pitched moan escapes him and you laugh.
“You must really like this, huh? What would you do if I start telling people at work?” you mock, continuing to grind your clit of Jack’s pelvis. You feel him twitch harshly inside of you, making you let out another breathy laugh.
What a perv!
“Maybe I’ll start with telling Robby, who’ll tell Dennis, who’ll tell Trinity and soon the whole hospital will know what a depraved old man you are.”
“Please, you can do whatever you want… just please cum,” Jack begs, panting, enjoying the slight drag of your warm cunt around him. He was on the edge already.
“Oh, I thought you could hold out longer, maybe age is getting to you,” you sit up and put your hands on his shoulders, using the leverage to start moving up and down on his length. “I’m feeling nice today, next time I’ll have to teach you a lesson about not rushing me.”
You grab Jack’s hand that hadn’t left your breast and move it to your clit, letting him take the tiniest bit of control as you grow closer to your orgasm. You wanted this to last longer, but between Jack’s hand, the feeling of his dick inside of you and the mere thought of having sex again was too much and you came, surprising you both. The force of it made you collapse on top of Jack, his hand still on your clit, helping you ride out the waves.
Jack wrapped his arms around you, moving your body against his own, hoping that you will let him cum soon. You look up and study his face, scrunched up in pain and pleasure. The poor man trying his hardest to hold everything in.
“You can cum now,” you said into his ear, purposefully clenching around him and kissing him.
Jack moaned into your mouth and spilled inside of you. Hands digging into your sides, pulling you even closer to him. His hips jerked upward, pushing his cum deeper into you. You make sure to give him an open-mouthed kiss before separating.
You roll off of him, and lay your head on a pillow. Your body sweaty and spent, you could almost hear your heartbeat. As you lay next to each other, Jack reaches foe your hand, making you look at him.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t last longer,” he gives you a dejected look.
You grab his face and say, “Jack, don’t ever apologize for that stuff,” your thumb caressing his cheek. “We can practice all you want.”
“You want to do it again?”
“I want to do it all the time,” you reassure. “Maybe next time we can start with you going down on me? It would give us more time.”
Your earnest face makes Jack smile and give you a peck on the nose, he then pulls you into him, letting your head fall on his chest, your sweaty bodies clinging together.
Jack looks down at you, already planning on how to ask you to be his girlfriend, as well as how you feel about being called mommy.
Author's note: guys i literally struggled so hard with writing this, idk how y'all do it. But I hope y'all enjoy it x.
Special thanks to @lindsey-lana for helping me with the title.
Taglist: @irishprincessnigel
Pleasure is The Best Medicine!
sub!Jack Abbot x dom!fem!reader
Synopsis: Sometimes the best cure for having a rude attending is going to his house and having sex with him.
CW: SMUT, 18+, sub! Jack Abbot, devilpeqch's clear lack of knowledge of how sex works, my first time writing smut, small mention of Jack having a mommy kink at the very end. This is very self indulgent. Jack is a sad, old man.
Based on this ask
Masterlist part 1
The drive to Jack’s home was quiet. Not awkward, just expectant.
Over the course of the truck ride, your hand slid onto his knee. His hands gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white– he kept forgetting to turn on his turning signal, you had to remind him.
When you arrived at his townhouse, you realized how real this was. You were about to have sex with an attending– the same attending who made your shared shifts hell, the one who apparently did it to hide his crush on you.
Jack jumped down from his side of the truck, and quickly ran to your side, opening the door and offering his hand to help you climb down. He led you in the house, and let you gawk at the massive home. He offered you a drink, and you asked for water. He walked to the kitchen and handed you a glass.
“So, how are we gonna play this?” he asked.
“What?” you didn’t hear him, your head swimming with thoughts, fantasies and insecurities.
He cocks his head to the side, a small smile pulling on his lips.
“You are the one calling the shots, aren’t you?” he reminds you.
Right, you’re here for sex.
You look deep into his eyes, as if trying to read his mind. Maybe trying to find a shred of doubt, or maybe that this was all an elaborate prank and your fellow doctors and doctors-to-be will pop out at any second and laugh.
But no, all you see is hope– a tiny ball of hope in his eyes. Hope that you’ll kiss him again, or even get close to him again.
“Show me your room,” you finally command.
Jack springs into action, grabbing your hand and guiding you to his room. There were pictures all over the walls of the hallway leading to his room– pictures of him and Robby, him and his fellow combat medics, him and his family.
You never took Jack for the sentimental type.
His room was clean, not freshly clean, but homely. You could tell he took pride in his space, and you took pride in being in it.
Jack’s bed was in the middle of the room, with sheets and a navy comforter, there was a small cream-colored, fluffy pillow perched up on the bed.
“Decorative pillows, Jack? Seriously?” you joked.
“A man in his 50’s knows how to decorate a room,” he quipped back.
You both stood at the foot of the bed for what felt like ages.
You pushed Jack onto the bed, half expecting it to creak due to all the force it took you to push him. He lets out a breath and chews on his lip, not to seduce you but from nervousness.
“Take off your shirt,” you tell him.
In a flash his black t-shirt is on the floor. You study the light sparse hair adorning his chest, down his stomach. Your eyes move back up to his neck, and you can see his jugular pulsing heavily.
Jack is just as excited as you are.
“Now your pants.”
This time Jack hesitates for a second, but still proceeds to take off his pants. Leaving him in black boxer briefs, which finally convinced you that Jack wanted this just as much, if not more, than you.
You walk up to him, dropping down to your knees and put your hands on his thighs. You caressed up and down, stopping at his prosthetic. Jack’s eyebrows shoot up, unsure of what to say.
“Is this okay?” you ask as you slowly begin to take off Jack’s prosthetic. “It must hurt, you’ve been on it all day.”
Jack nods, his eyes closing as he begins to drift into a certain mindspace.
“I need words, Jack,” you stop your ministrations when Jack doesn’t answer. “You’re a big boy, you can do it.”
Jack shudders, the slight emasculation travelling up his spine.
“Y-yes, it’s ok,” Jack pants. “You can do anything.”
You coo at him. It was cute how eager he was. His eyes were wide, like a puppy.
You fully take off his prosthetic and you could see the relief in his face. You then stood up and threw yourself at him, kissing him and pushing him down on the bed. Successfully on top of him, you seated yourself on his lap.
You could feel him underneath you, hard and leaking. Your hands travelled to your own jeans and started unbuttoning them, you had to unstick yourself from Jack to pull them down, making him whine in protest.
With nothing between you except for the sad excuse of your panties and his wet boxers, you began to grind yourself on his dick. Both of you letting out sighs of satisfaction.
“I’ve wanted to do this for a while,” you admit, while removing your shirt. Officially in just your underwear now.
Jack can’t even begin to comprehend your words, his brain short-circuiting from your movements, and the fact that he can finally see your bare skin.
You continue your ministrations before you get the idea to slide your hand up Jack’s throat, playfully squeezing and saying, “you have to answer when I speak to you, baby.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jack gives a delirious smirk, savouring your hand on him.
Growing bored of just grinding on him, and frankly, too close to your orgasm, you decide to give Jack what he truly wants. You move to take off your bra, a simple black bra that you’ve had for years– Jack’s breath catches.
“Holy shit,” he whispers, his eyes wide and darting between your breasts.
“Go ahead, Jack,” you nod, giving him permission to get close to them.
Jack reaches one hand up and brushes his thumb over your nipple, making you let out a small moan.
You push Jack’s boxers down, tired of fantasizing about how he would look and feel, and move your panties to the side. You look down and gasp.
Jack’s cock is red with want, standing and drenched with precum. It twitches the second you grab a hold of it, you can feel it pulsing and growing impossibly harder.
“It’s like he has a mind of his own…” Jack tries to joke, but you shoot him a glare that shuts him up.
You fully wrap your hands around it, giving it a few strokes while you instruct Jack, “I am going to make myself cum, and you are going to sit there and take whatever I give you until I tell you to cum.”
Jack nods and you finally sit yourself onto his cock. You exhale through your mouth as you slowly make your way to the base, wanting to feel the coarse hairs of his happy trail on your clit. Once fully sat, you don’t move, you lean over and grab Jack’s face and kiss him. You softly bite his lip and shove your tongue into his mouth.
Jack;s hands settle on your hips, moving you to grind yourself on his lap once again but you slap at his hands.
“Bad Jack!,” you reprimand, half serious, but also taking notice of Jack’s visceral reaction. His mouth parts and his eyebrows furrow, a high-pitched moan escapes him and you laugh.
“You must really like this, huh? What would you do if I start telling people at work?” you mock, continuing to grind your clit of Jack’s pelvis. You feel him twitch harshly inside of you, making you let out another breathy laugh.
What a perv!
“Maybe I’ll start with telling Robby, who’ll tell Dennis, who’ll tell Trinity and soon the whole hospital will know what a depraved old man you are.”
“Please, you can do whatever you want… just please cum,” Jack begs, panting, enjoying the slight drag of your warm cunt around him. He was on the edge already.
“Oh, I thought you could hold out longer, maybe age is getting to you,” you sit up and put your hands on his shoulders, using the leverage to start moving up and down on his length. “I’m feeling nice today, next time I’ll have to teach you a lesson about not rushing me.”
You grab Jack’s hand that hadn’t left your breast and move it to your clit, letting him take the tiniest bit of control as you grow closer to your orgasm. You wanted this to last longer, but between Jack’s hand, the feeling of his dick inside of you and the mere thought of having sex again was too much and you came, surprising you both. The force of it made you collapse on top of Jack, his hand still on your clit, helping you ride out the waves.
Jack wrapped his arms around you, moving your body against his own, hoping that you will let him cum soon. You look up and study his face, scrunched up in pain and pleasure. The poor man trying his hardest to hold everything in.
“You can cum now,” you said into his ear, purposefully clenching around him and kissing him.
Jack moaned into your mouth and spilled inside of you. Hands digging into your sides, pulling you even closer to him. His hips jerked upward, pushing his cum deeper into you. You make sure to give him an open-mouthed kiss before separating.
You roll off of him, and lay your head on a pillow. Your body sweaty and spent, you could almost hear your heartbeat. As you lay next to each other, Jack reaches foe your hand, making you look at him.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t last longer,” he gives you a dejected look.
You grab his face and say, “Jack, don’t ever apologize for that stuff,” your thumb caressing his cheek. “We can practice all you want.”
“You want to do it again?”
“I want to do it all the time,” you reassure. “Maybe next time we can start with you going down on me? It would give us more time.”
Your earnest face makes Jack smile and give you a peck on the nose, he then pulls you into him, letting your head fall on his chest, your sweaty bodies clinging together.
Jack looks down at you, already planning on how to ask you to be his girlfriend, as well as how you feel about being called mommy.
Author's note: guys i literally struggled so hard with writing this, idk how y'all do it. But I hope y'all enjoy it x.
Special thanks to @lindsey-lana for helping me with the title.
Taglist: @irishprincessnigel
MDNI, 18+
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Thinking about in S4 when they’re at family dinner eating ribs and Deran is like ‘Pope, slow down.’ Imagine reader lovesss to cook and on his days he fights in the ring, you always make sure Pope comes home to a big homemade meal. You’re skipping around butt ass naked in a lil’ frilly white apron with strawberries all over it - and pretty red pumps to match. Each time you walk over to top off his water or replace his beer, he grabs a handful of your ass. He massages it while you dote on him, and gives it a smack as you saunter back to the kitchen - leaving fingerprints of whatever sauce he’s been sucking off his fingers on your ass cheek. 🥵
In the morning you’d make him an omelette with bacon and eggs, coffee and fresh squeezed orange juice. You’d set it down in front of him with a couple advil and a sweet kiss to his cheek. When he’s done, you take his empty plate and start the dishes. He comes up behind you and spins you around to face him. His beefy, veiny arms lift you on top of the counter.
“What are you-? Andrew!” You squeal, squeezing his shoulders tight while he picks you up like it’s nothing.
“Not finished eating, baby. Need something sweet.” He crouches down til he’s eye level with your pussy. He looks up at you with intense, hazel eyes surrounded by swollen cuts and purple bruises. His eyes are glassy as he holds your gaze for a moment, before diving into your glistening cunt. Your hands reach for his curls, tugging them as your back arches against the kitchen cabinets.
He eats your pussy like he didn’t just have breakfast seconds, just absolutely fucking devours it. He’s swirling his tongue around your folds while sucking on your puffy clit. And while he looks all dark and brooding with his injuries, he gets insecure and keeps looking up at you every so often to ensure he’s making you feel good.
“Oh Andy, yes! Right there,” you moan, giving him the reassurance he needs. He pulls away to put one finger - then two - into your sopping cunt. His chest vibrates with a low groan watching you clench around his thick digits, the squelching sound music to his ears. He puts his mouth back on your clit, resuming his previous movements while pumping his fingers in and out of you. It’s slow at first to get you used to them, and then he picks up the pace and curls his fingers, eliciting a particularly high pitched whine from you. You push his head down a little out of excitement, shoving his face deeper into your weepy pussy.
Pretty soon you’re coming undone on his mouth and fingers, legs squirming over his shoulders. He eats you through your orgasm, lapping and slurping up every last drop. When he’s finished he licks his fingers, savoring the taste of you. He was right, you were sweet. He presses soft kisses against the insides of your shaky thighs, nuzzling his nose into the plushy skin. He stands and helps you climb off the counter.
“Wrap your legs ‘round me, sweet girl.” You do as you’re told and wrap your legs around his waist. “Come on baby, let’s get you cleaned up.” Safe to say you had round two in the shower - back pressed against the ceramic tile while he’s holding you up off the ground in the position you’re in now - fucking up into you and tearing up when he cums inside because he just can’t believe he has the love of a woman like you.
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pope 👀 come to me pope 👀
talk you through it
pairing: Jack Abbot x surgical resident!reader summary: your work’s been leaving you exhausted, but you’re struggling to fall asleep, you barely can relax. Javadi recommends you an audio erotica app. and it does help you unwind. until you realize that the orgasmic raspy voice in your headphones belongs to one of your attendings — none other than Jack Abbot.
warnings: implied age gap (that you can ignore); mutual pining, Jack isn’t that good at flirting when he catches feelings. he compensates for it with his other talents 😏 smut {dirty talk, masturbation, praise kink, teasing, fingering (with two hands, idk if that’s a thing?), piv, aftercare}; Park is an unintentional wingman, Javadi is the bestest of friends / words: 13K / author’s note: this was suuuper unplanned, I wrote the whole thing in a couple of days. is the smut too detailed? maybe. idc ♡ READ ON AO3 / MASTERLIST
Late in the evening, the cafeteria makes for a perfect place for naps.
With day and night shifts overlapping, everyone’s busy with the paperwork and greetings, and that’s when you prefer to slip away. You aren’t alone at this uncommon hiding spot — Santos already dozed off at a table further off, earbuds in, hood up. She can sleep anywhere and anytime. But you aren’t that lucky.
You spent ten minutes genuinely trying — deep breaths, and meditation, and counting sheep. Now you’re just sulking, helpless against your permanent exhaustion. You catch the footsteps first — quick, quiet, a woman on a mission. The door creaks just a little when it opens.
Closes.
You know the quiet won’t last long.
“I can feel you staring. You’d suck as a spy,” you say, grudgingly opening one eye to see Javadi leaning on the fridge door.
She shakes her head — half disapproval, half concern. “You know, each time I see you here, I’m not sure if you’re asleep or dead.”
“And they let you talk to suicidal people like that? Maybe I plan on walking out of the nearest window.”
“You won’t make it that far,” she chuckles and hands it to you — her peace offering: a frozen Butter Pecan Swirl, topped with whipped cream and sprinkled with crushed nuts. It’s like an orgasm in a cup (a huge one), which you are happy to accept.
Javadi sits right next to you, concern still very present in her deer-like dark eyes. “I think even the patients on a psych hold look better than you do.”
“Wow, that comparison really cheered me up. You should be thankful, by the way,” you’re savouring the icy, jarringly sweet drink. “If I didn’t look like death, you’d still be dreaming about getting into surgical residency. My eyebags changed the course of your life. You’re welcome.”
laura really does need to chill, this is too good
Jacks kids flinching when he come near them. Everyone in the Pitt witnesses this happen more then once so it can’t be a coincidence. Finally robby consults him like. “Dude. Why do your kids flinch when you get to close.” And obviously Jack is like “WHAT?!?!” And so he goes over to his oldest daughter, stands right I front of her and she flinches. Bringing up her hands close to her body as if ready for impact. Jack is SHOCKED, and sad. And confused. So with a heavy heart he asked “why did you do that 🥺” and his daughter simply states. “I thought you were going to tickle me.”
ughhh jack let me give u babies
Hey! For the 2-3 part series on other Joe characters I would absolutely love one for Gator!
Maybe when he’s blinded and how his life was after? As in he meets reader and she cares for him. I know he gets arrested in the actual series but maybe we could just miss that part out 😭 Love love your writing! <3
u + me = <3
part one 𐙚
summary ; you move into your new apartment and meet your new neighbor, he's pretty cute.
tags ; blind!gator tillman x fem!reader, grumpy x sunshine, fluff, kinda mean!gator.
word count ; 1,727
author's note ; thank you so much for your request angel! ♡ this will be a three part series!
Gator had narrowly escaped going to prison after he agreed to testify against his father. He sat at the witness stand, newly blind, still in pain, and vulnerable, but he did it.
A condition for his plea deal was that once the trial was over, he had to move away from Fargo, and was never allowed to work in law enforcement again. That was fine with him, he didn't plan on working anywhere.
He had lived in Bowman, North Dakota for around two years now, just getting on with life and attempting to adapt to his new disability, but that proven difficult through his stubbornness, although he managed.
Bowman was on the complete opposite side of the state, far enough away that nobody here knew about his history, and nobody feared the Tillman name. He was just another guy, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't prefer it that way. Power was no good when he had nothing left.
gator 🤤
𝐇𝐈𝐌 + 𝐌𝐄 = <𝟑 𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞. ★ steve harrington.
notes: i kinda want this to be a little mini series bc i really enjoyed writing this and i hope you guys like this as much as i do 🥹 if you think this is based off of olivia rodrigo you'd be correct lol.
includes: diary entries, henderson! reader, best friend! steve, flirting, no use of y/n but reader' in the diary endings. i think that's it? Imk if i missed anything! this is semi-proofread i kinda gave up so there will probably be some spelling errors. sorry 😭
requests are open! && my masterlist!
3rd/1984/ june
"dear diary, i'm so in love.
i think that he's killer, with his floppy hair. he was at the house for dinner, well dustin and i’s for dinner. he's so sweet, he complimented my hair and i'm pretty sure he was staring at my lips! i'm hoping that him and i hang out soon without dustin this time.
— reader xoxo"
ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃—
it was an easy summers night. everyone had plans to do something to do for indianas hottest day of summer. the wheelers were having a family barbecue dinner, the byers obviously in california and max spending her evening at the sanclair house.
you and dustin however did nothing that night. dustin was complaining about how eddie was too busy with chrissy and how he had nobody to play dnd with. you tried to comfort him but you couldn’t bring yourself to play that nerdy ass game.
it’s around 6pm now, the background noise of the tv filled the room and steve harrington is sitting across dustin on the kitchen table. dustin was talking about some dumb event he did with eddie during some dnd game but in all honesty you weren’t listening to half of it—because he was there.
steve was sat at the table, nodding mindlessly at his words but his mind was clearly somewhere else—someone else.
the three of you ended up eating leftovers and told dustin stories about each others high school days.
“i mean—no, i told robin she sings terribly! there’s no way you’re falling for it too” steve laughs wholeheartedly, shaking his head slightly. “tammy thompson, what? didn’t she sing in the basketball court once or something?” dustin replied, grinning stupidly at the stories that you and steve told. “yeah and didn’t she sing like a total muppet?” steve continued.
“—she’s not a muppet steve! let tammy live her dreams to become a singer or whatever” you scoffed. “ahh but that’s what robin said before she heard her sing again and she finally agreed, you’ll come around soon enough” steve said with a wink and you could feel your stomach twist stupidly at it. dustin thankfully didn’t notice but still, you felt your cheeks turn into a tinted pink
10th/1984/june
“dear diary,
steve asked me to go out today! we didn’t do much but he picked me up around at 3pm and we drove around in his car. his car smelt like his cologne and pine air freshener, but steve? he always smells good. he also bought me food even though i insisted that i could pay for myself which i thought was really cute of him
his jacket is currently hung over my chair. i can’t wait to go out with him again soon.
other than that, i’ll write soon!
— reader”
ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃—
the warm sun flooded your sitting room through the windows with a bright yellow tint as you read through your magazine aimlessly. dustin was still in school and your mom went out for grocery shopping since the fridge was low on snacks.
the shrill ring of the telephone startled you from your thoughts.
you frowned, tossing the magazine onto the coffee table before reaching for the receiver. "hello?"
"hey."
you immediately recognised the voice, your stomach flipped. "steve?"
"last time i checked."
you rolled your eyes despite the smile creeping onto your face. "what do you want, harrington?"
"wow. no 'hi steve, how are you steve, thanks for calling steve'?"
"you called me."
"fair point."
you could practically hear his grin through the phone.
there was a brief pause.
"you busy?"
you glanced around the empty house. "eh not really."
"good."
"good?"
"be ready in twenty minutes." your eyebrows shot up. "what?"
"twenty minutes."
"steve—"
but the line had already gone dead.
you stared at the receiver.
"...idiot."
still, you found yourself rushing upstairs.
twenty-three minutes later, a familiar BMW pulled into your driveway. you were waiting by the front door before he'd even knocked.
steve stepped out of the driver's seat wearing a faded navy polo and a pair of sunglasses perched on top of his head.
he looked unfairly good.
"you're late."
he glanced at his watch. "by three minutes."
"that's late."
"you're impossible."
"and yet you keep showing up." that earned a laugh from him.
god, you love that laugh.
steve opened the passenger door for you with an exaggerated bow. you climbed in with a roll of your eyes before he could make another stupid comment.
the car smelled exactly like him.
cologne.
pine air freshener.
and something distinctly steve that you couldn't quite explain.
you secretly loved it.
"so where are we going?" you asked once he'd pulled away from the house and steve shrugged. "nowhere."
"nowhere?"
"yeah."
"you dragged me out here for…nowhere?" you asked with a slight tilt of your head.
"pretty much."
you laughed despite yourself.
the roads of hawkins stretched endlessly ahead as the radio played softly through the speakers.
surprisingly, the silence wasn't awkward.
it never really was with steve.
you spent most of the drive talking about random things. work, robin, dustin.
the awful films playing at the cinema.
why pineapple absolutely did not belong on pizza.
steve argued the opposite purely to annoy you.
"you're actually insane." you laughed, wiping a tear from your eye.
"i'm a visionary."
"you're a menace."
"same thing."
he grinned when you laughed.
the first stop was a small gas station just outside town. before you could even reach for your purse, steve was already handing over money.
"steve."
"what?"
"i can pay." you insisted.
"nope." he shook his head stubbornly.
"i literally have money."
"and i literally got here first."
you narrowed your eyes. he only smiled wider.
a few minutes later you walked out carrying a cold fizzy drink and a packet of sweets while steve carried absolutely nothing.
"you bought me all this and got yourself nothing?"
"i wasn't hungry."
"you’re such a liar." you teased.
"okay, maybe i stole a few chips from robin before i left." he admits.
"that explains everything."
the afternoon melted away after that.
more driving, more pointless conversations, another stop for snacks, another argument about music.
at one point steve started singing along dramatically to a song on the radio just to make you laugh.
and it worked.
every single time.
the further you drove from town, the quieter everything seemed to become. the roads were almost empty, stretching out beneath the evening sun whilst fields of green rolled endlessly beyond the windows. the radio hummed softly in the background, some song you'd heard a hundred times before but couldn't quite focus on.
not when steve was sitting less than two feet away from you.
one of his hands rested loosely against the steering wheel whilst the other hung out of the open window. warm summer air drifted through the car, pushing strands of hair across his forehead every now and then. he didn't seem to notice.
you did.
unfortunately.
you noticed far too much when it came to steve harrington.
the way he smiled at his own jokes before he'd even finished telling them. the way he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel whenever a song he liked came on. the way he always looked over at you when he said something funny, as though your reaction mattered more than the joke itself.
you were so distracted by the thought that you didn't realise you'd been staring until steve glanced away from the road.
his eyes met yours for half a second.
then one.
then two.
his mouth twitched.
"what?"
heat immediately rushed to your face. "nothing."
"right."
you looked away first.
steve's grin only widened.
he didn't say anything else about it, but you could practically feel his amusement from the driver's seat.
which somehow made it worse.
somewhere beneath all the teasing and laughter, something softer settled between you.
neither of you mentioned it.
neither of you called this a date.
but when steve dropped you home later that evening, neither of you seemed particularly eager for the day to end.
"thanks for today," you said softly with a small warning smile. he leaned against the driver's door. "yeah?"
"yeah."
steve smiled, the genuine kind. not the cocky one.
the one that always made your chest ache. "always, anytime."
and with that, you parted ways, opening the front door while feeling steve’s eyes stare at the back of your head, waiting until you actually got inside your house before driving off.
so cute!
The Case of The Annoying Attending!
sub!Jack Abbot x dom!fem!reader
Synopsis: Everyone loves Dr. Jack Abbot. Even certified hater Trinity Santos. So why does he grind your gears so much? It’s almost as if he does it on purpose.
CW: NO SMUT, 18+, sub! Jack Abbot, emotionally constipated Jack Abbot, Jack is a sad, old man.
Word count: 1527
Masterlist
You were confused.
Utterly confused.
Why did the night-shift attending physician, Jack Abbot, go out of his way to piss you off?
I mean, you didn’t even work night-shift. You only saw him during hand-offs or on the odd chance that he shows up during your shift– and in those small moments he managed to ruin your entire day.
The first incident was during a normal shift. It was September, the weather was pleasant. You only had one patient, and it was just a little kid with a curiously runny nose. It was the perfect day.
Your fellow residents were chatting amongst themselves. Santos was talking about some new show she started watching, telling Whitaker every detail as if he couldn’t hear her TV through the thin walls of their apartment. You laughed as Dennis rolled his eyes, muttering a sarcastic “oh my god” as Trinity explained the play twist of the show for the third time that day.
Victoria was secretly scrolling on her phone, but her somehow loud contained laugh gave her away. But it was such a good day, so even a grump like Robby didn’t care. That was until a gruff yet whiny voice broke the calm.
“Why is no one working?” said the voice.
Everyone flinched, even Robby, pretending to work. You looked over just to see a silver-haired man. You recognized him as a night-shift attending, whom Robby talked so highly of. Being a fairly new addition to the team, you decided to introduce yourself.
You walked over to him, hand already extending, when he looked at you. Up and down, then up and down again.
“Hello, my name is-“ you cut yourself off when he walked past you.
Just like that, he ignored you like you weren’t there, like you were a particle of dust. You scoff, rude. You brush it off, literally. You take your hand and wipe it on your scrubs.
You write down a mental note– the short, old doctor is a dick. DO NOT ENGAGE!
Of course your plans are foiled as the weeks pass. You almost forgot about it, even tried to compartmentalize your non-interaction with him. Your disdain for him started to grow as he made little, snide comments under his breath whenever he saw you work.
“That’s wrong.”
“Why would she do it like that? It’s so much easier this way.”
“Hah! Is that the new way they teach that at medical school?”
God, what’s his problem?, you think every single time he makes a comment.
Now that you think about it, you don’t remember a single time he’s been nice to you. Cordial? sure, polite? only around other people.
But there was something about him that made you want to kiss him punch him. Maybe it was his pathetic puppy dog face, or the way he sort of waddles when he walks… and this is something you would only confess to Victoria while several-beers-in-drunk– he was kind of cute.
But that didn’t negate the fact that you loathed his attitude. He was so nice to everyone else– he would clap Dennis’ back when he completed a simple procedure, call Trinity a badass when she did something against the rules, he would even like Victoria’s “Dr. J” posts (they would also send each other tiktoks, and they were kind of funny.)
Why did he have to be so… bratty! around you. His behavior around other residents, attendings, patients— hell, even the asshole patients, made you jealous. It made you want to scream in his face. Like totally get up in his face, yell at him. And you knew that he could tell how mad he made you.
So you decided to do just that. By some miracle, you and Abbot ended up working during the same day-shift. Why was he working day-shift? You didn’t know nor care. The shift went without a hitch, well– outside of Abbot’s sarcastic comments.
At exactly 9:00 pm, you start looking around for Abbot. Mind set on unleashing your grievances. You find him by the ambulance bay, just standing… looking for something, or maybe avoiding something. You beeline to him, already gearing up to tear him a new one.
“Abbot!” your voice carries. No one looks over, they don’t even bat an eye. Fights between you and Abbot are common.
He turns around slowly, face neutral– but there is something in his eyes that looks different. Something vulnerable. He waits for you to reach him, his arms going from stagnant at his side to crossed over his chest.
“What is it?” he inquired, his brows furrowing.
You don't reply, you grab his arm and steer him– he resists for a second, then follows you into an empty on-call room. The whole way there Abbot is sputtering, looking around to see if someone was looking or if someone would save him. You use all your might to drag him past the door threshold. Once inside and with the door closed, you just stare at each other, heavy breaths mixing.
“What is your problem?!” you both say at the same time. That makes you send each other incredulous looks.
“My problem?” you say in sync, again. It would’ve been funny if you weren’t so fed up.
“You’ve been impossible with me since day one,” you start, quieter now.
He continued to just look at you– his hands fidgeting, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. You raise your eyebrows, an expecting look flooding your features. Was he really not going to explain himself?
“I have not– okay, I have not been that bad,” he defends, his hands settling in his pockets.
Abbot looks at your blank expression.
Then at the floor.
“Okay, fine… maybe I have,” he concedes.
You give a dry laugh.
“Why? What did I do to you?” you ask, your tone unnaturally desperate.
“Nothing,” he says too quickly.
“Then why do you act like I’ve done something wrong?”
Abbot’s face falls.
His expression softens in a way that doesn’t match the way he’s treated you.
“Goddamn Robby…” he mutters.
Robby?
“I’m going to be uncharacteristically honest right now,” Abbot warns. “When you started working here, Robby told me about you.”
He stepped closer to you.
“He told me to stay away from you,” he says.
You don’t respond.
He exhales, frustrated.
“Because I wouldn’t be able to,” he adds, quieter.
Abbot stands there, close to you. So close you can feel his warmth, his gaze vulnerable.
Your mind trying to wrap itself around what he just said. He said it in the worst way possible, but you understood.
Jack Abbot has a crush on you.
You laugh, a full belly laugh. You watch as his brows furrow and as he tries to take a step back.
“So that’s it?” you say. “You’ve been acting like this because you like me? You’re literally pulling pigtails like a kid with a crush.”
He lets out a sheepish laugh.
“Now that you put it like that…”
You step into his personal space.
“Is that why you’ve been such a brat?” you say. “Did you want me to make the first move?”
He hesitates. Then, barely nods.
That’s all the permission you need.
You step closer, close enough that he doesn’t move away this time. Your thumbs brush just beneath his cheekbones, and he goes still.
“You could’ve just avoided me,” you say.
“I tried.”
“Clearly,” you roll your eyes.
He exhales, shaking his head. “You don’t make it easy to ignore you.”
“Then stop trying to,” you say.
He looks at you like that’s the worst possible idea.
“That’s exactly what I shouldn’t do.”
“And yet,” you step impossibly closer, “you’re still here.”
Abbot’s breath catches.
“If we do this,” he says quietly, “it won’t be simple.”
“It was never simple,” you reply.
He looks at the floor, you follow his gaze.
“Stop fighting it.”
He looks back up at you and it’s as if all of his resolve fades.
“Can I kiss you? Please?” he asks.
You pretend to think it over, the slight power going to your head.
“Beg–” you start.
“Please, please can I kiss you? Please?” he whines. As if on instinct, Abbot goes to kneel on the floor.
“Wait, Abbot. Your prosthetic–”
Frozen mid way down, he says, “Call me Jack, please.”
You stall for a moment, calling him Jack felt… intimate.
“... Jack, I don’t want you to hurt yourself. Do not get on the floor.”
Jack springs up, his eyes wide and bright, awaiting your next command.
“You like this, don’t you?” you smirk, hand coming back up to his face, over his cheek. “Do you want me to tell you what to do?”
He nods wordlessly, his resolve completely broken.
You think for a second, all of the possible outcomes swarming through your head. Do you make him suffer? Leave him here and go home? Maybe you should tell him to leave you alone during work?
The way he is looking at you gives you no other choice than to–
“You are going to drive us to your house. Once we are there, I’ll decide what to do with you.”
Author’s note: i’ve come to realize i CANNOT write smut, but i could try if you guys like this. this literally came to me in a dream.
hiii i love your work so much you're amazing and dunk is so pookie i lob himm 😭😭😭
what if his gf is a highborn and absolutely head over heels for him like always complimenting him and making him flustered never caring what the people say about them and stuff then one day she says fuck it and decides to propose to him?? hehe that's it feel free to ignore this if it's not your cup of tea hope you're doing great byeee 👋😚
Head Over Heels
synopsis; you love dunk without restraint, and he fears what will become of you both. genre; fluff/minimal angst pairing; ser duncan the tall/highborn!reader warnings; vomiting. a/n; dunk is pookie-butt i agree i agree. i hope this scratches ur brain anon! thank yooooou please enjoy <3
work count; 1.3k(? to be determined)
“Leaving so soon?”
Dunk reeled around, your voice a silk touch against his ears even if you stood a distance away. He was saddling Thunder, his mind unable to quiet itself for even a moment. A ride outside the city walls would surely calm him and his racing heart, but with you standing so near, he knew there was no remedy for his restless body.
“I’m—I’m taking Thunder out for a ride,” he stammered, eyes darting between you and the ground. He felt the heat on his chest, and it crept fast up. “He gets restless being stowed away in the stables, m’lady.”
“He,” you took a step forward with your hands behind your back, watching Dunk stiffen before he realized it himself. “Is restless?”
“Aye.”
“And he said this himself?” Another step.
Dunk caught himself before he repeated the same response. Now the heat had taken his ears, and he settled his sweaty palm on the hilt of his sword.
You were more than halfway to him.
“Thunder…Thunder cannot speak, m’lady—"
“Oh?”
He lifted his head, his gaze settling onto you once you stood close enough to touch. Dunk wouldn’t even have to straighten his elbow to feel the skin on your cheek against his rough fingertips or take your delicate palm into his massive paw of his hand.
“Certainly he told you to run from me,” your voice grew softer. “Otherwise, you would’ve stayed where I asked you to.”
“M’lady,” he began, his grip tightening on his weapon. “The guards were switching around for the evening. If…if any of them saw…”
“What does it matter?” You questioned, brows creasing as if he had spoken harshly. As if he wanted nothing to do with you. And that was a nasty thought, a wicked thing to assume, for all he wanted was to be by your side.
“You are my love. I don’t care for what the court says. I don’t care for what anyone says—“
“You should,” he said before he could catch himself. Dunk bowed his head, the shame of speaking over you overtaking. “I…I only wish to protect you.”
“Well, I’d rather not worry so much over appearances. It gets tiring.”
“It’s necessary. If anyone saw us—if anyone had a passing thought,” the words soon died at the tip of his tongue the moment your hands caressed his skin. His cheeks were burning to the touch, and the sweat that shone upon his brow made him look as polished as a ruby.
You smiled at him, finding his flustered and concerned state very endearing. “I find it to be a necessary risk.”
Dunk swallowed, his tongue feeling too heavy. “I refuse to jeopardize you."
"I refuse to let you hide," you were bold and twice as quick. "That is your solution, isn't it? Hide in the hedges until you become one yourself."
You're mocking me, he wanted to say. Yet it was true, and he didn't have the heart to admit to it. He would rather keep himself at a distance just to preserve your honor.
"Now you're staring." You sighed, making him finally blink out of his head. "Would it ease your mind if we went to the hayloft? I would cover your head with my hands, if that meant shielding you from the ceiling."
But before he could sputter half a sentence, you pulled him down. He submitted far too easily to your kiss, his hands catching your hips before he toppled over you. Dunk was solid like stone, yet under your grasp, he was as clumsy as a foal.
Briefly, the world crumbled to just the two of you. Dunk hummed against you, his arms slipping around you to pull you closer. Your body pressed into his and for a moment, he was without worry.
Then the sound of hooves ripped him from your warmth, and he reeled back. He moved to Thunder, leaving you in his absence.
"Duncan," you pleaded as another came into the stables. The man never looked your way, more focused on getting the palfrey in an empty pen.
"I'll be back before sundown." Dunk vowed, yet he refused to look your way. Thunder had the bravery to spare a glance before he was steered. Dunk's cloak brushed past you as the pair left, and although you kept your head down, he only then turned to look back.
A day had gone by without word from you.
Dunk knew he’d done wrong when he left you behind. In the moment, it felt like the right thing to do, or else he would’ve gotten reckless. He acted the fool in the attempt to save his dignity, and he was now finding himself restless again.
“M’lady?” He spoke into the dark oak of your door. It was late, and he worried you had already retreated to bed. His gut wouldn't allow him to leave, not unless he spoke to you.
Hesitant, he lifted his knuckles to knock. "Do I disturb you, m'lady? I don't wish to, I know it's far too late to ask for your presence...but I cannot leave here without seeing you. It was ill-mannered to leave you in the stables. You were right, as you are, about me running. I'm—“
Dunk found himself with a jaw made of steel. He fought with himself to utter the word, to confess his fright. It was one thing to act upon it and another to say aloud.
Declaration has never been his strong suit.
"I'm afraid," he breathed, "I'm afraid of what will happen if others discover us. I'm...I'm afraid of you, because you love without fear for your status and mine. An accusation would tarnish your name, but you don’t care for it, do you? You…you’d rather present yourself at my side than leave me to the shadows.”
Dunk waited. He waited for the rustle of fabric, for footsteps that drew closer from the other side.
Your bedchambers were a void.
"I'd rather we both hide in the shadows." Your voice made him jump; his heart nearly gave out as he spun to see you standing there with your head servant at your side. She held a plate of honeyed treats, most likely taken from the lower kitchens.
She, too, looked embarrassed.
"Go on and set this at the window, please?" You asked of her, and she nodded in firm obedience. Dunk stepped to the side to let her through, his eyes wide as the servant shuffled into your bedchambers and closed the door quickly.
Dunk was at a loss. He'd poured his heart rather foolishly to your door, unknowing how long you'd stood some feet away at his back. And the servant girl—good Gods, he'd be lucky if any staff looked at him and didn't laugh.
"I, ah...I know it's late, m'lady—"
"I heard you," you rushed over, hands coming to take his before he tried to string together every proclamation he spewed at your door. The thought was sweet, though, and it made you smile. "I heard you, Duncan."
"All of it?"
"I believe so."
Dunk swallowed, "that's...that's good."
"Yes," you laughed, uncaring for how clammy his palms became in yours. "It is good."
You reached higher, your trembling fingers tucking the loose hair back behind his ears. Least make him presentable for this, or else you'd lose all composure and drag him to your bed. If you didn't touch him or fix something, it would take the entire realm to pull him from your grasp.
"Let's," you shuddered, a pulsating nerve threatening to silence you. Your voice lowered to a whisper, "let's go together."
Dunk blinked, the notion not yet forming fully in his head. "What...what, m'lady?"
"I wish to be husband and wife."
A sudden wave of nausea washed over Dunk.
"You are right," you continued as he paled. "I don't care what happens to my name. It means nothing if I cannot have you."
Your fingertips grazed over his cheek, and you finally saw the sweat upon his brow. But that was normal, just as the heat of his reddened skin and the dampness of his hands.
The look on his face is what made your head tilt.
"Duncan?"
Dunk flew from your hold, rushing into the door opposite of yours. You followed him as he frantically stumbled to an empty bucket in the bathing chambers and retched. It was an unkindly sight, an even more unkindly smell, but you fell to your knees and kept yourself rooted to his side. He felt your hand upon his back, rubbing between his shoulders while his gut cramped.
"Oh, Duncan," you sighed, "does the thought truly repulse you?"
No! He wanted to shout, yet he couldn't get a hold of himself. Only a groan passed from his lips, and by the grace of the Seven, he was able to find control again. He pulled away from the bucket, the back of his hand dragging across his lips to poorly clean the mess. You reached out to the stone tub, taking a folded towel to aid him in his time of need.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, guiding his head to face you. "I won't bring it up again."
"No," he rasped. " No, m'lady, I—I didn't know...I'm not one to respond properly, I suppose..."
Dunk took the towel from your grasp, finishing off under your gaze.
"...I'm sorry," he managed, still in discomfort of his stomach's twists and turns.
"I've been too bold."
"No," Dunk swore. He dropped the towel to take your hands, and despite the risk that a servant might enter or a guard could check the room for your safety, he held on tight.
"You are just as you ought to be. It's me, m'lady...what sort of man vomits after a proposal—?"
"A sort of man I want."
"That is—not the point," he sputtered.
"It's mine." You shifted closer. "I want you to be mine. If I must reside in the hedges for the rest of my life, I will gladly do so. Don't you see?"
Dunk's eyes couldn't be any wider. He felt lightheaded, and he had half a mind to quiet you.
“It’s a lot to take in,” he admitted. “How would we…? What you ask is not easy to answer…”
Against the odds, you simply smiled.
“It’s the first thing we’ll figure out, my love. Together.”
“Together.” Dunk vowed, testing it for himself. As you stood, he followed. No matter the dangers; wherever you might go, he would always be right at your side.
oh duncan, how i love you
pls try with the smut, no one is writing sub jack abbot these days 😔
i will try my hardest, i just feel sooo silly writing it 😭
The Case of The Annoying Attending!
sub!Jack Abbot x dom!fem!reader
Synopsis: Everyone loves Dr. Jack Abbot. Even certified hater Trinity Santos. So why does he grind your gears so much? It’s almost as if he does it on purpose.
CW: NO SMUT, 18+, sub! Jack Abbot, emotionally constipated Jack Abbot, Jack is a sad, old man.
Word count: 1527
Masterlist part 2
You were confused.
Utterly confused.
Why did the night-shift attending physician, Jack Abbot, go out of his way to piss you off?
I mean, you didn’t even work night-shift. You only saw him during hand-offs or on the odd chance that he shows up during your shift– and in those small moments he managed to ruin your entire day.
The first incident was during a normal shift. It was September, the weather was pleasant. You only had one patient, and it was just a little kid with a curiously runny nose. It was the perfect day.
Your fellow residents were chatting amongst themselves. Santos was talking about some new show she started watching, telling Whitaker every detail as if he couldn’t hear her TV through the thin walls of their apartment. You laughed as Dennis rolled his eyes, muttering a sarcastic “oh my god” as Trinity explained the play twist of the show for the third time that day.
Victoria was secretly scrolling on her phone, but her somehow loud contained laugh gave her away. But it was such a good day, so even a grump like Robby didn’t care. That was until a gruff yet whiny voice broke the calm.
“Why is no one working?” said the voice.
Everyone flinched, even Robby, pretending to work. You looked over just to see a silver-haired man. You recognized him as a night-shift attending, whom Robby talked so highly of. Being a fairly new addition to the team, you decided to introduce yourself.
You walked over to him, hand already extending, when he looked at you. Up and down, then up and down again.
“Hello, my name is-“ you cut yourself off when he walked past you.
Just like that, he ignored you like you weren’t there, like you were a particle of dust. You scoff, rude. You brush it off, literally. You take your hand and wipe it on your scrubs.
You write down a mental note– the short, old doctor is a dick. DO NOT ENGAGE!
Of course your plans are foiled as the weeks pass. You almost forgot about it, even tried to compartmentalize your non-interaction with him. Your disdain for him started to grow as he made little, snide comments under his breath whenever he saw you work.
“That’s wrong.”
“Why would she do it like that? It’s so much easier this way.”
“Hah! Is that the new way they teach that at medical school?”
God, what’s his problem?, you think every single time he makes a comment.
Now that you think about it, you don’t remember a single time he’s been nice to you. Cordial? sure, polite? only around other people.
But there was something about him that made you want to kiss him punch him. Maybe it was his pathetic puppy dog face, or the way he sort of waddles when he walks… and this is something you would only confess to Victoria while several-beers-in-drunk– he was kind of cute.
But that didn’t negate the fact that you loathed his attitude. He was so nice to everyone else– he would clap Dennis’ back when he completed a simple procedure, call Trinity a badass when she did something against the rules, he would even like Victoria’s “Dr. J” posts (they would also send each other tiktoks, and they were kind of funny.)
Why did he have to be so… bratty! around you. His behavior around other residents, attendings, patients— hell, even the asshole patients, made you jealous. It made you want to scream in his face. Like totally get up in his face, yell at him. And you knew that he could tell how mad he made you.
So you decided to do just that. By some miracle, you and Abbot ended up working during the same day-shift. Why was he working day-shift? You didn’t know nor care. The shift went without a hitch, well– outside of Abbot’s sarcastic comments.
At exactly 9:00 pm, you start looking around for Abbot. Mind set on unleashing your grievances. You find him by the ambulance bay, just standing… looking for something, or maybe avoiding something. You beeline to him, already gearing up to tear him a new one.
“Abbot!” your voice carries. No one looks over, they don’t even bat an eye. Fights between you and Abbot are common.
He turns around slowly, face neutral– but there is something in his eyes that looks different. Something vulnerable. He waits for you to reach him, his arms going from stagnant at his side to crossed over his chest.
“What is it?” he inquired, his brows furrowing.
You don't reply, you grab his arm and steer him– he resists for a second, then follows you into an empty on-call room. The whole way there Abbot is sputtering, looking around to see if someone was looking or if someone would save him. You use all your might to drag him past the door threshold. Once inside and with the door closed, you just stare at each other, heavy breaths mixing.
“What is your problem?!” you both say at the same time. That makes you send each other incredulous looks.
“My problem?” you say in sync, again. It would’ve been funny if you weren’t so fed up.
“You’ve been impossible with me since day one,” you start, quieter now.
He continued to just look at you– his hands fidgeting, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. You raise your eyebrows, an expecting look flooding your features. Was he really not going to explain himself?
“I have not– okay, I have not been that bad,” he defends, his hands settling in his pockets.
Abbot looks at your blank expression.
Then at the floor.
“Okay, fine… maybe I have,” he concedes.
You give a dry laugh.
“Why? What did I do to you?” you ask, your tone unnaturally desperate.
“Nothing,” he says too quickly.
“Then why do you act like I’ve done something wrong?”
Abbot’s face falls.
His expression softens in a way that doesn’t match the way he’s treated you.
“Goddamn Robby…” he mutters.
Robby?
“I’m going to be uncharacteristically honest right now,” Abbot warns. “When you started working here, Robby told me about you.”
He stepped closer to you.
“He told me to stay away from you,” he says.
You don’t respond.
He exhales, frustrated.
“Because I wouldn’t be able to,” he adds, quieter.
Abbot stands there, close to you. So close you can feel his warmth, his gaze vulnerable.
Your mind trying to wrap itself around what he just said. He said it in the worst way possible, but you understood.
Jack Abbot has a crush on you.
You laugh, a full belly laugh. You watch as his brows furrow and as he tries to take a step back.
“So that’s it?” you say. “You’ve been acting like this because you like me? You’re literally pulling pigtails like a kid with a crush.”
He lets out a sheepish laugh.
“Now that you put it like that…”
You step into his personal space.
“Is that why you’ve been such a brat?” you say. “Did you want me to make the first move?”
He hesitates. Then, barely nods.
That’s all the permission you need.
You step closer, close enough that he doesn’t move away this time. Your thumbs brush just beneath his cheekbones, and he goes still.
“You could’ve just avoided me,” you say.
“I tried.”
“Clearly,” you roll your eyes.
He exhales, shaking his head. “You don’t make it easy to ignore you.”
“Then stop trying to,” you say.
He looks at you like that’s the worst possible idea.
“That’s exactly what I shouldn’t do.”
“And yet,” you step impossibly closer, “you’re still here.”
Abbot’s breath catches.
“If we do this,” he says quietly, “it won’t be simple.”
“It was never simple,” you reply.
He looks at the floor, you follow his gaze.
“Stop fighting it.”
He looks back up at you and it’s as if all of his resolve fades.
“Can I kiss you? Please?” he asks.
You pretend to think it over, the slight power going to your head.
“Beg–” you start.
“Please, please can I kiss you? Please?” he whines. As if on instinct, Abbot goes to kneel on the floor.
“Wait, Abbot. Your prosthetic–”
Frozen mid way down, he says, “Call me Jack, please.”
You stall for a moment, calling him Jack felt… intimate.
“... Jack, I don’t want you to hurt yourself. Do not get on the floor.”
Jack springs up, his eyes wide and bright, awaiting your next command.
“You like this, don’t you?” you smirk, hand coming back up to his face, over his cheek. “Do you want me to tell you what to do?”
He nods wordlessly, his resolve completely broken.
You think for a second, all of the possible outcomes swarming through your head. Do you make him suffer? Leave him here and go home? Maybe you should tell him to leave you alone during work?
The way he is looking at you gives you no other choice than to–
“You are going to drive us to your house. Once we are there, I’ll decide what to do with you.”
Author’s note: i’ve come to realize i CANNOT write smut, but i could try if you guys like this. this literally came to me in a dream.
summary: Connor transforming into a clown for Halloween!
warnings: MDNI! dry humping. tickling. but fluff for the most part except the end. reader(afab) and Connor are in an established relationship.
word count: 2.5k
a/n: does Connor Murphy still have an audience... idk why but he would look so good in clown face paint that's for sure! ref photo for his look is the one in the center! I aged him up so he's 18! (and alive)
You begged and begged and begggggeddd your boyfriend to let you do his makeup for Halloween. You'd been scrolling on TikTok when a video of a guy in like clown face paint showed up on your screen, and immediately you forwarded it to Connor telling him how good he'd look in it. Of course, Connor thinks otherwise - that it's just going to get him ridiculed further, but you reassured him, no one would even know it's him - but really, how many people in your school are that tall, have long hair, and black nails? And really, who else would be willing to let their girlfriend paint their face as a clown? Ok, maybe there is like, a handful, but point is! it's a very small handful.
Either way, Connor relented. Not like he had a choice, you'd probably do it while he was asleep - like, climb in through his window in the middle of the night, and he'd wake up the next day wondering why when he rubbed his eyes his fingers were black.
So now, you're sitting in his lap while he sits on your chair in front of your vanity table, having tied his hair back into a bun - you always thought he looked best this way. He's looking over your shoulder watching in the mirror as his face becomes painted white and slowly, black. But he can't even really look at you either, cause the only times you guys have ever been this close is during the few times you guys had sex, with his forehead pressed to yours when things got too intense, and even then he couldn't keep his eyes open and he never lasted long enough for it to count. He'd always get a little shy when you looked at him for too long, he was worried you'd be able to see everything that he hated about himself.
His hands are becoming sweaty where they're holding your hips, because he's too nervous to move them, and he keeps chewing on his lip, eyes darting away as you paint his face. So he's really grateful when you start to work on his eyes, closing his eyes to let you paint them black.
As he opens his eyes again, he finds the mirror to see that they're blackened, with little slits going through the center. You move onto his lips, and he has to resist the urge to lick them with every stroke of your brush, little shivers going through him as he finally musters the courage to just steal a glance at your concentrated face. He thinks you look gorgeous like this, when you're so focused on something, your brows furrowing and your mouth slightly parted like it helps. He can feel the weight of you on his lap, and your heat radiating through the fabric, and that's part of the reason why he's nervous, cause he doesn't want to throw you off, cause he's getting hard from you barely even doing anything. You're so focused, you barely even notice.
“Ok… and… done,” you say as you lean back to admire your masterpiece, and you can't help but smile a little - fuck, he looks good. Even hotter with the expression he's wearing, like he's trying to decide if your reaction means you like it or if you think it's ugly. “Do you like it…?”
You huff out a laugh, “Do I like it? Connor, I love it, wow, you really should let me do your makeup more,”
He laughs under his breath, relieved that you like it, he thinks he looks ok, not as good as the guy in the picture you took inspiration from (and not because of your skills). He has to resist the urge to chew on his lip again, “Do I have to wear the costume too?” he asks.
“Duh, of course! it's part of the look, you're supposed to be a clown dummy,” you laugh, as you turn around to put the brushes and face paint down on your table. His grip tightens momentarily on your hips like he's jolted by the sudden movement against his, uh… yeah.
You get off his lap, going to retrieve the parcel of the costume you ordered online. He's relieved but also kind of disappointed. He takes that moment when your back is turned to him to quickly grab one of your fluffy pillows off your bed, placing it in his lap, totally smooth.
When you come back, you notice it, but you don't mention anything, you can't wait to see him in the full get-up! He goes to the bathroom to change, holding the costume close to him as he gets up, using it as a replacement for the pillow as he shuffles to the bathroom.
He has to take a moment to calm himself down but… after that, he's kind of lost. How is he supposed to change into the costume without damaging your hard work? He slowly cracks open the door, “Uh… I don’t- how am I supposed to do this?”
“What do you mean? you don't know how to change your clothes?” you look at him like he's grown another head.
He rolls his eyes at that - you were always a little smartass. “No, I know how to do that… but usually I'm not wearing… face paint,”
You sigh, rolling your eyes but it's all playful. you walk over to him, and he backs away from the door as you join him in the bathroom, you get sure for him to put his arms up. He does as you say, and you help him to remove his shirt, tugging on the front collar a bit so it's removed away from his face. Setting it on the counter after you're done, and you cock an eyebrow at him, “you need help removing your pants too? or do you know how to do that?”
He mutters under his breath, “I know how to do that…” he goes to remove his belt buckle, darting his eyes to you as he sees you still standing there watching him do it, “what?” it comes out a little quiet, he's wondering why you're staring at him so intently.
You shrug your shoulders, “What?”
He stares at you, even as his cheeks flush from the attention, he slides his belt out of his loop, “why are you staring at me?” He's very aware of the bulge of his jeans but he prays to god that maybe you have poor eyesight?
Yeah no, you definitely notice the bulge, so you indulge a little, “What, I can't look at my boyfriend?”
He looks at you flatly, and you chuckle - it's too much fun to annoy him, “alright, alright! I guess not then, I'll give you your space,”
He comes out of the bathroom later in his costume, shuffling out, if it weren't for the face paint, you'd probably be able to tell the way his cheeks have flushed red. He's holding the cap in his hand, “Do I really have to wear this stupid cap?”
“Yes! of course,” you place the cap on top of his head, and you're squealing, radiating off pure excitement. You take a step back to admire your work, turning him around, and he lets you, albeit reluctantly. “Wow… Connor, you look so good.” you say, almost in awe. “Shut up… you're just saying that,” he mutters, feeling shy as he looks at himself in the mirror, “I look like an idiot.” “Uh… no you don't, you look like the world's most handsomest clown!” You sling an arm around his neck, bending him down so that he can look at himself closer in the mirror. “See? look at yourself…” Honestly, you'd be lying if you said this wasn't turning you on a little. he just looks *so* good.
He pulls the cap off his head and turns his head to look at you, “are you serious? everybody's going to be laughing at me, they're going to think I'm more of a freak than I already am!” he huffs, taking his hair out of that stupid bun, and throwing the cap down on your bed, flopping down onto it. “I'm not going to the party looking like this. I'm just signing myself up for a public humiliation ritual.”
“Come on… no, you're not, nobody's even going to realize it's you!” you reassure him, sitting down beside him on the edge of the bed, facing him.
“And how do you know? Maybe I'm the only one freaky enough to do something like this. Not like I wanted to anyway, it was your idea.”
“Yeah yeah, it's my idea. but you could've said no if you didn't want to! (not really) come on… I know you secretly think you look so good like this, don't you?” you tease him, and as you see a crack in his frown, lips threatening to curl up, you double down on it. Your fingers attack his sensitive sides, and he lets out a yelp, hugging his own waist to protect himself.
You laugh as you tickle his sides still, his defenses proving useless. Soon, he's laughing, grabbing his belly as he squirms on the bed, little 'stop, stop, stop's' coming out of his mouth between giggles. He's smacking at your hands weakly, and tears are leaking out of his eyes, smudging his face paint as they drip down. That's when you finally stop, both of you breathless, but only one of you really grateful for the relieve.
"Fuck you..." he breathes out, despite the crude word he's still grinning.
"See... told you you like it, you're such a fake..." you tease him, as you inch your face closer to his, pressing a kiss to his black lips. And he chuckles seeing the imprint of black on your lips, wiping at your bottom lip with his thumb. "I don't think I can go to the party like this... my makeups all ruined... because of you," he says, smearing his black thumb across your chin.
"Well... we don't have to go... I don't really want to go anymore anyways," you say, a grin working it's way onto your lips, as your eyes flick down to his blackened lips, and they work their way around his face, all dolled up in his face paint.
"Really? I thought you were looking forward to it?" he asks, biting his lip as a chuckle escapes.
"No... not anymore. I'd rather be here right now," you whisper against his lips, before you ruin it, the black paint smearing all over your own as he kisses you back, hands running up and down your back slowly, and the white paint gets all over your palms and fingers as you cup his face.
You move to straddle his hips, and he kisses you deeper as he feels the perfect press of you against his aching cock. Hands gripping your hips like he wants you to stay here forever, you on top of him like this - your weight on top of him, enveloping him.
When you pull away breathless, he takes one look at your face and he can't help but chuckle, taking his discarded cap from earlier and using it to wipe the paint that's smeared all over your lips and cheeks, and chin. You giggle, trying to stop him, "Hey no! leave it! I like it,"
He rolls his eyes, "No you don't, you look like you just did your makeup in the dark,”
“Well, maybe I like that,” you giggle against his lips.
“Trust me, you don't. and if you do, you should get your eyes checked.”
You giggle softly, pressing another wet kiss to his lips. You grind gently against his bulge, and he lets out a soft groan, closing his eyes, a much needed relief after holding it in for so long.
“You look so good, Connor…” you whisper into his ear as you move your hips back and forth. “You really think so?” he asks, already out of breath, “Mhm… I know so. Even better than I imagined.”
“Fuck… I need you.” His hands travel up to cup your face, wanting to see it and feel it. “I love you,” he whispers, as his hands travel down, eyes searching yours as he goes to pull down your shorts, slowly and hesitant still despite having done it a few times before.
“I love you, too,” you whisper back, lifting your hips to let him slide your shorts off. He goes to zip off his own costume (it's sort of like a jumpsuit zipup? idk how clown costumes work but that's what I'm envisioning) but fumbles with it. So he waits patiently as you help him to unzip, sliding it off his shoulders, letting it fall down to his torso, and then down his thighs.
“i- I don't have a condom,” he says hesitantly, hoping that you have one in your room even though he’s the one who bought the box of condoms - you felt a little embarrassed to do it so he bit the bullet.
“Oh. I don't have one either, Connor,” you whisper.
His eyes search your face - this is an awkward situation, “We don't have to do that… we can just do this…” his hands hesitantly cup your hips, and he moves you back and forth, lifting his hips to grind into your wet heat, grunting as he does, “Does that feel good?”
You nod your head, grinding against his hips, breath catching on every stroke that rubs your clit, your underwear soaked and clinging to your cunt.
The two of you exchange breathy grunts and gasps and this continues until you grow tired, it feels the same as doing it by yourself, and looking at his face doesn't help much either, you need more. You grind down harder, abusing the perfect grind of his hardness against your button. Gasping as you do, and his hands hold you down as he grinds up into that spot, he's close, but he wants you to come before he does. Your forehead is pressed to his as he guides your hips desperately, watching your face as he pushes you closer to that edge.
“Fuck, I want you in me, Connor,” you gasp out as your hips relentlessly rut into his, and then you're coming with a gasp, eyes fluttering shut as the waves roll over you, one after the other, knocking the air out of your lungs as your hips chase every tide. Connor comes too, as he feels your pussy spasming through his boxers, groaning as he bucks his hips like he's actually coming in you, a warm wet spot spreading through his boxers.
The both of you are spent and you're definitely not going to the party anytime soon. The face paint has melted off his face, onto your sheets, your face, your hands. The soapy taste of face paint in both your mouths as you kiss again.
connor + clown
