max🧟‍♀️

only place i can be horny on main

[dilflovingmisandrist]

21 ❀ infj ❀ she/her hiii, welcome to my account!! literally just posting people i think are hot current favs: the walking dead. hannibal. the pitt. jjk. rdr2. life is strange. supernatural. er. this is my masterlist, i don't write much but if i do it can be found here!! other places u can find me: ❀ tiktok ❀ letterboxd

[beldamdoll]

Critical Attraction -

John Carter x Reader

Summary:

At County General, being a nurse is hard enough without John Carter making every shift worse. From the start, you clash. You think he’s impossible. He thinks you’re stubborn. Or that he has a smile that makes you go weak at the knees. Between late-night run-ins and long shifts, the line between rivalry and something more starts to blur.

TW - SMUT! Dom JC! Pining. Hair Pulling. Oral & Rough Sex.

Clashing with John Carter was part of your job at County General. Between patients, chasing charts, and keeping the ER from imploding, you somehow still found time to argue with him at every opportunity. 

The rivalry started the day you met. Carter walked in with the confidence of a doctor who thought he already knew everything, and you corrected him on something minor just because you could. He insisted it didn’t matter. You insisted it did. Neither of you backed down, and the chemistry was instant, for better or, more accurately, worse. 

Before long, your arguments became part of the ER routine. Carter had to have the last word. You made it your mission to make sure he didn’t get it. 

He was smug in a way that made your teeth clench. He had an answer for everything, a comeback for everything else, and a smile that suggested he knew exactly how irritating he was. He was annoyingly perfect at his job. He noticed things quickly, learned fast, and had just enough heart under all that polished confidence to make hating him properly feel impossible. The only time ever you listen to what he tells you is when you’re both in a trama room together. 

Worse, you hated the fact that his smug smile could make your knees go weak when you were trying to dislike him. 

Carter seemed just as determined to treat you like the single greatest inconvenience in his life. He complained about your attitude, your stubbornness. But he always came back. Always found a reason to stop by the desk where you were charting. Always had some little remark ready, just waiting to make you roll your eyes. 

And then there was the face you made. That tiny scrunch of your nose whenever he said something especially arrogant. Carter noticed it immediately. The first time it happened, he was halfway through correcting you when your nose wrinkled, your mouth twitched like you were trying not to laugh when a patient said something funny. Then every thought in his head simply disappeared. For a full three seconds, Dr John Carter, who usually had an answer for everything, stood there silently with a chart in his hand like he had forgotten his own name. 

Seeing the new doctor on the floor, talking to you, seeing you laugh. 

Benton glanced up from the desk, unimpressed. “Carter, are you planning on finishing that sentence?” 

Carter blinked, looked down at the chart as if it might rescue him, and cleared his throat. “Right. Yes. The labs.” 

“Did I make you stutter back there Carter? We don’t want another mishap like tasing yourself with the defibs.” 

“And says the nurse who somehow punctured a saline bag and practically baptised herself in it.” 

It would have been easier if the hospital was the only place you had to deal with him, but fate apparently had a cruel sense of humour. After twelve hours of arguing under fluorescent lights, you usually went home to the exact same apartment building he lived in. 

The first time you saw him in the lobby, both of you stopped dead. 

“You live here?” you asked, horrified. 

Carter looked just as offended. “I was about to ask you the same thing.” 

“Don’t worry. I’ll try not to lower the property value.” 

“With that attitude, I’m surprised the elevator still works.” 

You stepped inside before him and pressed your floor button with a sweet smile. “Careful, Carter. If we get stuck in here together, one of us is leaving emotionally wounded.” 

His smile was slow and unbearable. “Only one?” 

That was the problem with him. He irritated you. He challenged you. He made every shift harder than it needed to be. But sometimes he smiled at you like that, and suddenly your knees forgot their purpose. 

Carter had his own problem, though he hid it slightly better. He could handle your attitude when it was sharp. He could handle your eye rolls, your quick comebacks, your ability to challenge him in front of half the ER without blinking. But every now and then, your nose would scrunch or your mouth would twitch like you were fighting a smile, and he would lose whatever brilliant response he had been preparing. 

So you kept clashing. At work, in the lobby, by the mailboxes, in the elevator at six in the morning when neither of you had slept enough to be civil. You told yourself it was irritation. He told himself the same thing. 

Unfortunately, neither of you were very convincing liars. 

The ER is a whirlwind of noise and motion, but next to the supply cart, your world narrows to just you and the student nurse. She’s anxious, gripping the glass IV bottle too tightly. You offer a gentle smile, guiding her hands. “Relax. Support the base—yeah, like that.” 

She nods nervously, but her grip slips. The IV bottle tumbles. You move instinctively, catching it, just barely but it shatters in your palm, glass slicing deep. The pain is sharp, but you force yourself not to flinch in front of her. 

She stares at you, mortified. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, are you okay? I didn’t mean to—” 

You swallow the sting, managing a small smile. “It’s alright. Accidents happen.” You keep your voice light for her sake, though your hand is already slick with blood. 

You excuse yourself and duck into the treatment room, heading straight for the sink. Cold water stings as you rinse your hand, pink-tinged droplets swirling down the drain. You wince, shoulders tensing as a couple of tiny glass shards glint in your skin. 

You don’t hear Carter walk in, but you sense him behind you. He says your name softly, and you turn to find him watching, concern etched in every line of his face. “What happened?” 

You lift your hand, sheepish. “Student dropped a glass bottle. I tried to catch it. Guess I forgot I was human for a minute.” 

He steps closer, quietly shutting the door behind him. The ER’s chaos fades, replaced by a hush that feels fragile and private. 

“Let me see,” he says, voice gentler than you expect. You hold out your hand, and he examines it, his touch careful and warm. “Did you get any glass in there?” 

You nod. “Feels like hundreds.” 

He glances toward the window—the student nurse is still out there, fumbling, guilt written all over her face. You look back at Carter, suddenly shy. “Could you…?” 

“Of course.” He snaps on gloves, fetching the first aid kit. 

You flinch as he teases out the last shard; Carter’s hand tightens around yours, his thumb brushing your skin. “It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he says softly. His face is closer than you expected, all focus and concern. 

He finishes cleaning and bandaging your hand, but neither of you moves away. For a moment, the air between you crackles, months of irritation, banter, and everything left unsaid pressing closer and closer. 

You can’t help it. You give a shaky laugh, voice almost a whisper. “You know, I don’t actually hate you.” 

Carter looks up, eyes locked with yours—hungry, vulnerable, finally letting everything show. The silence is charged, both of you breathing a little faster. 

Without warning, you both move at once colliding in a kiss that’s fierce, desperate, and hungry, all the longing you’ve buried finally breaking free. It’s not gentle; it’s urgent, months of tension spilling over in the press of mouths and his tight grip of hands one on your hip, other on the face, falling back on the hospital bed. 

 Carter made a low sound against your mouth, like that small movement had shattered whatever restraint he had left. His hand found your waist, firm and warm, while the midly hard hosital bed pressed cold against your back. The contrast made you gasp, and he paused just long enough to make sure you weren’t pulling away. 

The kiss changed after that. It stopped being a mistake and became a confession neither of you were brave enough to say aloud. Every argument, every lingering glance, every smug smile he had ever thrown your way folded into the space between you. His mouth moved against yours with months of frustration behind it, and for once you had no clever answer. No cutting remark. No way to pretend this was just another fight you could win. 

When he finally pulled back, it was barely enough to breathe. His forehead stayed close to yours, his hand still at your waist, his breathing no steadier than your own. 

“This is a bad idea,” you whispered. 

“Very bad idea,” he murmured back, kissing into your neck. 

If anything, you pulled him closer, arms wrapping around his neck, pulling his tie off, unbuttoning his shirt. He slightly pulls you up, taking off the purple scrubs, thankfully, you decided to wear the lacey bra you bought. 

For a moment, you just laid there, sharing the same breath, pretending those words had changed anything. Then his eyes dropped to yours again, and whatever fragile attempt at common sense either of you had managed shattered instantly. 

It was better than the accidental dreams you would have of these exact situations, waking up in the middle of the night, cursing to yourself that your mind had let you had such dreams.  

His hand tightened at your waist as he met you halfway, and the sound he made was somewhere between relief and surrender. There was only the warmth of his mouth, the pressure of his body, and the dizzy certainty that you were both making a terrible decision. 

A terrible decision neither of you seemed interested in stopping. 

His fingers slid up your side, careful and deliberate, while yours stayed tangled in the front of his coat. Every time the kiss softened, every time it seemed like one of you might pull away, the other closed the distance again. You should have let go of his coat. You should have reminded him you were at work, in a treatment room, that anyone could walk into. You immediately forgot everything when you felt his knee push you up slightly in between your legs, making you gasp in surprise, tightening around him. 

Carter noticed, because of course he did, you could feel his smile. Pulling more into each other deepening the desperate feeling. Before anything else could happen, an annoying sound of a pager started going off. 

“Shit...” He stood back up, quickly buttoning up his shirt and bothering to put his tye back on. “Stay here, I’ll be back soon” 

“Oh, I am actually off in 10 minutes, forgot to tell you” 

“You’re impossible” he rolled his eyes smiling, he gave you a quick kiss moving swiftly out of the room, closing the door quickly so no one would be able to see you. 

40 minutes have passed since that heated, stolen moment behind the closed door. The ER’s chaos has ebbed into the background, and Carter is finally shrugging on his coat, ready to disappear for his two days off. He’s halfway to the exit when Haleh intercepts him at the nurse’s station. 

“Carter, your keys,” she calls, dangling them in front of him. 

He blinks, startled. “Keys?” 

Haleh smirks knowingly. “Y/L/N said you dropped them.” 

He takes the keys, confusion flickering across his face. They’re familiar, but the keychain isn’t—plain, with a number stamped on it: Apt: 104. 

Carter frowns. His apartment number is 207. 

He turns the keys over in his hand, realization dawning. They’re not his. They’re hers. 

A smile tugs at his lips, slow and secret. He knows exactly what she’s done—and what she wants. 

Pocketing the keys, Carter glances over his shoulder, already thinking about the next move, heartbeat quickening with anticipation. The game between them isn’t over. In fact, it’s only just begun. 

The key feels impossibly heavy in Carter’s hand as he stands outside your apartment, staring at the door like it might somehow answer all the questions tangled in his head. You’d handed it off earlier that day—using a nurse as the perfect cover, slipping it into his palm like it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing. It meant you trusted him with more than just a lock, and that knowledge had nearly undone him. 

He’d told himself not to overthink it. Naturally, because he’s Carter, he’s done nothing but overthink it. He could still leave, climb the stairs to his own place on the floor above, pretend he hadn’t spent every spare minute replaying the moment in the supply room, the way your smile had lingered, the silent invitation behind it. 

His fingers tighten around the key. He exhales through his nose, jaw flexing. “Fuck it,” he mutters under his breath. 

Before he can change his mind, he slides the key into the lock. The click echoes in the quiet hallway, loud enough to make his heart stutter, and for a second he stands frozen. Then he pushes the door open. 

You’re there, waiting—not startled, not confused, just waiting for him, like you knew this was exactly how the night would end. Whatever clever excuse or apology he had vanished the moment he saw you. Nerves and doubts collapse into certainty under the quiet intensity in your gaze. You knew he’d come. Maybe you had known before he did. 

The door closes behind him with a decisive sound. Neither of you flinches. He keeps his eyes on you as he crosses the room, each step heavy with everything unsaid. When he reaches you, there’s no room left for hesitation. 

His hands find your waist, pulling you in, not rough, but desperate, needing. He gives you space, just enough to pull away if you want. You don’t. Instead, your fingers clutch the front of his shirt, grounding yourself in the solid heat of him. 

That’s all it takes. 

He kisses you again, restraint left, nothing held back. It’s hungry, raw, and real. It’s the kind of kiss that says all the things he’s never managed to say and all the things you’ve both been aching to hear. 

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me?” he breathes, voice so low it vibrates against your skin. “For months, you’re all I think about.” 

Your heart stumbles. “Months?” The question comes out as a whisper. You search his face, wondering how many moments you’ve missed, how many lingering looks you’ve dismissed, how many signs slipped quietly by while neither of you was brave enough to name what was happening. 

“Every day,” Carter admits. He pulls you in again, kissing you harder, hands gripping your waist, anchoring you against him. 

You gasp into his mouth, and he breaks the kiss only to rest his forehead against yours again, his breath coming fast. “God, you have no idea,” he says, and there’s something almost vulnerable in the way he looks at you

. His hands find your waist again, and when you flinch as he touches the spot where the glass cut you earlier, he immediately softens.  

“Sorry,” he murmurs, voice thick with genuine care. He lifts your bandaged hand, kisses your knuckles, and waits for you to steady yourself. 

You relax, heart pounding, and his thumb gently strokes your cheek. “Good girl,” he whispers, and the way he says it makes your pulse trip. 

The months of tension and want come spilling out in fast, hungry kisses. You tug him closer, fingers curling in his shirt, and he laughs into your mouth, the sound vibrating between you before it dissolves into another desperate kiss. 

“God you’re beautiful” staring every inch of you before pulling into you again, kissing every inch of your neck. 

He grabbed the hem of your shirt and yanked it upward, nearly tearing it in his haste. You raised your arms, breathless, letting him pull it clean off. Before you could even catch your breath, his hands were already at your back, fumbling with your bra, tugging at the straps until they slipped away and hit the floor. 

You tore at his clothes in return, your fingers clumsy with need as you fought the buttons of his shirt, popping a few in your urgency. You shoved it off his shoulders, hardly caring where it landed, hungry for the heat of his bare chest. 

 He groaned, grabbing the waistband of your underwear and pulling hard, the seam snapping as he dragged them down your legs, tossing them aside without a second thought. 

You reached for his belt, ripping it open, yanking the zipper down. His pants dropped, and you shoved his boxers off, his hard cock springing out. both of you too far gone to be gentle. He kicked them away, your bodies finally, blissfully, bare. 

You met each other with a force that spoke of every night spent wanting, every day spent pretending. There was nothing tentative left—just hot, reckless hands and mouths, and a hunger that left you both shaking as you finally, finally touched without barriers.  

You stand up, he turns you around, his hard cock on your ass. His hands are everywhere, trailing up and down. One massaging your tit, and the other one your neck, pressing kisses up and down. 

“Where's your bedroom?”” he growls picking you up, legs wrapped around his waist.

He stood at the edge of your bed, naked and feral-eyed, watching you crawl backward until your shoulders hit the headboard. The air between you crackled, thick with months of denied hunger.  

He stroked himself, slow at first, gripping his cock tight, eyes glued to your every movement. The room filled with the sound of your uneven breaths, the wet sounds of your fingers, the low thrum of his restraint unravelling. You matched each other, feeding off the sight, both of you drawing it out, refusing to break the delicious, torturous tension. 

“Touch yourself for me, but don’t you dare come,” he growled, voice like gravel, the command making your pulse race. “I want to see you fall apart, but not without me.” 

You whimpered, hips rocking, your fingers moving faster, desperate. He watched, jaw clenched, his strokes growing rougher, the muscles in his arm flexing, every inch of him flushed and hard. 

When it finally became too much, he moved, limbing onto the bed, grabbing your wrist and pulling your fingers from yourself.  

You let your gaze trail slowly down his body, a wicked smile on your lips. “You look even better than I thought” you tease, dragging your fingers across his chest, down his stomach, deliberately brushing over the places that make him shudder. 

He laughs, low and strained. “You’ve been thinking about me like this?” 

You lean in, lips ghosting over his jaw, breath hot. “Every damn night. Sometimes in the shower. Sometimes in bed. Always wishing it was your hands instead of mine.” 

You slid down, taking him into your mouth, slow and deep, tongue swirling, hands gripping his thighs. He groaned, head falling back, lost in you. You set a punishing rhythm, loving the way he struggled to keep control, the way he praised you with every curse, every ragged gasp. 

He pulls out, breathless, eyes wild, and flips you onto your back, settling himself between your legs. “Now you’re going to see what happens when you tease me like that,” he promises, his tone dark and full of heat. 

He pulled you up, mouth crashing onto yours, tasting himself on your lips. Then he flipped you onto your back, spreading your thighs wide, settling between them with a wicked glint in his eyes. 

“Your turn,” he murmured, voice dark and greedy. 

He dove in, tongue hot and relentless, licking and sucking your clit. The sensation was overwhelming—your back arched, breath catching in your throat as a sharp gasp escaped. 

 “Oh—fuck, John—” you choked out, clutching at the sheets, every muscle wound tight. 

He slid two fingers inside you, slow at first, then deeper, curling perfectly as his mouth worked you mercilessly. You tensed around him, caught between pleasure and surprise. 

He paused for a heartbeat, his voice low and soothing against your skin. “Relax, baby—these are just my fingers,” he murmured, tone gentle even as his touch stayed firm. “Let me make you feel good.” 

You let out a shaky breath, trying to melt into the sensation. “God—John, I—” You couldn’t find the words, every nerve ending lighting up as he thrust his fingers deeper, his tongue swirling. 

“Oh my god… fuck—” you whined, hips jerking, your body arching up to meet every movement. He edged you again and again, each time you got close, slowing down just enough to make you whimper his name. 

“Please, John—don’t stop, please, I need—” you sobbed, your voice unraveling as he worked you higher. 

“Not yet. I want to feel you shake for me,” he growled, mouth pressed to your most sensitive spot. 

You moaned, desperate, “John—please, oh god, I’m so close—please—” 

Finally, he sucked your clit hard and drove his fingers deep, sending you over the edge. You shattered, crying out his name, body shaking as he coaxed wave after wave of pleasure from you, not letting up until you were limp and breathless, mind spinning. 

“Holy shit,” you whispered, still panting, your voice raw and full of awe.  

He came up, face slick with you, eyes wild and ravenous. For a heartbeat, you just stared—drinking in the sight of him: the muscles in his chest and arms tight with tension, skin flushed and shining with sweat, his hair a messy halo from your hands. Your eyes dropped lower, and you took in the impressive length and thickness of his cock, flushed deep and glistening, heavy between his thighs, the head slick with need.  

It made your mouth go dry, the reality of him somehow more perfect than anything you’d imagined in all those months of wanting. He caught you in a messy, desperate kiss, tasting every moan that slipped from your lips. Then, with a rough grip at your waist, he flipped you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up until you were on all fours, your knees pressed into the mattress and your back arched for him." You're not done,”  

he growled, lining himself up behind you. The blunt head of his cock slid through your slick heat, teasing, making you shiver with anticipation. You barely had time to breathe before he thrust inside, deep and hard, filling you so completely you gasped and clawed at the sheets. He set a punishing rhythm, his hips slamming into yours, his hands gripping your waist so tight it bordered on painful. Every thrust sent you forward, your body rocking with his every movement, the sheer size and stretch of him driving you wild.  

"God, you feel perfect,” he panted, voice breaking. “All those nights I imagined this—nothing compares.” His hand slid up your spine, tangling in your hair and yanking your head back so your arch deepened, your back flush against his chest.  

He shifted, rising onto his knees, pulling you up so you were upright, your spine pressed to his front. One hand snaked around your throat, gentle but possessive, the other massaging your breast, pinching your nipple until you cried out. His cock drove up into you, thick and unyielding, rubbing all the right places. His mouth was at your ear, breath hot. 

 “Look at us,” he whispered, turning your chin so you saw yourselves in the mirror—the wild, desperate way you clung to each other. You whimpered, grinding your hips back, his cock hitting deeper from this angle, every nerve ending alight. “Please, John—harder—don’t stop—”He groaned, guiding you to lift your knees and turn, pulling you into his lap until you straddled him, facing the mirror. You sank down onto him, the fullness making you shudder. He filled you completely, stretching you until you could barely breathe, every ridge and vein dragging against your walls as you rode him. He grabbed your hips, helping you set a frantic pace, your hands braced on his shoulders.  

You rode him hard, his eyes on your reflection, watching every tremor, every bounce of your breasts, every time you threw your head back and sobbed his name. “Fuck, you look incredible like this,” he rasped, thumb finding your clit, circling in tight, punishing strokes. “Come on, baby. Let go for me. I want to feel you fall apart. 

 "You buried your nails in his shoulders, grinding down, your cries getting louder. “John—I’m so close—please.” He grabbed your waist, slamming up into you, his own control slipping. “Come for me. Now,” he commanded, voice rough and hungry. 

 You broke with a strangled moan, your body convulsing in his arms, clenching around him as pleasure tore through you. He lost it right after, holding you tight as he spilled inside, his guttural grunt vibrating against your neck. 

You collapsed together, tangled in the sheets, sweat-slicked and trembling, his arms locked around you. For a moment, you both watched your reflection—wild-eyed, spent, and utterly, beautifully wrecked.  

You fell back into the sheets together, laughter mixing with the aftershocks. John propped himself on one elbow, grinning down at you. “So, was it everything you imagined?” 

You reached up, tracing the line of his jaw with your finger. “Better. But I’m going to need a lot more research to be sure.” 

He laughed, pulling you close. “That can be arranged.” 

You sighed, utterly content, the world outside fading away as you let yourself be held, knowing this was only the beginning. 

[beldamdoll]

his nose just makes me feels thing man

[rosefiammotta]

Just thinking about you humping your pillow because you had to watch Carter dress up for some gala and go out on date with some other girl. You’re frustrated, needy, and horny and you’re humping the pillow in your shared living room (y’all are roommates in this scenario). Carter suddenly comes back into the apartment and surprise, surprise he’s found his roommate/best friend/long time secret crush humping a pillow.

Tell me what would happen next. 💕

yeahhhh I got a little carried away with this one lol enjoy!

18 + mdni

you didn’t mean for it to happen. you were just so… frustrated. you hated hearing him get ready for a date that wasn’t with you, hated seeing him in a full tux that was pressed and tailored to fit his body just right, hated seeing him comb his hair back and come to the living room with a grin on his face and announce “How do I look?” you hated how you couldn’t lie to his face and say “horrible, stay in with me instead.” instead, you said, “go get em tiger.” you hated how he was rushing out the door, winking at you and saying, “don’t wait up on me, honey,” jokingly. you hated how you rolled your eyes and threw a pillow at the closing door. hated even more how you flickered on the tv and wandered the channels aimlessly for what felt like hours, distracting yourself from anything and everything to do with John Carter.

truth was. you didn’t hate him. quite the opposite. you’d fallen in love with your strictly-off-limits roommate John Carter and everyday was more torturous than the last. seeing him walk around in the mornings in just boxers, sitting at the small shared table with a newspaper and some stale cereal, disheveled hair and loopy face. watching him come out of the shared bathroom with just a towel wrapped around his waist, hair damp, smelling amazing and sure of the fact his skin would be so warm under your fingertips. but nights were the worst; having to watch him bring a new tiny thing into his room every other week, hearing the heavy thud of his headboard against the wall, the echoes of moans of a clearly satisfied woman that wasn’t you. and yet you just didn’t have to courage to tell him, the courage to stop him in his tracks and say “Carter, you idiot, I like you.“ instead, you just harbored a resentment against him and every girl who stepped foot in your shared space.

but tonight was different. because you could tell there was something different in your body, something hungry. and late into the hours, thinking of the wanton moans of a woman satisfied by John Carter was killing you and growing a burning warmth in between your thighs.

you didn’t look at the time. didn’t look at the door. you weren’t even looking at the TV anymore. your mind was filled with images of him. curious as to how he would feel over you, under you, in you. how his skin would feel underneath your fingertips, goosebumps on his skin, freckles painted. how would he sound. you already knew he was vocal, grunts, moans, groans, whimpers. would he beg? would he be dominant? would he fuck like it was his last day on earth or was he a romantic and would call it “make love”?

all of it was swirling in your mind and being taken out on the pillow in the living room. knees planted on either side of it, hips grinding forward and back, desperate at friction, desperate for release. you closed your eyes and rolled your head back, a desperate grunt coming out of you as you began thinking of how he could feel inside you. you didn’t mean to say it, but you loved how it felt, how dirty, how wrong it could be.

“Carter,” the words slipped out of your mouth like a prayer, a moan following the words. the feel of your short pajama bottoms getting caught against the harshness of the long decorative pillow, one hand gripped the fabric whilst the other palms at your chest, releasing your breasts from the tank top pajama top, budding and hard nipples exposed to the chill of the empty apartment. you repeat his name like a chant, chasing your high and hoping it washes over you. you’re too bothered by your moans, too consumed with your passion, you don’t hear the click of the lock being opened or the stop of his footsteps.

you do hear him call your name though. it’s enough to make your blood grow cold, swiveling your head to meet his shocked gaze as he stands at your doorway slack jawed. your hips still and you’re suddenly aware of your exposed chest, hands going up to cover whatever dignity you had left. your eyes grow wide at him just standing there, you can hear your heartbeat in your ears. immediately, you try to remedy the situation.

“This isn’t what it looks like—“ you begin, looking down at the wet mess you’d made of the once community decorative pillow, and back up to him just standing there and following your eye movements exactly, “actually…it is.”

you wished the earth would just open you up and swallow you whole at this moment, anything but having to look at the shocked expression of your newly ruined relationship with John Carter.

but something shifts, something in his gaze shifts and Carter steps forward, shaking his coat off and tossing it to the side. he’s not smiling, not scared, but he does look hungry. and you’re secretly hoping you’re his next meal.

he draws near and stops in front of you, hand drawing up to your face and holding your chin in his palm, he tilts your head up as he looks down at you, “don’t stop”

it’s enough to set your once low burning flame into a forest fire.

you’d never encountered this version of Carter before, the kind that’s looking at you the way you’ve been wanting for months, the kind that’s got half lidded eyes and desperate to pounce on you, the kind that’s demanding you to keep humping the pillow you’d imagined minutes ago was him. and who were you to disobey this version?

so you continue. hips stuttering to begin, your face shy and warm in contrast to his winter kissed fingertips. you let go of your chest, fistfuls of pillow in your hands now as you dug deeper into it hoping to fill that need. breasts bobbing at the motion.

his name falls out over and over again, desperation laced in each word.

but then he does the unexpected. sinking beside you and grabbing the pillow from beneath suddenly. you’re parallel to the couch as he pushes you back onto the familiar cushions. his cold palm cups a single breast, thumb resting over the hardened tip of your nipple. his knee pushing your legs apart as his hand travels down from your chest to your overheating core.

it’s torture. the way you feel like you’re burning out of your own skin.

“tell me what you want… roomie.”

[whispersinthedarkestshadows]

- 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -

Pairings: John Carter x Reader

WC: 664

Tags/Warnings: Mentions of injury, established relationship, fluff, reader gets hurt, John isn't rich in this one (lol)

Summary: This is the first time in a while that Carter had a day off from work. He planned on sleeping in as long as he could and then just lounging around doing nothing. But the universe had different plans.

AN: This isn't proofread so I'm sorry if there's any mistakes! Yes I know it’s bad that’s the point! :)

It was a beautiful sunny morning, the rays of sunshine filtering through the sheer curtains. John was peacefully asleep tangled in a heap of warm and comfy blankets. Everything felt just right. The bed was a comfortable temperature, the sheets felt nice and soothing against his skin and the pillow perfectly framed his head. Beautiful dreams of fields and flowers on a cool spring day. Not having to work at the hospital for 14 hours running on 3 hours of sleep for 6 days straight. He didn’t ever wanna get up.

That peace was cut short when he heard a series of loud crashes and glass breaking coming from the kitchen.

If Carter wasn’t a doctor he would’ve thought he just had a heart attack. But despite the concerning spike in his heart rate he bolted up right scrambling to try and get out of bed; which was hard considering he was tangled in a bunch of blankets which wrapped around his limbs when he tried to move. Once he was finally untangled he launched himself off the bed almost faceplanting.

His heart rate still hasn’t come down, it was elevated to no end. His head was spinning with all the thoughts of what could have possibly happened; all the worst case scenarios running through.

When he finally made it to the kitchen he took in his surroundings, trying to find the source of the noise but most importantly find and make sure you were okay. Well he didn’t have to look far cause there it was. You standing in the kitchen surrounded by broken dishes and a cabinet? Carter looks between you and the mess a couple times trying to figure out how this happened.

“Sorry for waking you.” You look down at the mess. You seemed more concerned about his sleep rather than the mess. “It’s fine, but–what happened?” He took a step closer. “I went to get something from the cabinet but when I opened it I heard it creak then before I knew it…Boom.” You gesture to all the broken dishes and cabinet. He honestly couldn’t believe it. You both knew the cabinet was getting a little old and unstable but never did you guys think it would actually fall off the wall. Although the apartment had always been a piece of shit, they both knew that but neither had the money for anything better.

That's when John snapped out of the shock of it all. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He walked over making sure he wasn’t gonna step on any glass. “I think I'm okay.” Carter didn’t seem very convinced by that answer as he did a once over of your body. “Alright, just, stay right there for a sec.” He ventured off for a moment before returning, walking over the glass straight to you.

Without a word he swept you up carrying you away from harm.

He didn’t set you down until you entered the bathroom, placing you down on the closed toilet seat. Somehow a piece of glass had cut your leg without noticing. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the fact that you didn’t even see it. Either way John was gonna patch you up with care.

“I’m sorry.”

He didn’t even look up, to focused on dressing your wound. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” “But I do. I broke the cabinet and everything in it. And on top of that I woke you up on your one day off! I’m the worst girlfriend on the planet…I should’ve been more careful.” That got him to look up. “Don’t say that.” A silence fell between the two of you.

Carter pulled away from your leg once he finished dressing it. “All that matters is that you’re okay. Besides I don’t wanna sleep the day away, then I wouldn’t get to spend as much time with you.” Your heart fluttered.

John always knew what to say to make you feel better.

Thank you so much for reading!!

[porchlightfairy]

Just my Type

john carter x black!reader

summary: the nurses try to set you up with carter but you think your not his type. he spends the rest of his shift trying to convince you that you are

tags: fluff, reader is not blonde and doesn't have pale skin but there's no description of them either, r2 carter, r2 reader

wc: 1.9k

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"I could see her with Marcus."

"The RT? Nah, he's too ambiguous."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, you know… he's neither here nor there."

"That is not helpful."

A group of nurses sit in the staff lounge of Cook County's Emergency Department. They huddle around the table, giggling like it's a middle school sleepover. They were talking about setting up some of the women in the department on dates. They were trying to find the right guy for each woman. It was your turn now and they seemed to be struggling.

You were a second year resident transferred from Indiana. You had a good head on your shoulders and although you were new, you got everyone's good side and became a friend to all pretty quickly. Outside of that, you were beautiful. Your physical presence was enough to brighten a room. It was a shock to the staff that you didn't have a boyfriend. Hence, the nurse taking it upon themselves to find you one.

"Um, what about Carter?"

"Oh yeah! Carter has been single for some time. He'd be perfect. I think she likes him too."

Just then, you come in for your shift, noticing the nurses around the table. They all look at you, raising your suspicions. "Good evening, ladies."

They say good evening one after the other. Some pretend to flip through magazines and news papers, while the others drink some coffee. You head to your locker to get changed. "Was I interrupting?"

They start giving each other a look determining whether or not to tell you. Then Chuny speaks, "Hypothetically, would you date somebody from the hospital?"

"Hm, I think so," You shrug, "I'm here all the time so I'm bound to meet somebody."

"What about somebody in this department?" Lydia asks next.

"Oh, compelling but I think that's where I draw the line. Not many fish in the pond and the few free one there are have no interest in being caught." You chuckle at your own joke.

"What about Carter?"

"What about him?" You scoff, "He's one of the ones not interested."

"What do you mean? He's single right now, you could ask him out."

"Just because I can ask him out doesn't mean he will say yes." You adjust your collar in the mirror of your locker, "Besides, I'm not his type."

"Not his type? Carter's type is just being drop dead gorgeous."

"And blonde, and pale, with rosy cheeks and long eyelashes with dazzling blue eyes." You say. The nurses clam up at your description as for the last few girls he has brought around they matched that exact description, "So, I don't think I even have a chance."

"But if you did?"

"If I did… then yes, I would ask him out."

"You should at least try."

"Why?" You rolls your eyes, "Why should I ask when I already know the outcome? I'm not his type."

"Not whose type?" Carter enters the lounge to begin his shift. He goes to the counter to pour himself some coffee.

"Uh… Chuny is trying to set me up with some guy from surgery. I met him once but I don't think it'll work out."

"Oh I might know him, I can put in a good word for you."

"No! I mean, it's not a big deal, I'm not his type so it doesn't matter." You check your watch, "I gotta punch in." You quickly leave the lounge,

Carter looks to the nurses, "Who's the guy?"

They look among themselves and snicker to each other until they leave one by one. Chuny is the last to leave, getting up to dump her coffee in the sink, "It wasn't a guy from surgery."

"Who was it?" He leans in curiously.

"Why don't you ask her, Carter, since you're so interested." She then walks past him and back to the ER.

You look through charts for the night, picking up a few. Carter comes up behind you trying to think of what to say to ask. You don't notice his presence behind you and bump into him when you turn around. "Jesus, Carter. What are you doing standing right there?"

"So, this surgeon, what makes you think you're not his type. I mean, you're a catch."

"Thank you… I didn't think you would care so much." You walk around the desk to curtain 5.

"Just color me curious." He shrugs.

"Curiosity killed the cat." You warn.

"Humor me."

"Fine, he's a creature of habit. I know the last three women he dated were blondes.

"But wait you said you only met him once."

"County is a rumor mill. I heard it from one of the nurses." You wave your hand around.

Carter narrows his eyes then they widen in realization. It was him you were talking about. The last 3 women he went out with were blonde. They all met him at the hospital before going out. All during the same shifts he had with you.

"It could just be a coincidence." He says, "You shouldn't write him off for that."

"Right, I should go up there right now and convince him to be attracted to me. What a good waste of my time." You give a feigned smile, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have patients." You enter the room leaving him in the dust.

Carter's heart wilts as he watches you through the glass of the door. He was attracted to you. You were gorgeous in his eyes. Your eyes, your smile, your skin, your hair. He could stare at you for hours. And on occasion has done that. Being your senior he couldn't make a move it was irresponsible but god, did he want to. Today was the day he was willing to risk it all to convince you.

When you come out of the room back to the clerk desk, Carter tries talking to you again. "You know, I think you believe you're not his type when in actuality, you are afraid of rejection."

"I am not." You scoff, "I just think, we aren't compatible."

"How do you know?"

"I just do. He's smart, empathetic, very charming."

"He sounds ideal."

"He's dismissive sometimes and a tad abrasive."

"Okay but nobody's perfect. If he's not compatible to you with all of that then who is?"

"Hm, maybe someone not bothering me during the work day?" You retort.

"Oof, low blow. Look, I am just trying help you out," He smirks, "I think you'd feel better if you said something to him."

"And what should I say? 'Hey, I know I'm not what you're looking for but go out with me anyway'" You pretend to gag, "Do you not hear how desperate that sounds?"

You shake your head realizing your hypothetical was conflating as you spoke. This surgeon did not exist and yet you spoke as if he was. It was Carter. You were talking about him. Carter was talking about himself. You furrow your brows and shoot a glare at Carter. He simply smiles back at you. "You have a better way with words than that." And with that he walks away.

Later in the night, you are sitting the suture room stitching up a drunken frequent flyer. Finally free of Carter's watchful gaze you get a moment alone with your thoughts. You had never had your love life in the forefront of your mind like tonight.

It was a petty crush on him that you were just getting over. Now, he was bothering you, making your heart race and teasing you about it. You cringe and mutter to yourself as you replay the moments from earlier.

The door to the suture room opens and Carter peeks his head, "Everything okay in here?"

"Mhm. He's out like a light." You whisper as you continue. He moves closer to inspect your work.

"One more thing about the surgeon—"

"Oh my god, Carter, there is no surgeon. I made him up because I was embarrassed to talk about my very sad love life." You sigh.

"Alright… I won't bring it up again." He steps back but he doesn't leave.

"Carter please—"

"I knew there was no surgeon." He blurts out. You raise an eyebrow in confusion.

"What do you mean, you knew? How did you know?"

"Well, I figured it out." He shrugs, "3 dates, all blonde. Charming but abrasive…"

"Oh my god… Were you trying to get me to confess to you?!" You snatch off your gloves and cover your face then just your mouth.

"A little yeah." He smiles smugly, "Look, I will admit I do have a predisposition to blonde women but nobody can compare to you and I am attracted to you."

"You're pitying me."

"No, I mean it." He says, "You're very beautiful. Anybody with eyes could see that. Just because I have dated a few women that look alike doesn't mean I wouldn't date someone like you."

You are still skeptical. You narrow your eyes, "Are the nurses out there? Is this a set up?"

"No! This isn't a prank." He chuckles, "Why do you think so low of me?"

"Because you and everybody else in the hospital is crazy." You pout, "I think you're getting back at me for judging you."

"I don't care about that," He grabs your hand, "I'm more upset that you think you don't have a chance," with his other hand he caresses your face, "You know sometimes I like to watch you suture because you're so pretty when you're focused."

"Really?"

"Yes," His eyes dance around your face, "You make my heart race. I get nervous around you. I want to impress you all the time."

"Sure you do." You roll your eyes sarcastically.

"No, it's true." He bites his bottom lip, "So go ahead and ask me."

"Ask you?" You laugh nervously, "Ask you what?"

"Ask me out on a date."

"Carter please." You try to slip out of his grasp but he pulls you closer. His thumb rubs against your bottom lip.

"Then I will." He leans in, "Would you do me the honor of going out with me?"

"Carter…" Your face is burning up, you are only a few inches apart.

"You're not saying no." He whispers.

You lower your resolve and press your lips against his. His hand moves from your hand to your waist towards the small of your back. His other stats on your face as he deepens the kiss.

You pull away to catch your breath. "So, what do you say?" He whispers

"I'd love to," You smile, "Prove me wrong and not because you want to show boat."

"Are y'all done makin' out on top of me." The patient mumbles, "I wanna go home."

"Sorry, sir. You're almost done." You whisper to him. You then look back at Carter and the two of you giggle.

"Tomorrow. Lunch at Gino's." He walks to the trauma door, "I'll pick you up."

"I see you then." He flashes you a wink before leaving you to finish.

When you come out of the suture room most of the nurses from the lounge earlier are in the hall. As you pass, you see them smile and giggle at you. "Alright, you guys were right. I am his type.

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taglist: @cosmicneptune @ilocuras24 @lacy1986 @letstryagaintomorrow

[dilflovingmisandrist]

noticing things

[pulseistacky]

Feel Good

Summary: Carter just wants to know he’s making you feel good.

Warnings: p in v sex, cowgirl position, pining, Carter is needy, needy soft sex, a little bit of a praise kink (it’s Carter he needs to be reassured)

Note: Carters need for praise does something to my brain…soooooo enjoy this very short blurb I wrote lol.

“Please tell me it feels good,” mumbled to the sweat soaked skin above your sternum. Carter’s breath wafts hot and humid along your already scorched flesh. “Please tell me you’re feeling as good as I am.”

Right now all you can focus on is the way his cock splits you open. The grind of your hips as you undulate up and down on him with a slow, steady rhythm. The wet slap of skin against skin echoing in chorus with your soft moans and his whiny groans.

Your fingers fist in his locks as his mouth presses sloppy kisses to your breasts, and your throat as your head falls back. Ecstasy wriggling up your spine as his cock pulses deep in your cunt. You swear you feel him behind your navel. The head of his cock stroking deep inside your cunt, pressing against something that has your breath hitching and stars bursting behind eyelids. The slick sounds as you fuck yourself dumb, send throbs through your body from your head to your toes.

“F—fuck,” you mutter, as you lift your hips again slamming down on his lap. His hands vices on the soft fat of them. Bruises blooming beneath his finger tips as they gouge into softness. “Feels good—“ you manage as another thrust and your mind stalls for a moment.

“God,” he rasps as his lips and teeth mark up exposed skin, the pain mingling deliciously with pleasure. “You feel so good, feel so good on my cock.” He whines adjusting himself beneath you. His shaft throbs inside of you, both of you moaning.

You’re so close to breaking, so close to fucking yourself dumb on his cock. Listening to every gasp, moan, lip bitten whimper as you cunt flutters around his cock. Carter’s beside himself, watch you, chestnut eyes blissed out and pussy drunk. Slack jawed as he gazes up at you, skin shining in the low lamplight.

“Wanna make you cum,” he gasps into your shoulder as your hand steadies itself on your headboard. “Never wanna leave this pussy.”

You manage a puff of laughter, the muscles in your thighs straining, so close, fuck a few more thrusts and you’re done for. A tightening in your abdomen, a choked strangled moan leaves you as he shifts again. Feet planting on the mattress pressing back against the headboard. His hips slam up into you with a reckless abandon.

The change of pace sudden and mind numbing. The friction sudden and overwhelming, his cock postponing in and out of you, your noises choked up in your throat as pleasure burns through your body.

“C—Carter,” his name a surprised shriek as your climax hits you. Your head swims as pleasure drowns you, pulls you under, and keeps you writhing as Carter cums with a sudden shout.

You gasp falling against him boneless, your cunt quivering around his softening cock. You both are silent save for oxygen returning breathes.

“Fuck,” you pant, Carter’s quiet. His hands still clutching your hips as he watches you. You start to feel insecure under the scrutiny. You shift about to get off Carter’s grip tightens.

“Carter I—“

“Can you call me John?” He asks a soft sort of question, he avoids your eyes as you consider him now.

It’s an uncomfortable quiet that lingers between you after his request. You sigh leaning down to press a soft kiss against his lips. He returns it with a fervor, tongue stroking the seam of your lips eager to breech them.

“I can do that,” you whisper against his lips he moans as your cunt flutters around his sensitive shaft. “John.”

You can’t help the punch of laughter as his cock jolts inside of you. He smiles, sheepish and shy, before returning to devouring your mouth.

[sixvin]

Keep Quiet | John Carter x Reader

summary: A chaotic shift at Cook County, a secluded food storage room, a reckless need for relief, and the fear of getting caught in the back of your minds — all of this leaves Dr. Carter desperate to lose himself in you before anyone opens the door.

a/n: I know I promised a Jack Abbot fanfic first, but this came to me at work and I couldn't stop thinking about it. I promise I'm working on the Abbot fic y'all 😭 I've literally never written smut so hopefully this is decent enough.

I listened to P*rnstar by Nessa Barnett literally the entire time I wrote this if you feel inclined to do the same. Happy reading you filthy animals ;)

wc: 3k

tags/content warnings: quickie, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, plot what plot, smut, semi-public sex, exhibitionism kink (kind of but not really), marking, spit as lube, definitely not food regulations compliant, literally no plot whatsoever, implied established relationship, afab!reader, not even remotely proofread

You had just finished cleaning up your workstation in the kitchen when you decided to stock back up on all of the items you had used that day. It wasn’t often that you needed to bring a cart for a task like this - something that only took a few minutes. This day in particular had been busier than normal, patient after patient, and a large influx of hospital workers who got called in to help with the excess number of patients. 

It wasn’t that Cook County Hospital was slow or small by any means, it just had been one of those days that called for extra help. From what you had gathered - mostly from overhearing some of the other kitchen workers - there had been a mass casualty that swarmed the emergency department. Which of course, subsequently, meant more surgeries, lab orders, x-rays, pharmaceutical requests, and just about everything else in between. One of those in betweens’, unfortunately for you, was food. The cafe was separate from the main kitchen, but they quickly decided they were just as shortstaffed as the main kitchen, so extra help was few and far between. 

Your usual shift was spent prepping patient food, setting up trays, and delivering to their designated floors. That was how you met John Carter - an ER MS4 set on charming every girl in his wake, until he met you, of course. After that, he had hardly looked at anyone else, his eyes always searching for you wherever he went. In the beginning, after running into you and deciding there was no one else he could possibly be interested in, he was dead set on finding any excuse to be near you. John would raid the dry food storage (which was exactly why they had to put a lock on the door) in the hopes of you going in to stock back up on supplies. Other times, he would request a tray for a patient that didn’t even want food, desperate for you to be the one to deliver it. As if fate knew exactly what it was doing, nine times out of ten you were the one to deliver the food. 

A knock on the door brought you out of your thoughts, realizing then that you had been absentmindedly staring at a can of pudding on the shelf for far too long. Slight confusion laced itself through your face, brows furrowed, and lips pursed in mild agitation. There wasn’t much time to slack off and everyone else in the kitchen had been far too busy to go across the hall and grab what they needed. This left you to be the one responsible for the task. You walked over to the door, opening it slowly to peer out only to find the devil himself standing outside. 

“Johnny? What’re yo-” You were quickly cut off as he rushed inside, pushing you to the back of the room. It wasn’t a very large room, but just spacious enough to store enough supplies for the hospital to use. His hands were on you faster than you could blink, both perched on your hips and gripping tight. He leaned in close, his nose brushing against yours as you noticed his heavy breathing. He was nudging your nose lightly, as if deciding whether or not he wanted to dive in and swallow you whole or acknowledge you first. The latter won.

“Rough day, baby. I need you so bad. Benton’s been on my neck all day, it’s a nightmare down there. Please- I just- I need you.” John was practically whining as he begged for you. His cheeks flushing as he started to grind against you. A soft whimper slipped out before you could stop it, and he groaned at the sound. 

“Baby, we’re at work. Someone could walk in.” You knew this wasn’t entirely true, everyone else was busy scurrying around the kitchen trying to keep up with the orders. You’d be an absolute liar if you said the thought of being caught didn’t turn you on though. 

“Never stopped you before.” He gave a slight chuckle at this, likely referencing the few times you had hooked up in one of the on-call rooms, and the one time you gave him a blowjob in the bathroom during your break. But this? This was almost riskier somehow. You blushed and gently slapped his arm. 

“This is different, John.” Despite your insistence on holding off, the two of you knew deep down that you were just egging him on. Teasing him always made sex a little hotter just from the fact that he had to work for it. His hips pushed against yours again, revealing just how tight his pants were getting. John gave a shaky exhale at the sensation, which only made you that much more turned on. You could feel yourself getting wet as he continued to grind his hips into you. He was driving you crazy and he knew it. 

“Oh, fuck it.” You huffed as you crashed your lips into his. John made a sound deep in his throat, relief and excitement radiating off of him as the kiss grew in urgency. You wrapped your arms around his neck, running your fingers through his roughed up hair. With no hesitation on his end, he pushed you up against one of the shelves, cans and bottles shaking from the rough movement. It hurt a little, but the pain had quickly turned into pleasure as you started to tug at his hair. John kept whimpering, though they were slowly turning into groans as you started aggressively pawing at each other. It was like you couldn’t get enough of him, no amount of contact would ease the hunger vibrating through you. A hand once on your hip slithered its way down to the apex of your thighs, reaching under your dress skirt and honing in on your core. Gasping from the sensation, John quickly opened his mouth even wider, swallowing every sound you made. 

You both knew time was of the essence, so what usually would have been a much longer leadup had to be cut way down to avoid getting caught. As if he was reading your thoughts, John quickly lifted the skirt of your uniform, the bubblegum pink of it all balling up in his fists. Matching his energy, you cupped the front of his pants, feeling the growing ache between his legs and getting that much more wet because of it. He flinched at the touch, sensitive like a live wire being teased by a puddle. 

“Johnny..” You broke apart the kiss, whining at him as you stared right into his eyes. They were dark with emotion, pupils blown wide from the pure lust coursing through his veins. 

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” He cooed as he started to rub circles on your clit over the dampened spot on your underwear. You moaned into his mouth as you dove back in, lips mashing, and heavy breathing filling the otherwise vacant air. John moved your panties to the side, heated fingers finding themselves directly on your clit, relentless and fast-paced. With shaking hands, you frantically untucked his button-up, not even bothering with removing his white doctor's coat. You broke the kiss, huffing in frustration at his suspenders before mentally saying fuck it and unclipping them from his pants, the elastic causing them to snap upwards from the relief of tension. John hissed slightly at the tension, but continued with his own movements – deciding to remove your panties from the equation entirely by pulling them down. 

Every movement, no matter how small, was frantic and heated. The both of you were insatiable, hungry for the other like a predator hunting its prey. Finally getting his pants unzipped, you pulled them down far enough to free his throbbing cock. It didn’t matter how many times you had seen his dick, it always made your mouth water. The heightened sense of need, however, made it that much more enticing. It was clear he felt the same way – his cock was twitching, red and angry, harder than you had ever seen it before, and dripping with pre-cum salaciously. 

You reached down and rubbed your hand over your folds, allowing the arousal to coat your hand before spitting on it for good measure. This elicited a deep groan from John as he watched the entire thing. His groan morphed into a moan as you wrapped your hand around his cock, stroking him a few times, your thumb grazing over the tip to add his pre-cum to the mix. He hissed at the sensation, grabbing your wrist to stop you from going any further.

“Shit – baby I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that.” John’s other hand had your skirt bunched against your hip, gripping your waist like a vice. His forehead was resting against yours, hot breath fanning over your kiss swollen lips. 

“Yeah?” You licked your lips, tightening your grip around him ever so slightly and watching as his eyes rolled back and fluttered closed. You lifted one of your legs up and hooked it around his thigh while he tried to compose himself. 

“That’s it-” John breathed out. He flicked your hand out of the way, taking a hold of himself and bending his knees slightly to line his tip up with your slick entrance. The two of you gasped as he rubbed his cock against your clit, catching on your entrance, your body arching like a knee-jerk reaction. His lips closed the distance, teeth clashing from the sudden impact. Slowly, he pushed in inch by inch – a delicious stretch with high reward. Finally buried to the hilt, you both let out a relieved moan, your head falling back onto the metal shelf behind you. 

Not wanting to waste anymore time, John started pounding into you with reckless abandon, the shelf rattling with each thrust. His freehand was now gripping the nape of your neck, the other now hooked under your thigh to hold it in place. He used this grip as leverage to thrust harder, not caring for even a second about the noise you two were making. The small room was filled with sounds of skin on skin, collective moans, and the lewd noises of your arousal. 

“Fuck–” John panted, the word drawn out as his desperate and blown-out eyes dropped down to where the two of you met. “Shh, shh, I know,”

Your arm flew out to the side, attempting to grasp on to something - anything - but instead finding cans of food. The sudden movement sent cans and boxes flying, but he didn’t stop driving into you, not even flinching at the noise. If anything, it just made the moment even more heated, each second passing leaving you breathless. 

As if on cue, the sound of a cart approaching the door caught your attention. John let go of your neck, his hand now clamped over your mouth to muffle your moans. Both of you stared at each other, eyes wide, skin prickling from the thought of someone coming in and finding you in such a compromised position. But he still refused to stop, not even while more cans started to roll off the shelf, exploding on impact. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as careless whimpers escaped your throat. John’s fingers dug deep into the meat of your thigh as he drove harder. 

“You gotta keep quiet for me, sweetheart.” A broken laugh slipped past his lips as he felt the tight heat of your reaction. 

The cart outside the door changed course, no longer heading straight for the room the two of you were filling with the wet, frantic heat of skin meeting skin. You tightened around him, sending his head flying into the crook of your neck. Carter let out a hitched curse into your shoulder before biting down brutally into your skin. A shrill cry left your mouth, swallowed by the sweaty palm pressing against your swollen drool covered lips. 

“Shitshitshitshit- Sweetheart I need you to come for me. Please come for me, baby.” John whined into your neck, hissing as he breathed in, trying to hold back his own building release. He let go of your mouth, letting the string of moans and cries fill the air between the two of you. His wide eyes met yours, a layer of sweat building right at his hairline, neck flushed as he kept his thrusts quick and heavy. 

“God, John, faster. Fuck- I can’t-” Your entire body was buzzing as you chased your release. The hot band in your abdomen threatening to snap at any moment. 

“Yes you can, yes you can,” He nodded against your forehead, “You can take it, baby. Let - fuck - let go for me.” 

Your vision started to blur, tears cascading down your cheeks as you felt your climax hit you like a train. You clenched violently around him and let out a fractured sob that stole the breath out of your lungs. As you gasped for air, John’s rhythmic thrusts began to stutter. Suddenly, his eyes rolled back, mouth wide as he let out a gravelly moan and emptied himself into you. His body trembled from the relief as his orgasm crashed over him. You both stayed in place for a few moments, John’s head dropping back down to where your neck and shoulder met, his spend dripping out of you and down your leg. 

“John?” 

“Yeah?” He answered, voice slightly higher in pitch. His head was rocking from side to side, trying to shake off the adrenaline crashing throughout him. 

“I think that definitely made the Top Ten list.” You let out a breathless laugh at the statement. His shoulders shook from laughing, head stilling. After a few seconds, he slowly brought your leg down, skirt falling with it as he eased you into a more comfortable standing position. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you brought him in for a passionate but gentle kiss. 

“Thank you, baby.” He whispered against your lips. Your smile stretched from ear to ear, eyes sparkling and content as you gazed into his own. 

“I would say anytime, but I’m not sure how often we can get away with this.” John shrugged at this. 

“There’s always the on-call room,” He teased, nose brushing against yours as he gripped your waist, “Or the supply closet, or the janitor’s closet, or-”

“Okay, okay, smarty pants,” You smacked his arm lightly, chuckling at his mischievous grin, “Go save lives or whatever it is you do.”

You and John broke apart, rearranging your clothes accordingly as you attempted to look somewhat put together. John was still grinning at you, that look in his eyes that told you he wasn’t going to let up.

“Now you’re just being petty,” He lifted his chin up in defiance. 

“Mhm.” You bit your lip. You could feel his come still dripping out of you, dampening your underwear even more than they already had been. The thought of walking around all day with him dripping out with each shift of movement turned you on more than it probably should. 

John’s pager went off suddenly, right as he finished reattaching his suspenders. 

“Duty calls.” He huffed. John moved towards you abruptly, cupping your cheek as he stole a quick kiss. 

“See you tonight?” You called out as he approached the door. 

“See you tonight.” He smiled. He stilled as he opened the door and turned around abruptly. 

“I almost forgot.” His brows furrowed as he pulled out a small slip of paper covered with a sticky note from his coat pocket. He handed you the slip and started back towards the door, walking backwards as he explained what he had given you, his cheeks turning a deep shade of pink. “It’s a script for Ovral since we didn’t - well, you know. I wrote instructions on how to use it in case you weren’t sure.”

His neck cheeks turned an even darker shade of pink. John spun around, almost colliding with the door, and fumbled with the knob before finally leaving the room altogether. You looked down at the paper in your hands, a small giggle leaving your lips as you noticed a particular detailing sticking out. Because Carter was still a med student, he couldn’t prescribe anything without it being signed off first. Mark Greene’s signature graced the bottom of the paper and your neck began to heat up from light embarrassment. The idea of John asking Dr. Greene to sign off on an emergency contraception script was more than funny - it was fucking hilarious. You could picture it clearly - John nervously messing with the pad of prescription scripts as he awkwardly handed it over to Dr. Greene, cheeks red from embarrassment. 

You let out a huff of air as you looked down at the mess you had made during your sexcapade. 

“Welp. Guess I need the mop bucket now.” You sighed, rubbing mindlessly at the mark John had given you.

─────────────────────────────────────

John was frantically fixing his hair in the reflective part of the elevator before the doors opened up, revealing the sounds of chaos ensuing in the ED. Taking a deep breath and leaving the sanctuary that was the elevator, he stepped out onto the floor, and made his way back over to the nurses station. A clearing of the throat caught John’s attention, whirling around to find Mark standing right behind him, eyebrow lifted curiously.

“So,” The corner of Mark’s lips lifted slightly, “You get that prescription to your patient, Dr. Carter?” 

“Mhm. Yup.” John cleared his throat nervously, flushed cheeks returning with a vengeance. John sped off in a random direction to go find Benton and escape the humiliation from Dr. Greene. Letting a quick laugh out and shaking his head, all Carter could think was how much trouble you were, but fuck if he didn’t love every second of it.

divider credit: @saradika-graphics

ngl, I wrote this while experiencing intense pain because of my chronic illness, so I don't know how good it is. I was slightly delirious and overwhelmingly nauseous. Alas, the show must go on.

[honey-vamp]

aww look a puppy (a grown man)

[vampiretuna]

home birthed no epidural

[comingaback]

tummy 🥺

[sweeethearts]

CONGRATS ON 1.1k!! 🫶🫶 such a huge milestone and so well deserved!

i’m planning on taking a trip to the state fair 🎟️, snacking on some chips on the way there, maybe with the windows down…care to join me? 🥰

snugglebug // 1.1k follower celebration

my first time writing for our certified babygirl <3 this is set around s1-3 carter cuz thats my beloved ily loser

one of carter’s favorite pastimes, since you two started dating, is using you as a human mattress.

usually it starts the same way every time. you’ll be sitting in bed, half trying to study, half giving up and flipping through a magazine instead, when carter finally drags himself through the apartment door looking like he’s survived active combat (aka. a usual ER shift).

he crawls into bed dramatically, exhausted beyond belief. he doesn’t even say anything at first, instead climbing over you. a knee settling down on either side of your hips, a dramatic sigh leaving him before—

thump.

he face plants directly into your chest, nuzzling himself right in between the valley of your breasts. perfectly settled, like he’s found his home for the day.

the first time he ever did it, you had frozen out of the suddenness. sure, he was always very cuddly, but you were more the one throwing yourself on him rather than the other way around. though what did you expect, he’s a snugglebug through and through.

“carter?”

no response. his arms merely snake around your waist as his entire body goes limp against you. dead weight.

“carter, i can’t breathe.”

a muffled, sleepy voice answered against your shirt. “m’comfortable.”

“you’re crushing me.”

“good, now shush.”

you had tried shifting him a little, but he immediately made the most offended, whiny noise imaginable. “don’t move,” he mumbled, already halfway asleep. “you’re warm.”

you could try to push lightly at his shoulder but his hold only tightened instinctively. “why are you evicting me,” he mutters with his eyes still closed. “this is my spot.”

and the thing is? he looks so soft. completely relaxed for once. all his usual pent up energy and tension just gone. shoulders slack. fingers loosely gripping your shirt like he’s worried you’ll disappear if he lets go. you always run your fingers through his fluffy hair out of habit, and the sigh he lets out each time is the epitome of blissful relief.

you always pictured bambi, finally lying down after wobbling around all day.

you couldn’t deny him of this. hell, you love him. that's enough said.

so now it’s basically routine. if you even hint at trying to get up while he’s laying on you, there isn't much use.

“i have to pee.” you whine.

“don’t.”

“carter.”

“hold it.” he protests.

“aren’t i gonna get bladder stones, doctor” you’d poke at his nose.

“m’take them out for you, don’t worry.”

and you can't help but giggle every single time for whatever stupid excuse he gives you.

“five minutes,” he would bargain on other days. “just five.”

five turns to ten. ten turns to twenty, and suddenly you’ve both drifted off for a three hour nap. especially during midterms or finals.

sometimes he even drools a little, but he always denies it.

today’s version of the routine had gone exactly the same.

carter wasn’t even supposed to be on until later that night, meaning you’d actually have him home for more than just a few miserable hours.

so you both woke up at a decent time and went out to fetch some lunch, coming home and chilling before carter would leave again for the graveyard shift.

eventually, you knew you had an essay to write so you had begun to prepare your workstation before carter pulled you into your usual spot on his queen bed. collapsing on top of you like always.

“just going to rest my eyes a bit” he mentioned, but he was dead asleep in less than 5.

you stayed awake this time. catching up on some chapters for your book report due in a few days. eyes drifting away from the page to stare at his messy strands of hair, or the long lashes resting against his pink cheeks.

and then…the dreaded pager started beeping.

“carter,” you mumbled, patting his shoulder.

nothing.

it beeped again barely a second later.

“oh, carter” you quipped, poking lightly at his forehead. he flinched just enough to acknowledge you before turning to snore even louder than before.

the pager continued going off a few more times before the apartment phone finally rang instead.

you rolled your eyes at the lack of acknowledgment of his surroundings from the boy on top of you.

“hello?” you answer the call.

“is carter there?” dr. benton. not the warmest person in the ER, and the tone alone told you everything you needed to know about your boyfriend’s impending doom.

“i’ll pass the phone to him.”

oh, he’s sooo screwed.

“carter,” you cooed again, shoving his shoulder a little harder this time. you were rewarded with a sleepy, muffled “mhm” as you held the phone against his ear.

“CARTER—”

the voice practically exploded through the speaker loud enough that you even managed to flinch a little.

though, nothing beats carter jolting like someone shocked him with defibrillator paddles.

he recoiled upright instantly, hair sticking everywhere, eyes wide and panicked as he looked around the room like benton was already standing there, waiting to kill him.

in the process, he smacked the phone clean out of your hand. but you were already laughing too hard to care.

“oh no. oh no no no—” were his last words.

[an-ant-hill]

Yes this is cropped weird and Yes I screen recorded it from an ig reel

HOWEVER

Bouncy boy Noah

[somethingeh]

Sober Thoughts

pairing - john carter x reader

word count - 4.2k

summary - carter attempts to drown his feelings for you in alcohol - surprisingly, it backfires.

cw - age appropriate alcohol consumption

a/n - i'll probably do a part 2 but i could leave it angsty if ppl prefer. first time not writing for robby! but barely bc noah <333 and i gave him back his suspenders bc we didn't get enough time with them tbh. also FUCK charlie sheen. hope you like it!

---

6:47

The clock blinked tauntingly at Carter as he watched it. You had left for cardiology at 6:34. They were supposed to have called back with a consultation on some tests for a patient, and hadn’t. You’d volunteered to check. A five to ten minute task at most. What could possibly be keeping you up there for thirteen minutes?

The worst part was, Carter knew the answer to his own question. There was one very persuasive thing to keep you in the cardio unit for so long.

Danny Donlin.

He was a cardiology resident who had taken a liking to you over the past couple days. He’d come down to chat with Benton, and there you were, figuring out a charting error with Carol at the nurse’s station. It took not two seconds for the skeeze to latch on to you.

Was he actually a skeeze? Carter didn’t know. He’d barely spoken three words to the guy. Did it really matter? Definitely not.

See, John Truman Carter III had come back from vacation, ready to start his surgical SUB-I, only to be met at the door with your bright face. He was sweating like a pig, carrying two large suitcases, with a ridiculous hat stuck around his neck as he sprinted in just about two hours after he was supposed to.

In his rush, he nearly missed you. But as Jerry greeted him at the desk, he called your attention to the panting man, and you turned.

And, Jesus, Carter didn’t think he’d ever seen someone so beautiful.

Covered in a slight sheen of perspiration yourself, it only seemed to make you glow. Your hair was pulled up out of your face and you wore street clothes under your coat. You had a patient chart in your hands and were using it to fan yourself, free wisps of hair floating back as you did. Carter couldn’t understand how you managed to look so angelic in the dead of summer with no AC.

Your soft lips pulled up into a kind, albeit reserved, smile.

“Hi,” you’d said simply.

Carter couldn’t bring himself to form a single coherent word. His luggage had fallen to his sides, forgotten, as he drank you in. His eyes fell to your chest where your badge was clipped, and he tried your name out in his head. It sounded nice.

Then Mark Greene snapped him back into reality.

“Carter! Aren’t you needed in surgery?”

With a terrifying jolt, the fear blown out of his head by your presence returned to the forefront of his mind. He hiked his bags back up onto his shoulders and resumed his sprint, though not without turning back for one last look at you, and subsequently almost breaking his leg tripping over the leg of a gurney.

Later that day, he’d inquired about you to Carol. You were a third year, just behind him, starting your emergency med rotation the very same day. You were working primarily under Doug, which gave Carter a lurch of nausea, but it quickly became more of a brother sister relationship than anything else.

It took exactly zero seconds for Carter to realize you were the girl of his dreams. You were smart, funny, sharp, and knew how to take charge. You held your own just fine, and had even knocked sense into him on occasion. Even Benton looked impressed the first time your paths crossed.

And you were nice. Nice in the way that all doctors should be. You weren’t easily fooled, not exactly a people pleaser, but an empath. You had a knack for breaking ground with even the toughest of patients.

You were sure of yourself in all the ways Carter wasn’t. It was intimidating, at first, but as the two of you became friends (once Carter learned how to speak in full sentences around you) it became grounding, and comforting. You helped him find his way, and made it look easy. It was with your support he was able to find the courage to start his residency over again to pursue his true passion.

So there you were two years later, just starting out together, new emergency medicine interns, and spending more time together than ever. If Carter thought he had it bad before, it was nothing compared to now. Every time you poured him a cup of coffee, or reminded him about a chart, or leaned just a little too close to laugh at one of his jokes, his heart skipped a beat. He was no artist, but he was sure he could create a masterpiece of your smile just by memory.

And god forbid you called him Johnny. No one called him that, not even when he was a kid. It sent shivers down his spine. He could hear your sweet voice in his head late at night, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny…

“Carter!”

He jumped a mile as Carol barked his name. He blinked and looked around at her. She didn’t look happy.

“You know, staring at the clock won’t make it move any faster,” she said, slapping a chart into his hand. “She’ll be back when she’s back.”

“I don’t — who?” he attempted lamely to save face, but Carol sent him one exasperated look and he shut his mouth.

He was fairly certain no one was ignorant to his crush, at this point. It was possible the only one who didn’t know, who didn’t seem to notice his puppy eyes searching for you in every room, was you. At least, he hoped not.

The thought of you finding out made his head spin and knees feel wobbly, and not in a good way. In a horrible, end-of-the-world, sickening way. He pictured it all falling apart, the careful friendship you’d built together. No more inside jokes, no more studying in the middle of the night, no more book swaps, no more you. He didn’t even want to entertain the idea.

Sure, there were fleeting moments of hope, where he thought maybe, maybe, you cared for him the same way he cared for you. But they were always quickly squashed. You’d say, “you’re my best friend, Carter!” or “I wish I could find someone like you.”

The most recent form of torture was seeing you with Danny. Yeah, he was a resident, so he actually made money, and okay, he had pretty great hair, striking blue eyes, and a chin dimple. Exactly your type. He remembered watching Full House with you. God, he never heard the end of John Stamos this, John Stamos that. He’d left in a sour mood that day.

The ding of the elevator and a loud giggle broke his train of thought. A familiar giggle. Your giggle.

He straightened, excited to fill you in on his pediatric patient who’d somehow gotten a Barbie shoe stuck up his nose, when he realized you weren’t alone.

Danny.

Carter’s eyes narrowed at the hand placed on the small of your back, expensive watch glinting in the fluorescent lighting.

“I’m telling you, it was unbelievable,” Danny was saying. “We could get some dinner, I know this great little italian place off State, then catch the Arrival late. Charlie Sheen’s best performance.”

You nodded enthusiastically. Carter gripped the clipboard tightly.

A few weeks ago, as he was driving you home from a shift, you’d seen a poster for the premiering film as you passed the theater.

“Great, another alien movie,” you’d said in disgust. “And let’s be honest, Charlie Sheen’s not even good at comedy, what are they doing putting him in an action movie they want us to take seriously?”

But now, you appeared to have changed your mind, as you nodded along with a smile. You approached Carter at the desk. He tried his best to wipe the murderous expression from his face.

“Hey, Carter, right?” said Danny, holding out a hand. “This one talks about you all the time, feel like I know you already.”

Carter took his hand, something strangely akin to pride burning in his chest.

“Nice to meet you,” he said. “Can’t say the same about you, I’m afraid. David, is it?”

“Uh, Danny, actually,” he said, and you shot a warning glare to Carter behind his back. “I guess she can be a little shy, huh?”

“Not really,” he said, looking back down at his clipboard.

He could feel the heat of your stare but didn’t dare look up and meet it.

“Well, of course I’m not shy around you, silly,” you said. “You’re my best friend. It’s different.”

There was that familiar pang in Carter’s chest. He forced out a smile, eyes still glued to the paper and not reading a single word.

“Well, I just came down to consult on a patient,” said Danny. “We should probably —”

“Right,” you said.

Danny started walking, and before following, you sent Carter a swift kick behind the partition. Then you hurried off, leaving him with a sore heart and a sore shin.

Something of the despair must have lingered on his face as Doug returned from his flu case, because he approached Carter looking like a mourner at a funeral service.

“They haven’t even gone on a date yet,” he said consolingly. “Why don’t you just ask her out?”

Carter scoffed.

“Yeah, and while I’m at it, why don’t I hike mount Everest?” he hissed. “It’s not that simple.”

“First of all, there’s no need for an attitude,” said Doug. “And second, it literally is. You’re two single adults who like each other. The worst thing she can say is no!”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” said Carter somberly. “The worst thing she can say is that we can’t even be friends, or be around each other anymore. I’d rather have her that way than not at all.”

Doug blew out a breath and slapped Carter on the back.

“Well, you're just a big fat bummer,” he said. “How about this. Everyone’s going out for drinks tonight, why don’t you come along and we can get you good and drunk, huh?”

Carter fidgeted with his clipboard clip. He had soft plans to wallow alone in pity that night.

“I don’t know, Doug…”

“Carter,” he groaned, jostling the boy. “You’re depressing us! All of us. It’s ruining the workplace mojo. Just come along, I’ll buy.”

Carter still hesitated. He had a bad feeling, but he could also stand to drown his sorrows. And if it was free, why not?

So he agreed.

He agreed not knowing that you would be there.

Or that you would bring Danny with you.

And boy, was Danny there. He laughed too loudly. He talked too much. He was far too handsy. Every time Carter glanced over, there was some point of contact. Arm around your shoulder, hand on your thigh, heads pressed together as he whispered in your ear.

Excessive, Carter thought. What ever happened to sitting on opposite sides of the table and talking quietly? Underrated, if you asked him.

With every laugh you let out, Carter took a shot. He was barely even feeling them at that point.

“I’m kind of regretting my offer to pay for you,” said Doug as Carter downed his sixth drink of the night. “How about some water?”

Carter didn’t respond, eyes steady on you from across the bar.

The rest of the day shift mingled about the bar, chatting or playing pool, letting loose. But Carter felt the knot in his gut tighten with every second.

You had changed out of your scrubs. He recognized the soft sweater you wore, in fact he had been with you when you purchased it.

You had wanted to do a celebratory day out, both for your graduation from med school, and Carter’s “graduation from the soulless slicing-people-open cult”, as you had put it. You’d let yourself peruse the higher end shops, though you still struggled to accept some of the pricier items. That was, until you saw the sweater. It was cashmere, form fitting but not revealing, for special occasions, you said.

You told him how most of the sweaters you’d had growing up were homemade, and while you’d treasure them, you’d always wondered what it would feel like to splurge. He offered to buy it for you, without really thinking, but you’d waved him off. You wanted to spend some of the money you’d worked so hard for.

On the hanger, it just looked like any other sweater to Carter. But when you tried it on, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Though, maybe that was just because of the smile that lit up your face when you saw yourself in the mirror.

He’d seen you in it a handful of times after that, birthday dinners, holidays; and now that it was getting cold again, you pulled it out. And you seemed to think drinks with Danny was a special enough occasion.

Doug snapped his fingers in front of Carter’s face.

“Earth to Carter,” he drawled. 

He turned to Doug, blinking slowly. He felt hot and woozy. Nothing made sense. Why were you sequestered over in the corner with Danny? You should’ve been by Carter’s side. Laughing with him. Letting him take you home, and tuck you in. Cook you breakfast.

“I’m going over there,” he slurred, pushing himself up from his stool

He almost immediately lost balance, and Doug gripped his shoulders tightly to keep up somewhat up right.

“No you’re not, man,” said Doug through his teeth, glancing anxiously over at you and Danny. “Not when you’re this hammered.”

Carter’s attempt to pull away only had him tripping over his own feet. Doug yanked him back up.

“I’m going,” he said.

Doug pushed him back into his seat.

“To do what?” said Doug, slowly, like he was talking to one of his patients. “Hm? What are you gonna tell her then, Carter? While she’s having some nice drinks with a guy she likes?”

Carter deflated. He looked over at you, and the smile you wore.

“I just,” he sighed. “I just — I wish I — she —”

“I know,” said Doug. “I know, buddy. But I also know you don’t want to ruin her fun.”

Carter shook his head vehemently.

“Right,” said Doug. “Good. Listen, you stay right here, and I’m gonna go see if Mark or Susan can drive you home, okay? Don’t move!”

As soon as Doug left his sight, Carter stood and staggered over to you. He saw you smile as you spotted him, then it turned confused, as he collided with an empty chair and stumbled to the ground. You jumped up to help him.

“Woah,” he said, dazedly, as you hauled him into a sitting position, crouched at his side.

“Woah,” you agreed, brow furrowed with concern. “You feeling okay?”

He looked into your pretty, pretty eyes, and a smile bloomed on his face.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi there,” you said back, now starting to smile timidly at the pure strangeness of the situation. “How much have you had to drink?”

He was too fixed on watching your mouth move to comprehend your question. You took that as an answer in and of itself.

“Alright, we’re getting up,” you said.

You latched your hands under his arms behind his back. He happily slung his arms around you.

“Ready?” you asked.

He hummed, playing with a bit of your hair. You heaved him upwards, tapping his shoe with your toes to prompt him to get his legs underneath his weight. Once you were sure he was somewhat stable, you let your hands fall. His stayed, one on your back, one still twiddling with your hair, his head resting on your shoulder.

“Um…”

You put your hands on his arms and tried to pull them off of you. He whined like a little kid, and gripped harder. You were so warm. Why did you take your arms away? Why didn’t you keep holding him?

“Carter,” you said, and he whined again.

“I hate when you call me that,” he mumbled against your neck.

You finally maneuvered your hands under his chin and moved his face out of your shoulder to face you. He let you manhandle him with a dopey smile.

“Your name?” you asked. “You don’t like when I say your name?”

He sighed dramatically, releasing his neck and allowing the full weight of his head to fall into your hands. He could smell your lotion. Familiar. Sweet. His hands were still around you, on your back. He began moving them up and down, feeling the soft cashmere under his rough dry hands. You forced some of your lotion onto them whenever you could. You even got him his own bottle for Christmas last year, but he hardly ever used it. He was afraid if his hands weren’t so dry, you’d never tsk, and take them in yours, and apply the lotion so gently.

As pathetic as it sounded, as pathetic as it was, that was one of the few forms of physical contact he had with you. He loved your hands. So soft and warm. He could engulf them in his. If you let him, he’d hold your hand all day, and never let it go.

Suddenly, another, much less welcome face appeared.

Fucking Danny.

“You okay, man?”

He didn’t say anything, just turned back to you. But your face was turned away from his, meeting Danny’s eyes. Your lips were moving. You looked worried.

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” he blurted out.

Your eyes widened. You pushed away from him and grabbed an ice bucket from your table. He clutched it like a lifeline as a wave of nausea passed through him. You steered him into a chair. Your mouth moved again, at Danny, and he disappeared.

Carter suddenly felt his stomach settling. You placed a comforting hand on the top of his head.

Then Danny was back, but he brought Doug with him. Doug’s face took up most of Carter’s vision, and he groaned in displeasure.

“I told you not to move,” said Doug sternly. “If you yak in an ice bucket, they’re gonna kick you out. Let’s get you some fresh air.”

He threw one of Carter’s arms over his shoulder and tugged him up. He felt quite bad. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been this drunk in his life, even in college. His head was already starting to ache, as Doug jostled him out the door and into the cold. It was only then, as the winter air blew over him, that he realized just how sweaty he was.

Doug set him down on the curb and took his ice bucket. As he burped, sweaty as the day he met you, on the side of the road, he wanted nothing more than to sleep.

“If you need to barf, aim for the sewer grate,” said Doug, patting him on the back. “I’m gonna hail you a cab.”

“Doug, no.”

You had followed them outside.

“You can’t put him in a cab all alone, he’ll barf all over himself!” he heard you say. “I’m not sure anyone would even take him. He can barely speak.”

“Well, I’m definitely not driving tonight,” said Doug’s voice. “And Mark and Susan already said they aren’t, either.”

You went back and forth for a while. Carter let his head rest in his arms, propped on his bent knees. He wanted to go home. Whether you came with him or not. Preferably with, but he was beginning to lose more and more of his conscious thought.

When he was pulled up again, it was your arms encircling him. You were speaking, maybe to him, maybe to Doug, but then he was seated in a smelly cab, and you were there next to him. His head hurt. He was starting to feel nauseous again.

He slumped over onto your shoulder, and felt immediate relief. The smell of your shampoo overpowered whatever tobacco, axe body spray haze coated the cab. You kept your arm around his shoulder and let him nuzzle into your side. He’d never felt more comfortable outside his own bed.

Carter hated cabs. He hated cars, stuffy small ones that reeked, and he was usually very prone to motion sickness. But when he felt himself being pulled out of said smelly, stuffy cab, he groaned in protest.

“Come on,” said your soft, angelic voice. “Open your eyes for me.”

He did. Your shadowy face loomed over him.

“We’re home.”

“Home?”

You helped him up out of  the car, then up the many, many steps of his crappy apartment with no elevator. If he was less out of it, he’d apologize to you for practically carrying his drunken dead weight all the way to his door. But you didn’t complain, just found the familiar key under his mat and unlocked the door.

You let him collapse on the couch. He watched you, entranced, as you removed his shoes and socks, then his tie and suspenders, then his belt. You took a blanket and draped it over him, tucking in the sides as you went.

“What are you smiling at, Mr. Reed?”

He smiled wider.

“Who’s that,” he murmured. 

“Forget it,” you said. “But you, uh, hit the liquor pretty hard tonight, huh?”

He only grunted. You disappeared for a second, and his smile vanished. He called out your name, sounding whingey, but he didn’t care, he just wanted you back by his side. He had just managed to hoist himself into a wobbly sitting position when you reappeared, holding his bathroom trashcan, a bed pillow, a glass of water, and some tylenol.

“Where do you think you’re going?” you said, slightly amused as you set the meds and water on his end table.

“You,” he said stupidly, as you pushed him back down. “You’re back.”

“Yes, Johnny, I’m back,” you said, lifting his head to place the pillow underneath.

He smiled wider than ever, face red, giggling foolishly. You looked unsure if you should be laughing or worried. After you pushed the emptied bin right up close to the edge of the couch, just in case, you perched on the edge of the cushion. 

“You’re so nice,” he sighed, grabbing your hands. “And pretty. And smart.”

Your face tensed almost imperceptibly.

“Thanks, Johnny.”

“I love it when you call me that,” he said. “Only you… only you…”

“Okay, only I will,” you said placidly. “Try and get some sleep, okay?”

He pulled your hands, and you lost your balance, falling over him with a small yelp, catching yourself on your elbows. 

“I really like your face,” he slurred. “It’s my favorite. And whenever you lean real close, and smile, and… and I can smell your shampoo… I just want to kiss you all over.”

Your confused expression dropped into shock.

“What did you say?”

Shut up! part of him yelled. You’re making it weird! Unfortunately, it wasn’t the part of him that was steering the ship. His mouth fell open and more words just kept coming.

“You know, when I met you, I wanted to ask you out,” he said. “But you made me so nervous. I just did what you said, and — and what you wanted was to be friends. And that’s okay. I love being your friend. But sometimes… a lot of the time… I wonder what it would be like to hold you whenever I want.”

He laced your fingers together. You were frozen above him, pretty lips parted.

“And — but — and you’re with Danny now, which is good,” he said. “I want you to be happy. I just… I hate that guy. Everytime I see him… everytime you laugh… I don’t…”

He swallowed thickly. You were clinging to his every word. He was breathing heavily now, heart racing, and to him, you had never looked more beautiful. Hair down, eyes wide. And before he could stop himself, he leaned up and pressed his lips to yours.

For a moment, you remained frozen. And Carter’s brain was too filled with the sensation of your mouth against his, something he’d thought about often over the past two years, to realize the implications. In a split second, just one tiny millisecond of time, he thought he felt you kiss him back. But just as soon as that came, you pulled back abruptly.

He panted, looking up at you dreamily. You looked down at him with confusion and anxiety painted on your face.

You untangled your grips and sat up straight. You wouldn’t look at him. You wouldn’t touch him. His hands fidgeted with each other, itching to draw you back to him, but he knew that wouldn’t be right.

You stood.

“You’re drunk,” you said, eyes on the carpet. “You need to sleep.”

“I – I’m,” he stuttered.

He wanted to tell you he meant it. That he had since the day he met you, and even if he woke up in the morning and regretted it, it was still true. But he was having trouble keeping his eyes open.

“Please stay,” he breathed.

You shook your head.

“I have work tomorrow,” you said. “I have to get home.”

You turned to grab your purse and he grabbed your hand. You still didn’t look at him.

“Please,” he whispered, fighting to stay awake. “Please, please stay.”

You hesitated, but nodded.

“For a bit.”

Only when he saw you settle in the armchair did he let himself doze into fitful dreams.

---

part 2

requests open!

masterlist

[xxgibsongirl]

𝑫ating Dean Winchester Headcannons ₊⊹⁀➴

⟡ pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

⟡ tags/warnings: smut… and some fluff !! dean is pathetic (but what’s new..) touch-starved dean

⟡ an: this is the first smut that I’ve ever written, and I wrote this in a midnight haze a few months ago so please excuse any errors…

⟡ ⤷ Dean Winchester… who is the biggest boobs guy. During intimacy, the first piece of clothing that he’d remove would be your shirt. He’d try to pace himself, migrate his open-mouthed kisses to your jaw and neck, but he would soon end up back at your breasts. He’d kiss, and suck, and tease them until he was satisfied with the small marks that he’d left, and only then would he finally remove your bra. He would keep them in his hands the whole time, and then afterwards he would rest his head on your chest.

⟡ Dean Winchester… who adores seeing you in his clothes. When your hair is messy and you’ve got nothing on but a baggy band shirt of his, or when he buys you something and he sees you wearing it, he gets flustered and smiley.

⟡ Dean Winchester… who has a thing for performing ‘favours’ for each other in the impala.

⟡ Dean Winchester… who was so touch starved when you began dating him that it was bordering on pathetic. When you’d do so much as kiss him or brush your fingers through his hair, his brain would melt to mush and his jeans would grow uncomfortably snug.

⟡ Dean Winchester… who is SO loud during intimacy. He’s shameless about groaning, so much so that you’ve even considered him being proud of it; empowered by it. But when he whines, he gets sooo embarrassed. He tries to deepen his voice afterwards, and his checks get flushed. You ignore it once or twice but when it happens again you assure him that it’s okay, and even open the possibility that you like it. That sends him off the edge.

⟡ Dean Winchester… who is a certified munch!!! He’d wake you up with soft kisses along your neckline, trailing down the valley between your breasts, illuminated by the morning sun that soaked its way through your curtains. His faint stubble would tickle your sensitive skin, sure to wake you up. Once you were he would migrate his kisses to your stomach. He’d stall until you finally gave him the routine ‘okay’ by running your hands through his hair and urging him to remove whatever clothing survived the night. He’d start slowly; changing paces, tensing and flexing his tongue, moving down to lick a long strip and then going back up to suck and tease until you were silently begging. He’d drag your pleasure out for as long as he could, you’d tug on his hair as he worked you closer to the edge and he would groan into you, making you moan in return.

⟡ Dean Winchester… who loves being on top, but would melt if you took control.

⟡ Dean Winchester… who loves teasing you during intimacy. He’d make sarcastic remarks, not to make you feel bad, but to hear you groaning his name in the stern warning-like tone you always used. He’d do it to feel your own body betray itself as your pleasure slowly spread throughout your body.

𝓓iv - cursedcarmine

[bleachedduck]

𝒾 𝓀𝓃ℴ𝓌 𝒾𝓉’𝓈 𝓎ℴ𝓊 ‘𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈ℯ 𝒾 𝓀𝓃ℴ𝓌 𝒽ℴ𝓌 𝒾𝓉 𝒻ℯℯ𝓁𝓈 𝓌𝒽ℯ𝓃 𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹’𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝒶𝒾𝓇.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : dean winchester x fem!reader.

𝐜𝐰 : little bit of angst. codependent dean. dean being called "pup" and getting a boner. maybe unhealthy relationship dynamics (?. suggestive (+18 MDNI).

Dean is a simple man. Almost like a pet.

Wants to be fed, appreciates being told what to do (it's okay, it gives him purpose), needs a little pat from time to time to keep himself going, to know he's doing well. Wants to be loved, too, even if he won't explicitly let you know. Because who doesn't?

He's practically a dog, really.

And is not like he's ashamed of his loyal, needy nature. At least not since you waltzed into his life and taught him how to trust you with it in your hands, leaving it to you to decide things for him.

What flannel should he wear in the morning, what's the best option in the diner's morning specialties, what turn to take when you're hunting some sinister creature in the thickness of the forest.

The inherent dearth of emotional and real parental guidance since he can remember makes it easier for him to put himself at your mercy.

Maybe it began in the womb, wrought inside a mold of compliance and deep self-doubt where there was nothing he could've done to not turn out this way.

Maybe it started the moment Mary died, when he had to wedge himself into a narrow, very specific box to take care of duties, tend to emotions, play roles he shouldn't have had to at the ripe age of four years old.

You think it must've been something in his brain forcing him to surrender to the hand pushing him down into the depths of conformity before he was even a decade old.

Either way, you love him for it. You keep him for it. You let him exist with it in the stillness of every mildew-ridden motel room you crash in for the night, every moment of silence after a messy killing where he curls up against you in the backseat of Baby.

Dean enjoys the way you don't mind raking your fingers through his hair when he feels like he's about to start shaking. Enjoys knowing he can wind up wrapping himself around you like mold, suffocating and impossible to get rid of, and you'll still whisper something sweet into his ear, like "Shh, is okay, baby. You're so sweet, is okay to be upset", and he'll find it hard to believe you're not utterly repulsed by how much you know he needs you. Yet.

Something he's still getting himself to feel comfortable with is the way other people can see how he trails behind you like an overgrown puppy. How you could snap your fingers and he'd roll around and fetch and wag his tail for you if he had one.

Like now, where you're sat at the table with two other hunters you've crossed paths with only a few other times before, sharing a beer and stories about a particularly hard to kill werewolf or a slimy shape shifter.

The place is not half bad. They're playing classic rock, and his hand's been clamped over your upper thigh the whole time you guys have been sitting here, so he's feeling himself. The alcohol helps him ease up, too.

You find your beer to be empty when you grab it by the neck, swinging it tentatively as if it's gonna refill itself magically, and you turn to look at him.

"Dean, baby," He's already looking at you, eyes soft like he's admiring the picture of a saint he's found somewhere empty and far from the hand of God. "D'you mind—"

"I'll go." He's already on his feet before you can finish your request, taking the empty bottles with him and striding towards the counter where the barman's already guessing his next order.

Right after that you hear the amused scoff from one of the hunters. Your attention's back on them, ready to confirm or debunk whatever stupid comment is about to leave one of their big mouths.

"Damn," There's derision in the way he says that word, washing it down with a gulp of his beer like it can undo it. "you got the boy on a short leash, huh?"

"Like a damn dog." The other one follows. "Is he always that obedient?"

But you don't make a fuss or try to wipe the smiles off his faces.

They're scruffy and careless. They'll never know softness the way you do with Dean. They'll never be tender the way Dean is, and that is enough to make you smirk as well, your eyes finding Dean as he approaches the table again.

You wait until he's sat down and set the bottles of beer on the table before you bring your hand to the back of his head. He doesn't know what you're about to say, but the way he leans into your touch is hard to miss.

"Baby," A shiver runs down his whole body the way it always does when you're taking care of him in a parking lot or a dark place in public where everyone else can see but no one will call you out for it. Completely at your mercy.

Your voice could've given him heartburn from how sweet it is, but it doesn't sound fake. Never does when it's for him.

"These dummies say I've got you on a short leash." It only takes a tiny tug from his hair to make him squirm. "You don't like your leash, pup?"

Oh, there it is. The heat blooming beneath the apple of his cheeks like mild sunburn, and the depth of his pupils swallow the emerald surrounding them.

He's fighting the painful uprise inside his jeans after hearing the nickname. Pup. Something harmless, something playful, but it makes him want to pout.

Still, he's shy. Dean feels himself smiling dumbly, unable to bring himself to care about what these sleazy guys might think of him, what they might say about who the big tough Dean Winchester actually is for a girl.

He doesn't care because his whole world is sitting by his side, with her loving hand choosing him like she always does.

He could've begged you to just take him here in front of everyone if he was a couple more beers in.

Pushing the slight underlying shame aside, he shakes his head lightly like that's gonna help him get rid of the heat bathing his body while a blanket.

"Nah," He looks at you, smitten and stupidly fond, and leans down to kiss the spot beside your nose. "I like it every much."

Then he looks at the other two hunters with his usual smug glimmer in his eyes, because he so does not give a single fuck about the way he might've made a fool of himself right now.

Just as contently, you give his cheek a soft praiseful pat before taking your beer, sensing how he might actually disintegrate on his seat.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 : i was gonna make it a little dirtier but i fumbled... also this has been in my had for a week and i had to let it out. and i did proofread! everyone cheer please.

divider by chrisssiren.