summary 𓂃 when you admit you’ve never been on top before, dean decides there’s no better place to learn than his bed.
warnings 𓂃 18+ mdni, explicit smut, established relationship, insecurity, first time riding, protected sex, praise, dirty talk, boob play, clit stimulation, missionary, soft aftercare.
word count 𓂃 3,468.
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
You'd been pretending to watch the movie for at least fifteen minutes.
Dean had been doing a terrible job of pretending he wasn't staring at you for just as long.
It was a terrible performance on both sides, especially considering the laptop was still playing some action movie at the end of his bed, and neither of you could've named one thing that'd happened in the last ten minutes. You were tucked under his sheets in one of his old Briar shirts, the hem brushing soft against your thighs because your underwear was the only thing you'd bothered putting on after your shower, and Dean was lying beside you with one hand behind his head and the other low on your hip like he was trying very hard to act like a gentleman.
He was trying to behave, which was sweet, really, but not exactly successful.
"You're staring again," you murmured, not even bothering to look away from the screen.
Dean's thumb moved in a slow circle over your hip. "You're in my bed wearing my shirt. You can't really blame me."
"You gave it to me," you pointed out, like that was supposed to make him less smug about it.
"I know." Dean's mouth curved like he'd been waiting for you to say exactly that. "Great decision, honestly."
You rolled your eyes, but the smile breaking through kind of ruined the effect. "You're impossible."
"Yeah." Dean leaned in, his lips brushing your shoulder through the fabric of his shirt. "But you like me anyway."
"Sometimes," you said, though your smile made it sound a lot less convincing.
"Right now?" he asked, his voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip.
You turned your head to answer, which was apparently all the invitation Dean needed, because then he was kissing you, slow and warm, one hand sliding up your side beneath the fabric like he'd planned the whole thing. It was easy to melt into Dean like that, a lot easier than you'd ever admit out loud. Dean kissed you like he knew exactly how much time he had, which apparently meant he had no problem spending it dragging every little sound out of you to see how much trouble it got him into.
His fingers slipped beneath the hem of the shirt, warm against your waist in a way that shouldn't have made you gasp as quickly as it did.
Dean smiled against your mouth, entirely too pleased with himself. "There she is."
"Don't start."
"I didn't even say anything."
"You were about to, and we both know it."
He laughed, low and entirely too pleased with himself, before rolling onto his back and tugging you over him like he already knew you'd follow. And you did, because apparently thinking was no longer part of the plan, one knee sliding across his hips until you were straddling his lap.
Then you froze beneath his hands, and Dean felt the change in you immediately.
His hands settled on your waist, thumbs brushing over your sides in a way that was soft enough to make your chest ache a little. "Hey."
You swallowed, suddenly very aware of the fact that you were in his lap with your thighs spread around his hips, his hard length pressing up beneath his sweatpants, and somehow his shirt still covering you didn't make you feel any less exposed.
"This feels like a lot of responsibility," you said, aiming for a joke and landing somewhere embarrassingly close to panic.
Dean's brow lifted like he wasn't sure whether to laugh or be concerned. "Responsibility?"
"I just..." You looked down, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt like that'd somehow make the words easier to get out. "I've never really done this before."
His expression softened, though that amused little spark in his eyes didn't go anywhere. "Been on top?"
Your cheeks warmed, which was annoying because Dean absolutely noticed. "Not really."
"Not really?" Dean repeated, thumbs still brushing over your waist like he was trying very hard not to look too pleased about that.
"Dean," you said, dragging his name out like a warning, even though the warmth in your cheeks made it pretty hard to sound threatening.
He smiled a little, his hands giving your hips a gentle squeeze like he'd decided to behave for once. "Okay. Not really."
"It's not a big deal," you said quickly, which was unfortunate because saying it that fast made it sound like it was definitely a big deal. "I just feel like I'd look stupid, or I wouldn't know what I was doing, and then you'd have to pretend it was hot, which is a very nice boyfriend thing to do, but also something I'd never emotionally recover from."
Dean stared at you for a beat, then laughed in this soft, disbelieving way that only made your face feel warmer. "Baby, I'm hard because you're sitting on my lap in my shirt. You could sneeze right now, and I'd find a way to be into it."
You blinked because, annoyingly enough, it had worked. "That was weirdly comforting."
"I'm great at comfort."
"You're absolutely not."
"I am when you're half-naked on top of me."
You tried to bite back a laugh, but it came out as this breathy little sound instead when Dean's hands guided your hips down, showing you exactly how slowly he wanted you to move over him. The pressure caught against your clit through your underwear, warm and steady enough to make your thighs tense before you could stop them.
Dean's eyes darkened like he'd felt the way your body reacted. "Does that feel good?"
You nodded, your thighs still tense beneath his hands.
His mouth curved. "Words, sweetheart."
"Yes," you breathed, because apparently that was the only word your brain had left to offer.
"There you go," Dean murmured, his voice soft enough to make your stomach flip.
The next kiss was messier, mostly because Dean kept guiding your hips over him like he had all the patience in the world, dragging it out until your underwear was damp, clinging to you, and making it pretty impossible to pretend you weren't affected. At first, the sounds you made were small and half-swallowed against his mouth, but Dean noticed every single one like he'd been waiting for them.
"Don't do that," he murmured.
You blinked at him. "Do what?"
"Hold back." His fingers tightened on your hips like he was making sure you couldn't pretend you didn't know what he meant. "I like hearing you."
Your stomach flipped, which was annoying because Dean absolutely felt it, and then he kissed you again until the friction dragged a moan out of you that you finally let him hear.
Dean groaned, as if he'd heard you'd done something terrible to his self-control.
That helped more than anything else could have.
By the time Dean had pushed his sweatpants down and rolled on a condom, your underwear was shoved to the side, your hands were planted on his chest, and the shirt was still hanging over you like a very pathetic attempt at feeling covered. Dean didn't try to take it off, which somehow made your chest feel tighter. He just held your hips, eyes fixed on your face as he guided himself through your wetness.
"Slow," he murmured. "Take your time."
You lowered yourself carefully, trying to take your time like he'd told you to, but your mouth still fell open the second the head of his cock pressed inside you. The stretch was familiar and different all at once, deeper like this, more intense because you were the one in control, which sounded nice in theory and felt a lot more terrifying with Dean watching your face like that. You sank inch by inch, trying very hard to look like you had any control over yourself, but the second he filled you, your fingers curled against his chest, and a shaky whimper slipped out before you could stop it.
Dean's jaw tightened. "Fuck."
You froze immediately. "Bad?"
His eyes snapped to yours as you'd just said something insane. "Are you joking?"
"You made a face."
"Yeah, baby, because you feel so good, I'm trying not to embarrass myself."
Your cheeks warmed, which was embarrassing enough on its own, but the praise still settled low in your stomach like your body had decided to enjoy it before you could overthink it.
"You're not just saying that?"
Dean's hands slid up your thighs, grounding you in a way that made it annoyingly hard to spiral. "Move once, sweetheart, and see if I sound like I'm lying."
So you did, moving slowly at first.
Your hips lifted, then sank back down, and Dean's head tipped against the pillow with this rough, helpless groan that made it pretty hard to believe he'd been lying about any of it.
"Oh," you breathed, and the second you moved again, it turned into something closer to a moan.
Dean's eyes opened, heavy and dark, like he'd been waiting for exactly that. "Yeah?"
"Feels good," you said, already sounding a little wrecked.
His hands squeezed your thighs. "Then keep going, sweetheart."
Your movements were awkward at first, mostly because your brain wouldn't shut up long enough to let your body figure it out, too busy worrying about the rhythm, whether you were doing enough, and whether you looked ridiculous hovering over him in his shirt with your thighs trembling.
Then Dean's hands tightened on your hips like he could feel you spiraling. "Stop thinking."
"I'm trying."
"No." His voice dropped, rough around the edges but still gentle. "You're trying to look good, which is insane, because you already do. Just move how you want."
The words hit harder than you'd expected, mostly because Dean sounded like he meant them, so you tried to believe him.
You rolled your hips instead of lifting so high, chasing the angle that made your clit catch against him every time you sank back down, and the moan that left you was loud enough to make Dean's cock twitch inside you like he was having a very hard time staying calm about it.
Your eyes flicked to his face, and Dean looked so wrecked that it made it pretty hard to keep worrying about whether you were doing it right.
His lips parted, jaw tense, and his hands kept flexing on your hips like Dean was having the world's hardest time remembering he'd told you to move how you wanted.
"You like this?" you asked, and even though your voice shook, it still came out bolder than before.
Dean laughed once, rough and breathless, as the question had actually offended him. "Like it?" His hips jerked up into you, dragging a gasp out of your mouth. "Baby, I'm trying not to lose my fucking mind."
That did something to you, mostly because Dean sounded like he meant it, and apparently, your body liked knowing you could mess him up that badly.
Your next movement was smoother, more confident, and the moan that came out of you wasn't even close to quiet, which Dean clearly noticed because his hands tightened on your hips immediately.
"Dean—fuck," you moaned, and the way his eyes darkened made it pretty clear he'd liked hearing his name like that.
"That's it," he murmured. "Let me hear you."
You rode him slowly at first, then a little faster once you realized your body had apparently figured out what your brain kept trying to overthink, your hands sliding up his chest as his shirt rode higher over your thighs. Your cunt was soaked around him, every movement making it easier, wetter, and a lot harder to feel shy about, especially when Dean looked down to watch where you were taking him and groaned as he'd just lost whatever was left of his self-control.
"God," he muttered, hands tightening on your hips. "You were worried about this?"
You tried to laugh, but it came out closer to a whimper when he helped you grind down harder. "Maybe."
Dean looked like that answer personally offended him. "You're killing me."
His fingers tugged at the hem of the shirt, and you slowed immediately, like your body had decided to panic before your brain could tell it not to.
Dean noticed immediately, because, of course, he did, his eyes lifting back to yours, as if taking the shirt off suddenly mattered a whole lot less than making sure you were okay. "Can I see you?"
Your stomach fluttered.
His hands rubbed up your thighs, warm and steady. "You can keep it on if you want."
You hesitated for only a second before lifting your arms, which felt a lot braver than it probably looked.
Dean pulled the shirt over your head and tossed it aside, leaving you in your bra and still moving over him like your body hadn't quite figured out whether to be nervous or proud. His eyes dragged over you slowly, and for once, Dean Di Laurentis had absolutely nothing to say.
That made your chest tighten, mostly because Dean looking at you like that was a lot harder to handle than any stupid comment he could've made. "What?"
His hands slid up your waist, warm and certain. "You're so fucking pretty."
Your breath caught the second his palms covered your breasts through your bra, thumbs brushing over your nipples beneath the thin fabric, and your rhythm faltered immediately, because apparently, Dean touching you there made moving and thinking at the same time impossible.
"Oh—Dean."
His mouth curved, entirely too pleased with himself. "No, don't stop."
"You're distracting me."
"Good." His thumbs circled again, making you clench around him like your body had decided to prove his point. "Keep riding me anyway."
You moaned louder this time, hips rolling as his hands played with your tits through your bra, and every touch made you stutter in a way Dean very clearly noticed. Every bit of praise made you wetter, every look on his face made you a little bolder, until the embarrassment started slipping away as your body had finally decided to stop fighting him.
"Tell me," he said, voice rough. "Tell me what feels good."
You swallowed, still moving over him because apparently stopping would've been the worst idea. "Your hands."
"Yeah?"
"And your cock." Your voice was breathless enough to be embarrassing, but you said it anyway, and Dean's eyes went so dark that it made the embarrassment feel worth it. "Feels good when I move like this."
You rolled your hips harder to show him, and Dean's head dropped back as you'd just ruined him on purpose.
"Fuck," he groaned. "Don't stop doing that."
Hearing Dean sound like that ruined something dangerous to your confidence, mostly because it was a lot harder to feel embarrassed when he sounded like he was the one barely holding it together.
Your hands moved behind your back, unclasping your bra before your brain could show up and ruin the moment. It slipped down your arms and fell somewhere between you, and Dean stared as you'd just done something genuinely unfair to his ability to breathe.
"Look at you," he breathed, and the way he said it made your whole body feel warm.
The words made your chest warm in a way you weren't sure what to do with.
Then his mouth was on you, lips closing around one nipple while his hand covered your other breast, and you cried out so quickly it would've been embarrassing if Dean hadn't groaned like it'd done something to him. Your fingers slid into his hair, hips moving faster now as pleasure started building low in your stomach.
"Dean, I'm—" Your voice fell apart into a whimper when his thumb found your clit, because apparently your body had no interest in letting you finish a sentence. "Oh my god, right there."
"There?" he asked, smug in a way that would've been annoying if he didn't sound so wrecked.
"Yes. Fuck, yes."
He rubbed slow circles over your clit while you rode him, his other hand on your hip and his mouth moving from your breast to your throat like he wasn't already making it impossible to focus. You were close, so close your thighs had started shaking, but the rhythm was getting harder to keep, your moans turning messier and needier as frustration tangled with the pleasure your body kept trying to chase.
Dean caught it instantly, like every little shift in your body was something he'd been waiting for.
"Come here," he murmured.
Before you could even think about arguing, Dean rolled you beneath him and pulled the sheets over both of you, settling between your thighs without slipping out like he'd decided you'd done enough thinking for one night. The new angle made you gasp, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed deeper.
Then Dean caught both your hands and laced your fingers together, pinning them above your head so gently it made your chest ache a little.
Dean kissed you, slow and messy, like he had every intention of making good on that promise. "Let me finish what you started."
"Please," you whispered, and it came out a lot needier than planned, which Dean absolutely noticed.
Dean's expression flickered. Then his hips started moving. Slow, deep, steady thrusts that had you moaning into the space between you, thighs locked around his waist, your hands crossed with his over your head. The sheets tangled around your legs, heat building under the blanket, his body heavy and warm over yours.
"You did so well," he murmured, his mouth brushing your jaw like he knew exactly how badly the praise was getting to you. "Looked so fucking good on top of me."
"Dean," you whimpered.
"I know." His hips rolled deeper, pulling your back into an arch. "I've got you."
His hand slipped between your bodies again, thumb finding your clit like he already knew exactly what you needed, and your whole body tightened around him.
"Oh—fuck, don't stop," you gasped, which was probably unnecessary considering Dean looked like stopping would've killed him.
He groaned anyway. "Wasn't planning on it."
The pleasure snapped through you suddenly, hot and sharp, and your moan broke against Dean's mouth as you came around him. Your thighs locked around his waist, fingers tightening in his above your head like you needed something to hold onto while your body shook beneath him.
Dean followed right after, his thrusts going uneven as he'd finally lost the last of his control, face buried in your neck as a rough groan broke out of him while he held you close and came.
For a while, neither of you moved, both of you too warm and tangled beneath the sheets to do anything other than breathe.
"You okay?" he asked softly.
You nodded, still trying to catch your breath. "Yeah."
His grin appeared slowly, which was never a good sign. "So."
"No."
"I didn't say anything."
"You were about to."
"I was just gonna say you're definitely not bad at being on top."
Your face warmed, and you turned it into the pillow like that might somehow save you. "You're so annoying."
"And you were so loud."
"Dean."
"I liked it," he said, kissing your cheek like he hadn't just made you want to disappear into the mattress. "A lot."
You tried to glare, but it came out pretty weak, especially when he slipped out carefully and disappeared to clean up like he hadn't just ruined your ability to function. When he came back, he helped clean you with a warm towel, gentle when your thighs twitched, before pulling his shirt back over your head as it belonged there.
"Putting me back in this?" you asked, glancing down at the shirt.
"Obviously." Dean climbed into bed beside you and pulled you into his chest, looking far too pleased with himself. "It's my new favorite thing now."
You laughed softly, settling against him while his arm wrapped around you like he had no plans of letting you go anytime soon.
For a minute, Dean only rubbed slow circles over your back like he was trying to make sure you'd fully melted into him. Then his voice came again, softer this time, though obviously still teasing because it was Dean.
"So..." His mouth brushed your hair, and you could hear the grin in his voice before he even finished. "You wanna do that again sometime?"
You pinched his side, which only made him laugh because apparently even that wasn't enough to make him less pleased with himself.
Dean laughed and pulled you closer, sounding far too pleased with himself for someone who'd just been pinched. "I'll take that as a yes."
✶ you attempt a prank on dean—wiping off his kisses—until his pouting is too much for you to bear.
002. WARNINGS !
✶ really old tiktok trend & a lot of kissing.
word count : 1,4k
gif by @alliecathayes
You had been sprawled across Dean’s bed, lazily scrolling through TikTok while he was downstairs preparing breakfast, courtesy of Tucker’s cooking and Dean’s determination to steal half of it before anyone else could.
You barely paid attention to most of the videos until one caught your eye. It was of a girl wiping off her boyfriend’s kisses. The poor guy got more offended with every attempt, eventually following her around the room demanding affection like a neglected golden retriever.
Which, honestly, reminded you a little too much of Dean.
Especially the pout he got whenever he thought you were ignoring him.
So, much to your unsuspecting boyfriend’s future dismay, you decided you would be wiping off every kiss he tried to give you. It would be fun to see just how long you could keep the prank going.
A few minutes later, Dean came back upstairs, opening the door before quickly closing it behind him again. A habit your previously exhibitionist boyfriend had been forced to learn after his roommates walked in on the two of you in compromising positions one too many times, and you finally refused to endure the embarrassment anymore.
He walked in carrying two cups of coffee carefully balanced on a tray alongside eggs, fruit, and toast.
“Breakfast is served, m’lady,” he announced, setting the tray down on the bed before giving an exaggerated bow afterward.
You let out a snort, grabbing your coffee.
Dean sat down beside you, leaning over to grab a piece of toast and pressing a soft kiss to your cheek in the process. Casually, you scratched at the spot and wiped the kiss away.
For a brief moment, you thought Dean hadn’t noticed. Then he frowned and pressed another kiss to the same spot.
Just like before, you rubbed it off.
He let out an offended gasp, staring at you like you had personally betrayed him, but begrudgingly let it slide. Still, he sighed dramatically while chewing on his toast and eggs, already beginning to pout.
“Are you going to the gym with Garrett later?” You asked after a moment of silence, chewing on a strawberry.
Your boyfriend only hummed in response, quietly eating his breakfast.
“Okay…” you dragged out, an amused smile tugging at your lips at the sight of his puppy eyes, like you’d just insulted his entire bloodline. “Is there something on my face?”
You already knew there was. You could feel the strawberry juice dripping from the corner of your mouth.
It was practically catnip for Dean. He immediately leaned forward, pressing a tentative kiss to the spot, his lips brushing yours for a second before ultimately settling at the corner of your mouth instead.
The moment he leaned away, you rubbed at the spot and simply said, “Oh, thank you.”
You caught the way his lips parted in pure disbelief, and had to fight to keep your laughter from spilling out.
This time, Dean’s response to what he clearly considered a personal betrayal was far more aggressive.
He kissed you properly, lips parting against yours, warm and insistent enough that for a brief moment you considered throwing the prank out the window altogether and spending the rest of the day hidden away in his bedroom.
But instead, you leaned back and aggressively smudged at your lips, watching his entire face twist in horror.
“Did I get all the juice?” You asked innocently, still rubbing at your mouth and the skin around it.
“Why are you doing that?” Dean asked, sounding genuinely baffled.
“Doing what?” You finally stopped rubbing.
“You’re wiping off my kisses,” he whined. “Did I do something?”
“Dean, I’m not doing anything,” you said sweetly, smiling at him. “Just don’t want strawberry all over my face, you know?”
He held your gaze for a few long seconds before standing from the bed and disappearing into the bathroom.
For a moment, guilt crept in. If Dean had pulled this prank on you, it would’ve earned him at least a few hours of the silent treatment.
But you were too far in now. You had to see it through.
Or maybe just until he left for the gym.
While your boyfriend sulked in the bathroom, you pulled on a pair, and then headed downstairs, deciding to wash the plates and mugs. Tucker had cooked breakfast, after all. It was the least you could do.
A few minutes later, Dean came downstairs with damp hair and a pair of low-hanging sleep pants slung dangerously low on his hips.
This was undoubtedly payback for your antics.
You kept washing dishes when he walked up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in the crook of your neck.
“Done messing around?” He murmured against your ear, the deep timbre of his voice making a shiver run through you.
“I didn’t do anything.”
You turned your head to look at him, and his eyes immediately dropped from yours to your mouth. A second later, he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to your lips.
You didn’t react right away.
Only once you turned back toward the sink did you bring up your driest hand and wipe the kiss away.
“There!” Dean grabbed your waist, spinning you around to glare at you. “You did it again!”
“What did she do again?” Logan asked as he strolled into the kitchen, eyes darting between the two of you.
“She’s wiping off my kisses!” Dean accused.
As if to prove his point, he grabbed your face with both hands and planted a firm kiss right on your mouth.
A second later, you leaned forward and rubbed your lips against his bare chest.
“Okay, didn’t need to see all that…” Logan muttered before setting his dirty mug on the counter and immediately leaving the kitchen again.
“Seriously, do I have some disease I don’t know about, or do you just not want me kissing you anymore?” He asked, his voice sounding more genuinely hurt this time.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You continued drying off the now clean plates.
“If you say so,” he mumbled with a sigh.
You watched as he leaned forward like he was about to kiss your cheek, only to stop himself at the last second.
That was your final straw. There was no way you were making it all the way until he left for the gym.
“Dean, wait.” You quickly set the towel and plate down on the counter.
“Hm?” He turned around, leaning against the wall separating the kitchen from the living room.
“Come here.”
“Why?” He huffed. “So you can disrespect my kisses again?”
“I’m sorry,” you said, walking over and grabbing his hands to pull him away from the wall.
“Go on,” Dean replied, though there was already a hint of smugness creeping into his tone.
“I saw a prank on TikTok,” you admitted. “I thought it’d be funny to try it on you.”
“I guess I forgive you.” He rolled his eyes, though you could already see the smile tugging at his lips. “But never do it again. I’ll have you know my kisses are a very hot commodity.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “Yeah, I think half of Briar knows that.”
“Just half?” He joked, though the grin quickly faltered at the murderous look you sent him.
“I’m about to do worse than wipe off your kisses,” you grumbled.
Dean let out a soft laugh before pulling you closer, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. It was so featherlight it almost tickled.
Then you slid a hand into the hair at the nape of his neck and tugged him back in, kissing him hard enough to make him groan against your mouth.
His hand settled against your lower back before slowly trailing down until he gave your ass a firm squeeze.
You smirked against his lips, slowly lifting a hand toward your mouth again, but Dean immediately caught your wrist before you could do anything.
“Don’t you dare,” he growled, pinning both of your hands in one of his before kissing you again.
Then he lifted you into his arms, your legs instinctively locking around his waist as he carried you upstairs. After kicking his bedroom door shut behind him, he tossed you onto the bed before crawling over you, pressing hot kisses along your neck until his lips finally brushed against yours again.
And as he tugged your—technically his—shirt over your head, you couldn’t help but think smugly that if all pranks ended like this, you’d definitely be pulling a lot more of them in the future.
NOTE : hope you guys are enjoying the dean content because i sure am enjoying writing it! also, i need hannah’s version of ‘cherry pie’ and ‘the bitch is back’ on spotify ASAP.
have you seen the tiktok trend of the girlfriends telling their boyfriend they found their bestie on hinge/tinder. think of that with garrett graham, his reaction would be hilarious
OBSESSED WITH THIS!!!!!!
trouble
summary - you’re going to send garrett to an early grave with some of these tiktok pranks
pairing - garrett graham x girlfriend!reader
word count - 948
You slumped down on the sofa next to Dean.
Garrett was on the other side of the sofa, doing whatever guys did on their phones.
You had set up this prank with Dean, to play on your boyfriend, after having seen it on your TikTok a couple of times.
“Dude, you have to see this.” You said to Dean, sitting shoulder to shoulder with him as you pretended to show him the fake Allie profile you’d set up on Hinge. Yes you’d really gone to lengths trying to perfect this prank.
“What?” Dean asked, looking up from his own phone at yours.
“Allie’s on Hinge.”
“Huh?”
“Allie. I found her on Hinge.”
“Like the dating app?” Dean pretended to look confused as he put down his phone to look at yours.
You subtly looked at Garrett from across the room, who you could tell was actively listening but still paying close attention to his phone.
“Yeah, look.” You fully handed Dean your phone.
“The fuck?” Dean spluttered. “I literally took this photo of her.”
“That’s seriously what you’re focusing on right now?” You gaped.
“But look…”
“Yes, I’ve seen, Dean.”
“What are you two freaking out about?” Garrett piped up.
He was peering over his phone at you two like he was absolutely done with whatever nonsense was ensuing. He had told you multiple times about the day he regretted introducing you to Dean.
“My girlfriend has Hinge, G!”
“Oh.” His brows furrowed and you wondered whether he had already sussed out the situation. “Let’s see.”
You tried to hold back a laugh as your boyfriend walked over to your side of the sofa, sandwiching you between him and Dean as he sat next to you.
Garrett looked over your shoulder to your phone in Dean’s hand.
Dean gave you the side eye as Garrett intensely looked at the fake Allie profile. Both of you wanted to laugh so bad, but you were in too deep to stop the prank now.
“God.” Garrett tutted. “Why would she do that?”
“Fuck if I know.” Dean answered.
He scrolled down Allie’s profile, past the pictures and prompts. It was made to look like she’d really taken building a profile seriously.
Then Garrett pulled away from you really fast.
You pursed your lips to keep you from laughing as Dean looked at his best friend with teasing eyes.
“Hold the fuck up a minute.”
“What?” Dean played.
“Who’s Hinge are we looking at this on?” Garrett asked.
Hook, line and sinker.
The crux of the prank.
“I dunno. Y/N passed me her phone.” Dean shrugged.
Your chin was cupped by Garrett’s hand. He twisted your face so you were looking at him, his eyes wild and eyebrows raised.
“Yes?” You teased.
Garrett just raised his eyebrows further.
“Why do you have Hinge?” He looked at you, assessing every micro-movement.
Dean returned your phone to your lap and scooted an inch away from you, clearly very disturbed by whatever was happening between you and Garrett.
“I don’t know.” You shrugged.
“You don’t know?” Garrett challenged, dropping his hand from your chin now that he knew he had your attention.
“She doesn’t know.” Dean chimed in, causing Garrett to momentarily shoot dagger eyes at him.
“Shut up Dean.”
Garrett didn’t look angry or upset.
He just genuinely looked confused at what was going on - like he was missing a central piece of information.
“You download it by accident?” He asked.
“Maybe.” You shrugged again.
You chanced a look at Dean, who was way too focused on his lap to be acting normal. He clearly felt your gaze on him because the next minute he was trying to hold back a grin, causing you to bite the inside of your cheek to do the same.
“You know what I think?” Garrett asked, and you turned back to look at him.
“Hm?”
“I think you’re both idiots.”
You broke by letting out a burst of laughter, whilst Dean already began to protest.
“Uh - What? So you don’t think your girlfriend’s cheating?”
Garrett looked at Dean like he’d just said the most ridiculous thing ever.
“No.” He said matter of factly. No hesitation.
The simple word made your laughter dry up.
You saw the sparkle come back to life in his eyes when he looked at you. He was clearly beginning to understand the lack of seriousness in this situation.
Your hand moved to link through his and you squeezed tight for reassurance.
“But seriously, why do you have Hinge?”
“It was a TikTok prank, I’m sorry.” You said.
“So the joke was that I had to notice you had Hinge, not that Allie was cheating on Dean?”
“Woah - no-one’s cheating on anyone, buddy. It’s a fake profile. My girlfriend is very much obsessed with me.”
“You two are exhausting.”
“You love us really.” Dean said.
Your boyfriend sighed and fell back flat on the sofa, covering his eyes with his hands.
You decided to lay down with him - or, on top of him - before he could escape. His hand automatically moved down to cup against your back, despite the complaint he’d made moments before.
“See?” Dean tried.
“Don’t start.”
“But that’s love. Right there.”
“Dean.”
“I’m just saying…”
“Dean!”
“How am I the one in trouble? Your girlfriend’s the one with a fake Hinge profile.”
“And she will be in trouble later.” You buried yourself into the crux of Garrett’s neck as he spoke, trying to hide the rising blush.
“Okay, at some point there’s too much love, G…” Dean gagged. Deciding there was only so much affection he could witness in one day, Dean got up and left, leaving you and Garrett alone.
short summary: where dean is stressed about an upcoming game, and you, being the wonderful girlfriend that you are, offer to help him relax. inspired by THAT scene from off campus.
pairing: boyfriend!dean di laurentis x fem!reader
word count: 666 (dean would be proud)
warnings: porn with almost no plot, explicit sexual content, oral sex (f!receiving), established relationship, dean being obsessed with reader, stress relief taken very literally, praise, excessive use of "baby", mild swearing, teasing, possessive language, body worship, dean di laurentis treating your orgasm like a personal achievement, lots of kissing, lots of touching, emotional intimacy disguised as horny behavior, let me know if i missed any!
all characters in this story are adults.
english is not my first language, so please forgive me for any errors.
a/n: i couldn't get this idea out of my head for days, dean has me so consumed. i don't make the rules. also, i firmly believe he would use the phrase "stress-eating" in this context and think he's the funniest person alive.
what's kai listening to: juno by sabrina carpenter.
18+; mdni.
You didn't think, when you walked into Hawks House an hour ago, that you'd end up in this position.
You were on Dean's desk chair, one leg hooked over the armrest, the other digging between his shoulder blades as he knelt between your legs. your panties had long since been tossed to some unknown corner—another one in the graveyard of underwear you'd lost in Dean's room.
There had been signs for days—the fact that he'd been hunched over game footage with Logan almost every night at Malone's, the way he'd been spending every free moment at the rink with Garrett. The lack of his usual Dean-ness. Your boyfriend, you knew, was stressed, and apparently, completely determined to shoulder all of it alone.
But not on your watch.
When you headed up to his room and found him hunched over his laptop, rewatching footage from the St. Anthony's game, you immediately offered to help in any way you could.
Which is how you ended up here, with Dean's fingers parting your folds once more, his mouth closing around your clit. Your back arched, thighs tightening around his head. He'd been at this for God knew how long—you'd lost track after the third time you came.
You bit your lip, whimpering. "Dean, please—"
He lifted his head, flashing his dimples as he smiled. "You're makin' me feel so much better already, baby."
"This is not—" You gasped as he groaned against your core, your hands instinctively tangling into his blonde hair. "Not exactly what I had in mind when I s-said I'd help you de-stress."
He pulled away for a second, large hands wrapping around your thighs, pulling them farther apart. "This is helping me, baby. Have you ever heard of a little thing called stress-eating?"
You let out a breathy laugh, which quickly morphed into a moan as Dean's tongue flicked against your clit again. You were sticky with sweat, sounds of absolute pleasure escaping your lips, the room filled with the scent of your arousal and Dean's cologne.
His hands snaked up your stomach, fingers toying with your nipples as he slid his tongue past your entrance, making your eyes roll to the back of your head.
A needy, almost pornographic whine escaped you. "Dean."
"One more, baby," Dean begged, his brain foggy with the heady scent of you, the way you tasted making him forget all about the stress he'd been under for the past few days. His voice was low, wrecked. "Please. I need this—need you."
You nodded, your cunt clenching around air at the sound of him begging for you. Dean Di Laurentis, drunk on your pussy, pleading for more.
You could feel another orgasm building, blooming in the pit of your stomach as you reached up to grab one of his hands where he was still rolling your nipples between his fingers. He laced his fingers through yours immediately, thumb brushing over your knuckles.
You made the mistake of glancing downwards, and God. His blonde hair fell messily onto his forehead, and when you reached down to push it back out of his face, you nearly lost your mind then and there at the sight of him, his eyes closed, long blonde lashes resting against his cheeks. "You taste so fuckin' good baby. So fucking good for me."
Your stomach tensed, hips beginning to rock against his mouth almost involuntarily. "Fuck yeah, baby, use me. Take what you need."
You tugged him closer, thighs shaking, vision blurring as your hips bucked against his tongue, your orgasm washing over you, making your toes curl. Dean's muffled voice intercepted the desperate moans of pleasure parting your lips as he murmured from between your legs, "That's it, baby. That's my girl."
Dean finally—finally—sat back, licking the remainder of your juices off his lips. He trailed slow, gentle kisses up your neck, your jaw, your forehead as you slumped back into the chair, spent and exhausted.
"Thank you," he muttered, kissing your lips. You could taste yourself on his tongue. "For always making me feel better, baby."
SUMMARY: Dean has been dying to know why you keep sneaking out at 6 a.m. every single morning. Convinced there's a story behind it, he decides to tag along, expecting just about anything, except a Pilates class. Suddenly, the hockey star finds himself way out of his comfort zone and questioning every life choice that led him there.
WARNINGS: Pure fluff! Dean is down bad for reader, cursing, dramatic hockey boys, suggestiveness but no actual smut, probably some inaccurate Pilates descriptions (sorry)!
A/N: Once again this is PURELY self indulgent! Inspiration struck by watching a Quinn interview between Mika and Stephen talking about how he “accidentally” bailed on their Pilates class! Hope y’all enjoy!! Divider by @sc3ptre <3
➩ main masterlist
➩ dean di laurentis masterlist
Dean was naturally curious. Actually, that wasn't entirely true. Dean was nosy. There was a difference. Curiosity was casually wondering about something. Nosiness was noticing a pattern and becoming mildly obsessed with figuring it out. And for the last three weeks, he'd been trying to figure out where the hell you kept disappearing to every morning at six o'clock.
Every. Single. Morning.
Without fail, his bedroom door would creak open just enough for him to hear the soft shuffle of your footsteps. Half-asleep, he'd crack open one eye and catch a glimpse of you moving through his bedroom like some sort of fitness-obsessed ghost. Always dressed in workout clothes. Always carrying that absurdly large water bottle that was practically the size of a small child.
Where the hell were you going?
Because nobody willingly woke up at six in the morning unless they were being paid, chased, or clinically insane. Yet there you were. Every day. Gone before sunrise. By the time Dean finally dragged himself out of bed at a reasonable hour, you’d already returned. Usually flushed from exertion, a light sheen of sweat still clinging to your skin as you tossed your keys onto the counter.
Your leggings and fitted tank top would be slightly damp, strands of hair escaping your ponytail and sticking to your temples. And you always, always, had that weird green drink in your hand. The thing looked radioactive, Dean swore it practically glowed. "What the hell is that?" He'd asked one morning, staring suspiciously at the cup in your hand. "Matcha." You muttered taking a sip through the straw, eyebrows raised.
"It looks like liquid grass."
"It's tea, Dean."
"It's toxic waste, babydoll."
A laugh escaped you as you shook your head, completely unbothered by his judgmental stare while taking another sip. Sometimes you'd head out alone. Other mornings, Dean would hear even more movement in the hallway before dawn. Additional doors opening. Muffled voices. The unmistakable sound of people who should absolutely still be asleep. Then later that day, Garrett would stumble into the hockey house looking personally victimized.
"Wellsy left at six this morning." Dean barely glanced up from his phone. "Tragic." He teased, lips quirking up in his well-known cocky smirk. "I woke up and she was gone, all I know is that she took Grace and Y/N with her." Now that got Dean's attention. "Where?" Garrett groaned dramatically and collapsed down onto the couch. "I don't know." Across the room, Logan snorted into his coffee cup. "Join the club, G."
"Grace ditched you too?" Garrett pointed accusingly as Logan nodded. "Six fifteen," Logan confirmed darkly dropping down onto the couch beside Dean with all the suffering of a man personally betrayed, scrubbing a hand down his face. "I woke up because she kissed my forehead like she was shipping off to war." Dean looked between them, then slowly lowered his phone.
"Wait," Both men turned toward him, brows raised in silent question. "You both don't know where they're going either?" Both hockey players exchanged a look. Then Logan shrugged as Garrett shook his head. Dean stared at them, then started laughing. Because suddenly this wasn't just his mystery anymore, it was a goddamn conspiracy. Three women. Three clueless boyfriends. Zero explanations.
And suddenly the fact that all of them were somehow managing to sneak out before dawn without providing answers made Dean's curiosity became an obsession and made him even more determined to figure out what the hell was going on. Whatever was dragging you out of bed at six in the morning had to be really fucking important. Or incredibly weird. Either way, he was going to find out.
Which is why on Friday afternoon after multiple rounds of hot, mind blowing sex, is when he finally found the courage to ask. The two of you were sprawled across his bed, tangled in rumpled sheets that had long since been kicked down to your waists. The room smelled faintly of sweat and his cologne, what was left of the evening sunlight streaming through the partially closed blinds and painting lazy golden stripes across the mattress.
“Babydoll?” He asked, his hand halting from tracing absent-minded shapes on your bare back. You hummed softly in response, lifting your head from where it rested on his naked chest. Your chin settled on top of your folded hands as you peered up at him, still looking pleasantly dazed and entirely too comfortable. Dean shifted so he was facing you more directly, propping himself up on one elbow.
"Where do you go every morning?" You blinked, expecting anything but that question. "At a ix a.m.," He stated matter-of-factly. "Every day." The fact that you looked entirely too pleased with yourself made him even more suspicious. The corners of your mouth twitched as if you'd been expecting this conversation for weeks. "See? That right there, that's the face of someone hiding something." Dean pointed a finger at you.
"I'm not hiding anything." You caught his hand before he could continue accusing you, lowering it to the mattress between you. "You absolutely are." You laughed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear while trying to pull off an expression of complete innocence. Unfortunately, Dean knew you far too well. His gaze narrowed further, there it was again: that smug little smile.
The one that usually meant you knew something he didn't. And Dean hated not knowing things. Especially when those things involved you. "You leave before sunrise," He continued dramatically. "You come back sweaty carrying that suspicious green drink and you've even somehow convinced Wellsy and Grace to join your secret society." At that, you actually snorted. "A secret society?" Your eyebrows shot upward in amusement.
"That's currently my leading theory." You folded your arms across your chest, trying, and failing, not to laugh. The smile threatening to break free gave you away instantly. Dean took that as encouragement. "Either that or you're all secretly training for the Olympics or preparing for some kind of a heist." He delivered the line with complete seriousness, making it impossible for you to hold back any longer.
You finally lost the battle and laughed outright, the sound filling the room. Dean tried not to smile but ultimately failed miserably. Because he loved making you laugh, even when you were laughing at him. "Dean, it's not a secret." Your voice carried the familiar warning that always appeared whenever he was being ridiculous. "The tell me.”He practically whined, green eyes narrowing. You bit your lip in response, a sure sign you were debating whether or not to answer.
However, instead of speaking, you reached over and patted his cheek, thumbs sweeping over his cheekbones. "Babydoll." His eye twitched. God, how you loved riling him up. "Yes, Dean?" You smirked, batting your eyelashes flirtatiously. "You're testing my patience." Your grin turned positively wicked. Then you leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, making sure to linger and slip in some tongue just long enough to be distracting. And the worst part? It almost worked.
Almost.
Dean caught your wrist before you could pull away completely, his fingers wrapping loosely around it as he shook his head. "Nice try." Your laughter softened, fondness replacing some of the mischief in your expression. "You're really that curious?" He groaned dramatically, dropping his head back against the pillow. "At this point? It's consuming my life." You stared at him for a second, studying his expression as if trying to determine whether he was serious.
The answer was obvious, he absolutely was. With a small shake of your head, you finally relented. "Fine." Dean immediately perked up, his head snapped back up so fast it nearly gave you whiplash. “If you’re so curious, just come with me tomorrow. Find out for yourself." For a moment, Dean just stared. Then a slow grin spread across his face. After weeks of wondering, and developing increasingly ridiculous conspiracy theories, he was finally going to get answers.
The following morning, Dean was drooling on his pillow when he felt you shift. The room was still dark, the early morning sunlight barely beginning to creep through the gap in the curtains. His brain hadn't fully booted up yet, leaving him somewhere between sleep and consciousness as he instinctively reached for the warm body beside him. Letting out a groan, he tried to pull you back into his chest, burying his face deeper into the pillow. But it was no use, you were already awake.
"Up and at 'em, Di Laurentis." He could practically hear the smirk in your voice. Dean responded with another groan, dragging the pillow over his head in protest. For a brief moment, he considered pretending to be dead. Unfortunately, you knew him too well. A second later, the pillow was yanked away. "Don't make me get the spray bottle Tucker keeps in the kitchen." His eyes cracked open. "You wouldn't." The grin on your face told him otherwise.
With a sigh worthy of an Oscar, he finally pushed himself upright, rubbing a hand down his face. That was when his eyes nearly bulged out of his head. You were bent over tying your shoes, already dressed and ready to go. The fitted workout set left very little to the imagination, the leggings hugging every curve while your matching top disappeared beneath one of his old hockey hoodies.
Your hair was already pulled back into a ponytail, looking far too awake and put together for an hour that should've been illegal. Dean stared, brain completely short-circuited. He was half tempted to drag you right back into bed and forget this entire mystery existed. Curiosity, however, was the only thing stronger than his desire to go back to sleep or have hot morning sex.
Barely.
Sluggishly rolling out of bed, Dean shuffled toward the bathroom. The floor was cold, his eyes burned, and his soul hurt. Five minutes later, after splashing water on his face enough times to resemble a functioning human being, brushing his teeth, and throwing on a pair of gym shorts and a fitted black t-shirt, he emerged from the bathroom looking considerably more awake. Not happy, but awake.
You looked up from screwing the lid onto your giant water bottle, your gaze traveling slowly. Dean immediately noticed. The tight black shirt stretched across his shoulders and defined the muscles in his chest and back, while his shorts sat low on his hips, exposing powerful thighs built from years of hockey practices, conditioning drills, and games. You blinked. Once. Twice.
"You're droolin', babydoll." The smug grin that followed was absolutely insufferable. Snapping out of your thoughts, you rolled your eyes and grabbed your freshly refilled water bottle from the counter. "Please. Your ego doesn't need any more encouragement." Dean gasped dramatically. "That was rude." You simply headed toward the door. "Come on, Dean." You coaxed, hand firmly on your hip leaving absolutely no room for discussion.
He followed behind with another exaggerated sigh, shoving his feet into a pair of sneakers as quickly as possible. "They'll charge us if we're late." That made him pause. One hand still on his shoe, Dean slowly looked up. "Hold on." You were already opening the apartment door. "What do you mean they'll charge us?" A suspicious feeling settled in his stomach. For the first time all morning, Dean wondered if maybe, just maybe, following you had been a terrible idea.
Sure enough, when you led him through the doors of The Pilates Lab, Dean knew he was fucked. The realization hit the second he stepped inside. The studio was bright, spotless, and somehow intimidating despite the soft instrumental music drifting from hidden speakers. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined one wall, reflecting rows of sleek reformer machines arranged with military level precision.
Natural light poured through massive front windows, illuminating polished hardwood floors and cream-colored walls that somehow made the place feel both welcoming and terrifying. Terrifying mostly because every person inside looked like they belonged there. Dean, however, did not. The scent of eucalyptus and expensive cleaning products hung in the air. A small reception desk sat near the entrance beside shelves stocked with water bottles, protein bars, grip socks, and enough workout accessories to bankrupt a small nation.
You, meanwhile, looked completely at home. "Morning!" The receptionist greeted cheerfully as you approached. "Morning, Claire." Dean glanced around while you checked in. Women. Everywhere. A few men too, but mostly women. All of them looked suspiciously fit and flexible. Very, very flexible. One woman was casually stretching with her leg resting on a barre at a height Dean was pretty sure violated several laws of physics.
His hockey injuries hurt just looking at her. Then to make matters worse, he noticed the reformers. Rows and rows of reformers. Metal frames, straps, springs, moving platforms. They looked less like exercise equipment and more like devices designed specifically for torture. Dean pointed toward one. "The hell is that?" You followed his gaze, biting back a smile. "A reformer." You replied nonchalantly. "It looks dangerous." The smile at your lips widened at his tone which oozed discomfort.
"It's really not."
"You hesitated."
"I didn't."
"You absolutely did."
You laughed, reaching for his hand and tugging him farther inside to where you usually worked out. Only the deeper you ventured into the studio, the worse his feeling became. As you set your water bottle down beside your reformer and tugged off his sweatshirt, revealing your fitted workout top underneath, Dean stood there questioning every decision that had led him to this moment.
Then his gaze landed on the instructor, the woman looked approximately five feet tall, and somehow absolutely terrifying. The kind of terrifying that came from smiling too much while planning your demise. "Good morning, everyone!" Her voice carried easily across the room as the class immediately began moving toward their reformers. Around him, people adjusted springs, grabbed resistance bands, and clipped straps into place with the confidence of seasoned veterans.
Meanwhile, he was still trying to figure out what half the equipment even did. You noticed the shift in his demeanor next to you as you offered his forearm a reassuring squeeze. His eye twitched, which nearly made you laugh again. "You're going to be fine, Dean." The confidence in your voice wasn't nearly as comforting as you intended. Dean looked around the studio one more time. At the springs. The straps. The weights. The machines. The terrifyingly cheerful instructor. Then finally back at you.
"Babydoll, I think we have very different definitions of fine." It's not like he could leave. Not now. Not when half the class had realized a six-foot-two hockey player was standing in the middle of their Pilates studio looking like he'd accidentally wandered into enemy territory. Huffing, he turned towards the rack of weights lining the mirrored wall, barely hesitating before reaching for the heaviest pair available. The movement immediately caught your attention.
"You're gonna regret that." Dean scoffed, looking personally offended by the suggestion. "Babydoll, please, I bench two-thirty. I can easily handle twenty-pound hand weights." As if to prove his point, Dean was too busy rolling his shoulders and casually curling one of the dumbbells, looking far too pleased with himself. You looked at the weights, then at him, trying, and failing, to hide a smug smile since you already knew exactly how this was going to end for him.
The first five minutes weren't terrible. At least, that's what Dean told himself. The instructor began with slow, controlled movements that looked deceptively simple. Around the room, springs clicked softly against metal frames while reformers glided back and forth with smooth precision. Dean found himself settling into the rhythm quickly enough, or so he thought. Then, the shaking started. It began in his thighs. A subtle tremble at first, barely noticeable.
Then came the burn. The kind of deep, relentless burn that didn't make any sense. He was a Division I hockey player. He spent hours in the gym. He could squat absurd amounts of weight. Yet somehow a tiny movement performed on a sliding carriage had his legs vibrating like he'd just skated three periods back-to-back. Across the room, you looked annoyingly graceful. Dean, meanwhile, was fighting for his life.
Thirty minutes in, the black t-shirt clinging to his back was soaked through. His hair stuck to his forehead. Every muscle seemed to have discovered entirely new ways to suffer. The instructor floated around the room like an executioner disguised as a yoga mom, offering gentle corrections that somehow made every exercise twice as difficult. Whenever Dean thought a set was ending, another variation appeared.
Another hold. Another pulse. Another ten seconds.
Those ten seconds felt like years. At one point he became convinced time itself had stopped moving. The mirrors surrounding the studio only made things worse. Everywhere he looked he could see himself struggling. See the tremor in his arms. The shake in his legs. The tightening of his jaw. And every time he considered lowering a weight or taking a break, his gaze inevitably landed on you. You looked focused. Determined. Completely in your element.
There was a concentration on your face he rarely got to see outside of moments that truly mattered to you. That alone kept him going. That and his pride. Mostly his pride. Because there was absolutely no chance he was quitting before any of the women around him. By the forty-five minute mark, however, Dean was beginning to reconsider several core beliefs. Including his understanding of physical fitness. And maybe even reality itself.
The studio had grown warmer as class progressed, bodies moving continuously beneath the bright overhead lights. Sweat rolled down the back of his neck, his shirt felt suffocating. Eventually he gave up. During a brief transition between exercises, he grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it over his head before tossing it toward the cubbies lining the wall. A few heads turned. Not many. Most people were too busy suffering.
However, your attention certainly did, so much so that for the briefest moment, your focus slipped. Your eyes tracked across his broad tanned shoulders, defined abs, and muscles earned through years of hockey training. The sight was familiar, yet somehow still distracting. Heat immediately crawled up your neck, luckily Dean didn't notice seeing as he was far too busy trying not to collapse. The distraction lasted only seconds before the instructor was directing everyone into another movement.
The class continued and somehow got harder. The final thirty minutes became a blur of shaking muscles, controlled breathing, and pure stubbornness. At that point, Dean's arms trembled. His core burned. His legs felt like overcooked noodles. Several times he caught you sneaking amused glances his way. Several times he returned them with a look that promised revenge. By the final series, every movement required concentration. The studio had fallen quieter now seeing as no one had energy left for anything else.
When the instructor finally announced the last stretch, a collective sigh swept throughout the entire room. Dean nearly collapsed onto the machine. His entire body felt spent. Not the satisfying exhaustion of hockey. Not the familiar ache of lifting. Something entirely different. Every muscle felt worked. Even muscles he hadn't known existed. As everyone began cleaning equipment and gathering their belongings, Dean remained exactly where he was for a few extra seconds, staring at the ceiling.
Humbled. He was completely, utterly, humbled.
Humiliated by a workout he'd walked into thinking would be easy. Yet despite himself, despite the suffering, despite the shaking, despite the fact that he probably wouldn't be able to sit down tomorrow, a reluctant smile tugged at his mouth. Because somewhere between the torture, the challenge, and stealing glances at you throughout the last ninety minutes, he'd actually had fun. Only he would never admit that part to you out loud.
As a chorus of applause rang out throughout the studio, Dean stayed flat on his back atop the reformer, bare chest glistening with sweat as he fought to catch his breath. The bright overhead lights blurred slightly above him while every muscle in his body protested the simple act of existing. Around the room, people began climbing off their machines, gathering water bottles and towels while chatting casually as if they hadn't just endured ninety minutes of pure torture.
Dean genuinely didn't understand how they were all standing. "You did it!" Your smile was warm and impossibly proud as you leaned down, pressing an encouraging kiss to his sweaty forehead. The simple gesture somehow felt more rewarding than surviving the class itself. You handed him your water bottle and for once, Dean didn't make a single joke about it. He simply took it immediately, drinking like a man who'd just crossed a desert. Cold water hit his throat as he gulped down several desperate mouthfuls.
"I'm so proud of you, baby, you completed your first Pilates class like a pro." He was almost certain you were fucking with him. There was absolutely no way he'd looked professional while shaking like a newborn deer for an hour and a half. Yet despite knowing that, he still preened under the praise. Because it was coming from you. And Dean was embarrassingly weak when it came to anything involving you. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth as he finally accepted your outstretched hand, fingers wrapping around yours while you helped haul him upright.
"So," You grinned, raking your nails through his sweaty blonde curls, pushing them away from his forehead. "Have I officially turned you into a Pilates princess?" Dean scoffed, yet his hands on your waist tightened as he pulled you closer, refusing to surrender what little dignity he had left. "Not a fucking chance, babydoll." He shook his head firmly, yet the look on his face made it clear he wasn't finished. "But, I wouldn't be opposed to seeing you in tight workout clothes more often." You instantly swatted his shoulder, which made his sore muscles jump.
The motion lacked any real force, mostly because you were trying not to laugh. Dean's grin immediately grew knowingly. The post-workout flush coloring your cheeks wasn't helping his concentration either. Not that he'd been concentrating much to begin with seeing as he made absolutely no effort to hide the way his gaze lingered. Not when you looked this good. Not when you were smiling at him like that. Not when you were still standing close enough for him to loop an arm around your waist and pull you closer.
You made no effort to move away as he dipped his head, pressing a playful kiss against your neck before blowing a raspberry against your damp skin. The sound echoed loudly enough that your laughter filled the studio as you swatted him again, the bright sound instantly pulling his attention back to you. And just like that, he realized something. He'd willingly gotten out of bed before sunrise. He'd survived ninety minutes of what could only be described as organized suffering. His entire body hurt. Tomorrow would probably be far worse.
The boys were absolutely going to roast him alive when they found out he willingly attended a Pilates class. Yet somehow? He didn't care, not even a little. Because throughout the entire class, every time he'd wanted to quit, he'd looked over and seen you. Smiling. Laughing. Thriving. Happy. And apparently that was enough to make him push through burning muscles, wounded pride, and an instructor who was definitely some kind of sadist in brightly colored workout clothes.
As you gathered your things and reached for his hand, Dean intertwined your fingers without hesitation, thumb brushing across your knuckles as you walked toward the exit together. Maybe he'd never admit that he'd actually enjoyed Pilates. But if it meant spending mornings with you? Dean would survive the teasing, the early alarms, hell, he'd even drink your radioactive green juice. Because when it came to you, Dean was hopelessly, irrevocably gone. And honestly, he wouldn't have it any other way.
Thanks for reading! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! Feeling generous? Leave a tip!
summary: Garett loses his temper during a game when his father announces his upcoming marriage before the game. It worsens when he sees you sitting with his father in the stands. Seeing you with Phil messes with his head, but it ends with you reconnecting in Garett's bedroom.
pairings: garrett graham x afab!reader
warnings:7.1k words. mature themes. unprotected p in v. creampie. cum play. breeding kink. oral sex (m!receiving). blowjob. deepthroating. handjob. praise kink. dirty talk. nipple play. clitoral stimulation. body worship. hair pulling. risk of being overheard. d/s dynamics. aftercare. family conflict. read responsibly.
note: he has me in a chokehold ever since I watched the show… also!!! first time writing about Garrett, might do it again next time. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!
Ever since Garrett packed his bags for Briar U and threw everything he had into college hockey, you two barely saw each other anymore. The daily routines you shared back home gave way to late-night texts, random phone calls, or FaceTime sessions that kept you connected as you both built entirely separate lives. You had your own things going on with your own circles, your own relationships, and your own sex lives with other people, but there was an obvious spark between you that never went away. It was clear to anyone who saw you together that the distance hadn’t changed the foundation between you because you knew each other better than anyone else did after years of growing up side by side.
You knew his biggest fears, along with the dreams he never told anyone about, and he knew yours right down to the exact way your bodies functioned or reacted under pressure. You remembered how his body felt during those private nights, and he knew your body just as well since you crossed that line together years ago to become each other’s first. Being so far away from Garrett made you miss him terribly all the time, so you agreed the exact moment his father asked you to tag along to watch one of his college hockey games. You didn’t know Phil was bringing his new girlfriend along since you truly believed he was just traveling to support his son, but you really should’ve known better with a man like him.
You absolutely hated how Phil Graham treated his son, but you still tried your best to tolerate his presence because he always treated you nicely. His father also made you promise to keep the whole trip a complete secret, which you happily did because you wanted to surprise Garrett. What you didn’t know, and Garrett didn’t know either, was that Phil planned to use this exact day to announce he was marrying a woman his son barely even recognized. You only learned about it today because you asked nosy questions of Cindy. You also had no idea that Phil had already shown up unannounced at the hockey house earlier that morning to corner Garrett before the match. They got into a heated conversation over it, and the unexpected confrontation completely messed with Garrett’s head right before the game.
Sitting next to Phil and his girlfriend in the stands made it clear why Garrett looked so betrayed and hurt when he glanced up at you. You didn’t quite understand his reaction at first, but it clicked when you watched him play badly as he missed passes he usually nailed. He kept his eyes on your section while he stumbled through his game, and his expression showed he felt like you took his father’s side by showing up with them. Garrett eventually lost his temper on the ice, so the referee kicked him straight out of the game. He walked off the rink looking completely wrecked, while you immediately jumped up from your seat to run after him through the crowded arena. “Garrett,” you called out while you pushed past a group of fans to follow him down the corridor.
He didn’t even look back as he stormed down the hallway. “Garrett, please wait a second,” you tried again, but he kept walking away past the random people staring at you both. “Garrett Graham!” you yelled out loud so he could actually hear you over the loud fans. He finally stopped walking before he turned around to face you with a completely pissed expression. “What do you want from me right now?” he snapped back at you with an annoyed look. “I can’t just let you walk off like that after everything I just saw out there,” you replied right away as you tried to catch your breath. You stepped even closer to him to place your hands right on his covered arms. You looked right into his eyes while you let out a long breath through your nose.
“You have every single right to be completely furious right now,” you said while your fingers gripped his gear gently to anchor him. “But you can’t let him ruin your performance out on the ice,” you added because you needed him to snap out of it. “Are you really going to let his sudden drama control how you play your game?” you asked while you watched his expression carefully. “I don’t want him to win by messing with your head,” you explained as you rubbed your palms against his sleeves. “I came all the way out here for you,” you reminded him while your voice dropped to a softer tone. “I didn’t come to force you to come to the wedding,” you said to make sure he understood your loyalty. Garrett leaned forward immediately to rest his forehead against your shoulder as if he was searching for any kind of comfort from your presence.
He let out a long and shaky breath against your neck while his body weight leaned into you completely. “I thought you took his side,” he mumbled while his shoulder pads bumped against your chest. “I’m always on your side,” you promised back as you held him tight. He pressed a quick kiss against your neck before he leaned back slightly. “I know,” he muttered while his hands slid down to your sides. “I just got completely pissed off seeing you sitting right next to him,” he admitted because the sight had blindsided him completely. “I’m sorry you had to look at that,” you replied while you shook your head. “Stop apologizing to me,” he told you right away. He slid his large hands straight down to your waist before he squeezed the skin tightly through your top.
“I missed you so much,” he whispered as he tilted his head closer. “Well, you really need to get back out to the rink right now,” you reminded him while you patted his bulky chest protector. “Not even time for a quick make-out session?” he asked with a small smirk on his face. “I might forgive you for keeping secrets if you give me that,” he joked, because he wanted to lighten the mood between you both. “You don’t have anything to forgive me for,” you countered while you smiled back at him. He trailed his lips along your jawline before he brushed his mouth against your own. “Don’t you miss me just as much?” he whispered against your skin while he looked for a reaction. “Oh, please, you get enough attention from women every single day,” you said while you rolled your eyes at his question.
“Are you actually jealous of them?” he asked while he grinned to tease you. You decided to shut him up by grabbing his face to pull him into a deep kiss. You bit down on his lower lip while he sucked on your tongue to deepen the contact. Your mouths moved against each other as he swiped his tongue over your teeth while you gripped his jersey. He moaned into your mouth as he sucked your bottom lip between his own lips. You kept licking into his mouth while he pushed his tongue against yours to taste you. “Mmmh-” he groaned against your skin before he broke the kiss to breathe. He went to press another kiss to your lips, but you caught his shoulders and shoved him back. “Stop it, you have to get back out there,” you said while you nudged him toward the door.
“We really need to end this before it turns into something else,” you added because you knew you would not be able to stop once you started. “This is not like you at all,” you remarked while you adjusted his jersey. “You know you are the only one who makes me lose my mind,” he told you while he stared at you. He let out a long breath, but he finally gave a nod of his head. He leaned in one last time to press his mouth against yours for a quick kiss. “Promise me that you will spend time with me later tonight?” he asked while he brushed his thumb against your cheek. “I promise,” you said as you watched him step toward the doorway. He turned around to give you a last look before he headed back toward the rink. You waited in the storage room until his footsteps faded away so you could catch your breath again.
You walked back out toward the arena, but you refused to head back to the seats next to Phil. You instead found a spot in the tunnel entrance where you could see the rink without anyone spotting you in the crowd. You occupied the side as the players returned for the final period of the game. It surprised you to see Garrett skate back onto the ice, since the coach had clearly decided to keep him in the lineup despite his earlier meltdown. He kept his eyes forward as he skated past the bench. You waited back in the dark tunnel so you could watch him the whole time. “Don’t mess this up, Garrett,” you whispered to yourself while you watched him take his position. He didn’t see you standing there in the entryway, but he seemed to have his head back in the game.
You leaned against the side as the buzzer sounded to start the last period, and you needed to see how he would finish this. Garrett took over the game. Tucker zipped up the wing while Dean and Logan guarded the zone and stopped the other team from getting close to the net. They kept the puck moving and made easy passes to each other. Garrett battled for the puck in the corner and dodged a defender to face the goal. He found a gap and fired a shot that went past the goalie. The game ended, and the buzzer sounded to signal their win. Garrett threw his stick to the side as his teammates mobbed him on the ice. They slapped backs and hooted while the fans went wild. He caught your eye for a second and gave a quick nod before he skated toward the bench to join the line.
You walked away from the tunnel to head toward the exit and meet him once he finished with your arms wrapped around him. He gripped you tight right back, and he tucked his face into your shoulder. You squeezed him and said how great he played out there before you mentioned that Phil walked out halfway through the match. He stiffened up against you before he could even reply. “I don’t care about him today,” Garrett muttered into your skin while his breathing warmed your neck. You patted his back, and you feel the sweat from his jersey and his gear. “Okay, okay,” you teased him as the sound of distant chatter from the arena faded down the corridor. “You’re a sweaty mess. Go wash up,” you told him, and you tried to nudge him toward the direction of the locker room.
“I will,” Garrett murmured, and he squeezed your waist one last time to keep you close. “Give me a second, I just want to hold you,” he admitted as he leaned his full weight against you. He kept his arms around you for another moment before he stepped back and grabbed your hand to pull you along with him. You walked together down the corridor while he guided you right toward the locker room area. “Wait out here,” Garrett said as he stopped you right by the door to keep you away from the naked players inside. He disappeared through the entrance without another word to grab something. You stood by the wall for only a few seconds, and you could hear the muffled noise of the team from inside the room. Garrett pushed the door open again and stepped back into the hallway with his keychain in hand.
“Take these,” Garrett murmured as he dropped the car key into your palm. “Go wait by the car,” he added while his thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Give me fifteen minutes,” he promised before he turned back around. You nodded, and he finally went inside to change after you headed out to the parking lot. You waited for Garrett in the parking lot until he finished changing, and then he drove the two of you back to the off-campus rental house. The driveway was empty because Logan, Dean, and Tucker hadn’t made it back from the rink yet. Garrett unlocked the front door and walked you inside the quiet house without stopping in the living room. “Let’s go upstairs,” Garrett murmured while he guided you toward the steps.
You followed him up the staircase because you knew the other boys would be home soon. He pushed his bedroom door open and led you inside before he closed it behind you. The rest of the house was completely silent while he dropped his duffel bag on the floor. “We have the place to ourselves for a bit,” you reminded him as you leaned back against his desk. Garrett walked over to you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “Good, I don’t want any interruptions,” Garrett muttered while he pressed his face into the side of your neck. “Are you feeling needy?” you teased him while you tilted your head to give him more space. He let out a rough grunt against your skin before he kissed your neck.
“Yeah,” Garrett muttered while his arms tightened around your waist. “I really need you right now,” he admitted as he breathed out against your skin. You slid your hands right under his shirt while he held you close. You felt his hard muscles before you lifted the fabric up to check his body because you knew he always had a few bruises after his games. Several fresh darkening marks covered his body because he had taken a hard beating from playing and training. “You got beat up out there,” you murmured as you looked down at the marks. “It’s nothing,” Garrett grunted while he looked down at your fingers.
“I’ve had worse,” he told you as he guided your hands higher under his clothes. You let him cover your fingers and guide them over his skin while you let out a small chuckle. “Really?” you asked him as you looked up at his face. “You can’t even let me do it on my own?” You teased him because he wanted control. Garrett just rolled his eyes, but he didn’t let go right away. “Can’t I just hold your hands for a few seconds?” he questioned you while he gripped your fingers a little tighter. He let go of you after a moment and grabbed the hem of his top to pull it over his head. He tossed the shirt somewhere across the bedroom floor and stepped closer to you.
You leaned forward and started pressing kisses against his shoulder before you moved your lips down to his chest. You dropped lower to press more kisses onto his flat stomach while Garrett tangled his fingers into your hair to play with the strands. You dropped down onto your knees in front of him and reached out to grasp the waistband of his pants. Garrett looked down at you while his hands gripped your shoulders to handle his balance. “I can get those, baby,” Garrett murmured while he tried to nudge your fingers away from the button. You ignored his hand and continued working on the zipper because you wanted to take care of him.
“Let me do it,” you insisted as you looked up to meet his eyes. “I want to make it up to you for earlier,” you told him while you unfastened the button. Garrett let out a sigh and let his hands slide down to your neck. “You don’t have to make up for anything,” Garrett told you while his thumbs stroked your jawline. You pull the zipper down and open the fabric to reveal his underwear. “I know I don’t,” you replied as you reached inside to tug the material out of your way. “But I want to,” you whispered before you pulled his pants down past his hips. “You know I’d rather focus on you first,” Garrett reminded you while his fingers twitched against your neck. You looked up at him from your knees and gripped the fabric of his pants that already pulled down to anchor yourself.
“Fine,” you murmured as you tilted your head back to study his expression. “Just a taste then?” you asked him while you offered a small smirk to challenge his resolve. Garrett let out a quick laugh because the idea of you stopping early seemed entirely impossible to him. “Yeah, right,” Garrett scoffed while he shook his head at your suggestion. “Like you’re actually going to stop at just a taste,” he teased you while he looked down at your hands. You rolled your eyes at his comment and hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers without waiting for permission. You tugged the material down past his hips and watched his hard cock spring free instantly in the space between you.
You wrapped your fingers around the shaft and stroked him slowly while you stared right up into his eyes to gauge his reaction. Garrett let out a small grunt and tangled his fingers into your hair again. “Seriously,” Garrett said, and his grip tightened on your head while he tried to control his breathing. “I really wanted to take care of you right now,” he muttered as he watched your hand move on his length. You leaned forward before you gave the tip of his cock a few light licks, and you cleaned off the wet drop of pre-cum waiting there. “You’re already leaking for me,” you murmured against his length as you looked up to catch his expression. Garrett let out a quiet groan and gently gripped his fingers through your hair to show his approval.
“Yeah, well,” Garrett admitted while his breathing hitched slightly. “You’re the one down on your knees,” he pointed out to justify his reaction. You wrapped your lips around the head after those first few licks and swirled your tongue over the sensitive tip. You slowly slid your mouth further down the shaft to take him halfway while your hand took over to stroke the rest of his length. “What the- yes…” Garrett gasped out while his cock twitched against your lips. He didn’t force your head down or push his hips forward because he wanted to let you guide the movement. “That feels so good,” Garrett whispered while his hand felt gentle on your head. Giving head wasn’t always an enjoyable experience for everyone, because some guys were careless, but you tolerated it for Garrett.
He was always perfectly clean and gentle about it, while constantly showering you with sweet praise. His latest comment made you feel a bit cocky, so you took more of his thick length into your mouth until the tip touched the back of your throat. Garrett noticed it immediately because he knew your limits by heart, and he gave a firm tug on your hair to lift your face before you could gag. “Whoa, slow down,” Garrett murmured while his thumb wiped a wet line from the corner of your lips. “You don’t need to swallow all of me at once,” he added as he gave you a small smile. You just gave him a playful look before you slid your mouth right back over his wet cock to continue. You started bobbing your head up and down the shaft to find a pace while your hand kept rubbing the base.
“Mmf-” Garrett breathed out as the other hand caressed along your cheek. He kept his grip on your hair softly to guide your movements without forcing himself against your face. “You’re doing so good for me,” Garrett whispered, and his hips jerk when you swirl your tongue around his cock. You continued bobbing your head to take his wet shaft into your mouth, but Garrett firmly nudged your forehead away to remind you of what you two had talked about. “That’s enough,” Garrett muttered while he stepped back to slip his cock out of your lips completely. “You said just a taste,” he says with a smirk to keep your promise. You let out a stubborn grunt and slapped his thigh because you wanted to keep going.
Garrett laughed and kicked his pooled clothes away to strip down completely before you stood up to meet him. He reached out and grabbed the hem of your top to pull it up over your head. “You know I don’t want to wait any longer,” Garrett whispered while he tossed your clothes somewhere onto the floor. The sound of the front door slamming downstairs can be heard throughout the room, and it shows that the other guys have arrived. “Oh, they’re probably fucking by now!” Dean shouted near the stairs to tease the two of you. You feel your neck heating up the blunt comment, but you’re glad the bedroom door is locked. “That’s embarrassing,” you murmured as you looked toward the doorway.
“Do you think they’re going to try and listen?” you asked him while you crossed your arms over your chest. Garrett shook his head and gripped your waist to get your attention back. “No,” Garrett told you while he leaned down to kiss your shoulder. “Well, I hope not,” he amended as he guided you toward the mattress. You stopped him before he could guide you onto the mattress, and you grabbed the waistband of your bottoms to slide them down to the floor. Garrett let out a sound of approval while he walked over to his drawer to grab a condom. You let out a small chuckle at the sight, and your hands were already reaching behind your back to unclasp your bra. “I’m literally clean and on birth control,” you reminded him as you slipped the straps off your shoulders.
Garrett turned back around with the plastic wrapper in his hand while he looked over your bare body. “So you just go without protection with other guys?” Garrett questioned you while he raised an eyebrow. “Of course not. What the fuck,” you replied instantly because the idea annoyed you for few second. Garrett took a step closer while he watched you hook your fingers into your panties. “Then why do you want to do it without one with me?” Garrett asked you while he kept his eyes on your face. “Because we always do it without,” you pointed out as you tugged the fabric down. Garrett let out a laugh and reached out to grasp your waist. “Smartass,” Garrett muttered while he stepped right into your space. “I just want to make sure you’re safe,” he explained to justify his caution.
You stepped out of your underwear and gave him a playful look to keep teasing him. “So are you saying you’re not safe?” you challenged him while you slid your hands onto his chest. “Of course I am,” Garrett countered before he leaned his head closer to yours to capture your lips. “You know what?” Garrett murmured while he tossed the unopened condom wrapper back into his drawer. “You want me to cum inside your cunt?” Garrett asked you as he guided you down onto the mattress. “Is that what you want?” he questioned while he helped you settle right into the middle of the bed until you felt completely comfortable. You lay back against his pillows while he crawled over your legs to hover over your body.
“So no one is going to interrupt us?” you asked him because you wanted to be entirely sure before things went any further. “They’re all downstairs,” Garrett promised you while he leaned down to look into your eyes. “Dean and Logan are probably playing video games on the couch,” he added to reassure you. “Tucker is probably cooking dinner in the kitchen,” he finished while his hands slid to your hips. “No party tonight?” you questioned him with an arched eyebrow in disbelief. “Since you guys won the game?” you asked because it seemed impossible for the team to be quiet after a victory. “Nah,” Garrett replied while he shook his head with a small smirk. “Tomorrow,” he told you as he leaned down closer to your face.
“The guys are just too tired tonight,” he claimed to explain the lack of noise. You knew that was highly unlikely because the team never passed up a chance to celebrate a big win. You suspected Garrett had made a secret deal with his roommates to keep them downstairs for the evening. “What exactly did you do?” you asked him while you looked up at his face to get the truth. Garrett just smirked because he wanted to keep his secret. “Open wider, baby,” Garrett murmured while he tapped the inside of your thigh to guide you. You moved your legs further apart because you couldn’t help but obey his request. He guided the thick head of his cock right against your wet folds and started rubbing it back and forth to distract you from asking any more questions.
You tried to start another question because you wanted a real answer. “But Garrett-” you began before your words cut off. He responded by grinding his length directly between your slick folds until the tip swiped over your sensitive clit. You let out a frustrated whine because the brief contact left you desperate for more. “I swear,” Garrett promised while he looked down at your reaction. “They won’t come upstairs until we go downstairs,” he added to reassure you. He slapped his hard cock directly against your wet cunt right after he finished speaking and gripped your hip with a tight hand to hold you against the bed. You let out a frustrated whine because he kept rubbing his tip against your clit instead of sliding inside your wet cunt.
“Are you sure they’re going downstairs?” you asked him while you tried to tilt your head up to hear anything from the hallway. “Garrett, I can’t do this if they’re going to walk up here,” you insisted because the thoughts wouldn’t leave your mind. Garrett let out a sigh and ground his length between your folds to pull you away from your thoughts. “They’re not coming up, baby,” Garrett murmured while his breathy voice sounded a little distracted by the sight of your body. “Stop worrying about them,” he told you as he swiped his thumb over your jaw. “But what if Dean tries to-” you started to ask before his body pressed closer. Garrett cut you off by sliding the head of his cock into your aching hole before he pulled it to rub it into your clit again.
“Fu-fuck- please,” you moaned out while your hips rolled up against him in desperation. “Please, what?” Garrett asked you while he watched your body squirm beneath him. You bucked your hips against him to show him your desperate need because speaking felt too difficult right now. “Mhm… Shit,” Garrett cursed quietly while his throat bobbed after swallowing. “You like that?” he questioned you as he kept his length nestled right at the entrance of your cunt. “I do,” you whimpered while your eyelashes fluttered from the heat between your legs. “Can you just-” you tried to finish your sentence, but you couldn’t find the right words because your brain is slowly stopping from functioning. Garrett let out a laugh and leaned down to press a kiss against your cheek.
“Focus on me,” Garrett said while his fingers tightened on your hip. “Come on,” he coaxed as he popped the tip in and out of your wet entrance, which made a wet sound every time he did it. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he whispered while he gave you another torturous grind right up against your sensitive clit to make your cunt ache even more. You nodded to answer that it felt amazing, and he finally positioned the tip directly at your entrance. “They won’t hear a single thing,” Garrett assured you while he leaned down closer to your ear. “But let’s try to be quiet anyway, okay?” he whispered to ensure you two kept things private. You nodded again and bit your lower lip while he began sliding slowly inside your cunt. You let out a muffled whimper as he pushed deeper until his full length filled you completely.
“Nghh-” you breathed out while you adjusted to his thick size. Garrett caught your lips in a deep kiss and slid one hand down to squeeze your chest. He flicked your nipple with his thumb to distract you from his size before he pulled away from the kiss to start moving his hips. “You’re so tight, baby,” Garrett grunted while he began to thrust slowly. You wrapped your hands into his curls to hold onto him while he continued thrusting into you. Garrett planted his palms flat on the mattress beside your head to support his weight. “You’re taking me so beautifully, baby,” Garrett murmured while he stared straight down into your face. He watched your reactions closely to see how each movement affected your body.
Your eyes rolled back slightly because the pleasure made it difficult to keep them open. Your teeth bit into your lower lip to suppress your voice while you took his length. “N-nffh-” you whined through your closed mouth, but a few desperate sounds escaped despite your best efforts to keep quiet. Garrett let out a deep groan and picked up his pace just a little. “Look at me,” Garrett whispered, and he leaned down closer to your face. You forced your eyes open to meet his gaze because you wanted to look at him. “You feel so perfect,” Garrett muttered as he kept thrusting deep into your cunt. Your hand gripped his hair tighter to handle the feeling, and you swallowed another loud moan. You kept one hand tangled in his curls while your other hand slid down his nape to trace the dark letters of the tattoo across his upper back.
Your fingertips brushed over his skin before they moved up to play with the thin gold chain of his necklace. “Your back looks so hot like this,” you whispered while his hips kept up the slow pace inside your pussy. “Will never get enough touching it,” you added because you remembered when he asked for your advice before getting it done. Garrett let out an exhale and thrust his length deeper. “Mmh, you really think so?” Garrett asked you while a small grin tugged at his lips. He looked cocky after hearing the praise you gave him, but a little shyness quickly took it back. Garrett leaned down further to hide his face and nuzzled his nose directly into the crook of your shoulder. “You know how much this chain means to me,” Garrett murmured against your skin while his chest pressed against yours.
“A-aah- uh-uh…” You whined out, and he shoved his length deeper until the tip touches your sweet spot. Garrett gripped your hip firmer to support himself while he kept his face hidden against your neck. “I like it when you touch it,” he confessed before he dragged his cock entirely out just to push right back inside. Garrett gave your neck a bite before he pulled his face away to look down at you. The gold chain dangled close to your lips, so you opened your mouth to tease him by biting the necklace. You let out a small chuckle against the chain, but it turned into a whine when Garrett suddenly pulled his cock almost all the way out of your cunt. He left just the tip inside your entrance to torture you, and he refused to thrust back in.
You ground your hips upward in a desperate attempt to force him deeper because you needed him deeper. Garrett responded by pinning your hip against the mattress to stop you from doing that before he thrust all the way in. “D-don’t do that,” you whine out while you shake your head against the pillow. “When- when I’m... I feel like I’m close,” you gasped out to finish your complaint. Garrett looked at your face while his chest heaved a little. “Yeah?” Garrett murmured while he gave you a small smirk to tease you. “You’re getting that close for me?” he asked before his hand traveled down to the back of your leg. He slowly lifted your knee to rest it over his shoulder to adjust the position. Garrett started thrusting faster and deeper into you without teasing you this time.
He used his free hand to reach down between your bodies so he could rub your clit while he buried himself inside you. You wrapped your hand around his neck not to choke him, but you did it just to feel his necklace against your palm. “Oh god, G-Garrett,” you gasped out as his tip kept finding your spot with every thrust. “Just like that, baby,” Garrett murmured while he never looked away from your face to watch your reactions. The feeling of his cock stretching you out and the way his fingers were rubbing your clit made you clench around him. Your clit pulsed against his fingers while your walls continued to squeeze him to the point you felt his cock throb inside you. “M-mmph- I can’t,” you whimpered, and you rolled your hips into his hand to get more pleasure.
“You’re doing so good for me,” Garrett whispered as he kept up the fast pace. You pulled him closer by his shoulders until his forehead was pressing against yours. You kept your eyes closed while you told him how you felt. “Mmn, I’m close…” You whispered while his cock slid deep into your cunt. “R-right there-” you gasped as he kept up the pace. Garrett groaned against your lips before he gave you a peck. “I know, baby,” Garrett murmured before he moved faster. He rubbed your clit with his fingers while he kept fucking you. Garrett gives your lips another kiss before he whispers praises against your mouth. “You’re so perfect for me,” Garrett murmured as his hips touch against your thighs the moment he thrusts back in.
He talked you through it while keeping up the pace. “I missed you so much,” Garrett confessed when he pushed his cock all the way inside your cunt. “I- I know…” You gasped against his lips before you squeezed his length. It only takes a few thrusts until you finally cum around his thick cock while Garrett doesn’t stop his movements to chase his own orgasm. The tightness of your walls made him grunt out loud, but it’s easier to thrust now after you finish around his cock. “Fu-fuh- fuck,” Garrett groaned while he kept going, and he watched the way your body bounced against the mattress with every thrust. He was now raised on his knees, with your leg hooked over his shoulder. Garrett looked down between your bodies to watch the way his cock disappeared inside you and the way it looked coated with your cum.
“I’m right behind you, baby,” Garrett panted out as he sped up his movements. “Do you want it inside you?” he asked you, but it’s obvious that his focus is on watching your cunt squeeze his shaft. “M-mmf, yes, please,” you whimpered, and you wanted him to fill you up completely. Garrett let out a breath and buried himself all the way to the base to give you everything. Garrett reached his free hand up to pinch your nipple while he kept thrusting to chase his orgasm. He played with the peak between his fingers as his pace slowed down for a few moments. “Never done this without a condom with anyone else,” Garrett panted out while he stared down at you. “I only want to fill you up,” he whispered before he pushed deeper into your cunt.
His confession made you bite your lip and smirk while you reached up to grab his waist to hold him against you. “Sh-shit, fill me up then,” you whimpered while you squeezed your pussy around his shaft. Garrett let out a grunt and gave you a few more thrusts to finish. His hips stop moving against yours as his cum fills your cunt completely. “God- g-god, you’re perfect,” Garrett breathed out while his cock twitched inside you. He gave you a few more thrusts to get his cum deeper inside before he pulled out and put your leg down. He watched the fluid leak out of your cunt while you felt heat bloom across your cheeks. You tried to close your thighs together to hide it, but he blocked your movement with his hand.
“Look at how pretty you look right now,” he murmured while he kept your legs parted. “Don’t look, Garrett,” you whispered as you avoided eye contact. Garrett sat down beside you on the mattress and caressed your cheek with his thumb. “I can’t help it when you’re this beautiful,” He said before he leaned down to kiss your forehead. Garrett kept his mouth against your forehead while he breathed out. “Some of your clothes from your last visit are in my closet,” he whispered as his fingers brushed through your hair. You tilted your head back to see his face. “Even the customized jersey with your last name and number?” you asked because he had gifted that specific shirt to you for your visits to Briar U.
Garrett nodded while his thumb stroked your jaw. “It’s there, and it’s already washed since you used it the last time we did this in my room,” Garrett replied with a grin. He nudged your nose with his own to tease you. “Even those tight little cotton shorts you paired it with are in the drawer,” Garrett added while your face grew warm. He leaned down to press a kiss to your lips. “You look so hot with Graham on your back,” Garrett murmured against your mouth before he smiled. “I’ll get them for you,” he said before he stood up from the mattress. He walked over to the dresser while being completely naked to grab the clothes. You chuckled while you watched him search the drawers. “No underwear?” you asked after he tossed the shirt and the shorts over.
Garrett looked back with a smirk on his face. “Don’t wear one,” he replied, and you rolled your eyes. You sat up on the bed and with the blanket covering your body. “So we’re not going to shower?” you added to annoy him. Garrett grabbed a fresh pair of boxers for himself along with a box of tissues from the nightstand. “Later, before bed,” Garrett answered as he slipped his boxers on. “Yeah?” you teased while he walked back to your side. Garrett climbed onto the mattress to get closer to you. “Later, baby. Aren’t you hungry?” Garrett asked while he set the tissues down to clean you up. You adjusted the blanket against your chest. “I am,” you admitted as your stomach rumbled. Garrett nodded his head toward the door.
“I feel like Tucker cooked something,” Garrett said before he reached out to tend to you. Garrett reached out to take the blanket away from your body before he opened your legs wider. He looked down at the mess dripping from your cunt while he pulled a few tissues out of the box. “I could just eat you clean instead,” Garrett murmured with a grin. You let out a scoff because you knew exactly what he wanted. “You wouldn’t stop there. You’d just want to make me cum again,” you pointed out as you grabbed your own handful of tissues. You used them to wipe the sweat away from your chest before you slid the jersey over your head. Garrett chuckled at your comment before he started wiping the cum from your inner thighs and your ass.
He focused on cleaning your cunt gently while you finished pulling the top over your stomach. “You know me too well, baby,” Garrett said as he threw the dirty tissues away. You stood up from the bed right after and pulled on the tiny cotton shorts. You walked back over to where Garrett sat so you could put your hands on his shoulders to reach his upper back. Your fingertips traced the letters of the tattoo inked across his skin while your other hand played with the curls at his nape. “You look amazing in that jersey,” Garrett murmured while his hands slid down to touch your waist and hips. He stood up from the mattress and took your hand to lead you to the door before he unlocked it to walk out into the hallway.
You only took a few steps toward the stairs before Dean looked up from the couch downstairs. “Finally, we can actually go upstairs now,” Dean called out to tease you both. Tucker laughed while Logan shook his head right beside him. “We thought you two were never going to come out of there,” Tucker added, and Garrett squeezed your fingers to ignore them. “There’s some pesto on the stove if you guys want it,” Tucker called out from the couch. Garrett led you toward the kitchen while he kept his fingers locked with yours. “Thanks, man,” Garrett answered, and you also mouthed a thank-you to Tucker. Garrett guided you straight to the counter and reached into the cabinet for a single bowl for the two of you to share.
He poured some pasta inside before he grabbed a fork to twirl a few noodles together. “Taste this,” Garrett murmured as he held the food up to your lips. You bit into the noodles, and the savory flavor filled your mouth. “Look at them, having pasta after sex,” Dean shouted from the living room while Logan snorted at the joke. Garrett raised his middle finger to the guys without looking back. “Ignore them,” Garrett muttered as he watched you chew on it. You took the fork from his hand right after you swallowed it. Garrett leaned his hip against the counter, and he never looked away from you. You twirled another bite of noodles and pressed it against his lips to make him eat before you leaned close to his ear to whisper, “Pasta after sex.”
synopsis hi fell in love with your portrayal of dr. robby is it okay for me to request for dr. robby’s attending! wife and the early signs of pregnancy before she decided to take a test? (like falling asleep while doing charts or over a casual conversation hehe) request!
authornote this was a request that I loved writing so much but nobody needs to know the work that went into publishing it, that stays between me and @expreissionism who requested, thanks so much again!
My Pitt masterlist. Other Robby fic!
Robby left exam room four and- like always- he found you first.
He smiled. The kind that took over his whole face, that crinkled his eyes and caused his cheeks to hurt. The sort people didn't see often in the deep hells of the Pitt unless he was looking at you. Or talking about you. Or thinking about you. Basically, if he smiled like that it was you.
But his smile faded quick when he took note of you.
“Hey?”
You jerked up, looking at him.
Robby leant over the counter, sliding on his glasses and looked closer.
He was too close to you to be studying you like a patient, but just close enough for his wife.
“You eat anything today?” he asked.
You squinted at him. “We literally got breakfast this morning.”
“Okay, okay.”
There were darkening circles under your eyes and your lips were chapped which was his first sign something was wrong: you treated moisturising your lips like some do religion. Other than that your body was slumped over a computer. You were far more active than this.
“You sleep okay last night?” he asked.
You smirked. “Well no, not really, someone kept me up.”
Robby smirked right back, leaning back just enough to give you space. “Are you complaining?”
“No.”
Flashbacks of last night came to mind in searing heat. The sweat of your bodies, the grip he held on your hand as he fucked you into the mattress like he did most nights.
They said your libido goes down the older you get but Robby was going through another one. His box of blue pills sat abandoned in his bedside draw- thank god.
Robby nodded once. “Good.”
“But that saying,” you continued, swivelling in your chair to face him. Still, he didn't move. He could smell the shampoo you'd bathed yourself in this morning and his mouth salivated like a dog with his favourite treat. “Four rounds?”
Robby took a quick sweep of the area, making sure nobody was missing him and his wife as they flirted shamelessly. “You asked for it.”
You frowned. “Did I?”
“Hey!” called Dana. “Mr and Mrs Adams, we could use your help here!”
You playfully rolled your eyes and Robby backed away slowly, hands up in surrender. He watched Dana turn to at least give them a second to finish up their flirting before digging into his pocket.
“Here- for your lips.”
A small, practically un-used tube of chap-stick fell from the palm of his hand to yours. He carried it for you, always. If you'd asked you'd know he carried an extra pack of nuts and hand cream too.
He'd been doing so secretly since your first dates years ago.
Of course the supplies were different but the sentiment the same.
You blushed, a bright smile coming to your face. “You are so adorable.”
Robby shook off the word like it was splash of cold water. “Yeah, don't let onto anyone, okay? Got a cold exterior to keep up.”
“Oh- of course.”
He could have stood there and watched you all day but he already felt Dana's gaze, un-wavering. He squeezed your shoulders and pressed a kiss on your forehead before slipping away with a quiet promise to himself that he'd get his hands on you later.
“You don't look so well, you know,” said Dana once the coast was clear of Robby.
“Don't you start,” you said. “I've had enough of this the last couple days from Robby.”
“Oh yeah, you got something?” Dana's hand was gentle on your back. If you weren't careful she'd push you onto a bed, have you in a gown with a chart written up herself. She'd mother you; smother you in her care even if she wasn't a doctor. Even if you were the attending around the place.
You shook your head and flashed her a un-convincing smile.
You were sure it was a bug, or burn out.
You'd caught burn out like some do colds or flus. As the second attending it was your job- with Robby's- to make sure everyone was taught, that patients were satisfied (you found you were doing that part for your husband as well) and you were saving as many lives as you could.
The careful art of delegation and avoidance was lost on you. You threw yourself into traumas like you were still a med student with something to prove.
“Okay, if you say so,” said Dana with a purse of her lips.
“I do say so.”
“If you need anything.”
“Am I married to you or Robinavitch?” you teased, tugging on gloves and readying yourself for a room of hustle.
Dana chuckled, backing away slowly to her station. “You should be so lucky, Robinavitch.”
Using the weight of your back you pushed into trauma two.
“Okay, kids- what have we got?”
“Fetal heart rate one-two-eight.”
Whitaker was at your side in an instant, handing you the chart. “Woman in her late twenties, came in complaining of cramping and migraines, twenty-nine weeks along.”
“BP is one-seventy, over one-nineteen.”
The woman was on her side, a whole score of nurses and doctors around her. It was always double the team for pregnant ladies. When there were two patients to care for in a package of one.
“Six grams of magnesium going in.”
You floated around the room, Whitaker following you like some guard dog. You took in everything going on, reading stats and taking in numbers everyone gave to you. “Okay, ma'am, I'm Doctor Robinavitch, everyone calls me Robin. It seems you have a medical condition called preeclamsia.”
The woman's eyes were teary and dark as they looked up to you in fear. “Wh-what?”
“Preeclampsia. Now that we know what it is we can help you.”
“But it was- it was just a headache,” she cried, hand cradling her stomach on instinct. “Is my baby going to be okay?”
“We are doing everything to make sure you and the baby do just fine,” you assured her, speaking a language you'd become fluent in. Diagnosis and comfort. Sometimes, when the job got tough, you wondered if you even really believed the words you were saying. They just floated from your tongue typically.
“The thing is with your condition we have to take you up to OB and deliver this baby,” you told her.
“OB's been paged,” Santos informed you.
“But it's too early,” the woman sobbed, clutching at her rounded stomach like she could keep the baby there.
“I know but the baby's pulse is strong which is good,” you told her. “And if we want to keep the ball rolling in the right direction we have to got to get to it now, okay?”
“Doctor Robin,” said Whitaker. “Labs are back in.”
“Read them to me.” You were still holding the lady's hand over her stomach, trying to comfort her.
“Don't hold out on us Huckleberry, what's going on?” asked Santos.
“They're high- real high-”
“Which can mean?” you ask out to the room, remembering the hundreds of times Gloria reminded you off your status as a 'teaching hospital,'.
“HELLP syndrome,” said Denis.
“Point to you.”
Under your hand the patient began to tremble. A quick glance at the monitor showed her blood pressure rising. Panic, most likely, something else it could have been entirely.
“Hey, boy or a girl?” you asked, watching her eyes flicker. “Do you know what you're having?”
She blinked slow. “Boy.”
“Any name ideas?”
Her mouth had opened to say something but instead of a name vomit spewed, rolling down the gurney and splashing your scrubs- the one time you didn't put on a gown.
“Oh shit- she's seizing!”
Everyone and you reacted quickly in holding her, trying to calm her shakes.
It had never happened before, you'd never had so many senses tuning it an once but the smell of her breakfast wafted up to your nose. An un-familiar roll in your stomach curdled and you pursed your lips shut, turning away and burying your nose into the still fresh part of your scrubs.
“Fifteen litres on by mask!” Whitaker yelled. “Intubation?”
He was looking to you.
You shook your head, unable to speak with half your focus going on calming the insides of your stomach.
“With all the seizing we can't get a read on the baby's status,” said Santos.
Fuck- you'd have to say something. You couldn't leave a fresh doctor and student into clampsia blind. “Ultrasound,” you breathed out, still unable to face where the sick started to soak into your scrubs. “Check on baby!”
If Santos and Whitaker thought it was strange they said nothing, following you orders and relaying what they found.
“Doctor Robin- do we intubate?”
Another set of hands came up to help steady her and you could back away.
Even your shoes hadn't been spared the mercy of the vomit.
“Not yet, push keppra, four grams.”
Grabbing clothes cutters you quickly sliced at your scrub top, thankful you were wearing something long sleeved and covering more of you then a simple vest.
With the top in shreds you could finally breath but your stomach didn't get the memo.
“Pulse Ox eighty-eight!”
Groaning, you pulled the tray out for intubation, handing it to Santos.
She glanced at you. “Hey, you look a bit-”
“- don't say sick or I'll throw up on you,” you warned, following her around like she was your new human shield. You wondered if she'd be flattered or pissed if you admitted she was. “Push probofal.”
“Pushing.”
Eventually the seizing stopped with everything you pushed to get her stable and you moved quick. It was like putting everything else on aeroplane mode, shutting off your own systems to get hers stable.
“Intubate, get an EEG to check her brain levels. She's paralysed now but her brain could still be seizing.”
You slipped in sick, grabbing yourself on the nearest doctor and thanking them. You stayed for the intubation only then knew you couldn't hack it anymore.
You fled the room, bumping into Samira on your way out.
Dana jolted up. “Hey, what're you-”
“-get Robby in trauma one.”
You found the nearest bathroom, locked it and threw up everything. You hugged the toilet like it was your anchor, your body curling into the movements. Time escaped you, it could have been minutes it could have been hours but finally you fell back and flushed, wiping away everything.
You were young, you weren't as old as your husband. You'd had less experience in traumas all together, however you were a good doctor, capable enough to be a fellow attending.
Several substances had been chucked over you in your time. Blood, vomit, piss- some you didn't even know the name off.
Why had today been any different?
Clearing yourself up: re-tying your hair, washing out your mouth and applying Chapstick, cleaning your shoes and wiping tears from under your eyes, you blamed it on the bagels you'd had that morning.
It was the only logical explanation.
Leaving the bathroom you felt momentary guilt and fleeing but spotted Robby already taking your place in the trauma.
“Hey, hun,” Dana was at your side quick, gentle and peering at you closely. “What was that about? You doin alright?”
“Yeah,” you hummed.
“You throw up? You sick?”
“No, I-” you thought of every other time you'd lied to Dana and how it never went well. “Yes but it's probably just food poisoning. Don't tell Robby.”
If Robby knew you were sick- after already having been worried this morning- you'd be driven home in twenty minutes flat.
“Robby always finds out,” said Dana.
You ignored her and pushed open the door to the lounge. She didn't follow and you were left with spare seconds to yourself.
Your hands shook slightly as you fetched a glass to fill with water. To cool yourself down you ran your hands under, splashing the back of your neck with some. You gargled water and spit it back, ready to drain the glass and wet your sudden parched mouth when Langdon appeared in the door.
“Hey, I've got a head lac I need you to take a look at.”
Because you were an attending. Because of the kind of person you are you put down the glass and followed him.
“She just ran out?”
There was the all too familiar buzz of the sanitiser dispenser as Robby helped himself to a generous blob before rubbing it into his hands. A beat behind, Denis did the same, following in his footsteps- literally.
“Er-yeah,” he said, working fast to absorb every bit of hand sanitiser. “She ordered the EEG and bolted.”
Robby nodded, taking it all in clinically. “You said she looked pale?”
“Yeah but, she had just been thrown up on.”
Being thrown up on wasn't a pleasant experience but he hadn't known you to run from bodily fluids.
“Where is she now?” Robby asked, as if Denis was the soul person to look out for you. Well, Robby trusted Denis, a gift he didn't bestow on many so he did expect Denis to keep an eye on you at all times.
“She went to the bathroom but I don't know now.”
Robby checked the bathrooms, finding you void of those spaces. He checked the lounge where nothing but a deserted glass of water sat.
He was almost panicking when he saw the back of you and Frank in a room.
He paused.
You were sat next to a young girl, holding her hand. Although he couldn't hear you he imagined the softness of your voice as it always became when dealing with a pedes case. You'd always joked that if the ED wasn't so in need of two attendings at a time you'd have left his ass for pedes upstairs at once.
Robby didn't think so. For one, you'd miss his face, for the second thing- you liked bouncing from one emergency to another, switching off and relying only on your skills.
You hadn't been bouncing around as quick as usual the last couple days. He realised it only in that moment.
Frank was standing with his arms folded over his chest, pitching in every now and then and also getting the girl to smile.
He didn't want to go in, break the concentration and trust you'd formed with the small child. He'd find you later.
Whatever was going on, the two of you clearly had it handled.
Your dreams came to you in fades.
There was first an annoyingly weird dream about a animal circus finding it's home in the Pitt. They said work followed you home, but it even followed you into dreams which seemed just un-fair. Then there was a stork on an elephants back. How would an elephant even get in to the place?
They turned to some much more enjoyable memories that had your body warming un-consciously.
Robby's weight pressed down into yours on the couch in your living room. You'd begged him to put everything on you, to not hold himself up and with-hold his moans.
And because you'd asked, he did.
Robby wasn't a light guy and you liked him like that. The weight of him crushing you, his spit swapped with yours, sweat of his body being shared and the fingerprints you could feel at your hips.
“Oh fuck sweetheart, oh fuck!” he'd groaned out loud.
You felt parts of him deep in you you didn't know you could feel and still you wanted more. Your locked your ankles around his backside, keeping him into you in short and sweet thrusts.
“Oh, you like that? Jesus Christ,” he grunted into your neck, unable to hold himself up even if he wanted to. “So greedy. Fuckin' so greedy!”
“Please, Robby, please!”
Steady hands were sudden at your shoulders and a body pressed up to yours, decidedly unlike how one did in the dream.
“Go home,” said Robby.
You picked yourself up from where you'd dozed off, your head in your arms folded over on the counter. In front of you, the computer was blank. “Hm?”
Robby's eyes bored into yours. “Go home, you're sick.”
“It's only twelve. I'm not sick- I'm fine,” you said, waving off his hand as it came up to test your temperature in the very medical practise of hand on forehead.
Robby shook his head. “You were dozing this morning, you're asleep now, you threw up-”
“Dana, I told her not to say anything!” You cursed under your breath.
“Not Dana, Whitaker,” said Robby, looking at you with brows draw in, somewhere between anger (or as angry as he could get at you) and concern. “Did you tell Dana not to tell me?”
“Because you worry.” You used your secret trick of overwhelming affection to try to starve off Robby. Your hands were clammy as they held his cheeks, fingertips grazing over his beard just how he liked. He was kneeling at your side, melting into your touch. “I'm fine.”
For extra measures you pressed a kiss to his forehead and walked away.
There was a split second of head spinning blur. The sort that had you reaching out to balance yourself. It lasted maybe two seconds but enough to worry you.
If you hadn't taken such care in tending to Robby's own distraction he'd have clocked it and dragged you home himself.
You maybe weren't so fine. It wasn't every day you felt as tired as you did now, and however good the night before had been Robby had given you more. Plenty. You'd surpassed twenty-fours working in the ED with no sleep so nothing could phase you.
But being phased you were.
The lack of sleep.... the throwing up... maybe you were coming down with something.
You'd thrown up last week too, so it couldn't be food poisoning like you were trying to convince yourself it was.
Robby hurried after you, the jingle of his keys and ID card and such jangling. “I'm keeping my eyes on you.”
“Sexy.”
In trauma one the two of you worked together with a score of doctors and nurses. Mrs Albany- the pregnant lady with clampsia- demanded attention. Perhaps it was a waste of two attendings working on the same patient.
The emergency c-section you had to perform made the one patient two and as Robby worked to keep the mother alive you worked on the child, stimulating the baby boy till he breathed, wiping off the fluids and bloods and sighing when he cried out.
Under the gown and mask you could see Robby's own dimples at you as you both saved lives.
But the tang of iron from the uterus and child filled your nostrils and upset you close enough to tears. You were glad Esme had cleaned up the sick from early and equally as glad you had the chance to throw up your breakfast so you couldn't do it again.
“Holy shit!” Santos celebrated, yanking off her gown and gloves next to you as you did the same, “That was crazy!”
The baby was pushed by you, heading up to the NICU, the mother following, a pulse low but steady, heading up to the OR.
You ducked away from Robby as he followed the pair out. You took Santos with you, a pushing hand on her back. “Yeah, it was- listen I've got a patient that needs blood results quick, you think if I get it you can rush it up to labs, on an ASAP basis.”
Santos frowned. You knew what she was thinking before she even had to say it. It was a boring job, her skills were better off etc.
“Please?” you asked.
It took a roll of her eyes but she agreed to.
Five minutes later you had a vial of your own blood handed to her.
An hour later Santos found you, Ipad in hand.
“Hey, got the results for your patient,” she said. “Where are they? What room? I couldn't see them on the board?”
Dana would have had something to say about taking your own blood and getting it to labs without telling anyone. Robby too. As attending you should have been chastising yourself but there was no time for that. No need, either.
Doctors made the worst sort of patients, especially when they felt they didn't need to be one.
“Er, she left, discharged herself,” you lied quickly, trying to get a gage on the results that were cradled in your arm.
“Bummer. I wanted to give her good news. Or bad.”
“What?”
“She's pregnant.”
You stopped in you tracks.
It took Trinity at least four more paces before she realised you had.
The blood works showed just that. High HCG levels, you red blood cell count was high. Along with the nausea, vomiting, dizzy spells it made sense.
You were pregnant.
Inside the stomach that had been churning all day sat a life fully depending on you to take care of it. Suddenly none of your med school training mattered. Nothing you'd ever down before mattered. Looking after patients was one thing. You didn't have to go home with them, check they drank enough or ate enough, didn't have to check in with their boss they were taking it easy.
You struggled to look after yourself.
Throw a baby in the mix and you were doomed.
Chuck in Robby and you were-
Robby.
Jesus Fuck. You'd never spoken about kids. You'd only been married a year and were still in what some considered the 'honeymoon' phase.
“Everything okay?” asked Santos. “Did I miss something in the results?”
You cleared your throat. “No. No, that all... looks good. I'm just gonna take a small break. Quick one. Thanks.”
“Hey, Robby!” Denis called as he walked out from the ambulance bay. “Congratulations!”
“Thanks, Whitaker.”
It took Robby seconds to pause and think. What was he being congratulated for? The fact he went outside for some air? It wasn't impressive. Was it the quick life saving procedures they'd made on mother and son that sent them both upstairs alive? That was over an hour ago and Denis had been in the room.
Robby back tracked to Whitaker. “What am I being congratulated on, exactly?” he asked.
Whitaker looked at him like he was crazy. “The good news.”
Good news? The last good news he had was marrying you a year ago, and Whitaker had been at the damn wedding crying more than his own grandmother.
Robby shook his head.
“The good news, you'll be a great dad.”
Robby chocked on his breath, leaning on the counter. “Wh-what?” he chuckled in a breath.
“You're pregnant? I mean, not you, obviously, I-I know how it works. But you're having a baby, that's-that's what they say and I just wanted to say well done. Or not well done! No, that came out wrong, jus-”
Robby had let him stumble on his words as he tried to figure out what he was saying. The baby? What baby? “Denis, what are you talking about?”
He looked around quickly for you but couldn't see you.
“Oh my god, you didn't know, you didn't know did you?” Whitaker's face paled, his entire body sinking. “Santos told me, she told me not to tell anyone but I-I figured I could tell you! I guessed- oh god, did I just tell you your wife is pregnant?”
His wife...
Pregnant...
And Robby was finding out from Huckleberry!
Robby took a step around the counter and Denis stumbled back into his chair. “Are you telling me she's...”
Whitaker nodded when the words failed him.
Robby thought back to the sickness you thought he'd missed last week, the way you fell asleep at the computer earlier and the general exhaustion. He tried to think back to what night could have been 'the one' but somewhere along the line you'd both stopped being careful. Condoms were abandoned in draws and your pack of contraceptive pills were still full.
“Doctor- Doctor Robby? Do you need to sit down?” Denis asked.
Robby waved him off and gave himself one minute to compose himself. He knew panic, it was an old friend he'd lost contact with over the years, yet it returned to him then.
“Where is she now?” he asked.
“Oh, I don't- I don't-”
“Huckleberry!” he tried not to expose his fondness of the nickname Santos had given him but it slipped out in the most desperate of times.
Denis gulped, knowing this. “Exam room three.”
Robby nodded and made a be-line, Casey was asking him a question as he passed but he held up a hand, ignoring her.
Santos stepped out the room, closing the door and stopping when Robby almost collided with her. “You can't go in there.”
Robby inhaled a deep breath. It was one thing having Whitaker be the one to tell him you were pregnant. It was another to have Santos blocking him from seeing you. “Doctor Santos if you don't let me through you will miss every trauma that comes through those doors.”
Luckily, he knew how to work Santos.
Her arms budged over her chest. “For how long?”
Whatever you had promised her to keep him out must have been just as grand a prize. “Till I see fit now let me in.”
It was like a western stand off for longer than Robby would have liked. Every second he spent out of your room was longer you were spending alone.
Eventually, Trinity sighed and gave up. “Okay, fine, whatever, but she promised me first dibs at a REBOA for doing this. I expect that to still stand.”
Robby pushed through the room and snapped back the curtains finding you at the edge of a bed, the wand of an ultrasound hidden under your top and the grey scale picture of a baby on the monitor.
To your credit you didn't flinch or move as he stood there.
“Lets be real this is not the worst thing you've caught me doing.”
In five minutes Robby had wiped down your stomach of the gel, had helped pull your top down and sat with you on the edge of the patient bed, the curtain back to being pulled over and hiding the two of you from traumas and agitated patients and doctors alike.
“How long have you known?” asked Robby.
There was no anger, no mean undertones. It was frightening rather blank, the way he spoke. You'd always prided yourself on knowing how to tell when he was in a good mood or bad from the smallest of tics he had.
He'd trained them out of himself apparently.
Yet- he'd given you his hand and you'd pulled it into your lap, holding it and trailing your own fingers over his.
“The time's now-” you peeked over him at the clock over the door. “- about an hour and thirteen minutes.”
He shook his head, scoffing out a smile that pronounced his wrinkles. “Why didn't you come to me?”
You sighed, shrugging your shoulders. “I thought I was just sick, you know? So I thought I'd get some bloods and see.”
“Did you do the bloods yourself?”
You looked at him and that was telling enough. With the hand that wasn't with yours he rubbed at his temple in aggravation. So far there'd been little to no talk about the baby growing in your stomach but more concern about how you'd gone to finding out.
“You should've got me,” he said.
“Well if I thought I was pregnant I probably would have.” You tried to joke but it fell flat.
“Probably?” he repeated quietly.
Silence went by with only the ticking of the clock as company.
You held onto his hand, readying yourself for the question yet to be asked. “Are you mad at me?”
Robby shook his head but didn't look at you.
“Annnnd are you mad at...” you couldn't say baby yet. Didn't know if giving the clump of cells in your stomach a name would scare him off.
With the hand in your lap his fingers entwined with yours and clutched tight.
“I know we never talked about kids and this wasn't planned in the slightest,” you said even if you knew Robby had stopped pulling out months ago, favouring the way you felt when your walls swallowed him up. “You can be angry.”
“You keep asking if I'm angry, do you want me to be?” he asked, finally a touch of emotion in his voice as it rose an octave. “Are you mad?”
That was the question. It wasn't planned, but it wasn't unwanted. You couldn't say that seeing the way mothers caressed their stomachs when they came in with spotting or concerns didn't have you thinking of your own child one day. That talking to that little girl with the head lac earlier with Frank didn't cause a pang of longing in your heart.
You'd never tried to pretend you didn't want everything with Robby. Even if you've never discussed what everything was to each other.
“When I was in med school I thought I'd have it all worked out long before now,” said Robby. “Marriage and kids. Maybe on my second marriage by now.”
You dug your elbow into his ribs, rewarded with a quick, breathless laugh.
His eyes creased as his face scrunched up. “Didn't work out. Guess I... gave up thinking it could.”
“Then you met me, right?”
Robby looked at you. His eyes were like glass as he looked you over, his lips titled, cheeks red under his beard. He looked- if you didn't mind saying so- like a man mesmerised. He nodded.
“I thought you didn't want kids,” you said.
“Do you?” he asked, eyes boring into yours.
“Do you?” you threw back to him.
He squeezed your hand and gave you a look.
“I think I do,” you admitted, quietly, as if you could take it back if it displeased him. “I don't know if I'll be good at it. I hardly have time to look after myself, let alone a baby. And I don't want to be one of those people that gives up work for kids cause I love my job but... I think I could love a kid, too.”
Robby nodded along with what you were saying, a smile brightening everything you thought looked dark in him.
“Do you want kids?” you asked.
“Oh, kids?” he teased. “You're so sure its twins already?”
You rolled your eyes as he nudged his shoulder with yours, rocking the both of your bodies.
“I want everything with you, I said so much in my vows, didn't I? You thought I was lying, Doctor Robin?”
You couldn't help but smile at the nickname he gave you and was proud to call you. After all, calling out for two Robinavitch's in an emergency proved difficult quickly. “I don't believe your vows included, I want to fuck you so hard and deep you get pregnant within the first year of marriage.' ”
“Dirty mouth, cussing like that,” said Robby, his eyes drifting down your lips as he bit down on his own. “Have to sort that out before the baby gets here.”
“Lucky we have eight months to train it out of me.”
Robby's nose had just brushed yours before he was pulling back, studying you again. His gaze drifted to your stomach, wondering if the manifestation of your nights had started to show. “You're a month along, already?”
You clocked your head side to side. “Give or take a week or two.”
“Eight months it is.”
Robby kissed you, licking into your mouth and breathing you in with deep breaths. His large hands held your cheeks and kept you in, all but drowning you in lips and touch and love. He tilted his head aside, kissing you deeper.
At once the doors banged open and arguing voices drifted in.
Robby pulled back with his head lowered in disappointment while you licked the taste of him off your lips. “I swear to god, these kids-” he grumbled as Denis and Trinity stumbled in.
“Seems like you got the dad thing down already,” you said, hand rubbing up and down in his back.
The intruders had a hoard of things in arms. Denis was carrying a large bear in hand that almost drowned him as he struggled to hold him. The bear was holding a blue heart sewen into its paws while Trinity was struggling in pulling the pink balloons in.
It seemed they'd already made bets on what baby they wanted you to have.
“We er, wanted to get you these,” said Denis. “Sorry for ruining the surprise.”
“I'm not sorry, I didn't do anything,” said Santos with a scoff.
“You told me,” pointed out Whitaker.
“Yeah and I told you not to tell anyone, fuckleberry then you tell the dad!”
“I thought he knew!”
“I told you in confidence!”
“You were laughing while you were telling me! That wasn't every confident!”
“Oh my god, it's a figure of speech!”
You laughed at the two of them, hiding your face in Robby's scrubs as he leant his head back toward you.
“You think they'd notice if we started trying for baby number two now?”
Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x female!reader
Warnings: domestic established relationship, breast massage for pain relief, comfort.
Summary: After a double shift, Jack helps soothe the ache of a long day.
Jack is about to say something about ordering takeout, but the words catch in his throat when he looks inside the bedroom.
You’ve already kicked off your sneakers and shed your jeans. Standing at the foot of the bed in just your sweatpants, you grab the hem of your t-shirt, and pull it over your head, letting it drop to the bed.
Next comes the real relief.
You reach back, unhooking your bra that’s been digging into your ribs for the last hours. With a groan of comfort, you toss it onto the nightstand. You cup your breasts, using your hands to gently massage the aching skin where the wires had been pressing and trapping heat all day, trying to get the blood flowing again.
Jack stands there for a moment, his gaze softening. The sheer domesticity of the scene makes something melt in him.
He steps fully into the room. "Everything okay, doll?" he asks.
You look up, letting out a smile. "Yeah. Just... bras are brutal after a double shift. It feels like they're trying to bruised my ribs by the end of the day."
Jack closes the distance between you.
"Bra problems require expert care," he teases softly, his hands coming to rest gently on your hips. He leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. "Let me take over? My hands are warm, and I happen to have an excellent bedside manner."
You smile, tilting your head. "Is that an official medical recommendation, Dr. Abbot?"
"Strictly therapeutic," he murmurs.
Jack turns you, his chest brushing against your bare back as he closes the distance. You instinctively lean into him, letting out a soft sigh as he supports you.
He wraps his arms around your waist for a brief second, pressing a warm kiss to the crook of your neck.
"Relax, doll," he whispers warmly against your skin.
He slides his hands upward, his palms completely warm against your skin as they replace your own. His hands cup you gently, immediately bringing a sense of relief to the ache.
Jack knows exactly how much pressure to apply, using his thumbs to trace the red indentations left behind by the underwire, smoothing over the irritated skin in slow circles.
You let your eyes close, completely melting against him. Your back is pressed flat against his chest, feeling the steady, calming thud of his heartbeat beneath his shirt.
"Better?" Jack asks softly, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder as his hands continue their soothing, rhythmic motion.
"So much better," you murmur, closing your eyes and letting your head rest back against his shoulder. "You're hired permanently."
"Good, because I don't plan on quitting my job," Jack chuckles. He presses a tender kiss to the side of your neck, his thumbs smoothing over your skin, content to just hold you and soothe away the stress of the day for as long as you need.
Part of the step!mum universe, but as always you don’t need to read it to understand.
Content: non sexual nudity? Maekar joins us in the bath, the children are doing your head in
Maekar’s Masterlist
“I don’t even get peace on the privy.” You say to yourself when you hear multiple knocks on the door, the children wanting your attention. Rhae not even on the other side of the door as the babe refused to leave your side without crying.
“What?” You ask opening the door to look at 3 of your six children. Aerion holding a ripped shirt while Daella and egg are both crying.
“They ripped my shirt! They deserve punishment!”
“That’s nice dear.” You say walking past the children, just wanting a moment of peace. Why don’t they go bother their father for once?
“Mother!” Aerion shouts shocked wanting your attention and sympathy for a shirt he doesn’t even like being ripped.
“Muña! Aerion pushed me!” Egg complains wanting Aerion to get in trouble not him. It’s not his fault Aerion was playing to rough with them.
“Muña! Aerion mean!” Daella shouts toddling along after you and her brothers.
“Muña! Aerion hid my book!” Aemon shouts running up to you on the brink of tears as he can’t find his favourite book. His elder brother stealing it.
“Mum? Do you know where my blanket has gone?” Daeron asks, when he sees you walking past his chambers. The boys doors wide open while he looks for the blanket you made him.
At all the commotion Rhae burst out crying. All the children’s voices over lapping when you snap. “Right, that’s it!” You shout passing Rhae to Daeron, all children immediately silencing as you never shout at them. “I’m having a nice long bath. If you need or want anything at all. Don’t ask me. Go to your father, if I do get disturbed no dessert.”
At that you walk off all the children just staring in shock. Not sure what to do.
-
“Father?” Aemon asks knocking on the door where their father works. Everyone else just barging in, not caring they’re meant to enter without permission.
“Kepa!” Daella shouts throwing herself into her confused father’s arms who was just about to tell them to fuck off.
“Mums gone crazy.” Daeron says bouncing Rhae, doing his best to get the girl to sleep.
“What?” Maekar asks confused, standing up from his chair, Daella still in his arms.
“It’s all Aerion’s fault!” Egg says before anyone can explain.
“No it not! It’s the little brat’s fault!” Aerion argues, thinking it’s never his fault.
“I didn’t do anything all I asked was if she’d seen my blanket.” Daeron says when Maekar looks at him wanting clarification.
“Muña mad.” Daella confirms from her father’s arms.
“The lot of you shut up.” Maekar says annoyed by all the talking, looking at his third and most well behaved child. “Aemon, what’s going on with your mother?”
-
“Can I come in?” Maekar asks through the door not bothering to knock. Having sent the children to the solar to play, after spending an hour with them.
“Who’s with you?” You ask from your nice hot bath, having the nice expensive oils in it. A glass of wine in your hand while you use the other to read. Having the most amount of peace you’ve had in years.
“No one, it’s just me.” He answers, needing a moment away from the children.
“Fine, enter.” You say, not looking up from your book when he quickly enters. “What do you want?”
“A brake.” Maekar says staring to get undressed, not caring that you’re giving him a look of annoyance. Him disturbing your alone time. “I’ll be quiet.”
“Fine.” You sigh, moving forward so he can fit behind you in the bath. Water spilling over the side as he joins you, hands wrapped around you pulling you back into him. Kissing your shoulder before laying back with a sigh.
“How is the water still this hot? It’s been an hour.”
“Shut up.” You say going back to reading, at a very interesting point in the book you’ve been trying to read all week. Him taking your wine to drink some for himself. “Are they ok?” You ask after 10 minutes of just laying in the bath together.
“They’re fine.” He says having missed time just the two of you, egg and daella sneaking in to your chambers every night. “I’ve missed spending time with you.”
“I’ve missed you too.” You say placing your bookmark on the page you’re reading before placing it on the little table that held the wine. Turning to face the man, lying on him. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” He says pulling you into a kiss.
-
“Muña!” Daella shouts in excitement when you enter the solar, Aerion quickly pretending he wasn’t cuddling the girl. “Missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too baby.” You say placing the toddler on your hip, looking at your horde of children. Daeron lying on the sofa with Rhae sleeping on him while Aemon reads to egg. “Are you all ready for dinner?”
“We get cake right?” Aemon asks, still a big fan of cake.
SUMMARY: When Jack offers his company in the form of a date to celebrate your book release, he gets to understand the inner workings of your mind a bit more. Unfortunately, it does leave him with an ache he has to tend to using nothing but his own imagination.
WARNINGS: some flirting, mentions of alcohol use, swearing, sexual themes when discussing readers new book, kissing, dry humping and male masturbation LOL promise to give you real smut soon <3
A/N: this part took me longer to write than expected, probs bc i finally finished outlining the rest of the series and i was eager to write other scenes as i was drafting them but it's here!! This series can now also be found on Wattpad as well as Ao3 :)
PAIRING: Jack Abbot x Single Mom!Reader
WORD COUNT: 7.8k
PREV. PART — SERIES MASTERLIST
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Jack doesn’t call you.
Not the following morning. Or the morning after that. In fact, for the first three days after the kiss, you’re met with nothing but radio silence.
There’s no frantic run-ins in the lobby, or accidental indecent exposures in the ED. For those initial three days, you stewed on every interaction you shared that night. Talking on the balcony, sneaking him beer, the kiss at the door that you swear still lingers on your lips now.
But more than that, your mind has burrowed a deep and dark hole under the pretense of it being a mistake. That despite him kissing you, despite him reassuring you that Bella is not who he’s interested in, he’s actually come to the realization that neither are you.
You festered on the thought for three days straight. Torn over the idea of calling or texting him yourself. But you’ve never chased a man before and you refused to start now.
In hindsight, it was one of your better decisions not to go off the handles about it. Because on the third night, Jack had texted you a flurry of apologies. There were no excuses for his silence, just a simple explanation that the ED is swamped under new temporary management and he’s only been home for a few hours at a time to nap or shower or feed his cat.
Which was a revelation in itself. Jack has a cat named Sally.
Originally, you had explained that you understood, that it was okay and he had a very important job he had responsibilities for. But Jack had seen that as an easy cop out he refused to take. Promised you that he was not avoiding you, that he did not regret a single second of that night and more convincingly, that he very much wants to do it again.
And for the past week, Jack’s been nothing but present and attentive. Not physically, the ED has still had him entirely swamped of time. But any free moment he gets, he’s texting you, or a quick call to ask about your day, to ask about Phoebe.
He sends photos of random things. A pretty sunrise when he manages to steal a moment to catch it from the ambulance bay. Drawings that children have given him that he’s cared for. And quite a few of someone you’ve learned to be John Shen who likes iced coffee more than you do.
You’ve offered him the same. Photos of your breakfast or coffee when he asks what you’re having. Snapshots of Phoebe when he checks how she’s doing. Pictures of a messy kitchen island when you admit you’re struggling with outlines for your new book.
And on the odd night, when it’s late enough for you to barely keep your eyes open and it’s calm enough for Jack to steal a moment alone, he’ll call to say goodnight. You tell him about your day with Phoebe, he tells you about his craziest patients.
Over the last week it’s become somewhat of a routine. Calls, texts, captures of one another's life if fleeting moments. It’s been nice. Exciting. You find yourself reaching for your phone more often than before, feeling butterflies twist in your stomach every time his name lights up on your screen.
So when the week passes and you wake up at 6 a.m. on the dot, your screen already has a message from Jack waiting for you, buried beneath the emails and texts and social media notifications under your pen name accounts.
You ignore them all in favor of Jack.
Happy release day, sweetheart ❤️
The nickname he’s taken upon himself to give you sets your skin molten. The first time he casually called you that was over the phone one night, and the gentle form of endearment had almost burned you from the inside out.
It’s with sleep-crusted eyes that you unlock your phone and re-read the text over and over again before sending off your reply with a grin.
Good morning and thank you!! How is your shift going?
Despite his text being sent over four hours ago—likely during a rare lull on the night shift—typing bubbles form at the bottom of the texting thread, like he’s been waiting for you to rise from your slumber.
Long. Gotta stay a couple more hours, huge collision pile up on the interstate. Stay away from Parkway West if you can help it.
What are your plans to celebrate?
Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, bottom lip caught between your teeth. Still blinking through the groginess, you roll your back, arms bent to hold your phone above your face.
Will do! And just lunch with my parents this afternoon. Phoebe is at Tom’s tonight so probs wine, takeout and drafting for the next instalment.
You wait a few moments for a reply. Which turns into a few minutes. In true fashion, Jack’s likely been pulled away, so you force yourself to get up and start your day.
A very quick shower, a big cup of coffee and then you’re gently waking Phoebe with a tender hand to her back. Her eyes blink open with an immediate frown and she reaches to pull the covers over her head before you can stop her.
“Come on, sleepyhead,” you laugh gently. “Time to get up for school.”
“I don’t wanna,” Phoebe grumbles, shifting until her back is to you.
You stand with a sigh, let your hands rest on your hips. “Okay, guess I’ll just have banana pancakes and listen to Phil Collins on my own then.”
Her head whips round to you at that, peeking from under the covers. She holds nothing but a stony expression and you can’t help the raise of your brows at the sight.
“You wouldn’t.” She accuses with a squint.
You shrug a shoulder, feigning nonchalance. The second you take a step away from her bed, she’s throwing the covers off her in a fit of annoyance and clambering to her feet. Her hair is a matted mess, pyjama top twisted and pant legs scrunched up to her knees.
She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t offer you anything more than an unimpressed look before walking past you and making her way to the kitchen. You watch with quiet amusement as she climbs the stool to sit at the island, takes a long gulp of the cup of water you already made her.
And when you turn to begin making the pancakes, you hear her demand Alexa to play Easy Lover with more attitude than any four-year-old should possess.
It’s when you’re sitting together and singing with mouthfuls of banana pancakes that your phone chimes with a text from Jack.
In that case, how would you feel about some company?
The music becomes a dull noise beneath the sound of your pulse hammering in your ears. You stop chewing as you read the text over and over, lungs seizing on a breath you haven’t fully expelled. You haven’t seen Jack since that night. Texting and calling has been exciting, has become a norm. But finally seeing him again?
The thought is just as thrilling as it is terrifying.
You’re not working tonight?
His response is immediate again.
Not at the hospital. But I’m more than happy to put some hours in as a ghost writer. In fact, I insist.
The grin that spreads across your face is almost maniacal. It stretches so wide that your eyes crinkle and your body buzzes. You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to how smoothly he flirts, how easily your body reacts to a fucking text message from him. Your fingers move across the screen quickly.
Well, I can’t say no to that.
The bubbles appear again for no more than a few seconds before they're replaced with another text.
There we go. It’s a date. I’ll see you at 7
You choke on a noise that sounds similar to a squeal and you can’t tear your eyes away from the screen. You don’t trust yourself to type a reply, so you react to his message with a heart instead.
“Who are you texting?” Phoebe’s tone is accusational and a very sobering sound that snaps you from your little bubble.
You flinch, unintentionally and quickly place your phone screen down on the island, like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t.
“No one!”
She watches you with a conspiratorial look, and for a moment you forget that she’s the kid and you’re the parent. Her suspicion morphs into a shit-eating grin.
“Is it Jack?”
You squint at her. “Shut up and eat your breakfast before we’re late.”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Dana’s been watching Jack like a hawk for the past thirty minutes.
A lightness in his expression that increases every time he checks his phone. An ease to his movements, a fluidity in his steps despite how long he’s been on his feet.
She keeps a curious eye on him as he strides from trauma room to trauma room, notices the upward tilt that’s been pinching at his mouth since her shift started an hour ago.
She’s not the only one.
Shen stands beside her, slurping at the very last remnants of his vanilla frappe. The sound grates on the charge nurse’s ears but she lets it slide in favor of gossip.
“What’s he so chipper about?” She mutters to John, eyes still tracking Abbot’s movements.
He uncurls his lips from the straw, observes his fellow attending for only a moment before shrugging and bringing the straw back to his mouth. “Maybe he finally got laid.”
Dana smirks to herself at that, shakes her head in something like amusement and fondness. It’s ten minutes later when Jack approaches the central hub and drums his palms on the desk like he’s waiting to find something else to do.
“Your shift ended an hour ago, Diva.” Dana doesn’t lift her gaze from the tablet in her hand as she speaks, but she doesn’t need to for her to know the way Jack’s looking at her.
He huffs out a grumble, but it sounds more fond than annoyed. “Not you, too.”
She shrugs, finally lets her eyes land on him. “What can I say? It suits you.”
There’s a playful roll of his eyes when she grins.
And Dana just can’t help herself. She juts her chin to him just slightly, holds the tablet to her chest as she crosses her arms around it. “What are you so smiley about, anyway? Mania kicked in already?”
Jack considers her for a moment, a subtle tick in his cheek, an involuntary clench in his jaw. With a sigh, he leans his forearms on the high part of the desk, chews on his lower lip.
“I have a date tonight.” He keeps his voice low enough, the words only meant for a dear friend's ears. But the walls listen in PTMC. When people brush past, the breeze carries the whispers of secrets not meant to be shared.
It’s Joy that this secret reaches first. Before Dana can even react.
She stops still beside the desk, brows raising above the rim of her glasses. “Old people still date?”
Jack’s slightly too offended to consider that his quiet admittance will now become floor gossip. “I’m not that old.”
It’s Santos it reaches next.
Eyes wide, jaw slack. And a shriek of astonishment and accusation. “Oh my God! Is it your neighbor? It’s totally the pelvic chick, right?”
His head whirls to the foghorn of her voice, brows pinched tight. Partly at her volume, the other part at the mention of you—of how she refers to you.
“The pelvic chick?” He screws his face up, less than pleased.
Joy shivers at the memory of it, the slip of tongue her attending gave still haunts her at random moments.
“I’m sorry, how do you even know about that?” A familiar presence brushes past his arm, the scent of jasmine and linen.
“People talk.” Al-Hashimi murmurs the words softly, amusement dripping at the edges of it but she doesn’t outright poke fun at him.
It takes Jack a moment to comprehend her mutter, to cast his mind back to the night you came into the ER, the night he accidentally got an eyeful of you in the one way he never imagined he would.
Joy isn’t the type to gossip. Ogilvie won’t want anyone to know about his scolding. So that only leaves…
Fucking McKay.
“Hey,” Dana calls him softly, “I think it’s great. About time you got back on the horse. Robby thinks so, too.”
Jack cocks a brow as the others disperse to their patients. “You talked to him?”
Dana hums, leans closer to keep the conversation private. “Yeah, he called me the other night. He sounds… not like he’s on the verge of a breakdown.”
Jack laughs but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah, well. You know Robby. The novelty of things wears off pretty fast for him.”
She listens, of course. And as much as Dana loves and respects Robby, there’s only so much talk of him that she can handle before she’s considering sabbatical for herself. So she turns to lean against the desk, angles her body to face Jack’s.
There’s an easy smile on her face. One that’s more than a smirk but less than a grin. A softness to her eyes, a genuine curiosity.
“What’s she like?”
He knows who she’s talking about immediately.
Jack lets out a sigh, one that’s a little shaky, struggles to fight the curl in his mouth. If Jack’s honest, he could sit for hours and talk about you. Your interests, your personality… but a selfish part of him what’s to keep that to himself. “She’s…gorgeous, obviously. Smart, kind, very funny. Comfortable, you know? Hard not to like.”
Dana nods, catches the fondness in his tone, the reverent look that seems to clear his eyes. She knows there’s more he wants to say, knows he’s also already shared more than he’s truly willing to.
“And her daughter?” The question is asked softly, carefully.
Jack doesn’t tear his gaze from her. Defensive, in a way. But he knows there’s no need to be. There’s no threat or judgement in Dana’s tone, no warning. Just quiet curiosity. A silent question that seeps into what she speaks.
“I know what I’m signing myself up for.”
Her smile stretches just a little bit wider at his answer. And with one hand wrapped around the tablet, she reaches to pat Jack on his shoulder as she walks past him. “I’m rooting for you, Abbot.”
He exhales slowly when she leaves.
“Yeah, me too.”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Outlining scenes and dialogue is usually your favorite part of drafting.
Little moments that make no sense without context, but integral to the story nonetheless. Usually, you’re riddled with moments and conversations; ideas that come to you during the most mundane of tasks.
Showering, eating, cleaning, dreaming.
But for the past week, your thoughts have been far too occupied with something else. Someone else. Jack seems to hide in every crevice of your mind. His texts, his calls, the taste of his lips on yours. You don’t remember the last time you felt so wrapped up in another person, and now, it’s starting to affect your work.
The blank screen stares blankly at you, barely a few incoherent bullet points at the top of the document. When your inspiration dries up like this, it makes you feel like a fraud.
You should be taking every free moment you have to get your plan sorted, to understand the trajectory of the final instalment to the trilogy. Instead, you’re clasping at straws and trying not to freak out when your phone chimes with a text.
It’s almost seven and it’s not Jack, so the relief is instant that he isn’t cancelling at the last minute.
Your moms contact lights up the screen. A simple two sentence text.
Hope the date goes well! Told Tom you’re busy and to text me if Phoebe needs to go home ;)
The innuendo of her text has a blush forming at the apples of your cheeks. She was like this at lunch, too. Suggestive smirks when you finally admitted you and Jack have been texting, a fat grin when you very quickly muttered out that he kissed you.
Your dad, on the other hand… not so excited about the revelation.
For the entire lunch, he had made his viewpoint clear. That he likes Jack, thinks he’s a nice and noble man. That he respects what he does and has done, but that his age is a factor that you need to consider.
Your mom had scolded him for it, but you understood his reasoning. The insecurities he held himself for his age that he doesn’t verbalize outloud. All you could do was remind him of two simple things. You’re a big girl and it’s only a date. Not marriage.
You shoot off a quick reply of: Stop winking at me, it’s weird (but thank you), and drop your phone to the marble counter with a thud at the same time your doorbell rings.
Forcing yourself to gulp down a breath, your hands involuntarily smooth your hips as you stand. Your mind is racing, heart pounding in your chest at the thought of Jack standing on the other side of the door.
The reminder that you’ve texted and called and FaceTime’d more times than you can count over the past week does nothing to quell the nerves. Because seeing him in person is a lot different than through a screen.
When you open the door, your breath becomes lodged in your lungs and Jack drinks you in with an intensity you’ve never quite seen before.
His eyes linger on yours, fall down to your lips where they hover, before tracing the outline of your body. Cataloguing the brown halterneck top, the long frilly skirt, your bare feet and painted toenails.
You do the same. Drink in the salt and pepper curls, the tick in the corner of his mouth, the white knitted shirt with the two top buttons undone. You catch sight of his silver chain as you go down, the dark wash jeans and boots tucked beneath.
His hands, still ringless. One holds a bottle of white wine, the other holds a beautiful bouquet of summer blooms that oddly match the color pallet of your latest book.
You tilt your head at him, purse your lips in a futile attempt to hide your smile. Jack doesn’t offer the same restrains and grins, catches his bottom lip between his teeth before it can spread too wide.
“Wine and flowers, huh?” You tease in greeting.
He glances down at them both before returning that molten gaze back to you. “The wine—and dinner—are to congratulate, the flowers are to apologize, again, for my radio silence.”
You huff a laugh at that, open the door wider and step aside to allow him into your apartment. “I told you already, it’s fine.”
Jack moves close, lets you close the door and when you turn, he’s almost chest to chest with you. Your breathing stutters at the unexpected proximity, but he grins down at you, the wine and flowers the only thing separating your bodies.
“Not fine. Don’t argue with me on it.” His tone is light when he leans closer, words drifting into a sweet whisper.
Jack dips his head lower, lets his lips brush against yours. Your eyes flutter closed, bracing yourself for the touch of his mouth meeting yours. But it doesn’t. Your breaths mingle until he moves, stubble tickling gentle at the corner of your lips until he kisses your cheek.
He doesn't pull away at first, like he’s considering giving in to temptation, but his self restraint is stronger than you’d like it to be. When he finally moves, it’s not far. Still remains close like he’s missed your presence more than he’s let on.
“Pheebs at her dads?” he asks quietly, eyes still on you.
You’re a little mesmerized, nodding blankly. His words register, just barely. It feels like his eyes are sucking you into a warm abyss that you’ll never be able to claw your way out from.
The idea doesn’t sound just metaphorical, either.
You swallow around a dry throat. “Uh, yeah. Until she decides she wants to come home. But, my mom told him to call her.”
Jack hums, a small smile kissing the edges of his mouth. There’s a slight movement between you, the paper wrapping the flowers crinkly as he shakes them slightly.
“Do you have a vase for these?”
Your tongue wets your lips and you nod, guiding him into the kitchen and it’s completely innocent how your hips sway a little more than they usually would.
Jack watches, of course. He’s only a man. But he’s gentlemanly enough to avert his gaze when you bend over to look inside a cabinet. Busies himself with gently tearing the paper around the bouquet.
“I asked the florist to cut the stems, they’re good to just go in some water.”
It almost makes you pause.
The florist.
As in, he went inside a flower shop and asked for flowers. Not some cheap, premade bunch from a supermarket. You don’t think anyone but your parents has ever gotten you flowers from a florist.
You fill the vase with water, thankful your back is to him to hide your grin, give yourself some time to get your stupid butterflies and ovulation under control.
When you turn back to him, Jack’s already approaching you, gently handling the delicate flora by the stems and he eases them into the narrow neck of the glass. Watches you admire them for a moment, bring them to your nose to smell the freshness of them.
The heat on your cheeks makes him nervous. Makes him feel young again.
His wife was the last person he dated. Hasn’t cared about anyone enough to want to pursue something more than the odd one night stand. But you. You make his heart rate pick up just enough for him to notice a change, make his palms a little sweaty when he makes a joke in case you don’t laugh.
But you’re grinning at the flowers like it’s the most precious gift you’ve ever received. And while it’s an incredibly beautiful sight, it’s also slightly painful.
Are you not used to receiving flowers from guys you’re dating?
No, you’re not. No one's ever really cared enough to do the small things.
“They’re beautiful, Jack. Thank you.”
His smile is warm when you look at him a little sheepishly and Jack realizes that you’re just as nervous about this as he is. He knows he hasn’t dated since his wife, but he wonders if you’ve dated since Tom. If you've cared enough about anyone else since you lost your fiance.
The answer is a resounding no.
He doesn’t tell you that you’re the first woman he’s brought flowers for since his wife. Instead, he keeps the smile on his face and averts his gaze to the mess covering the kitchen island. His brows raise. Books everywhere, notepads and highlighters, a half empty glass of wine and a laptop screen with an almost blank document.
Amusement shines in his eyes. “Hows it going?”
A groan escapes you immediately and the nerves begin to dwindle. You reach for a glass, take the bottle from Jack’s hands mindlessly and pour him a drink as you sit on the stool.
“It’s like I’m back in writing school and can’t think of a better word for ‘said’.”
He chuckles at that, takes the glass and sits himself on the stool beside you. His eyes skim the laptop screen.
Kade and mary
cheese
Lost keys???????
“You into grave diggers, baby?”
Someone has to put their finger in the dogs ass
“Necromancer? Aint that someone who fucks corpses?”
– “no thats a necrophiliac”
Dez rimjob scene (at circus)
Lubed up chorizo slap scene
Marys mom is a cougar
Asshole character UNNAMED with toms personality
Ground beef in the trifle
Strip club or orgie scene — undecided
Jack’s eyes blink profusely as he reads over the bullet point outline for your third book. It causes a tightness in his jeans at the thought of you imagining and writing some of these scenes. Reminded of the fact that you’ve told him about your very vivid imagination.
“This how you outline all your books?” he asks with a rough voice.
It's then that your eyes widen with realisation at what he's read. You laugh nervously, scratching at the nape of your neck as you sit beside him.
“It normally goes something like this. Not usually as brief, though. I’ve hit a bit of a block.”
Jack hums, takes a sip of his wine before pulling his phone out of his back pocket. “Well, what if we order some food? See if a bit of energy gets that pretty head of yours conjuring something up, hm?”
You don’t know how he does it—makes his flirting seem more playful than blatant. It’s enough to make your cheeks burn, to form a curl at your lips that you have no control over. So you nod, tell him what Chinese food you like and pretend to busy yourself looking at your paper notes while he raises the phone to his ear and smoothly lists off the order.
As excitable and nervous as you are, Jack’s presence is also strangely…comforting. He makes your home feel warmer, safer. His strong stance relaxing in your space, not taking it up.
For the forty minutes you’re waiting for dinner, you get through a bottle of wine between you. You try to ask Jack about work, which is something he’s very quick to brush off.
“That hospital is the reason I haven’t seen you. Believe me when I tell you it's the last thing I want to talk about tonight. I want to hear about you, and Pheebs.”
He makes your head spin, how open and genuine he is with the statement. You tell him all the mundane things you’ve gotten up to over the past week. And even though he already knows from the brief phone calls or facetime’s, Jack listens all the same.
Intently, carefully. Like every word you speak is sacred. Like he genuinely cares.
He laughs when you tell him some of the things Phoebe has said, his posture stiffens when you recall the two times Tom let her down in the past seven days, and he stares at you in pure wonder when you admit your book is already viral within the first 24 hours of release.
When the food comes, Jack pays in cash; gives you a look that suggests he’d be incredibly offended if you even offered to pay half, so you don’t.
You’re both well on your way to tipsy when you get half way through the second bottle of wine, haphazardly shoving your notebooks to the side to make room for dinner.
Your stools are closer together now, takeout boxes littering the kitchen island, your laptop screen still blinking an almost blank page. There are no first-date etiquettes as you both eat. Hunger and comfortability ruling over the nerves and self-conscious need to eat slowly and politely.
Maybe it’s the wine that has you swiping soy sauce from the corner of Jack’s mouth. Maybe that’s what loosens his inhibitions enough to hand feed you a dumpling you admit you’ve never tried before.
And perhaps it’s the sheer familiarity in one another’s souls that has you snorting loudly into your glass of wine. That has Jack gripping onto the edge of the kitchen island to save him from falling backward off the stool.
Your home is used to the sounds of laughter. It’s used to shrills and shrieks bouncing off the walls. But Jack's hearty chuckles don’t do that. His laughter curls into the crevices of the apartment. They don’t linger there, they make home. Seep into the wood and brick and metal until it’s wedged into the very foundations of the building.
It takes you both an hour to finish your meals. Too caught up in laughter and side-tracked conversations that take your attention away from the task. It’s cold when you finish the last bite, and you push the container away in favor of your half-full glass instead.
Jack mirrors your movement, shuffles his stool closer to yours. But instead of reaching for his beer, he reaches into his pocket to retrieve a pair of glasses instead.
“Alright, got my readers. Let’s see what we’re working with.”
Your lashes flutter at the endearing term he’s given them, at the way he gently opens the arm and hooks them over his ears. Your attraction to him grows tenfold at such a simple act, the smallest of adjustments.
Yet you can’t help the ache that forms between your thighs, can’t stop your teeth from pinching your bottom lip. There’s something far too enticing about the black frames that sit on the slope of his nose. The stubbled jaw that clenches, the bob of his throat when he swallows.
And those fucking dangeous lips that twitch when he notices you staring.
For hours, there’s a tightness to both of you as you struggle to write and Jack struggles to help. He was right about the food for energy but right now, Jack’s presence is nothing but a massive fucking hindarance to your writing abilities.
Not your imagination, no. Your overactive mind is doing well with conjuring up explicit scenarios in your head of him fucking you raw and hungry with those fucking glasses on. Thoughts of your ankles resting on his broad shoulders, his beefy arms wrapping around your body, that short stubble burning your inner thighs.
Jack can feel your eyes on the side of his face as he reads over the next page on the doc. He’s had years of training to observe from his peripheral and not lose focus on a task, and yet, he’s not really taking in a single word he’s reading.
That is until he skims over a paragraph that does capture his attention.
Kade’s breath is hot against Mary’s inner thigh, and despite the warmth, it awakens goosebumps across her flush skin. His hand reaches for her first, allows himself to touch her silkiness, to inch closer to her cunt. With his other hand, Kade brings the vibrator between her legs, teases the pulsing toy against her inner thigh—right where his touch started.
Jack swallows thickly, hips shifting briefly in his seat on the stool. The movement breaks you from your little trance and your eyes flick quickly to the screen, realizing the passage he’s stumbled across.
When your eyes flick back to Jack, he’s turning to you slowly with a playful squint, sinful mouth kicking up in a lopsided smirk.
The look does something carnal to you. You can’t tear your eyes away from his lips, can’t calm the hammering of your heart against your ribs. If you look away from his mouth for a moment, you’ll notice when his flicks down to yours. How they linger for far too long.
Your mouth parts just enough for your tongue to wet your bottom lip, and the movement is enough to make Jack give in. The small distance between you is closed when he takes his readers off with one hand and caresses your jaw with the other.
Jack’s lips are on yours in an instant, soft and sweet and careful. So careful that he’s allowing you to lead the pace and tempo of it.
You feel your body relax into the taste of him, your shoulders drooping as he swallows a sigh that slips from you. A small noise follows, one of need and contempt. Jack's hand reaches between your parted thighs, his fingers hooking beneath the seat of the stool. He pulls you toward him, the scrape of metal legs on hardwood echoing but you pay no attention.
Your knees bump as you adjust them to fit between his widely parted thighs. Your hands find his face, sneaking to the back of his neck to snake your fingers through his curls. Jack kisses you harder, his tongue massaging at your bottom lip in a silent request for access.
Something that you give him quickly, swirling your own against his.
He tastes like wine, food and the promise of something you’re not allowing yourself to think too much into. Jack’s hands remain on your face, fingers hidden beneath your hair, palms cupping at your jaw. He lets out soft pants of breath, quiet moans that feed the slick that’s forming between your thighs.
It’s intoxicating, how Jack kisses. Like every emotion he doesn’t verbalize is poured into it. His hands begin to roam in a respectfully needy way. One moves to tangle into your hair, the other slides down the warm skin of your neck, to the bare flesh on your back.
His palm splays against the skin, tender in every aspect you can imagine. Neither of you come up for air, neither of you want to pull away.
You’re shifting to the edge of your stool when Jack’s hands abandon their previous positions to land on your waist. The feverishness of his touch makes your head spin. Makes you slip from your stool so you’re standing between his parted thighs. Makes you tug at his curls as he tips his head up to meet your kiss.
When you nibble on his lower lip, Jack loses his restraint. His hands slide back to your waist, down to your hips until they’re cupping the backs of your thighs, encouraging you to climb into his lap. You don’t know how he makes the movement so fluid, how you don’t tumble into him, how he doesn’t lose his balance.
Your lips stay connected in a searing kiss throughout the movements, only breaking when Jack begins to migrate his lips to your jaw, licking and biting and kissing. Further down, until he’s at your neck and your hips are moving down on his crotch on their own accord.
Your blood burns, so does his. And Jack has never felt so young and alive. So electric and feverish for another touch.
Your head lulls back, eyes fluttering closed as your chest heaves with every breath. His salt and pepper stubble scratches deliciously at your skin. You can’t help but grind harder into him, the thought of that sensation further down almost enough to make your brain short circuit.
You feel the wetness of his tongue as Jack licks a stripe up the column of your throat. One hand leaves your hips to rest on the back of your head, to tangle in your hair and angle your face back to his as his lips take yours with even more need and hunger.
Your head is spinning. Your hips are erratic. If you don’t stop now, you won’t stop at all.
“Jack.” Your voice is nothing more than a whimper into his mouth, but you don’t stop kissing him.
Jack hums, grunts, moans—it’s a noise you can’t place but one you can’t get enough of. You whimper his name again, breathless and shaky as you detach your mouth and rest your forehead against his.
He’s panting, eyes closed, jaw clenched.
“I don’t—” you swallow in a heavy breath. “I don’t want to rush this.”
He nods, doesn’t push, doesn’t ask for more. Jack’s hands caress your jaw, his thumbs stroking calming patterns across your cheeks as he catches his breath, reins himself in.
“I know.” His voice is guttural enough that you almost consider fucking off your previous statement. “I don’t want to rush this either.”
For a few moments, you remain in the same position. Eyes closed and foreheads pressed. Jack's hands keep their hold on your face, his thumbs continuing their soothing ministries across your plump skin.
He’s the one to pull away first. Moving his head back just enough so that when he opens his eyes, he can look at you. Big, heavy eyes. Swollen lips. Flushed skin.
His jaw clenches at the sight, a heavy breath audible through his nose. But Jack looks no better. His curls are mussed from your fingers tangling into them, his lips are plumper and a slight smear of your lipgloss tints them pinker.
And his eyes. It sends a shudder through you at the sight of them. Pupils almost blown, hooded and focused on yours.
His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip before he’s moving closer again to brush his nose against yours. Your breath mingles, lips ghosting. It’s like he’s at war with himself. That if he rewards himself with even one more taste of you, he won’t be able to stop.
“I should go.” It’s with pure agony that Jack utters the words.
His voice is both rough and whiny. Like it’s the last thing he really wants to do. But you want to take it slow, so does he. You’re both well aware that if Jack stays for a moment longer, the night will end the way you want it to. Just not in the way either of you need it.
Not like this. Not on the first date. Not with Phoebe in the picture. Not with his beloved wife’s memory to consider.
You nod, clearing your throat as your forehead bumps against his.
“Yeah, okay.” You’re breathless when you agree, voice slightly pained at the notion. But you both know it’s for the best.
You half expect him to kiss you, at least once more. But he doesn’t.
Jack pulls away to avert his gaze, silently helps you clean up the takeout boxes. You don’t tell him he doesn’t need to, don’t tell him you know he’s trying to prolong actually leaving.
You bask in the final few moments together before walking him to the door. He hovers over the threshold, stopping short in the hall. Turns to you as you lean against the doorframe and it’s a mirror image of the night a week ago. At Phoebe's birthday. When he kissed you. Then went silent for three days.
Jack seems to share the same sentiment on the memory because a breathless chuckle escapes him as he moves closer like he did before, as he presses his lips against yours slowly. Savoring the taste of you, the feel of your plump lips against his.
“I’ll call you tomorrow?”
You can’t help the sarcastic look on your face as he utters those same words. His grin morphs into something wider, eyes rolling at your silent tease.
“I promise. No more radio silence after a kiss from me ever again.”
You hum with playfully squinted eyes. Jack mirrors your expression, leans in to kiss you again and you melt into him. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of it. Of him.
“Okay. I believe you.”
He hums against your lips at your words until he finally tears himself away from you. Jack licks across his bottom lip, tugs it between his teeth. The sight almost cripples you.
“Get some sleep.”
You nod once, fighting off your grin. “Goodnight, Jack.”
His eyes soften, smirk dwindles into a soft, secret smile. Until he winks at you, leans in to steal yet another kiss that rips a laugh from your throat.
When he pulls away again, Jack’s got a boyish beam across his face. “Night, gorgeous.”
You’re left breathless once again as Jack retreats down the hall. You don’t watch him go, don’t trust that you won’t chase after him and drag him back into your apartment. So you close the door, back pressed against it as you squeeze your eyes shut in pure excitement, gnawing painfully on your bottom lip, but it’s no use hiding your grin.
You carry the smile through your bedtime routine. You miss a few steps, too caught up in your head; replaying every word and kiss and look. Thirty minutes later, when you finally get into bed, your phone is still lighting up with notifications from fans.
And in between them, lies a message from Jack.
You don’t mean for the somersaults in your stomach to start kicking. But you do mean to ignore every notification but his as you unlock your phone.
Jack: Not sure on the dating etiquette these days when it comes to waiting to ask you to go out with me again… but are you free to get breakfast tomorrow morning?
You: miss me already dr. abbot?
Jack: Yes.
Jack: Breakfast tomorrow morning? My treat.
You: dinner was your treat, isn’t the next one meant to be my turn?
Jack: I don’t know what guys you’ve dated in the past. But, fuck no.
Jack: I’m asking you out. I’m paying.
You: hmm
You: i’ll go to breakfast with you. on one condition
Jack: What’s your condition, sweetheart?
You: a pic of sally
Jack: [sent an attachment]
Your grin drops at the photo. A fucking selfie. Jack lays in bed, propped up against his pillow with a gray t-shirt clinging to his skin. Sally lays curled beside him, but she’s the least of your concern right now.
You stare at his arms, the thick muscle and bulging veins as he angles the camera up above him. Crisp white sheets, his other arm curled around the cat with his hand buried into her fur.
You swallow, let your eyes move along to the expanse of his throat and you find yourself regretting not kissing him there like he kissed you. Further up, his mouth quirked at the side in a smile, salt and pepper stubble somehow catching the light.
But it’s when you look at his eyes that you forget how to breathe for a moment. He’s got his fucking readers on, his eyes squinting playfully at the camera through the lenses. Even through a fucking screen his stare is intense. Bores through to your soul and winds it around his fingers.
You feel warmer when you take a moment to realize just how intimate the photo really is. How vulnerable and honest.
Maybe that’s what makes you send a photo back.
You: [sent an attachment]
Jack opens the message and freezes.
A photo. Of you. In your bed.
You’re almost mirroring the one he sent you. But there’s no cat and you aren’t wearing any readers.
No, you’re laying instead of sitting up. Your hair is an unruly mess across the pillows. Your eyes are tired but glistening with mirth. Your smile is crooked, almost shy, and your cheeks are flushed. Jack’s blood roars in his veins.
He lets his eyes dip further down the photo. You’re also not wearing a gray t-shirt like him.
Instead, you’re wearing something tight but flimsy. Spaghetti straps slipping off your pretty little shoulders. The swell of your breasts is far too prominent when you’re lying on your back, and Jack swallows thickly when he notices the pebbling of your nipples.
Jack: You are so beautiful.
You ‘heart’ reacted to a message!
You: goodnight jack, see u in the morning <3
Jack: Goodnight, gorgeous x
He watches the little read receipt appear beneath his message, but no bubbles form at the bottom of the screen. Jack’s eyes flicker back to the photo, finding his thumb clicking on the screen to enlarge the sight of you.
His checkered pyjama pants feel tight against his crotch. He’s not stupid. He feels the blood rush south, feels the discomfort and ache of a neglected erection. Jack sighs shakily, stares at his screen again. He should not be looking. It’s not what you sent him the fucking photo for.
But despite how much he tries, he can’t tear his gaze away. Your soft skin, your supple breasts, your pouty lips.
Sally moves from her position curled against him, blinks beady eyes in his direction before padding her way to the foot of the bed and jumping off to leave the room.
Jack swallows, closes his eyes and practices those military breathing techniques for exactly thirty-four seconds before his eyes are peeling open again.
A soft groan sounds at the back of his throat. It’s an inner battle with his mind. A fight of what he wants and that he shouldn’t.
But he grows harder and more frustrated as the seconds pass and he doesn't have a hand around himself. His eyes squeeze shut, head tilts back against the headboard. Like a silent prayer, a beg for forgiveness.
Then, he’s giving in. Reaching into his nightstand drawer for a bottle of lotion. Squeezes a pump into his hand, drops the phone on his stomach and reaches into the hem of his pyjama pants.
Jack shifts on top of the mattress, lifts his hips to pull the pants down mid-thigh and releases himself with a sigh. One hand reaches for the phone, the other cupping the lotion. He brings his fingertips close to his wrist, skillfully warming the cream until his entire palm is covered with it.
It’s hesitant when he wraps his fist around his cock, a whimper slipping from his lips as he stares at the photo of you on his screen. Your neck, your tits, your lips…
“Oh, fuck.” The whimper escapes him breathlessly.
One pump. Two. Twisting his wrist and tightening his grip. Jack’s chest is heaving with barely contained restraint, eyes locked on the pebbled nubs beneath your shirt.
He lets his mind wander as his pace quickens, lets him imagine himself in bed with you. How he would kiss and lick up your neck again, how your tongue would taste on his.
How Jack wound tug your shirt down for your tits to spill out. How he’d wrap his lips around your nipples, bite them gently, suck them.
“Fuck, baby. So good.” His voice is wrecked, nothing but a guttural whine as he moans.
Jack thinks of how soft they’d be. How he’d knead your breasts in his palms, pinch your left nipple while he sucks on your right. Thinks about how your fingers would tug on his curls, how your hips would buck.
A broken, desperate sound escapes him when he thinks about dipping his hand down your shorts. The slick he’d find, the heat.
The thought of sinking two fingers deep into your pretty little cunt has Jack’s hips spluttering. His fist grows tighter, moves faster. His lungs are struggling to swallow down a real breath.
And he’s coming, embarrassingly fast and needy. Hot white ribbons of arousal that spurt from him desperately, coating his hand.
“Ah, fuck. Baby, oh fuck!”
Jack’s head is thrown back against the headboard, lips parted and eyes squeezed shut as his release hits him like a freight train.
Thoughts of burying his face between your thighs. The taste of you staining his tongue for days.
And when he finally comes down from his high with a sticky hand and burning lungs, Jack can’t help but fucking laugh at himself.
He’s so, so fucked.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
SERIES MASTERLIST — NEXT PART
Tag list for this series has grown way too big for me to keep up with so it’s unfortunately CLOSED. You can however follow the #apt.17 tag instead for updates on the series!
OKAY I ALMOST FORGOT TO POST LOL BUT HERE IT IS, i know jack's lil scene was brief but i promise i have so many smut plans to make up for it!!!! also i wanted the focus to be on the date rather than him jerking it off for 1k words LOL next chapter shit hits the fan and we get into some real juicy stuff HAHAHA
Thank you very much for reading! Feedback really means a lot so I would love to hear your thoughts and ideas for where you think this will go!! Reblogs helps to boost stuff for more people to reach so if you enjoyed it please consider reblogging!!
𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: you wake up to a knock at your door to be met with your very drunk and clingy boyfriend
𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: kissing, swearing, garrett being drunk, garrett proposing
𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 1k
𝐘𝐨𝐮 let out a small groan as there are multiple knocks at your door making you drop the bed covers out of your hand and walk over to your door.
As you open the door you are met with Garrett hanging off the shoulder of Logan with a smile on his face.
“My baby!” Garrett yells as he moves into your arms
“He wouldn’t shut up about staying with you tonight” Logan says to you
Garrett’s head is tucked into your shoulder and neck with his arms around your waist.
“Thanks for getting him here safely” you tell Logan
“Have fun” Logan says before you shut the door
“I love you” Garrett says kissing your neck “Missed you so much”
“Alright, let’s get you sitting down” you say moving Garrett to sit on your lounge
“Hey, who was that?” Allie asks coming out of her room “Oh”
“I’m so sorry if he woke you” you say to her
“No, you’re fine i wasn’t even asleep yet” Allie tells you
“Baby” Garrett says grabbing onto your hand
“I’ll get you to bed in a minute, okay” you say giving Garrett a smile
“You’ll stay with me?” Garrett asks giving you puppy eyes
“I’m not going anywhere, baby” you say kneeling down in front on him with your hands on his knees
“I’ll leave you to put him to bed” Allie says with a smile “Goodnight”
“Goodnight” you and Garrett say to her
You get up only for Garrett to let out a whine as you walk over to your mini fridge to pull out a bottle of water.
“You left you” Garrett says with a pout
“I’m right here” you say handing him the water “And i’ll never leave you”
“I love you so much i can’t lose you” Garrett says grabbing your cheeks in his hands
“You won’t lose me, i promise” you say before kissing his cheek “Drink some water please and then we can go to bed”
“Okay, baby” Garrett sips at the water as you quickly walk into your room to finish making your bed and pull out some of Garrett’s clothes that he has left here
“I’ve got some clothes for you to wear” you say walking back out and Garrett lifts his head up
“I missed you” he says standing up to pull you into a hug
“I missed you too” you say hugging him back “Let’s get ready for bed, yeah?”
“Yeah” he nods his head
You pull away and grab onto his hand then walk to two of you into your room shutting the door behind the both of you. Garrett sees his clothes sitting on your bed and starts to get changed immediately.
You move around your bed and lay down under the covers as Garrett’s falls on the bed with a groan and rolls over to lay his head onto your chest.
“I love you so much, baby” Garrett says looking up at you
“I love you too my clingy boy” you say leaning down to kiss his forehead
“I’m not clingy” he says and squishes his face into your neck “Just telling you i love you”
“Don’t need to be embarrassed” you say running your fingers through his hair
You feel Garrett melt more into your touch and lets out a groan with his arms tightening around your body.
“Get some sleep, love” you whisper into his hair
“Baby” Garrett says moving his head up to look at you but his eyes are closed “I love you”
You let out a small laugh “I love you more” you say smiling
“Not possible” Garrett mumbles as you kiss his nose
It didn’t take long for him to pass out with his arms wrapped around you and his head moved down to your chest.
The next morning when you woke up you let Garrett stay asleep while you went to your early class and to grab some breakfast for the two of you.
Once you walked back into your room and put your bag down Garrett is slowly waking up with a groan and he opens his eyes to see you moving around your room.
“Baby” Garrett says with a groan “I’m sorry”
“Sorry? Why are you sorry?” you ask moving to sit down next to him on the bed
“I woke you up, made you deal with me all because i fucking missed you” Garrett says sitting up to lean on your headboard
“I wasn’t even asleep yet and i would much prefer you to come to me when your drunk then go home alone or with someone else” you tell him moving a little closer
“Fuck, baby. You know i would never go home with anyone but you” Garrett says grabbing your hand
“I didn’t mean it like that” you say with a shake of your head “I meant with someone who would take advantage of you”
“All i wanted was to be with you” Garrett says moving to put a hand on your cheek “I love you so much and clearly my drunken brain knows that too”
“So you remember what happened when you got here?” you ask him
“I remember everything” he says with a smile
“I love you too, baby” you say leaning in to kiss his lips “And i brought you breakfast”
“I fucking love you so much” Garrett says leaning his head back making you laugh and reach over to grab the bag of food for him
“All your favourites” you say then grab the drink for him “And coffee”
“So-” Garrett says taking a bit of his food “-you wanna get married?” he asks
“Garrett you can’t ask me things like that” you say with a laugh and hitting his arm
“Why not?” he asks sitting up more
“Ask me when we’re out of college and have a house and jobs, then i’ll say yes” you say taking a sip of his coffee
He had opinions about practice schedules, bad refs, terrible coffee, and the correct number of snacks one should keep in a dorm room at all times. He also had a strong opinion about you sleeping on his chest.
Mostly, the opinion was that he liked it.
A lot.
It started innocently enough. You had both been curled up on the couch in the hockey house after a long day, a movie playing low in the background while Garrett’s hand absently traced slow circles over your shoulder. At some point, sometime between the third tired laugh and the moment your head settled against his chest, you had drifted off.
Garrett noticed immediately.
He glanced down, saw your face softened in sleep, and went perfectly still like he had been handed something sacred.
“Aw, come on,” he muttered under his breath, though he was smiling.
Your breathing was slow and even, your hand resting lightly against his stomach, and Garrett looked at you with the same expression he usually reserved for game-winning goals and especially good insults. Fond. A little stunned. Deeply, annoyingly soft.
Then his phone buzzed on the coffee table.
He did not reach for it.
It buzzed again.
Still no movement.
A few minutes later, Tucker poked his head into the living room and stopped when he saw the two of you.
“Dude,” he whispered, “you asleep too?”
Garrett looked up slowly, because somehow he had managed to become protective over your nap in the span of ten minutes. “No.”
Tucker took in the scene, then smirked. “You planning on moving?”
Garrett shot him a warning look. “No.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
Tucker laughed quietly. “You’re trapped.”
Garrett glanced back down at you and brushed a thumb over your arm. “I’m not trapped. I’m committed.”
That made Tucker grin wider. “You’re ridiculous.”
Garrett leaned his head back against the couch. “And yet I’m winning.”
Tucker snorted and left them there.
The movie kept going, but Garrett barely heard it. Your weight against him was warm and comfortable, your breathing a steady rhythm against his chest. He did not intend to move. Not for anything.
Which was probably why, twenty minutes later, when Dean shouted from the kitchen that they were out of ice, Garrett did not respond.
A moment later, someone yelled, “Garrett! You want me to go get,”
“No,” Garrett called back automatically, without looking away from you.
He barely heard the laughter that followed.
Another minute passed. Then his phone buzzed again. Then again. Then a text from Logan. Then a text from Tucker. Then Garrett finally looked at the screen and saw:
we need you for the pizza order also you’re being weird is she dead or just asleep
Garrett frowned and typed with one hand.
sleeping. go away.
His phone immediately rang.
He stared at it like it had personally offended him, then rejected the call.
A minute later, Dean appeared in the doorway with the air of a man who had decided to make this his problem.
“We need food,” Dean said.
Garrett didn’t even look up. “Get food.”
“We need your card.”
Garrett finally raised his head. “I’m busy.”
Dean stared at him. “Busy doing what?”
Garrett looked down at you with obvious affection and no shame whatsoever. “This.”
Dean’s gaze followed his, then he made a face. “Oh, that’s disgusting.”
Garrett grinned. “You’re jealous.”
“I am not jealous.”
“You are absolutely jealous.”
Dean leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms. “You’re never letting her up again, are you?”
Garrett looked down at you as your fingers twitched slightly in your sleep, then smiled. “Nope.”
Dean shook his head. “You’re hopeless.”
“Correct.”
Just then, your eyes fluttered open, unfocused and sleepy, your face still pressed to Garrett’s chest. You made a soft sound and blinked up at him.
Garrett’s entire expression changed immediately.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “You awake?”
You looked around a little, confused and sleepy. “Mm.”
He smiled. “Hi.”
You yawned and shifted just enough to look up at his face. “How long was I asleep?”
“Long enough.”
You frowned a little, then realized where you were and let out a tired hum. “You didn’t move?”
Garrett shook his head. “Nope.”
You blinked. “You’re still sitting here?”
He gave you a very serious look. “I made a decision.”
That made you smile, soft and sleepy. “What decision?”
He leaned closer and kissed your forehead. “That I wasn’t getting up for anything.”
You laughed weakly and settled back against him again. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Yeah.”
“Were you at least comfortable?”
Garrett smiled down at you with the kind of tenderness that made the whole room go quieter. “I am now.”
You stared at him for a second, then reached up and touched his cheek with the back of your hand. “You’re sweet.”
He looked offended on principle. “I am always sweet.”
Dean made a gagging noise and walked away muttering something about never wanting to see that again.
You laughed and Garrett tightened his arm around you a little, clearly delighted to have you awake again but still unwilling to let you go.
“You hungry?” he asked.
“A little.”
“Good.”
“How is that good?”
“Because I was about to order pizza and refuse to move anyway.”
You smiled into his chest and shook your head. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re warm.”
That made you laugh again, softer this time, and Garrett looked absurdly pleased with himself for getting it out of you.
He kissed the top of your head and murmured, “Still not moving.”
You sighed dramatically, but you were smiling, and that was enough for him.
For the rest of the night, he refused to get up for anything at all.
He was helping you look for a charger in the drawer beside your bed,your room, not his,and was mostly digging through random papers and old receipts when he pulled out a folded sheet of notebook paper with his name written across the front in handwriting he immediately recognized.
He stopped.
Then, very slowly, he looked at the paper again.
“Why do you have this?” he asked.
You turned from where you were sorting through a pile of clothes and froze for just a second too long.
“Because that’s my drawer?”
Dean’s eyes narrowed. “That is not an answer.”
You stared at him. “Dean.”
He looked at the paper, then back at you. “Is this about me?”
You reached for it immediately, but he lifted it out of your reach with one lazy movement that was far too familiar and unfair. “Nope.”
“Dean, give that back.”
Now he was interested.
“You wrote me a letter?”
“It’s old.”
He looked at the folded page again, then slowly unfolded it.
Your face went hot instantly. “Dean.”
He was already reading.
You crossed your arms and made a noise of protest, but he held up one finger without looking away from the page, the kind of silent “wait” that would have been ridiculous on anyone else and somehow was not on him.
Then his expression changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
He read the whole thing in silence, and the longer he read, the quieter the room became.
When he finally lowered the page, he looked at you with an expression so soft and stunned that it made your chest tighten immediately.
“You wrote this before we dated?”
You groaned and covered your face. “I hate you.”
Dean was still holding the letter. “No, seriously. You kept this?”
“It was private.”
“It has my name on it.”
You peeked through your fingers. “I know.”
He looked down at the page again, then back at you. “You wrote that I was ‘annoying in a way that makes the room better’?”
You made an agonized sound. “Please stop reading it out loud.”
Dean’s mouth twitched. “You also said I looked ‘ridiculously pretty when I’m pretending not to care.’”
You dropped your hands. “Okay, you know what? I am leaving.”
He caught your wrist before you could move. “No, you’re not.”
“I am so embarrassed.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“Yes, it is.”
He held the letter loosely in one hand and your wrist in the other, looking at you with far too much amusement now. “You liked me.”
You glared at him. “Obviously.”
He laughed under his breath. “You liked me so much you wrote a secret letter about it.”
“It was not secret.”
“It was in your drawer.”
You pointed at him. “You invaded my drawer.”
He lifted a brow. “I was looking for a charger.”
“That doesn’t help your case.”
Dean smiled, but the teasing had gone softer around the edges now. He looked down at the letter again, and when he spoke, his voice was quieter.
“You thought all that before I asked you out?”
You hesitated.
Then nodded.
He studied you for a second. “You really meant it?”
You blinked. “Dean.”
“No, I’m serious.”
Your expression changed a little. “Yes, I meant it.”
He was quiet after that, gaze moving over your face like he was trying to decide whether to keep teasing you or say the thing he actually wanted to say.
Eventually he folded the letter carefully and set it on the bed beside him.
Then he stepped closer.
“You know what’s unfair?” he asked softly.
You looked up at him. “What?”
“You thinking I didn’t notice you before we got together.”
Your heart gave a hard little thump.
Dean’s hand came to rest at your waist, warm and certain. “You think I was the only one pretending not to feel anything?”
You stared at him.
He smiled a little, but it was gentler now. “I kept telling myself not to ruin it.”
Your brows drew together. “Ruin what?”
“This.” He shrugged, the motion smaller than usual. “Us. Whatever was happening before we made it official. I was afraid if I said anything too soon, I’d lose you.”
That made your throat tighten immediately.
You looked at him carefully. “You were?”
He nodded once. “Yeah.”
Then, because he apparently wanted to make your entire evening emotionally complicated, he added, “You had no idea how hard it was to read that and realize you liked me the whole time.”
You swallowed hard. “You’re not allowed to be that sincere after reading my embarrassing letter.”
He smiled, warm and crooked. “I’m Dean Di Laurentis. I can be sincere and annoying at the same time.”
You laughed despite yourself.
Then he kissed your forehead, the letter still sitting on the bed between you like evidence of how long the two of you had been orbiting each other before you finally gave in.
And when he pulled back, he looked at you with that same soft expression.
“For the record,” he said, “I’m keeping it.”
Your eyes widened. “Absolutely not.”
He grinned. “Absolutely yes.”
“Dean.”
He laughed and slipped the folded page into his jacket pocket. “Too late.”
You stared at him, horrified. “You are impossible.”
He leaned down and kissed you once, quick and smug. “And you wrote me a love letter before we were even dating.”
“That was not a love letter.”
Dean smiled against your mouth. “Sure, babe.”
And honestly, at that point, there was no recovering from it.
Can you do a dean imagine from off campus where you and dean are best friends and like each other but dean keeps pushing it down because he’s afraid to ruin the relationship so he starts hanging with Allie. So you and Logan start hanging out because dean keeps avoiding you and maybe you are hanging out with Logan at the library and you both have this moment where you are about to kiss or actually kiss and dean walks in to the library finally realizing it’s been you this whole time? 😂 sorry
Always You
Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x Reader
Word Count: 1266
Request open!
Off campus masterlist
Dean had spent the last two months doing a very convincing impression of a man who was not in love with you.
It was impressive, really.
He had perfected the casual smile, the easy jokes, the way he pretended your friendship was exactly that and nothing more. He had become so good at avoidance that even Garrett had started getting annoyed with him.
The problem was that avoidance was easier than risk.
Because you were his best friend, and if he crossed the line and ruined that, then he would lose the best thing in his life.
So when Allie started hanging around more, Dean let it happen.
It was easier to look busy.
Easier to flirt back just enough to keep people from asking questions.
Easier to convince himself that if he put his attention somewhere else, the thing he felt for you might quiet down.
It did not.
Which was unfortunate, because you noticed.
You always noticed.
You noticed Dean sitting with Allie at parties.
You noticed Dean laughing a little too easily when she was around.
You noticed Dean being very careful not to look at you for too long.
And then you stopped asking him to hang out.
That was worse.
Because now he had no excuse to see you.
So he kept trying not to think about you.
That lasted until he walked into the library and saw you sitting at a table with Logan.
At first, he almost turned around.
Then he saw Logan leaning over the book and heard your laugh, soft and warm, and something in Dean’s chest twisted hard enough to make him stop in the doorway.
Logan looked up first.
His expression shifted immediately. “Oh.”
You turned too.
And the moment you saw Dean, your face changed in a way he had been trying not to notice for weeks.
“Dean,” you said.
He hated how relieved he felt hearing his own name from you.
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Hey.”
Logan looked between the two of you and very wisely started gathering his things. “I’m gonna give you two a minute.”
You opened your mouth. “Logan, you don’t have to,”
He was already standing. “I do.”
Dean barely heard him.
Because you were looking at him like you had been expecting this and somehow still didn’t know what to do with it.
He stepped closer to the table. “Can we talk?”
You stared at him for a second. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
Dean winced. “I know.”
“Why?”
He exhaled and looked away. “Because I’m an idiot.”
Your brows drew together. “Dean.”
He looked back at you then, and the words that came out next felt like tearing something open.
“Because I like you.”
Silence.
It was the kind that made the entire library feel like it had narrowed to just the two of you.
You stared at him, and for a second he could not read your face at all. Then something changed there,surprise, hurt, and then a very specific kind of recognition.
Dean’s stomach dropped.
You stood up slowly. “You what?”
He swallowed. “I like you.”
You blinked once. “Now?”
“No.” He laughed once, miserably. “I mean yes, but not now. I mean I’ve liked you. For a while.”
You looked at him for a second, then let out a breath that sounded almost like disbelief. “Then why Allie?”
That question hit harder than he expected.
He looked down. “Because you were right there.”
You went quiet.
He kept going because he had already ruined enough. “Because you’re my best friend and I was terrified that if I said anything, I’d lose that. And because I thought maybe if I tried to look anywhere else, it would stop.”
Your expression softened and sharpened at the same time. “Did it?”
Dean laughed quietly. “No.”
You looked at him for a long second, then glanced over toward the shelf where Logan had very respectfully disappeared to give you space.
“When I saw you with Allie,” you said, voice quieter now, “I thought I had made this whole thing up.”
Dean’s head snapped up.
You gave a sad little smile that hurt more than if you had been angry. “I thought maybe I’d just been stupid for feeling anything at all.”
Dean stared at you.
Then the pieces started hitting him all at once.
Your silence.
His own cowardice.
The way you had stopped asking him to hang out.
The way Logan had suddenly become the person you spent more time with.
And right then, standing in the library with the air full of all the things he should have said sooner, Dean realized exactly what had been in front of him the whole time.
It had been you.
Always you.
His face changed all at once.
“Oh,” he said, quietly.
You frowned. “What?”
Dean took one step forward, then stopped like he was afraid to scare you off. “It was you.”
You blinked. “Dean?”
“It was always you.”
Your face went still.
He was breathing a little harder now, not from running, but from the sudden horrible relief of understanding what he had been too stubborn to see. “I thought I was avoiding making a mistake with you. I thought I was protecting the friendship.”
You looked at him with wide eyes.
Dean shook his head, a little stunned by his own stupidity. “I wasn’t protecting anything.”
A beat.
Then he said, softer, “I was just scared.”
You stared at him for a long moment, and then your expression broke into something tired and honest and painful and real.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “Me too.”
Dean’s chest hurt.
He stepped closer again, this time not stopping.
“You went to Logan because of me,” he said.
You looked down. “He was easier.”
That nearly killed him.
Not because Logan was better.
Because he was not.
He was just brave enough to be around you when Dean wasn’t.
Dean’s voice dropped. “I’m sorry.”
Your eyes lifted to his.
He swallowed hard. “For making you think it wasn’t you. For making you feel like you had to disappear so I wouldn’t ruin things.”
Your face softened all the way through.
And in the quiet of the library, with Logan deliberately pretending not to listen on the other side of the aisle, Dean finally did the thing he should have done months ago.
He reached for your hand.
You let him.
“I don’t want Allie,” he said softly. “I wanted distraction. That’s all.”
Your lips parted slightly.
Dean’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, nervous now in a way he never was when he was joking. “I want you.”
The air between you changed.
You looked at him for one long second, then stepped closer too.
Dean’s breathing stalled.
He thought, briefly, that maybe this was the moment.
Maybe this was where he finally got brave enough to kiss you.
Then a shelf creaked, and Logan cleared his throat dramatically from somewhere behind you.
Dean startled and looked over, half annoyed and half relieved to have the moment interrupted by something with less emotional weight.
Logan gave the two of you a very pointed look. “Should I leave again?”
You laughed softly, tension breaking just enough to make the room feel real again.
Dean looked back at you, and your expression was still warm and uncertain and hopeful in a way that made his chest ache.
He finally smiled.
Not because everything was fixed.
Because it wasn’t.
But because he had finally, finally figured out what had been staring him in the face the whole time.
John Logan had not been prepared for this phase of fatherhood.
He had been prepared for a lot.
Toddler tantrums. Late-night wakeups. Tiny shoes left in the middle of the floor. Questions that made no sense. Food smashed into furniture. The occasional crisis over the wrong color cup.
He had not been prepared for crowns, tea parties, and princess movies.
It began with your daughter deciding that she was, in fact, a princess.
Not a little one. Not a pretend one.
A real one.
And once she had made that decision, there was no changing her mind.
The first crown appeared in the living room one afternoon when John came home from practice and found her standing on the couch wearing a plastic tiara that was slightly crooked and very sparkly.
She pointed at him immediately. “You are late.”
John paused in the doorway with his bag still over one shoulder. “Excuse me?”
Your daughter narrowed her tiny eyes. “Late.”
You, from the kitchen, had to turn away because you were laughing already.
John set his bag down slowly. “I was at practice.”
“That is not an excuse for a prince.”
You made a choking sound from the kitchen.
John looked over at you helplessly. “A prince?”
Your daughter crossed her arms with the seriousness of a tiny queen. “You have to come to tea.”
John blinked. “Tea?”
She nodded. “And wear this.”
She thrust a second crown at him, this one pink and a little bent.
John looked at the crown, then at you, then back at her. “I don’t think I have a choice here.”
“No,” she said solemnly. “You don’t.”
That was how he ended up sitting cross-legged on the living room floor in a plastic crown while your daughter served him invisible tea in a tiny cup she had definitely stolen from the kitchen drawer.
You leaned against the doorway, smiling so hard your face hurt.
John caught your eye and lifted one brow.
You mouthed, She owns you.
He gave you a very clear look that said yes, I know, and then proceeded to sip the invisible tea with the grave seriousness of a man making a diplomatic peace agreement.
Your daughter beamed.
“There,” she said. “Now you are pretty.”
John nearly choked.
You laughed so hard you had to cover your face.
He looked at you like he was going to remember this forever, which he absolutely was.
Later that night, when you were setting up a movie in the living room, your daughter padded in wearing a pink blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a cape.
“Princess movie,” she declared.
John, from the couch, looked at the screen. “Which one?”
She climbed right onto his lap. “The pretty one.”
He glanced at you.
You shrugged. “That narrows it down exactly nowhere.”
He sighed and reached for the remote. “Okay. The pretty one.”
That became the routine.
John got dragged into tea parties with stuffed animals lined up on the rug like honored guests.
He sat through princess movies while your daughter carefully adjusted the crown on his head whenever it tilted too far.
He let her paint one nail silver because she said it was “important for palace business.”
He even read bedtime stories in a dramatic princess voice when she requested it, which made you laugh so hard from the doorway that he sent you a very tired glare that did not fool anyone.
One evening, you found him in the kitchen with your daughter on his hip, both of them wearing matching crowns because she had insisted. He was pretending to be deeply serious about pouring juice while she gave him instructions like a tiny royal advisor.
“Careful,” she told him.
“I’m being careful.”
“No. Careful careful.”
John looked at you over her head. “She’s very bossy.”
You smiled. “She gets that from you.”
He gave you a deadpan look. “That’s unfair.”
Your daughter patted his cheek. “Daddy pretty.”
That made John go completely still.
You froze too, because the way his face softened at those two little words was devastating in the most tender way possible.
He looked at her, then at you, then back at her, and his expression got all quiet and full.
“Yeah?” he asked softly.
She nodded. “Pretty daddy.”
John looked briefly like he might not survive that.
You walked over and wrapped your arms around his waist from behind while your daughter leaned into his shoulder and started talking about princesses and dragons and why tea parties were serious business.
John rested one hand over yours and kissed the top of her head.
“Guess I’m in the princess phase too,” he murmured.
You laughed softly. “You never had a chance.”
He looked at you, then at your daughter, who was already demanding another story, and smiled in that quiet, helpless way that always said he was exactly where he wanted to be.
i love your writing!! could you do a john logan sickfic please???
John Has a Fever
Pairing: John Logan x Reader
Word Count: 914
Request open!
Off campus masterlist
The first clue was how quiet he was.
That should have been the warning sign, really. John was not a dramatic sick person. He didn’t moan, didn’t complain much, didn’t turn every cold into a funeral. So when you found him still in bed at nearly noon, one arm flung over his eyes and the other tangled in the blanket, you stopped immediately.
“John?”
He made a sound that was halfway between a hum and a groan.
You stepped closer. “Are you awake?”
“Mm.”
That did not sound promising.
You sat on the edge of the bed and touched his shoulder. “Baby?”
John cracked one eye open and looked at you with the kind of miserable patience that only came from being very sick and very stubborn at the same time. “I’m awake.”
You frowned. “You sound awful.”
“Thanks.”
You smiled despite yourself and reached up to brush your hand across his forehead. The second you did, your face changed.
“You’re hot.”
His eyes closed again. “That’s not a new development.”
You stared at him. “John.”
He opened one eye. “What.”
“You have a fever.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I’m fine.”
You gave him a long look. “You just used the word fine in that tone. That means you are absolutely not fine.”
He sighed and rolled onto his side, dragging the blanket up to his chin. “I hate when you’re right.”
“I know.”
You stood and immediately headed for the bathroom cabinet. “When did this start?”
“Last night.”
Your head snapped around. “Last night?”
He squinted at you. “Why are you making that face?”
“Because you spent all last night pretending nothing was wrong?”
“I didn’t pretend.”
“You kept saying you were tired.”
“I was tired.”
“You were also burning up.”
John groaned and pressed his face into the pillow. “This conversation is making me regret being conscious.”
You came back with a thermometer, medicine, water, and a damp cloth. He watched the entire pile with mild suspicion.
“You prepared that fast.”
“I am efficient.”
“You’re panicking.”
“I am not.”
John looked at you through half-lidded eyes. “You are definitely panicking.”
You set the cloth on his forehead and he immediately made a quiet, miserable sound that told you it felt better than he wanted to admit.
“There,” you said softly. “That’s better.”
He reached for your wrist weakly. “Come here.”
You sat beside him again, letting him hold onto your hand while the thermometer beeped.
You checked the number and frowned. “See?”
John squinted at it. “That is not that bad.”
“It is for you.”
He looked insulted. “I’m not a child.”
“No, you’re just acting like one.”
That got the tiniest hint of a smile out of him.
You helped him sit up enough to take the medicine and drink water, and by the time he finished, he looked genuinely worn out. Not dramatic. Just tired in that heavy, feverish way that made even his usual confidence look dimmed around the edges.
“You should’ve told me sooner,” you said quietly.
John’s gaze slid to yours. “You were busy.”
“You know that doesn’t matter.”
He said nothing for a second, then admitted, “I didn’t want you hovering.”
You stared at him. “John.”
“What?”
“You know I hover when you’re sick.”
“I know.”
“And you know I’m going to keep hovering.”
He looked almost amused despite how miserable he was. “I know that too.”
You leaned in and kissed his forehead. “Good.”
His hand found your sleeve and held on. “You’re bossy.”
“You’re sick.”
“I noticed.”
You smiled a little and started to stand, only for him to tug lightly at your sleeve. “Where are you going?”
“To make you soup.”
He stared at you. “You know that’s not necessary.”
You gave him a flat look. “You are currently in bed looking like you got run over by a truck. It is absolutely necessary.”
That earned you a weak huff of laughter.
A little later, you came back with soup, tea, and toast, and John actually let you feed him a few bites before insisting he could do it himself. He was clearly lying. The spoon wobbled in his hand twice before he gave in and let you take over.
“You’re enjoying this,” he murmured.
“Very much.”
He looked at you with sleepy accusation. “Cruel.”
You smiled and brushed his hair back from his forehead. “I love you.”
That made him go still for a second before his expression softened all the way through.
“Yeah?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah.”
He let out a slow breath and leaned into your hand like he was too tired to pretend otherwise. “Love you too.”
His voice was rough and warm and exactly what you needed to hear.
You kept taking care of him all day, and he let you, eventually. Which was its own version of intimacy with John. The trust in it. The quiet surrender.
By nightfall, he was still sick, but he was tucked against your side on the couch, your blanket around both of you, and he looked a little less miserable than he had that morning.
He rested his head on your shoulder and closed his eyes. “You’re going to bring this up forever, aren’t you?”
You smiled and kissed the top of his head. “Probably.”
John made a quiet, resigned sound. “Fair.”
And because he was feverish and clingy and you loved him too much to let him suffer alone, you tightened your arm around him and stayed there.
Summary: you and your husband are having trouble producing an heir. luckily, daeron is given a remedy in the midst of his drunken stupor.
Warnings: mentions of infertility, brief mention of somnophilia, sex pollen, needy daeron, kinda sub!daeron, body worship, established relationship, drinking, heavy breeding kink undertones, no first name mentioned/ no use of y/n, daeron and reader are VERY in love
WC: 2.7k
Nearly a year had passed since your vows were spoken beside Daeron. Your union was one of rare harmony, for affection dwelled between you faithfully. You both found joy in one another‘s company, and understanding flowed as naturally as a gentle stream. No harsh words dared linger, and your hearts remained inclined toward one another.
Especially considering Daeron is no easy man to love. Despite his challenges you made them your own and restlessly helped him overcome his burdens. It was no easy feat, and there was still much to be done. There was a time he feared your children would be plagued by his visions, or he would forsee something unforgivable about the child.
The unlikely, complicated beauty of your marriage was well known to the realm. However, the royal cradle remained empty. The bed prepared for young dragons remained untouched, gathering silence where laughter ought to dwell.
Throughout town and country-side alike, tongues wagged with endless conjecture. Whether sickness had plagued you or Daeron, whether the Seven themselves had simply denied you the fruitful blessing or some other mystery pertaining to your husband‘s fondness of wine.
Yet all who beheld the two of you deemed your devotion true and steadfast.
Your love endured through idle speculation, yes, but that didn‘t stop Daeron from feeling like a poor excuse of a husband. You reassured him relentlessly, told him how the vision that besieges his thoughts does not make you love him any less. And he believes you, rightfully so.
At times wine would soften his spirit and draw forth tears he would sooner have hidden. All that he despised about within himself rose from the depths of his heart and stood plainly before him. Daeron sought to drown such thoughts beneath yet more wine and ale, but on one fateful night his sorrow left him stripped of all defenses.
“Easy, my Prince. Another glass and you‘ll drink yourself into the grave.“
The barkeep tutted Daeron as he draped himself over the counter, finding himself in another stupor. Demeaning thoughts taunted his mind as he sat, I‘m not the husband she deserves, and father would be happier with me in a tomb.
“Just one more, then I‘ll leave. Swear it.“
Daeron mutters through slurred words and half promises. Before he‘s given the chance to reach for his fresh new glass, he‘s met with another barkeep sliding it across the counter.
Barkeep was a bit of a strong statement. She was a frail older woman, age resting lightly upon her spirit. Though her body bore the marks of many winters. Deep lines framed her face, yet her keen eyes sparkled with knowledge gathered from herb, root and star.
Daeron could‘ve sworn his dreams were melting in with reality, unsure of where the other man left and when she had replaced him.
“No wine in your great castle, my Prince?“ The woman croaked, offering him a snide grin from where she stood, hunched.
“Or does the princess not like it when you indulge?“
Her grin deepens and she watches her bold words unfurl in his mind. Daeron would never be the sort of prince to inflict harm on an old woman for such words, especially not in his state.
“She doesn‘t mind. ‘Jus want to leave her to her own peace. I have given her little enough already. A rightful husband is to give a wife a family and future. I have given her neither.“
Daeron was slightly surprised at how fast the words left him, unmindfully tumbling from his wine-stained lips.
“You‘ve got it all backward, princeling. The question isn‘t whether you‘ve given her those things. The question is whether you‘ve shown her they still matter to you. Ain‘t much romance in a man sleeping on a tavern stool.“
He digests her words in his clouded, drunken mind. It all pieced together for him then, and he had newfound conquest to prove his devotion to you.
“Well? How do you reckon I can?“
The woman is already reaching for a small vile kept away from the neat rows of wine bottles. The vile clinks as it meet the rings on her fingers,
“This should do handsomely.“
─ ⊹ ⊱ ⊰ ⊹ ─
There were very few comforts that surpassed reclining in a royal bed, a book nestled in your lap, whilst candles burn low and a warm mug steams beside you. It was one of those nights to yourself as Daeron scavenged a local village for their wine. You knew he took comfort being outside the confines of the keep, so these nights never had a way of bothering you.
Truthfully, you could die happily right there. Freshly cleaned hair, floral oils still fresh on your bathed skin and a clean silk chemise wrapped around your body.
You held no disdain for the quiet, you cherished it. Such gentle moments were a rare blessing amid the endless demands of court. Few would ever dare speak it aloud, but the burden of a princess‘s station was heavier than most could fathom. Thus, the solitary hours felt nothing short of perfect,
That was, until you heard your bed chamber door groan as it opened.
“Daeron? Are you back, my love?“
You don't spare him a glance from your book as he shuffles into the room, his steps sounding heavier with each one he took. Even in great splendors of drunkenness, the cadence of his steps seemed highly unusual.
You hear him groan as he approaches the bed, kicking off his boots with a sluggish tug.
“Are you well?“
You behold him as you glance up from your book, searching his face. An angry red hue flushed in cheeks and ears as sweat began to bead at his forehead. His once lilac eyes were nearly black with how blown his pupils had become. His lips were parted just slightly, taking in desperate hitches of breath as he stared at you with half-lidded eyes.
“My sweet wife.“ He murmurs with a horse voice as he begins crawling toward you on the bed. His behavior was something you hadn‘t seen before. Surely the both of you enjoy a tiresome fuck when you are nearly taken with sleep and he is drunker than a sailor. But this was different.
This had vigor.
You had little time to set your book aside as he draped himself on top of you. As your mouth opened anticipating a question, you felt how hot his skin was. Scolding, really. He was a flushed, sweating, restless mess of a man disheveled by the need for his wife.
You bring the back of your palm to his forehead and cheek, nervously checking for fever. Daeron whines at the contact, nuzzling into your touch. With a vexation worn plainly on your face, you swipe the sweat-slicked hair from his face.
“Are you well, husband? You feel quite warm.“
Your nervous chuckle is caught in your throat as you feel his painfully hard cock nudge into your thigh.
“Daeron, explain to me what you have done.“
You sit up, crossing your arms across your chest awaiting explanation. Daeron symptoms only grow as he gawks at you, mindlessly pawing the covers for your touch.
“Please, sweet girl, my beautiful, sweet, wife, please just touch m-“
“I‘m not lifting a finger till you explain to me what‘s happened to you. Was it a brothel? Hm? Someone slip you something there?“
“Mm-mm, no, my love, I swear to you. I did not step foot into one of those.“
His slurled words offer you comfort, allowing you to slowly inch back down the bed to where he laid. Your nails begin to scratch the expanse of his back in comforting motion. Daeron let out a groan as you touched him, despite the act being purely innocent.
“Please, talk to me, Daeron. You‘re worrying me.“
“H-hurts…“
“What hurts, my love?“
He lets out a whine and begins to buck his hips into the mattress. The friction draws a broken groan from him as he continues to babble and listlessly beg.
“A witch- she…she gave me something.“
“You took something from a witch. Please be joking.“
“She said it‘d give us an heir.“
Despite his disordered, wanton state, your heart softened at his words, picturing him drinking a mysterious liquid for the sake of blessing you with a child. Your lips softened into a smile as he peered at you through glassy, desperate eyes.
“Well, how does it work then, what she gave you? Am I to wake already with child?"
You offer your hand to lovingly stroke his cheek, though Daeron takes hold of it, lathering it with sloppy kisses. Your palm, wrist, forearm were being devoured with open-mouth pecks.
“Mm, not until I‘m through with you. Not until you make me better.“
“And…how am I to do that, sweet boy?“
With the same grip on your wrist, he tugs you. In a blink of an eye, you‘re on top of him, straddling his engorged cock. Daeron looks up at you with eyes that worship, eyes that are peeling off your clothes before he could rip them off you. You stifle a chuckle at the sight.
Your hand slides down his stomach at an agonizing pace, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
Soon, your hand palms his rigid cock, earning you a strangled whine from deep in his throat. He bucks his hips into your touch, writhing with fervid pleasure.
“Please, my love, ‘nough teasing. I need you. Need you more than anything, please. I‘ll be good.“
“Mm, will you? You want to pound me into the mattress till I can‘t say anything but your name? You want this whole keep to know how good you fuck your wife? How good you make her feel? How wet you make her? And how wet she‘ll be when you cum and fill her up?“
Daeron moans at your lewd words, partially frustrated by you enjoying this the way you are. You roll your hips into his clothed cock, earning an open mouthed groan from him. With keen hands you fumble with the ties of his breeches, while he listlessly pleads for you to go faster.
As his cock springs free you inspect his hardness. The tip was a bruised, painful looking purple. While his reddened length twitched with each beat of his heart. His cock was already soaked with precum before you even laid a hand on it.
“Poor baby, so needy for me.“
You pepper his tip with sloppy kisses as he writhes beneath you, watching you intently with his lips parted. As you finish with your torment, you shift yourself onto your stomach, arching your spine. Your tits press into the mattress, still clothed by the chemise, as you feel Daeron bunch the fabric right above your ass.
He gives one firm smack to the flesh, watching it pinken from the act. You stifle a moan into the sheets as his hands draw you back toward his cock. Without warning, he thrusts, filling you completely in a moment‘s notice.
You let out a whorish moan into the covertures, feeling yourself already go dumb on his cock. He sets a fast, agonizing pace as he seeks relief from the pleasurable pain the potion had plagued him with. Your fists curl into the sheets in hopes of grounding you from his brutal thrusts.
Daeron pants above you, shallow heaving breaths accompanied by strangled moans. You feel his urgency in the way he slams into you, the way he is so desperately claiming you with each jerk of his hips. It‘s something almost primal, something so intoxicating about his need to mark you. To give you a child, to solidify the profound beautiful love you share into something you can raise.
As Daeron brutishly fucks you, he envisions your stomach round with child, breasts heavy and swollen with milk. Providing for your child, being a good mother. It‘s as though his purpose dawns on him. It only makes his need to prove his love to you stronger.
“Seven fucks- what have I done to deserve you, sweet wife? All mine, hm?“
“I…mphh yeah- I‘m yours, Daeron. I am all yours…“
The words are broken by rugged movements, but they reach you and Daeron‘s ears all the same. Muttered proclamations of devotion all clouded by the fevorous love-making, so enraptured with one another.
A sweet moan tore through your throat as his pace deepened, hitting the spot that made drool begin to pool in your mouth. You thoroughly enjoyed fucking your husband in the past, but this was entirely foreign. It was something blissfully won, a filthy coupling of two people who would do anything for each other.
You could smell the honeyed wine on his breath as he panted into your ear like an animal, so enveloped by the addicting feeling of being inside you. That delectable suck of your cunt around him, how it drools with the sweetest nectar enticing him further.
Your bed chamber attained a string of echoing plap-plap-plaps, as Daeron‘s bare hips drove into the plump of your ass with vigor. His lips suckled and kissed your neck and below your ear as you whined into the sheets. You were nearly as unraveled as he was.
“Mm-mhm, that‘s it, my love, that‘s a good girl. Feels so good doesn‘t it.“
“Yes-yes-yes, fuck, Daeron!“
At your pleasing cries his pace gains speed, drawing breathless wanton gasps from your throat. Daeron takes a fistfull of the hair at your nape, pulling it slightly in order to raise yourself from the mattress. You rose, forgetting what it was like to breathe.
“Y‘gonna cum for me, sweet girl? Gonna cum all over my cock while I fill you up?“
“Y-yes, fuck, please, Daeron,“
The loud moans escaping you and Daeron‘s lips was nothing short of pure impropriety. The smack of his hips against your ass, the ridges of his cock rubbing against your walls and the loving firm grip he had on your hair sent your orgasm thrashing through you. It came in blissful waves, leaving you a quivering, writhing, moaning mess in Daeron‘s hold. He soon follows, releasing hot thick ropes of cum deep inside your pussy.
The fatigue soon overtakes you, collapsing onto the bed stripped of all energy. Like orgasm, Daeron is soon to follow, tumbling beneath his own weight beside you. He scoops you up into his arms before you could utter a word. The disquiet world of your lives finds silence as he holds you against his heaving chest, coveting you like your all that matters to him. You nuzzle into his embrace, purring gently at the feeling of his hands running through your hair.
“So, feel any better?“ You murmur in a hushed voice, mindful of the peaceful quiet that fell upon both of you.
“Much, much, better, my love.“
“I‘m very glad to hear that.“
You hum, gently peppering kisses along his jaw as you drink in the sight of his normal face. His eyes flutter shut, content with the feeling of your body in his arms.
“And how do you feel, my beautiful wife?“
“Mm…good. Very good. A bit different.“
“Different how?“
“Just different from the other times. This one felt significant.“
You peered into his eyes.
“Like…something may come of it.“
A smile spreads across his lips as he watches yours grow, basking in the solace of newfound hope. Perhaps the witch had done you a favour after all, granting you something you and your husband wanted desperately.
“Wait.“
“Hm?“
“I have yet to kiss you.“
You laugh at his remark, recalling the events in your mind. He leaned over with a soft reverence, grasping your chin in his palm. Daeron‘s lips intertwine with your own, not in haste but in silent adoration. The touch was gentle, yet it carried the weight of vows you had spoken before Gods. Your lips lingered for a moment, neither claiming nor retreating. But meeting in a stillness that felt older than language.
