[illicitsuperstar]

welcome to illicitsuperstar ᯓ★

⟢ I CAN DO A LOT IN 15 MINUTES . . . lucy or lu ⭒˚.⋆ eighteen ⋆ she/her ⋆ hispanic ⋆ jack abbot's controversially younger girlfriend ⋆ lover of older men ! reqs open

𑁤 this is not my main acc! all follows come from @vamplyle

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[deerfawnn]

training

pairing: benjamin poindexter x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: dex teaches you how to throw knives. content warnings: established relationship, throwing knives, reader's terrified of knives, height difference a/n: my first little dex fic. sooooo very nervous to post this, but i hope you like it!! <3 also, thank you to my lovely oomf who proofread this for me <3 ily wc: 2.5k

You had no idea why you even agreed to this.

If your past self, could see you now, standing in the middle of a freezing cold warehouse in nothing but an oversized sweater and your oldest pair of jeans, that version of you would have laughed. Then screamed. Then probably called the police.

But desperation did strange things to a person. Specifically, the kind of desperation that came from having the most heart consuming crush on a man who could scare off anyone with a single glance.

And well, here you were.

The warehouse was exactly as charming as it sounded and so cold you were fairly certain your toes had already turned to ice cubes inside your sneakers.

Dex had promised it would be safe. You didn't want to know what had led up to the point for Dex to deem a place as 'safe'. You had learned over the course of your relationship, that some questions were better left unasked.

Dex was across the room, laying out his knives, even from here, you could see the way the metal gleamed. But you couldn't deny him anything, that was the real problem. The moment he asked you with that little smile on his face, you knew you were going to spend your night throwing knives.

"You ready?" He had turned around now, and in his right hand, he was casually flipping a knife. He didn't even look at it, his eyes on you.

"No," you muttered. You looked away from the knife, because looking at it for too long made your brain start screaming warning sirens.

Dex shook his head, but there was no actual frustration in it. He walked toward you, while his knife kept spinning. You kept not looking at it.

"Come here," he said.

And you went, because of course you did. You stopped a few inches away from him, close enough to feel the faint warmth radiating off his body.

"Stand here," he said, gesturing to the spot directly in front of him. You positioned yourself where he indicated, feeling utterly out of your depth.

He held the knife by the back of the blade, angling it away from you, then his free hand found your waist, his fingers pressing gently through the thickness of your sweater, and he turned you just slightly. He adjusted your stance until you were facing the target across the room, an old wooden sign with faded paint.

Then your back hit his chest, well, your shoulders did. He was so much taller than you that his chin nearly cleared the top of your head, and you had to tilt your face upward just to catch a glimpse of his jaw.

"Feet apart," he mumbled above you, his breath warm against your hair. Before you could move, he planted one foot between your legs, nudging yours apart. He used the toe of his boot to kick one of your feet wider, then the other. "There," he said quietly. "That's good."

You weren't sure what was good about standing in a cold warehouse with your feet too far apart and a man, who was holding a knife, pressed against your back, but you weren't about to argue.

"Okay," he said, finally stepping back just enough to give you room. His hand dropped from your waist, and you immediately mourned the loss. "Now take the knife."

You reached for it slowly, your fingers hovering over the handle. The blade was longer than you'd realized, and sharper. You could see your own reflection in the metal and your fear just grew.

What if you threw it wrong and it bounced back? What if you dropped it and it landed on your foot? What if you accidentally stabbed yourself? What if you accidentally stabbed him? What if you threw it so badly that it flew off in some random direction and hit something important? What if—

Dex sighed and closed his big hand around yours. He planted the knife in your grip, wrapping your fingers around the handle one by one, adjusting your hold until it was right.

"Nothing bad is going to happen," he mumbled, his voice close to your ear. "I'm here."

Finally, you gripped the knife the way he'd shown you. The handle felt weird in your hand. You were not a person who held knives, but Dex's hand was still over yours and somehow that made it okay for now.

"So I just throw it?" you asked, your voice coming out smaller than you intended.

"Yes and no," Dex replied. He moved to stand behind you again, and his chest pressed against your back. His fingers slid over yours on the knife, correcting the angle of your wrist by just a few degrees. "Hold it like this," he mumbled beside your ear. "Not too tight."

You adjusted your grip, and he hummed in approval. Your lips curved into a small smile without your permission. You couldn't help it, his attention was entirely on you and there was something about being the center of Dex's attention that made you just unable to not display your happiness.

You felt him pause for just a fraction of a second and when you tilted your head just slightly to glance up at him, you saw his small smile.

"You need to throw it fast, yeah?" he asked, after finally stepping back to look at your grip one last time. His eyes ran over your stance one last time. "Not slow. Not careful. Fast. The knife doesn't work if you're gentle with it."

You nodded like you understood, even though you didn't really understand. How was something this sharp supposed to be thrown fast? Wouldn't that just make it more dangerous? Wouldn't that increase the chances of it going somewhere it wasn't supposed to go?

"And then I just—" you started, holding your arm out over your shoulder in what you thought was a throwing position. You looked back at him for confirmation, eyebrows raised.

He shook his head before you could even finish the sentence. "Like this," he said, stepping close again.

He pulled your arm back further and tilted your elbow just a few degrees higher. His palm pressed flat against your shoulder blade, pushing it down slightly to correct your posture. Then he guided your arm forward, showing you the path the knife was supposed to take.

You watched his hands move yours, tried to memorize the feeling of the motion. It felt strange, but Dex seemed satisfied, because after guiding you through it three more times, he finally let go and stepped back.

"There," he said. "You have it."

You did not feel like you had it.

You stared at him for a long moment, hoping he might change his mind. Hoping he might say "actually, this was a terrible idea, let's go get milkshakes instead."

He did not say that.

You finally glanced back at the target across the room. It was impossibly far away. "Okay," you mumbled, more to yourself than to him.

Dex stepped back further, arms crossed. He looked like he had absolutely no doubt that this was going to go perfectly.

You were about to prove him very, very wrong.

The knife left your hand. It sailed wildly to the left, completely missing the target, and clattered against the concrete floor with a sad noise. It didn't even go far, halfway towards the target.

Even Dex's eyebrows shot up at that.

You sighed loudly. "See?" you said, throwing your hands up. "I tried. That was me trying. That was me giving it my absolute best effort and you saw what happened. Can we please go home now, Dex? Please? I'm cold and I'm bad at this and I want to sit on a couch."

Of course, he didn't let you go home. Why would he? Apparently throwing knives was so very important for a girl like you.

He just shook his head, bent down and plucked the knife from the concrete. He walked back to you, the knife held loosely at his side.

"Again," he said.

You let out a big sigh, hoping it conveyed just how deeply you did not want to do this again.

But he just waited and so you reluctantly turned back to face the target. You got back into position and turned back to face the target, but before you threw, you glanced at him one more time and he gave you a soft smile.

You quickly turned back to the target, supressing a smile of your own, and threw the knife.

It wasn't good, but it was better than the first one. The knife actually flew in the general direction of the target this time, and it didn't immediately die on the floor.

You grinned, spinning around to face him. "Did you see that? It actually went somewhere!"

He walked over to retrieve the knife, but he was smiling too. "Progress," he replied, sounding just a tad bit proud.

This went on for what felt like forever, even the cold stopped bothering you ( or maybe you just stopped noticing it. )

After a while, you started sighing and groaning with every throw, absolutely exhausted. Your arm hurt, your shoulders ached and so did your feet.

"One more," Dex said, after what might have been the thirtieth throw or the fiftieth, you'd lost count.

"No," you said, dropping your arm.

"One more."

"I said no." You walked over to the nearest wall and slid down until you were sitting on the floor. Your legs stretched out in front of you, your head tipped back against the cold concrete. You were well aware that he might just drag you up again, not quite fond of being told no, but then again it was you. And you were an exception to all his rules.

Dex just looked at you for a moment, then he shrugged, picked up another knife from his collection, and turned to face the target.

"Fine," he said. "Watch." and started throwing.

You watched him contentedly. His biceps tightened against his zip up jacket with every throw. His face was completely focused and calm. Knife after knife left his hand and every single one, as expected, hit the target. He threw faster than you could follow. You watched him grab five knives at some point, fan them out between his fingers, and throw them in. All five were exactly where he wanted them to be.

You could have watched him forever.

After a while, he came back to you. He stopped in front of you, looking down with those half lidded eyes that always made your stomach flip. He reached down, offering you his hand. "One more time," he said. "Then we can go."

You sighed, but took his hand anyway. His fingers closed around yours and he pulled you to your feet with such little effort it reminded you just how much stronger he was than you.

He guided you back to your spot in front of the target, his hand resting on the small of your back. You could feel the warmth of his palm through your sweater and it was distracting. Everything about him was distracting right now.

Because god, he'd looked good throwing knives like that.

You were supposed to be getting into position, but instead, you were staring at him.

He had just opened his mouth to ask if you were paying attention, which you absolutely were not, when you crashed your lips into his.

You grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled him down toward you because he was too tall and you were too eager.

For a second, he went still, then his hand came up to cup your face. His palm was warm against your cheek, his fingers threading into your hair, and he kissed you back. You melted into him, your fingers curling tighter into his jacket. His thumb traced along your cheekbone and you thought you might actually die from how good it felt.

The kiss barely lasted, because as soon as you felt something cold and sharp press against your cheek, you startled back. Your eyes flew open and you stumbled back a step, just enough to see what had touched your face.

He was still holding the knife and the flat of the blade had been pressed against your cheek.

"Dex!" you practically yelped. "You could've slashed my cheek with that."

Dex just stared at you, his eyes half lidded the way they always were after kissing you and his lips were still slightly parted from the kiss.

"I know what I'm doing," he chuckled, shaking his head slowly.

He pulled you back in by your waist before you could protest, his arm drawing you against his chest, while his other hand he kept carefully angled away from you, the blade pointing safely toward the floor. And then he pressed another kiss to your lips. His lips lingered on yours for a long moment before he finally pulled back, just far enough to look at you.

"See?" he murmured against your mouth. "Still in one piece."

You wanted to argue and you wanted to point out that he absolutely should not kiss people while holding knives, that this was basic common sense, that you were going to have a heart attack before you were thirty if he kept doing things like this.

But his lips were still so close, and his hand was still warm on your waist, so instead of arguing, you just sighed. "You're impossible," you told him.

He just shrugged already aware of it. "One more time," Dex said, guiding your hand into the correct position as he handed you the knife. "Then we go home."

"One more time," you repeated. "One more time and then we go home."

"Mhmm," he hummed against your ear.

And before you knew it, you were back to it. Every time you got a little less terrible at this ridiculous skill you had absolutely no reason to learn.

Your arm hurt and so did your feet, but you kept going, because Dex' eyes lit up just a little bit more, every time you hit closer to the target.

And then it happened, you threw the knife and it hit the target.

"You hit it," Dex said, sounding both surprised and proud. "You actually hit it."

You spun around to face him, your mouth hanging open. "I hit it!"

"You hit it."

"I hit the target, Dex!" You let out a happy sound as you glanced back at the target, shocked that you’d actually hit it that well, not noticing the way Dex followed your movements with such soft eyes, had you been looking you'd have melted on the spot.

He smiled as he walked up to you, putting one hand on your shoulder, before pressing a kiss to your temple. "Told you you'd get it," he murmured.

You finally looked up at him properly and immediately wished you hadn't, because the look in his eyes nearly melted you into the concrete floor.

It was unfair that someone who looked that dangerous could look at you like that.

Your hands curled into the front of his jacket. "Can we go home now?" you asked quietly. "Please? My arm feels like it's going to fall off."

That got a low laugh out of him. "Yeah," he said. "We can go home."

[illicitsuperstar]

gunplay with dex but you dont tell him its loaded until hes close and he absolutely loses it in the best way possible.. is that too crazy orrr...

[illicitsuperstar]

jack abbot's the type of guy to hold automatic doors open for you.. and the first time he did it you laughed at how ridiculous he is.. so now he keeps doing it just to hear you laugh....

[clementinesuperstars]

FESTIVE CITY CLARK KENT IS THE TYPE OF GUY TO…

⋆ insist on putting your tree up on Nov. 1st.

⋆ be horrible at hiding presents.

⋆ swear he didn’t go over his budget when you call him out for “spending too much this year” (he’s lying).

⋆ constantly remind you while you’re opening presents that “if you don’t like it, i can always take it back.”

⋆ blush when you respond with “i always love everything you get me.”

⋆ start buying presents early. way too early. freakishly early. the man started asking you for ideas in June.

⋆ try his best to make the holidays really special, just for you.

⋆ hang up mistletoe around the house because “it’s festive”, and an excuse to kiss you.

⋆ make the pantry his go-to present hiding spot.

⋆ furrow his eyebrows at you when you tell him that you “found something in the pantry.”

⋆ tell you that the present is “actually for ma!”

⋆ laugh when you ask “why’s it in the pantry, then?”

⋆ let—make you open a present early. maybe a week early. maybe two weeks early.

⋆ spend his downtime arranging and rearranging the presents underneath the tree.

⋆ purposely mix up your neat piles so he can hand you gifts on Christmas.

⋆ make you open your gifts first so he doesn’t miss any of your reactions.

⋆ thank you for every single gift.

gif by @/djo

reblogs are always appreciated ☻

© clementinesuperstars

[illicitsuperstar]

MENTOR!JACK ABBOT WHO . . .

ᝰ part one .ᐟ

⟡ dismisses the other staffs curious glances when you two are together, putting all of his focus on you and only you.

⟡ never yells at you when you do something without talking to him first or after making a mistake. just gives you a 'firm talk', as he calls it.

⟡ always makes sure you got enough sleep before your shift, knowing how hard it can be on your body to do a full shift with minimal sleep.

⟡ comforts you after you lose your first patient, dragging you into the break room and pulling you into a tight hug. whispering "it wasn't your fault" as many times as it takes for you to believe him.

⟡ ignores everyones trailing eyes after you both leave the break room – two of the nurses not-so-subtly whispering to each other, some other residents making bets on whats going on between the two of you.

⟡ overhears you talking to an attending about him. telling them how you "see him as a mentor" and how helpful you've found him throughout your time here, making a small half-smirk-half-smile form on his lips.

⟡ offers to drive you to and from work once he finds out you walk there every night. insists its "just for your safety, sweetheart." when you decline his offer, telling him its only a 20 minute walk.

⟡ finally convinces you to let him give you rides after he gives you a long lecture about walking alone in a big city, especially at night. "you know how many patients that come in at night for getting hurt out on a walk? its not safe, and you know that. i'm driving you from now on, no more arguments."

reblogs appreciated <3

A/N: the first part of this did a lot better than i expected it would!? thank you for all the love!! hopefully you like this one just as much as the first <3 a part 3 may be worked on soon...

© illicitsuperstar 2025

[illicitsuperstar]

MENTOR!JACK ABBOT WHO . . .

⟡ immediately takes you under his wing when he first lays his eyes on you – a second year med student, looking around the emergency department like a deer in headlights.

⟡ shows you around the ED; introducing you to the rest of the night shift staff, showing you the break room, and making sure you understand the charting system.

⟡ guides you through your first emergency trauma surgery, manually moving your hand with his wrapped around your wrist. murmuring a "there you go" in your ear when you do it right.

⟡ congratulates you when you do your first intubation, handing you a mug with coffee from the break room, telling you to "relax for a sec, i'll take over your patients until you're done."

⟡ stares you down from afar when a patient or nurse tries to flirt with you, his eyes glazed over with pure protectiveness and something close to jealousy.

⟡ notices every little detail about you. the way you stand so stiff in a patients room, how you fidget with the stethoscope around your neck when you're anxious, how you're too nervous to actually talk to the other night shift staff, how you only go to him when you have a question.

⟡ makes sure you eat something during every shift, randomly tossing a sandwich that he stole from the food cart at you, a quick "eat." slipping past his lips before he walks away.

⟡ always asks for you specifically when in a trauma bay, taking any opportunity he can to be close to you and teach you anything he can (even if you already know how to do it, he's still mumbling a small "i just wanna make sure you're doing it right." before guiding you through it.)

reblogs appreciated <3 ᝰ part two is here .ᐟ

© illicitsuperstar 2025