pretty self explanatory. likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. ENJOY!
in the “other works” link you can find other fics written for mayans mc, the punisher (marvel netflix series), the last of us, and the boys (amazon series)
all fics can also be found in the “joannasteez” tag
*THE PITT (HBO)
new normal (jack abbot)
*WRESTLING FANFICTION
WEREWOLVES AU
Virginia Wolves
HANGMAN ADAM PAGE
ocean view
MULTI WRESTLER COLLEGE AU
are you still in love with me? (cm punk)
nightingale (damian priest)
ROMAN REIGNS
lavender based
whispers in the villa | whispers in loud places
nsfw alphabet
fall, for me
with me, the world is yours
stay, please
sing, just for me
crying, laughing, loving, lying
tanks of blood
strong!
shameful
goodbye
JEY USO & CODY RHODES
to the victors go the spoils
CM PUNK & CODY RHODES
starship pain
CODY RHODES
edge
adore
almost blue
i belong to you
public relations series: ruining me | dreams
CM PUNK
sweet things
heat
headcanon
some are made like this
the aftermath
DAMIAN PRIEST
conejita | 2
the vampir
EDDIE KINGSTON
sage
THE UNTITLED SERIES (stand alone's)
untitled one (roman reigns)
untitled two (cody rhodes & roman reigns)
200 WORD CHALLENGE
with the sun (eddie kingston)
citrus (roman reigns)
vices (cm punk)
just a dream (roman reigns)
Summary: You don't need a man to do a damn thing for you...but if Jack is offering...
Menu: Mafia!Jack Abbot x Independent!Black!Fem!Reader / 2.4k words / MDNI, fluff, smut, subby Jack because even a hardened man has a soft spot for you.
Author's Note: Still working on my long ass Dr. Abbot au story that's over 10k words now, but in the meantime...💚
Jack is a made man. A man who wants for nothing because he has it all.
The high-rise condo with the pretty skyline of Brooklyn and the beach house on the shores of Brazil. Suits in suede, silk, and leather loafers with a white gold watch but most days he prefers a simple white tee, dark denim jeans, and brown boots that have seen every season of wet and cold and heat. He’s worked for his wealth, cut his teeth the old fashioned way: holding the knife to the throats of many men who owed him that money. He’d turn it over to the boss but he’d get a nice cut…and he learned how to wash it, invest it, and spend it. He likes to spend it on you.
And you aren’t the kinda woman to ask for things. Or anything, really.
Something about needing anyone to do something for you rubs you the wrong way. If you can’t get it yourself, it ain’t worth having. You know it’s your strength, your superpower. You’ve earned everything in your possession…the pretty loft uptown and Rolls-Royce in the parking garage. The diamond-encrusted gold charm necklace of your initial that graces your clavicle and sparkles like the gem art on your black-painted, almond-shaped nails. That’s what caught Jack’s attention about you.
What kind of woman flaunts her wealth like…that? Like him…blink and you miss it because it’s not the most interesting thing about you. Because to him, your necklace looked out of place when you wore an oversized ash gray hoodie and matching sweats with burgundy Doc Martens on your feet…stomping down the steps to catch the Q. When he came to learn that you did have a car but preferred to take the train when you ran errands…and that you did not like it when men offered to pay your way…he was intrigued. Beside himself with wonder, actually.
“Can I have your number? I know you don’t need mine,” he’d said when you stood shoulder to shoulder in the crowded subway, both waiting for your ride.
“What do you want with it?” You’d smiled despite your best efforts to keep your eyes off his. Those hooded lids made his gaze soft on you when you could tell this man was carrying a piece. Yeah, you knew you recognized his face…his mugshot…but he ain’t scare you. You just didn’t want to be so easily amused by his raspy little chuckle and slick, half-smile.
“I want it so I can call this beautiful woman I met today…take her to this coffee shop I think she’d like.” Jack had his hands in his jeans pockets, chin tilted up with a shrug before his eyes caught yours and you smiled too big. That got a full smile out of him. “Does she like chocolate croissants? Maybe you could ask her for me.”
It should’ve stopped at the luscious Nespresso Fortado and baked sweets that prompted him to buy you the Vertou Pop Coffee and Espresso Maker and a dozen chocolate croissants that arrived at your office in a gift box and red ribbon bow. You made it stop at the dozens of white roses and Cartier d’amour gold bracelet.
But Jack likes to show you how he feels by giving you the things he thinks you like. Doesn’t matter to him how much money it costs…but it matters to you. You didn’t ask for it so you don’t need it…and if you did need it, you could buy it yourself, for yourself.
Unfortunately, Jack is a good listener.
Acts of service is a love language that caters well to your anti-love language of receiving gifts. You told him you don’t like to be showered in presents…and he told you he notices you don’t like to feel babied.
“True…I’m a grown woman,” you’d told him over a glass of merlot as you lounged in his den one Sunday evening. His couch was so big and comfy you’d sunk into it with your back on the cushions and your feet on his lap. You remembered he couldn’t stop himself from massaging them or lifting your shin in his grasp to his lips to kiss it because you’d fidget and giggle and make him grin.
“Grown women still need space to…relax,” Jack had mumbled above you. His third round of wine reduced to a red drip on the lip of the glass. His palms squeezed tender at the sole of your left foot and right ankle and made you hum.
“I am relaxed…” you’d mumbled back as your eyes slowly fell shut from your fourth glass of wine still perched between your fingers. You felt Jack carefully slip it from you to sit next to his on his poly and bark goa coffee table.
“But if you weren’t…would you come to me to…ease your mind?” He damn near whispered it to you or maybe your head was swimming in warm, fuzzy merlot waves, but you kept your eyes closed as you crinkled your brows and you chuckled.
“The fuck are you sayin’ to me, sir…”
“I’m sayin’...askin’...do you trust me to give you what you want? The things you really want?” His voice was clear then...coarse and low but intentional. You felt the heat of his smooth palm glide up and along your shin to your knee. His fingertips trailed just past it to your thigh to softly squeeze you until you bit your lip.
“You think you know what I really want?” you’d asked in a voice that didn’t sound like your own. It was heavier, slower, yet airier, like it was still smothered under those merlot waves but his touch had coaxed you to the surface to breathe him in a little…the scent of his cologne was closer then when he leaned over you. Hints of vanilla and sweet oak. His fingertips had skimmed your throat and jaw and chin and his breath was warm on your lips where he kissed the corner of your mouth.
“I want to learn. Want you to tell me...”
And you just weren’t the kinda woman to ask for things. But Jack wasn’t trying to trick you into begging him for something. He was trying to understand how to give a woman like you anything to satisfy you.
Jack is a made man. A man who wants for nothing but you.
It feels kinda crazy to have a man like that on his knees for you. But it’s right where he needs to be.
You like how he wears his handsome face…those low lids barely hiding the softness of his eyes on you. Fixed on you. Biting his bottom lip to distract himself from just how fixated he is on you as you’d tasked his hands to unclasp the strap of your Jimmy Choo stiletto. That is the only task he is currently allowed to use his hands for.
You let your hand reach for him, though. A couple of fingertips tracing the collar of his button-up and you tease your touch over the first button that’s still in place and not revealing a peak of his chest muscles. You aren’t going to remove his shirt yet, if at all. Sometimes, it’s more fun when he’s fully dressed and you’re nude…makes the mess you leave behind on his slacks or the frays of the buttons you snapped more pleasing to see.
Jack’s fingertips are working at that other strap now…unwinding it from the loop. Slipping it from around your ankle before his palm rests beneath your calf to support it as he gently tugs the heel from your foot. You watch him place it next to your other heel on the carpet of his bedroom floor and return his fingers to your ankle, holding it like you are made of glass as he leans in to breathe on your skin. He closes his eyes and inhales a little and you can’t help but grin to yourself. Yes, you did dab a bit of your perfume there…yes, you do like how it makes him exhale a tiny groan.
“Look at me,” you purr to him to bring him out of your spell just a little…his eyes flit open to look up at you and you try not to groan, too. The way he licks his lips in that moment as he holds your leg in anticipation to kiss along your skin almost makes you give him what he wants.
But this isn’t about what he wants…
“Are you hungry?”
“Yes.” His coarse voice even more so now with the strain of desire in it.
“Then be good. Taste me.”
You want his mouth on every bit of you as he relishes in your scent before he kisses there. Inching up your leg, lips trailing your shin, your knee, your thigh. Telling him to slow the hell down and stop being greedy when the tip of his nose nudged the seam of your damp thong as you spread for him, letting him get a peek under your House of CB Rosalina mini dress. But not a meal. Not yet. Just a taste of skin.
It was driving him insane and that fact makes you grin to yourself, right in his face, his cheeks showing a bit of pink from your teasing. He’s painfully hard for you and you know it. You feel it beneath your foot that isn’t dangling over his left shoulder. Pressing to the thick rod that is his dick, warm and firm in his slacks, likely leaking onto his boxers for you because you won’t let him free himself from his clothes. When he twitches, you grin even bigger, feeling his dick pulse under the curve of your sole…feeling his breath stammer across your skin and his fingers flex around your hips like he wants to rip off your stupid dress and underwear.
“Do you want to fuck me?”
You see it in his eyes that his response is another “yes” but you can also see he’s trying to be good and not want what he’s not allowed to want just yet.
Such a good boy…
“Answer me.”
“...Yeah. Please…” Breathy, raspy, pathetic.
And because you want that, too, it happens. Jack yearns to give you what you want and after feeling the heat of his hard dick throb for you, yeah. You need that.
He waits for you to give him the okay to do what he’s been dying to do…roll down your thong until it slips from your ankle to the carpet. Hike up your dress until it bunches around your corseted waist and stays out of his way so his hands can grip you tight. Watching you with desperation growing in his eyes as you unbuckle, unzip, and unfurl his dick from his pants to stroke in your hand, feeling the soft slip of delicate skin move in your palm as you get him harder. Listening to him groan again when you caress your thumb over his slit to catch the leak, seeing him bite his lip again as you rub your clit with his slick, mixing sweetly with your own that sticks to your inner thighs.
It should make him pushing in easier but there was always a stretch…the first inch or so making you hiss and paw at his button-up as you guide him inside of you. Stroking what still has yet to fit and feeling his thumbs threaten to bruise your hips as he squeezes you. “Fffuck,” he hisses back, gaze falling to see how your pussy tries to yield to him. And it makes you contract around him, his attention, his sounds, his touch, his angle because even a few inches could get you off. Especially if you tilt your hips a little more…
“Don’t move,” you warn him. You know he wouldn’t dare, not without permission, but his body language was telling. Shoulders stiff and arms bent but frozen like he’s afraid to make a wrong move chasing what feels good and disobeying you. But you know him. He wants slow, shallow thrusts until he’s sunk into you to the hilt before he leans over you, holding your thighs to his chest with a hand while the other hand palms the sheets as he fucks into you into his bed.
But this is about what you want…
Seven inches…and all you need right now is three. You feel it already, that delicious warmth coiling tight somewhere deep in you and spreading with every rock of your hips on the edge of the bed. He could reach your spot just like this…his blunt head gliding and pressing it with each pass and compelling whimpers out of you as you knead his length you won’t allow inside. Feeling him pulse in your hand before he whimpers back…letting him pin your thighs onto the bed to carefully open you more, give you more space to reach him, fuck yourself with your favorite toy.
“Jack…” His name escapes you like a plea but you’re in control. You’ve set the pace, you’ve created the agony of that coil burning and winding tighter as you slide yourself up and down on his tip…it’s you letting it build and build and build until your pussy betrays you with another contraction…then another. And it feels so fucking good. “Touch me…”
Your command makes him moan, guttural and aching to please you. To make you come. Because he knows that’s what you want and he knows how to get you there. Wordlessly plucking a hand from the back of your thigh to bring to his lips before he licks his thumb, grazing the wet, soft pad over your clit in a down motion before tracing the shape of you with enough pressure to feel you crumble as you whine his name again.
You want to keep massaging him but, goddamn, you have to clasp the sheets to keep yourself from accidentally wriggling off of him. Your body acts on its own when he makes you come like this…hips stuttering and grinding with each wave of pleasure that seems to grow stronger from the more he moves with you, the slower he rubs your clit, and the huskier his sexy groans leave him, washing over you until your chest is rising and falling with your pants and heart thudding in your chest.
You don’t even have to look to feel your wetness seeping onto his pants that he still has on.
“Honey…” He’s pleading with you again. Held his composure for a minute in hopes you’d recover…but as you look up at him with that handsome face crumpling and lips part, you see he can’t hold on much longer. The feeling of you soaking and warm and snug around him, wrapping your fingers around the base of him again to make him press deeper, make him fill you, hearing his moan for you trail off with your name…
“That’s it…come for me.”
Likes, reblogs, and comments appreciated if you liked this! Thank you for reading! 💚
Yesterday, the house where we used to live was bombed with our relatives and towards us from death miraculously. We ask you, my friends, to donate to us to buy clothes for me, my wife and my children. We lost something again after we lost our house.
"I am Salah Ahmed Mohammed Alshareef from Gaza. I have two children, Youssef, 12 years o… Brais Gallego needs your support for rebuild Alsha
jack and robby's ex!reader [nicknamed doc] are fucking; bold indicates smut/mdni
𖤝 introduction
𖤝 crumbs: your ex-husband swears his best friend wouldn't do that... not jack.
𖤝 like he wouldn't believe: jack can't help but glow upon his return to work after a long week of taking advantage of your and his arrangement.
𖤝 first time: jack has this trick that can make you temporarily forget that robby ever existed.
𖤝 waffles: your ex might collapse at the sight of you as anything but as miserable as him.
𖤝 denial: for you, it's supposed to be "just sex." jack's making that a little hard, though.
would LOVE to see jack talking to robby about his newest hookup that's still in it's infancy ("you're looking smug; what, you finally get laid?" "like you wouldn't believe, brother") and robby taking the bait, asking for details, being non-the-wiser that it's ~you~
MASTERLIST(S) | PREVIOUS PART | INBOX ✉
˙⋆✮ JACK and ROBBY'S EX!READER are fucking... and jack can't help but glow upon his return to work after the first week of your and his arrangement. warnings include language, robby + (some) jack pov, attending!fem!reader, allusions to oral sex and ripping clothes
even though you're on nights now, you've been a sharp, blister-inducing thorn at every one of robby's upon your return to work. a reappearance that has plagued what was supposed to be a life without you, you were, and he doesn't even think about forgiving you for it.
at least he's got jack, who's mouth has been twisted into a repressed grin of smug and sure since he walked into ptmc. backpack slung on one shoulder while he walks to the lockers with an extra something sprinkled into his usual swagger.
robby catches him at the lockers. call it cliche because it is, but robby needs to know the dirt on why this man is, for lack of a better term, gleaming from the inside out with the air of a pleased, pleased man.
"you look…" post-coital. "like you had an entertaining week off."
the night shift attending just dips his head, shoving hands into pockets to tip up and down. his mouth forms something that one of the younger nurses reffered to as a meep (whatever the fuck that means), downtowrned at the corners to form a shape that reads unbothered.
"one could say that," jack nods again, giving nothing more.
alright. this seems good, so robby'll work for it.
"could one also say someone finally got laid?" robby tries and gets an instant answer of more happy silence from jack. "well, congratulations. the dry spell club is sad to see you go, but glad that you finally crawled your way out."
"feel like i should be crawling with the past couple days her and i had," jack rasps, lips finally curling into the fully-formed smirk whose corners you kissed all over less than an hour ago with your cherry-flavored lip balm while jack kneaded the cheeks of your ass.
"oh, wow," robby laughs, folding his arms to settle in. yes. jokes and innuendos. jokes and innuendos are just what he needs, 'cause soon you'll be here, and all things good will be nothing more than a distant memory. "took you for a ride, huh?"
"best'a my life," jack sniffs, crossing his own arms against his chest. "shit that we did made me feel i was damn near twenty again."
robby leans, taking the chance to live through jack for as long as the moment will let him. what he wouldn't give for a night like that. the questions he asks aren't that intrusive. this is just talk between friends, anyway, right?
"well, 'm happy for you, brother," robby finally sighs, resting the side of his face in his palm. truly, he was. a little jealous, but content to hear some dirty details on a part of his life that's whittled away into nothing. "sounds like you had enough fun for the both of us."
jack gives robby a pat on the arm as they start a walk back towards the nurses hub. "just gotta put yourself out there. that's the only way to get outta this funk you got goin' on… no offense."
robby's huff is interrupted as the two men turn the corner. he gets stuck in a painful rigidity of tight shoulders and tensed neck, nose wrinkling at an unwelcome sight–you. walking this way. in one of the new sets of scrubs hugging you and a stupid glow to your face.
certain if he looks any longer that he might actually puke, robby averts his eyes. they accidentally land on jack, who nods a simple hello your way.
"hey."
you nod back. keeping your pace and throwing back an easy greeting. completely ignoring robby.
"hey, abbot."
robby holds his breath until you're past them. jack licks at the inside of his mouth, nothing to say while his heart thudds at the hints of you that linger atop his tongue.
god, you tasted… 'divine' isn't even the right way to put it, jack thinks. he walks beside robby, who's gotten lost somewhere deep in his thoughts. jack rolls around in his own for a few, almost grunting at the memory of how you sound when you gag on his fingers… cock twitching at how fucked-out you still looked after waking up to him palming your belly from behind this morning… wondering what color panties you'd picked out to wear for tonight's shift.
it wouldn't be the blue ones, since he ripped those two days ago.
purple ones? the first pair you bought after signing the divorce papers, apparently.
He survived death under the rubble, should we let him die now because he lacks his medicine? 🥺
My entire family was injured, but my brother Samer is in the most critical condition.
I am not asking for much; this small donation is literally the "line between life and death" for Samer.
Please, be the voice he has lost... donate to save him, or share this post to reach those who can help. 🙏 GoFundMe
Vetted! #75 on @gazavetters , #171 on PaliLiberation
sprinkles of laughter filter through the door, bright sounding and full of that usual familiar mischievous streak. banter and banter and more banter, welling up in the walls of what Food and Wine call one of the best restaurants of 2026. "The Reserve" is more familial than not, and sometimes it really isn't.
your body neither braces or cringes, just simply takes the lap of his tongue against your neck. the lay of it unapologetic before he's suckling the skin and moaning softly in your ear. the office door working overtime to conceal whatever self satisfaction in him decides to play.
casual fine dining is a bitch of a hill to climb. brunch and mimosas and shitty little jokes till the clock strikes 3 PM and suddenly then, a hyper sensitive perception glazes the eyes, sophistication this swift thick blanket that swaddles the kitchen to an uncomfortable heat. Its Michaelangleo disrupting the drunk leisure of a paint and sip to shutdown the mediocrity of a loosened grandmothers paint by numbers canvas.
family meal is from 3 to 4 and then an extra hour is taken to prep before the nightly open at 6. a menu exchange and ironed table cloth draped to perfection. Jack picked the weekly wine selection a month ago, and settled the week's menu a week before that. a precision characterized by some former experienced failure. like when a soldier misses once, but then subscribes to never missing again, even to the detriment of his own wellbeing.
"dine and die are too close together not to mean something", he said once. when the moon was low and coming in tenderly through his bedroom window. his mouth close to your ear and his arm wrapped around your waist. back when the sneaking and kissing and sly touches were new and confined to secrecy.
"you smell nice", he gives. his nose pressing to draw up slow. before his tongue peaks again.
"s'the bacon from brunch". his tongue peaking again, a gentle lick at your pulse that wakes your skin to a shudder. "you're fucking dirty". chuckling lightly. your fingers filing through salt-pepper hair, tenderly and without much caution. the pads of your fingers circling, like maybe you're looking for more of whatever he's offering.
his mouth trails a line of kisses. at your neck and then your jaw till he's sweet at your mouth. pecking till it forms into something that lasts longer. and then he's teases his tongue again, this time at yours, enough to pull a moan from you and a squeeze at your hips. "dirty is a condition of yearning".
you laugh. the brunt of it muffled. his mouth working still, albeit with his own smile.
"you didn't make that up did you?"
"no sadly. i learn from tiktok more and more everyday".
he moves in again, a little more insistent on making this tucked away moment a full force demonstration of pleasure. you follow him, lapping your tongue at his before he's suckling it, firmer than the pressure on your neck and his breath is taking in fuller. like he means to stay here for a while. a stiff moan breaks up and the loose hold he'd had on your hips flushes you tight to him and then he's pushing you into the wall. your fingers tug the short curl of his grays, the creep of that full forced demonstration nearing closer and closer.
a knock sounds at the door. loud. obnoxious. like it knows the current scene of jack's office. "family's up".
I write to you with a broken heart: I will not forget those who see my plea and ignore it. My child is withering away before my eyes, and my strength as a mother is no longer enough to save him alone. Please—help me, share, and donate now. Don't let your silence cause me to lose my child.
My child lives in a tent lacking the most basic necessities, in harsh conditions unsuitable for his health. With each passing day, his suffering increases and his health is put at greater risk. Every moment that passes means more pain for him. Please, your donation could be the reason his life is saved.
I am a mother appealing to your compassionate hearts not to leave my child alone in this battle. If you are unable to donate, your contribution may reach someone who can help. Compassion works miracles, and one donation today could give my child a chance to live tomorrow.