Byeeeee

Personal account

[veaspo]

jack abbot p!links // mdni

you must be signed into x to view the links. if some do not work pls let me know.

—

husband!abbot sucking on your boobs while fucking you

older!bf!abbot fucking you on the couch

squirting on older!bf!abbots cock

cheating on your bf with older!neighbor!abbot

dbf!abbot fucking your pussy, camgirl!reader(?)

creaming on dbf!abbots cock

older!bf!abbot trying to help you sleep better

grinding on older!bf!abbots cock

older!husband!abbot breeding your pussy

married!abbot cheating on his wife and filling you up

paying older!uberdriver!abbot in a different way

one-nightstand!abbot fucking your throat

armymedic!abbot playing with your boobs in his uniform

police!abbot eating your pussy in his uniform

mutual masturbation with bf!abbot

—

no stepdad!abbot, mama didnt wanna potentially get flamed

[just-somedude-deactivated202502]

CNC and Safewords

"No Daddy I don't want it"

"I don't care, you're mine and I'll use you how I want"

*safeword comes out*

"Oh baby I'm so sorry what's wrong? How can I help? Are you okay? I love you, you're safe, I'm here. I promise."

Since some people don't seem to know how CNC works

[daddycal73]

How it’s supposed to be!

[kxsalt]

“Where’sass the party at?” The girl is slurring her words. A few hours ago she was drunk, now she’s something far past that. The group of men address her politely. “You’re looking for the warehouse over there.” Pointing directly behind her at the loud rave not twenty metres away.

She wobbles in place. “Cnan you help me find it?” The men laugh, and oblige her. One of them lifts her up onto his shoulder. Her short little black dress rides up, revealing more of her fishnet stockings. Pantyless, her bare pussy and pink buttplug are easily visible. “Wheeee!- :3” she giggles as the man carries her into the warehouse.

Heart-pounding music floods through her, and she’s dazed by the flashing lights. Through her blurred vision she can barely make out the mess of bodies writhing and groping each other. The helpful man sets her down and points her towards the crowd. “Looksh like fun!” She mumbles excitedly. He plants a firm smack on her ass, sending her stumbling into the chaos.

Falling into the arms of one of the dancers, she starts to push her body against him immediately. “You look like my daddy!” He laughs as they grind against each other. She rolls her hips, trying to rub herself against his leg, but something is in the way. The girl looks down to see the man’s hand planted firmly on her pussy, two fingers laced through the fishnet stockings and deep in her cunt.

“You act like my daddy, too!” She tries to kiss the stranger. His second hand grabs her by the neck and pushes her back. She moans and presses her clit into the palm of his hand. A third hand reaches into her dress, groping her breast. A fourth slides two fingers into her mouth. Her already drunk speech now incoherent. Someone spits into her mouth. A fifth hand adds more fingers to her sloppy cunt.

She closes her eyes and enjoys the attention. Dozing off in a drunken horny stupor, she comes back for a second. She looks around for the older man who caught her, but can’t see through the crowd. Looking back, a new man has gripped onto her hips, fucking her little pussy. “You’ren’t my daddy :(“ the girl whines.

Daddy or not, her hole is filled with his cum. He pulls put his cock and lifts up her petite body. The man offers her to another dancer, who forces his cock into her freshly used pussy. She wraps her arms and legs around him. “I loooove this song!” She bounces on his dick, nowhere close to the rhythm of the house music. The girl fades out again.

A few couches make a lounge area on the dancefloor. She wakes to a mouthful of cum, spread open over an armrest. The girl asks the man buried deep in her cunt: “Did I sucksh your cock?” Confused and disoriented, the cum drools out of her mouth onto her already-cum-stained black dress.

Another girl climbs onto the couch and sits on her face. She fingers herself and rubs her pussy against the tongue of the drunk slut. The creampies she’s collected pour into her mouth and all over her face. She hops off, leaving the cum slut to swallow the loads for her. Gulping, she looks to the man who is using her, but he’s finished and is walking away. Another one takes his place. Again, the girl blacks out.

Now she’s sucking cock, her cheek stretched by the head of his dick while he slaps her awake. Feeling a strong vibration deep inside of her, the girl finds herself being used by a gorgeous woman with a strap-on. She rambles once the cock is taken out of her mouth. “You’rsho beutiful.” A man positions himself behind the woman, roughly pressing into her ass. The woman fucks the young girl harder, moaning from the anal sex and vibrations from the strap-on “I thinksh I’m bisexual. Girls arr so pretty.” The cock that was in her mouth covers her face in cum.

She’s in the midst of an orgasm. My first from a woman! She gasps, enjoying the new feeling. Opening her eyes, she finds a man fucking her to completion. “Awwhh… Have you seen my friend?” He ignores her, pulling her hips in close to fuck her as deeply as he can.

Stockings ripped to shreds, someone is fucking her anally. The girl is too tired to look at him, instead grasping onto his strong arms wrapped around her tummy. “Whersh my buttplug? It’s my favrite!” Somebody comes to stuff his cock into the cum dump. “Can you help me find my plug?” He finishes and leaves, the next man takes his spot. “Whersh my plug? It’s pink!” The man in her ass starts pumping faster.

She’s lying on the floor, a few dancers slowly wiggling around her. The girl can barely move. A woman plays with her pussy, fingers easily slipping in from all the cum. Even in her limp state, the young girl ekes out another orgasm. “Yur my bestfriend.” She doesn’t know if the woman heard her.

The little girl is lying on her bathroom floor, obliterated and oblivious to how she got home. Someone is on top of her, though the girl is so fucked up she isn’t even sure what hole he’s using. Daylight is coming in through the windows. “Are you my daddy?” He doesn’t respond. She’s not sure she said it out loud. He leaves, and the apartment is empty.

The young girl curls up next to the toilet, and falls asleep.

[belleeebelleee]

Safe, Because He Is

Trinity Santos, Victoria Javadi, Samira Mohan, Dennis Whitaker, Parker Ellis, John Shen x fem!reader (platonic)

Jack Abbot x fem!reader (Its kinda assumed that you and Jack have feelings for each other but that neither of you have acted on it)

You wind up back in the ER after a night out.

Warnings: attempted sexual assault, reader is assaulted in a bar, blood, asshole creep, reader punches someone, reader knees someone in the dick

The night was supposed to be easy.

Not quiet—none of your nights ever were—but easy in the way that came from stepping outside the hospital, from trading fluorescent lights for dim amber ones, from swapping the constant rhythm of monitors for music that thumped low enough in your chest to remind you that you were still human outside of scrubs and clipped instructions.

You were wedged into a booth with Trinity Santos, Victoria Javadi, Samira Mohan, and Dennis Whitaker, a drink sweating in your hand, your head tipped back in a rare, unguarded laugh at something Dennis had just said—something sarcastic, something perfectly timed, something that made Samira roll her eyes even as she smiled into the rim of her glass.

For once, you weren’t thinking about patients.

Or charts.

Or the way Jack Abbot’s voice lingered in your head long after your shifts ended—sharp, steady, always just a little too present.

For once, you were just—

Here.

“Look at you,” Trinity teased, nudging your shoulder lightly. “Relaxing. I was starting to think you didn’t know how.”

“I do,” you shot back, though your smile gave you away. “I just don’t make it a habit.”

“Tragic,” Victoria muttered, sipping her drink. “We should fix that.”

“You’re trying,” you said dryly. “I’ll give you that.”

The night blurred in the best way after that—music, conversation, the easy rhythm of people who knew each other well enough to fill silences without effort.

Until you got up.

“Bathroom,” you murmured, sliding out of the booth.

Samira glanced up. “Want me to come?”

You shook your head. “I’ll survive the journey.”

Famous last words.

The hallway leading toward the bathrooms was narrower, quieter, the music fading just enough that the shift felt immediate, like stepping out of one world and into another.

You didn’t think anything of it.

Not at first.

Not until someone stepped into your path.

You slowed, instinct prickling.

“Hey,” he said, voice too familiar, too close.

Your stomach tightened.

You recognised him vaguely—not enough to place, but enough to know you’d seen him before. Maybe at the hospital. Maybe somewhere else. It didn’t matter.

“Excuse me,” you said, trying to step around him.

He didn’t move.

Instead, he smiled.

Wrong.

Too slow. Too certain.

“Don’t rush off,” he said. “We were just getting to the good part.”

“There is no part,” you replied, sharper now, your body angling away, already looking for space, for an opening.

He closed it.

Stepped closer.

Too close.

Your back brushed the wall before you could stop it.

“Come on,” he murmured, and then his hand was on you.

Not accidental.

Not light.

Gripping your waist, pulling you in like you belonged there, like you were something he had a right to touch.

Every nerve in your body lit up at once.

“No,” you said immediately, shoving against his chest. “Get off—”

He didn’t.

His other hand came up, fingers digging into your arm, sliding, grabbing, trying to drag you closer despite your resistance, his breath too close, his grip tightening like he thought persistence would turn into permission.

It didn’t.

Something in you snapped.

Clean. Immediate.

You didn’t think.

You reacted.

Your knee drove up hard, catching him off-guard just enough for his grip to falter, and you twisted out of it, shoving him back with everything you had.

“Don’t touch me,” you snapped, your voice louder now, sharper, cutting through the hallway.

He stumbled.

Then lunged.

And that—

That was a mistake.

Because you were tired, and you were angry, and you were done being cornered.

Your fist connected with his face before he could grab you again.

Hard.

The crack of bone was sickeningly clear.

He reeled back with a shout, hands flying to his nose as blood poured through his fingers, shock replacing whatever confidence he’d had before.

You didn’t wait.

You moved.

Out of the hallway, back into the noise, back into the safety of people and light and sound.

Trinity was on her feet before you even reached the table.

“What happened?” she demanded, eyes scanning you quickly, taking in the way your breathing was uneven, the way your arm—

Your arm.

You looked down.

Scratches.

Red, angry lines where his fingers had dug in.

“Someone call it,” Dennis said immediately, already moving, already looking past you toward the hallway.

Victoria swore under her breath.

Samira’s hand found your shoulder, steady, grounding. “We’re leaving.”

No one argued.

You didn’t even have time to process it before you were being ushered out, your drink abandoned, the night cut short in a way that left your adrenaline crashing hard against your ribs.

“Hospital,” Trinity said, already pulling out her keys. “Now.”

“I’m fine,” you tried.

“You’re bleeding,” Victoria shot back.

“It’s scratches—”

“And you just decked someone hard enough to break his nose,” Dennis added. “You’re coming.”

That was that.

The ER doors slid open like they always did.

Familiar.

Clinical.

Safe.

But tonight, the shift felt different.

Sharper.

The moment you stepped inside, everything snapped back into place—the pace, the movement, the low hum of urgency—but now you were on the other side of it.

Not the doctor.

The patient.

And somehow, that made it worse.

“Sit,” Samira said, guiding you toward a bed.

Parker Ellis appeared like she always did—fast, efficient, eyes already scanning, already assessing.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Bar fight,” Dennis said.

“Self-defence,” Trinity corrected immediately.

Parker’s gaze flicked to you, softer now, searching. “You okay?”

You nodded, though it felt a little hollow.

“I’m fine.”

She didn’t look convinced.

“You’re getting checked anyway.”

Of course you were.

And then—

“Abbot!” someone called from across the department.

Your stomach dropped.

Of course.

Of course it was him.

Jack appeared a second later, already mid-conversation, already in motion—until he saw you.

And stopped.

Everything about him went still.

Not outwardly.

Not in a way anyone else would notice.

But you saw it.

The shift.

His eyes moved over you once, quick but thorough, taking in everything—the scratches, the tension in your shoulders, the way your friends hovered just a little too close.

Then he was moving again.

Straight toward you.

“What happened?” he asked, voice even, but there was something under it now—tight, controlled.

“She got grabbed,” Trinity said, her tone sharp. “Guy tried to put his hands where they didn’t belong.”

Jack’s gaze snapped back to you.

“Did he?” he asked quietly.

You swallowed. “I handled it.”

“I can see that,” he said, glancing briefly at your arm.

“His nose lost,” Dennis added.

Jack’s jaw tightened.

“Good,” he said.

Not sarcastic.

Not joking.

Just—good.

He stepped closer, his attention narrowing completely onto you now, the rest of the room fading out in that way it always seemed to when he focused on something.

“Let me see,” he said, reaching gently for your arm.

His touch was careful.

Controlled.

But there was tension in it.

In him.

The scratches weren’t deep, but they were angry, red against your skin, a physical reminder of something that shouldn’t have happened at all.

Jack’s thumb hovered just beside one of them, not touching, just—

There.

“Anywhere else hurt?” he asked.

“No.”

“Are you sure.”

Not a question.

A check.

You nodded. “I’m sure.”

He held your gaze for a second longer.

Then nodded once.

“Alright.”

Behind him, there was a commotion.

Voices.

Raised.

You didn’t need to turn to know.

But you did anyway.

They were wheeling him in.

Blood still smeared across his face, a nurse pressing gauze to his nose, his expression a mix of pain and anger and something uglier underneath.

Your stomach twisted.

Jack saw it.

He turned back to you immediately, stepping just slightly into your line of sight, blocking it.

“You don’t need to look at him,” he said.

Across the room, Parker’s voice cut in.

“Yeah, no. Hard pass,” she said, already moving to your side, placing herself there like a barrier. “I’m not leaving her.”

“Good,” Jack replied.

Another nurse called out, “We need someone on this!”

There was a pause.

A beat where the entire room seemed to wait.

Jack didn’t move.

Parker didn’t either.

Across the floor, John Shen looked at the man, then back at the two of them, then at the universe like it had personally wronged him.

“…Just so we’re clear,” Shen said, already pulling on gloves with the air of a man who had accepted his fate, “I hate this for me.”

No one argued.

He sighed dramatically, heading toward the bed.

“If anyone needs me,” he added loudly, “I’m living my worst life over here!”

Despite everything—

Despite the adrenaline, the anger, the lingering shake in your hands—

You huffed out a quiet, breathless laugh.

Jack glanced at you.

Just briefly.

But it was enough.

“Stay here,” he said.

You didn’t argue.

Not this time.

Because Parker was still beside you, solid and steady, Samira’s hand still resting lightly on your shoulder, Trinity and Victoria hovering close, Dennis watching the room like he was ready to throw hands again if necessary—

And Jack—

Jack was right there.

Close enough that you could feel it.

That steady, unyielding presence.

Concern.

Anger.

Something deeper, just under the surface.

And for the first time since it happened—

You felt safe.

For a while, the ER splits cleanly in two.

On one side, it’s what it always is—controlled chaos, sharp voices, movement, decisions made in seconds. On the other, it narrows down to something smaller, tighter, centered entirely around you and the bed you’ve been sat on like you might disappear if no one keeps you anchored there.

Parker doesn’t leave.

Not even when someone calls her name from across the department. She just glances over, assesses, and then pointedly looks back at you like that settles it.

“Someone else can handle it,” she says, folding her arms. “I’m busy.”

“With me?” you ask, a little incredulous.

“With making sure you don’t downplay this and try to leave early,” she corrects. “Which you’re already thinking about, by the way.”

You open your mouth.

Close it again.

“…I hate that you know me so well.”

“I don’t,” Parker replies easily. “You’re just predictable.”

There’s something comforting in it. In the normalcy. In the way she says it like this isn’t the most important thing in the room, even though her stance makes it very clear that, to her, it is.

Across the room, John Shen is still narrating his own personal downfall.

“Oh, fantastic,” he mutters loudly enough for half the ER to hear. “We’ve got a deviated septum and a personality problem. Love that for me.”

A nurse snorts.

“Do I get hazard pay for this?” Shen continues, adjusting his gloves with exaggerated annoyance. “Because I feel like I should get hazard pay for this.”

“You’re doing great, Shen,” Dennis calls out dryly.

“I’m not,” Shen shoots back immediately. “I’m thriving under protest.”

Despite everything, the corner of your mouth lifts.

It helps.

More than you expected it to.

But it doesn’t last long.

Because Jack comes back.

You feel him before you see him again—that same shift in the air, the way conversation near you dips just slightly like people instinctively make room for him without even realizing they’re doing it.

Parker notices too.

She glances over, then back at you, something passing through her expression—approval, maybe. Or relief.

“Your favourite’s back,” she murmurs under her breath.

You shoot her a look.

She doesn’t take it back.

Jack steps up beside the bed, his attention immediately on you again, like the rest of the department is just background noise.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Fine,” you answer automatically.

Parker snorts.

Jack’s eyes flick to her.

“She’s not fine,” Parker says flatly. “She’s holding it together because she’s stubborn.”

“I am fine,” you insist.

Jack looks at you.

Really looks.

And something in your chest tightens under the weight of it, because he doesn’t rush it, doesn’t fill the silence, just studies you like he’s reading everything you’re not saying out loud.

“You’re safe,” he says finally.

It’s not an answer to your words.

It’s an answer to something else entirely.

Something you hadn’t voiced.

Your throat feels a little tighter than it should.

“I know.”

He nods once, like that matters.

Then his attention shifts, just slightly, back to your arm.

“Let me clean this properly,” he says.

It’s quieter now.

Less sharp.

You hold still as he reaches for supplies, his movements precise, efficient—but there’s an edge to them tonight, a tension that wasn’t there before, like everything is being held just a fraction tighter than usual.

When he takes your arm again, his touch is careful.

Almost too careful.

“You’re going to feel this,” he murmurs.

“I’ve had worse,” you say lightly.

His jaw tightens.

“I’m aware.”

The antiseptic stings.

Not badly, but enough that you hiss under your breath.

His grip steadies, thumb brushing just lightly against your wrist—grounding, intentional, like he’s reminding you that you’re here, that he’s here, that nothing else is getting through that space.

“You shouldn’t have had to deal with that,” he says, voice low.

Something flickers in your chest.

“I handled it.”

“You shouldn’t have had to,” he repeats.

There’s a difference this time.

You don’t argue.

Because you know what he means.

Across the room, Shen’s voice cuts through again.

“Good news,” he calls out, far too cheerful for the situation. “I'm going to live. Bad news—so is he.”

A few people laugh.

Jack doesn’t.

His focus doesn’t shift.

“You reported it?” he asks.

You hesitate.

Just for a second.

It’s enough.

His eyes lift to yours immediately.

“You didn’t.”

“I was a little busy punching him,” you mutter.

“That’s not the part I’m concerned about.”

Parker hums in agreement.

“We can file something,” she says. “Hospital security at the very least.”

Samira nods. “You should.”

Trinity crosses her arms. “He doesn’t get to walk away from that.”

Victoria’s expression is sharp. “Not a chance.”

Dennis just says, “Point me in a direction.”

You glance between them, something warm and overwhelming settling low in your chest despite everything.

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Yeah. We will.”

Jack watches you for a second longer.

Then nods once, decisive.

“Good.”

He finishes with your arm, placing the last dressing with care, his fingers lingering for just a fraction longer than necessary before he pulls back.

“You’ll have some bruising,” he says, slipping back into that clinical tone, but it’s thinner now, like it’s just a layer over something else. “Keep it clean. If there’s any sign of infection—”

“I know,” you say softly.

His gaze flicks back to yours.

A beat passes.

Then another.

And suddenly it feels like the rest of the room has fallen away again, like it’s just the two of you standing in the middle of something neither of you have quite named yet.

“Hey,” Parker cuts in, not unkindly, but deliberately. “She’s not going anywhere alone tonight.”

Jack doesn’t look away from you when he answers.

“She won’t be.”

There’s something in the way he says it.

Final.

Certain.

Your breath catches slightly.

Parker notices.

Of course she does.

“Good,” she says, satisfied. “Because I’d rather not commit a felony tonight.”

“Speak for yourself,” Dennis mutters.

“Dennis,” Samira warns.

“What?” he shrugs. “I’m just saying—”

“You’re not helping.”

Shen, from across the room, raises a hand without looking up from his patient. “For the record, if anyone does commit a felony, I was never here.”

“You’re literally here right now,” Victoria calls back.

“I am spiritually elsewhere,” Shen replies.

That pulls another quiet laugh out of you.

Jack’s expression softens, just slightly, at the sound.

And when things finally settle—when the paperwork is started, when security is looped in, when the adrenaline fades enough that your body starts to remember what shaking feels like—

Jack doesn’t leave.

Not when Parker steps away to take a call.

Not when Trinity and the others give you space, hovering just far enough to let you breathe.

He stays.

Close.

Steady.

Like he’s not going anywhere until he knows—without a doubt—that you’re okay.

And maybe, just maybe—

Like he wouldn’t mind staying even after that.

[machiavelliam]

Soldier Boy's chest glows . . .

───── ` And if we consider that supes' powers could also be activated during sex. . . The same applies to him.

Imagine riding him for so long, all eager and cockdrunk on top of him while he's maintaining a bruising grip on your hips as you try to keep up the messy rhythm for both of you, whining and sobbing because he's so deep, hitting those sweet places inside you that make you clench around his length and arch your back, moaning his name, fingers digging on his pecs, biting your lips at the sight of his expression twisted in pleasure.

And just when you're both about to reach that euphoric release, you feel a burning heat beneath your hands that are pressing Ben's flesh, looking down to see with fascination that dangerous light forming beneath his sweaty skin, the color shinning and intensifying depending on how needy and sloppy he becomes with his thrusts, pushing his hips up to feel more of your tight grip around his weeping cock, strong hands trapping you so you can't move, then as expected, losing control of his powers, causing the fear bloom all over your body at the same time mingling with an intense tingling, pushing you towards your own orgasm.

` Tag list

@sim0nrileyss @badussy-wars

[rawrrrmlem]

tags: dub con? monster fucking, man handling, breeding, knot stuff, cervix stuff, size diffrence, this is set in mediaeval times i think

A/N: it gets straight to the smut. wrote this while i was bored and crazy hope you enjoy. viewer discretion advised

Everyday just before nightfall, you treat yoursef to a bath in a hot spring near your village. beyond the woods past trees and thorn bushes. Its a wonderful way to spend an evening. Sounds of a waterfall near by, flowers in bloom falling and decorating the water you lay in.

the water is warm and calms you, letting you forget all of the chores you must do when you return home. unfortunately, today was a long day, and when you were finally given some free time the sun was already setting. but desperately, stupidly, you went anyway. Bringing a few candles for the darkness to come.

and all is good! your here bathing, the candles give a nice aroma; a sweet smell and yellow tinted lighting. you watch the full moon and listen to the sounds night brings. an owl near by, crickets, an occasional scurry in a bush.. but it was probably nothing.

you relaxe into the water, you let it calm you. closing your eyes and listening to your breathhing. you feel the rocks you’re leaning on, the cool breeze and the contrast of the warm water surrounding you. and.. water dropplets on your face? thats not normal.

you open your eyes to see a gigantic werewolf hunched over yourself huffing, scrunching its face and baring its teeth.

you scream!! wrong move. you dash to the other side of the pool hoping you can run away but the werewolf jumps in and pulls you off the edge and pins you to the rocks. your back is against his furr, not sure what to do. you sequel and try to break free to no avail. the wolf growls in your ear, he puts a hand; or paw, on your face pushing you down onto the grass so your bent over for him. then he stands up completely, grabbing your waist and taking you with him effectively folding you in half. now only your legs dangle in the water. your face hangs low so you can watch.

his dick is huge and dark, it has thick veins and twitches slightly when he rubs it against your pussy. he rocks you back and forth, your arms are on the ground to steady yourself. his erection easily pushes against you, and soon you see your own wetness dripping down, mixing with the hotspring and coating his dick. and once it covered he takes no words in pulling back and slaming into your tight pussy.

His dick is heavy inside you and causes your wetness to splash on your thighs when he thrusts inside. only halfway. though with your wetness it easily slides in all the way until he meets your cervix. you squeal at the feeling and attempt to close your legs, but it doesnt matter, the squirming only makes his dick rub against your g spot, resulting in a struggled whine leaving your lips. and thus causing a deep snarl from the man behind you. he repositions you. gripping your thighs and reaches his hips back, tip not leaving your warmth and fucks back into you with a snap.

you watch as he fucks you like this. this hard, mind numbing pussy numbing pace. acting as if in a trance there is no place to catch your breathe. every thrust pushes a shaky moan out of you. every harsh metting of tip to cervix makes your stomach bubble. and when he stills his cock, still pressed inside your pussy and start grinding inside of you, your legs start to shake. his knot pulsing at your entrance yet no where to go; your too stuffed. he grinds his tip on your cervix, all while growling behind you. shallow thrusts that dont leave your warmth make your cervix flutter. and the werewolf takes advantage of this.

he grips your hips. plap. one thrust. plap. a second one, your seeing stars now. and with a final thrust he pushes past your tight cervix, making you scream, twist and wiggle in his hold, while tightening your pulsing entrence. its only his tip, but he grinds slowly, letting his length enter and leave your cervix, never allowing his tip to leave. it feels like your on fire, his dick is twitching inside of you, you can feel the veins on his pulsing and pushing blood to his incomprehensible length.

his knot follows soon after. the bulgding flesh soaked in your wetness and pulsing, beating the same pace of your pounding heart. he had to squeeze a fair amount of his dick in you to fit. surely you dont mind. not when your moaning getting fucked dumb.

A/N - thats it im not finishing this sorry guys🥹

[kxsalt]

“My liege.” A deep bow. The high vaulted ceilings of the princess’s chambers echo his voice. Sitting in front of a gigantic mirror, the noblewoman gazes at her own reflection. The man crosses the bedroom, standing at attention behind her. Her eyes flicker upward. His powerful body remains absolutely still. “I don’t want to go.” The bodyguard’s stoic expression cracks into his calming smile. “I know. But it’s time.”

The girl’s dainty fingers are held in his rough hand. Supported, she rises. Her wedding dress trails behind her as they walk.

The ceremony is beautiful. Some might say perfect. The princess isn’t one of them. She watches her new husband trying to socialize with the guests. He awkwardly explains chess theory to people with too much fealty to appear bored. Her father is jubilant. Finally, his only daughter can secure his bloodline and produce a suitable heir. Glib chatter rolls through the crowd. Her protector stands dutifully behind her.

Finally, the royal couple is escorted to their bedchambers. As the doors close behind them, the princess flops onto the huge bed. “Ahem.” The prince nervously shuffles toward her. “I guess… now… we… uh…” She snaps. “I’m not going to have sex with you.” He lets out the breath he’s been holding all day. “Oh thank god. That’s a huge relief.” The princess stares blankly at the canopy. “I’m supposed to… what are we going to do?”

He shifts back and forth. “I dunno. I don’t really like talking about that stuff.” Rolling her eyes, the girl sits upright as the prince waffles. “Hey, um, I was in the middle of studying a line before this so… can we figure this out later?” She clucks her tongue. “Yeah. Go ahead. See you.”

The heavy doors are pushed open. The prince scurries past the intimidating man guarding their chambers. He watches the timid man disappear down the hall, before turning to look into the bedroom. “Come here, please. And close the door behind you.” She summons him, and he stands before her.

Silence. The princess stares up at him. His imposing stance, his scarred skin, his greying features, that hard expression, those kind eyes. The princess reaches out and touches his sword.

“You took an oath. To serve me. To serve our country.” The man doesn’t hesitate. “Yes, I did. And I stand by it.” Her fingers trace up and down the sheath. “You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?” He doesn’t flinch. “Absolutely.” She grips the sword by the hilt. The bodyguard look at the soft, manicured girl.

“I would get executed.” A loyal servant always told the truth. “You would get executed… If anybody ever found out. Besides, you’ve risked your life for me before. Danger is a part of your job.” The princess rises from the bed to gaze at him, drinking in every line on his battle-hardened face. “I live to serve, my liege.” Her chest presses into his.

Even on her toes, her lips can’t quite reach his. The bodyguard bows his head to kiss the princess. They hold, they break, she gasps, he smiles. They embrace passionately. Her hands push into his pants as his run along her elegant gown. “You know what to do, don't you?” Pulling his heavy cock, the girl strokes it with her tiny hands. “Yes, I do.”

“Soldiers like you go to those brothels, right?” He tells the truth. “When I was younger, yes.” She feels his cock harden in her grip. “You know I was always jealous of those girls…” Sliding to her knees, his passive demeanour almost slips. “…They don’t need to be perfect. They don’t need to behave.” Those royal lips kiss his swollen head. “You swore you’d do anything…? Treat me like one of those girls.”

Following her orders, the man grips her silky hair just beneath her tiara. He pushes her mouth deep onto his cock. Holding the girl firmly in place, the bodyguard thrusts down her throat. Face-fucking the beautiful princess, a primal spark lights in their eyes. Watching tears roll down her cheeks almost gives him pause. Drool runs onto her bridal dress. She catches her breath, keeping her mouth wide open, tongue out, ready for more.

The princess sucks his cock as he strips. Her pussy drips, staring at his large, toned body. Taking another breath, she grins. Rubbing his big cock against her small face, his chest flexes as he pulls the shirt off. The girl lifts up the lacy hem of her wedding dress, flashing the garter around her thigh. She touches her smooth pussy and gags on his cock.

He lifts her up and sits her on the bed. Running his hands up her soft thighs, under the lacy white dress, he dips his head. The princess bursts out in laughter, feeling his scratchy jawline tickle the inside of her legs. It fades into a soft moan. A tiny chirp follows as his teeth nick her skin. Pulling back his head, he drags down her garter with his mouth.

Seeing the band hanging from his roguish smile is too much for her. She yanks it from his teeth and tosses it on the bed. Their tongues interlace as she wraps her arms around his body. Her pristine pussy touches his hard cock. “Breed me.” She whimpers. Lowering her back onto the bed, his head returns between her legs. “Soon, princess.”

Peeking through her frilly crotchless panties is her royal pussy. Flushed pink with excitement, sparkling with her wetness, quivering with anticipation. He tastes her clit, first. Feeling the girl tense, he gently holds her hand before proceeding. Slow, aching circles around her cunt slowly spiral in to fast, tight licks. He tastes her sweet cum on his lips. She moans and arches her back to get his face deeper into her pussy.

Impatient now, she gasps at the man. “You lick the girls at the brothels?” He chuckles and kisses her thigh. “No, I don’t think I did.” She frowns, half joking. “I thought I told you to fuck me like a whore.” A final taste of her needy hole. “A whore will let you do whatever you want to them.” The man looms over her as he kneels between her legs. “And I wanted to lick your pussy, princess.”

A hot shiver. His thick cock rubs against her wet cunt. They stare into each other’s eyes. His head touches her clit. It slips down to her hole. It pushes into her. She whimpers, clawing at his back while he stretches her pussy. The experienced man is careful to ease inside of her. She’s delicate and fragile. The princess writhes in pleasure as he pumps his cock into her.

“…thank you…” She moans softly. “…thank you for keeping me safe…” Her pussy is so tight it takes all his discipline to not cum inside her. “…thank you for taking care of me…” The bodyguard grips her hips as he fucks her. “It’s an honour.” His composed, calming smile melts her heart. “…after all you’ve done… feels like you deserve my virginity…”

The girl’s voice trails off as her breathing becomes rapid and shallow. Her face blushes a bright pink as she runs her hands over his muscles. The princess cums on her bodyguard’s cock. Panting and eager, they share a small laugh and embrace.

Thrilled from her powerful orgasm, the girl tugs at her nipples and rubs her clit as he fucks her. “Remember – I told you to…” A deep thrust cuts her off. “I know, princess. Fuck you like a whore.” Finishing her sentence, his lethal hands squeeze around her throat. She nods, eager to have her longest fantasy fulfilled.

He grips her tight and fucks her rough. Squeaky moans and wet slapping of skin-on-skin echo through the royal bedroom. Her tits bounce with each pounding thrust. He smacks one breast, then the other, still choking her. Scratching her body, he slaps her thighs. “…I feel so safe with you…” The girl gurgles as she approaches another orgasm.

The servant spits on his master’s face. She grins at him. His open hand strikes across her flawless cheek. Her grin widens and she starts to cum. The bodyguard grabs her neck with both hands, crushing the wind out of her as he rails her tiny cunt. He can feel her wetness running down her bum. A moment to breathe, and she begs. “Cum inside of me.” The man slams into her pussy with all his force. “Yes, princess. I’m going to breed you. Breed you like a little whore.”

He fulfills his oath. The bodyguard cums deep in the princess’s pussy. His lowborn bloodline joins her royal pedigree. Called to serve, he keeps fucking her. Every drop of cum is wrung from his cock as they cum together. Each thrust pushes more into her breeding hole. They kiss, grazing each other’s lips with each pump inside of her.

The rumpled wedding dress lays on the floor. Her tiara is tangled in her messy hair. Sweat stains the satin sheets. She curls up in his arms as her fingers play with her full pussy. He holds her. “I’ll need more protection, if I’m with child.” The princess muses. “I’ll tell them that I need you to guard my door from inside from now on.” The bodyguard nods. “I need you to be able to watch over me while I sleep. So I can feel safe.” He kisses her cheek. “As you wish, princess.”

[inkdrinkerworld]

⚕✶Rapidly Rising —

jack abbot

summary: you’re finally off work for the weekend and what better way to spend it than getting drunk with your friends and getting a break from medicine. if dr. jack abbot offers you a ride home if you get too drunk, who are you to refuse?

cw: drunk!r3!reader, miscommunication (sort of), Jack’s stupidly in love already, you’re a bombshell and he can’t help himself from thinking it, age gap (implied but not explicitly said, but reader is mid 20s and Jacks like 40 ig!)

Your heels click as you walk down the steps from your front door. You’re finally having a fucking night out after six weekends in a row and you plan on getting ridiculously drunk with your friends.

You’d spent all day priming yourself for a night out and now you look the part and feel the part.

You’ve got on your best pair of jeans, low rise enough that anyone can see the body glitter you’re wearing glisten on your stomach and under your belly chains, the ‘top’ you’re wearing can’t even be considered one because it’s really more of a bra and your hair in a Victoria’s Secret blowout.

You feel like a knockout.

You’re double checking that you’ve got your keys and your wallets together so you don’t notice Abbot walking past you.

“Where are you going looking like one of the Coyote Ugly girls?” He calls and you startle before looking up. He’s shirtless and glistening with sweat, probably just back from a run.

You grin when you catch him checking you out, “Don’t know who you’re talking about, but I assume it’s a good thing.”

The words, ‘a damn fucking good thing’ nearly escape him as he gives you another once over, eyes falling to your exposed stomach a couple times.

“S’a good thing, Tinkerbell.” You smile and Jack feels a burst of pride for making you do it.

“I’m heading out to a bar with some of my friends.” You sound excited and he’s glad for that too.

He nods, “Don’t get too drunk and if you do call me, yeah?”

You roll your eyes and he swears he can smell your perfume as a breeze passes between you and it’s intoxicating.

The mix of what he thinks is tangerines and sandalwood is heady and it makes him shift that little bit closer to you to smell it again.

You cross your arms under your chest and he does his best not to let his gaze fall to the cleavage on display.

Jack Abbot reacts to everything you do and since you became aware of it, it’s hard not to try to get a reaction from him.

“You wanna be my designated driver, Dr. Abbot?”

He can hear the tease and the flirtation dripping from your voice but he plans on being one if you need him to be. He’s honestly hoping at that point that you need him to be.

“You give me a call when you’re sloshed and ready to get home,” he says seriously, eyes bouncing all over your face and despite his best effort, down your chest and legs. “And I’ll be there sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, but your pulse jumps at the way his voice deepens that little bit. “I’ll hold you to that.”

He smiles then, green grey eyes bright. “Have a good time, coyote.”

You wink as you get into your car, 2000s music blasting as you pull out. You might take Jack up on his offer tonight.

-

His mind stays on you all night, watching the hours tick from eight to nine to ten and then suddenly it’s three in the morning and he’s jolting awake because his phone is trilling.

“Hello?” His voice is coated with sleep but as he becomes aware of the music on the other end of the phone he sits up.

“You answered!” You sound just a cherry as ever, albeit a little slurred. “Did I wake you up, old man?”

He rubs his eyes, and fights a yawn. “You doing okay, sweetheart?”

He hears you giggle on the other end and can’t help but imagine you leaning on the bar or the door jam as you speak to him, jeans making your hips and butt look even better.

Then he shakes his head and thinks, ‘What a fucking pervert.’

“Mhm, had like ten margaritas and three beers,” he can hear your friends shouting in the back.

“And body shots!”

“And tequila!”

He chuckles, scratching his stomach. “So you’re sloshed.”

You boo and that makes him laugh even more. “No one says ‘sloshed’ anymore, Abbot.”

“You know what I mean. Ready for that pick up?”

He wishes he could see your thinking face, the way your bottom lip gets tucked between your teeth, the little twitch to your nose and your puffed up cheeks.

“Will you bring me a McFlurry and fries? Oh or a slice of the chocolate cake from the bakery on our street.”

“I’ll do my best, sweetheart. Send me your location and do not leave the bar; I’ll come in to get you.”

“Sir yes sir.”

Twenty minutes later, he’s walking into the bar, jeans low on his hips, black shirt tight against his chest and arms.

His eyes find you immediately, gravitating to your exposed skin dotted with perpetration.

“Abbot,” you say his name like he’s all you’ve been waiting for and it makes him falter just a little as he makes his way to you.

Your friends swarm him, asking questions about his work, about the tingling in their hands and the buzzing they swear they can feel (alcohol related), and then about you at work.

“Is she doing a good job? At making friends by the way, she’s a damn good doctor.”

Jack chuckles as you try to shut them up, you’re trying and failing to cover their mouths with your hands.

It’s sweet that they care about you like this.

“She’s making friends just fine,” you narrow your eyes at him from behind your friends. “You ladies need a ride home?” His hand falls to your waist when you try and fail at twisting around so you’re next to him. Your hand falls to his bicep and Jack squeezes you to keep you steady.

If your friends notice, nothing is said.

They shake their heads, volunteering that their own boyfriends are coming for them.

You’re probably too drunk to correct them coherently, but you try, and he can feel your heating up under his palm as you try and he starts steering you towards the exit.

“I’ll have her text you when I drop her off.” He calls above the music, the air hitting you both as you step out into the night.

Jack helps your stumbling form into his car and watches you light up as you spot the ice cream and fries.

“I didn’t know if you were an m&ms or Oreo type of person, so there’s both.”

“You’re literally the best!” You squeal, taking the m&ms cup and feeding yourself a spoon. As if on second thought you pause on your second spoon. “Which one is yours?”

Jack looks at you confused as he pulls out of his parking spot.

“My what?”

You roll your eyes, “Your ice cream, Abbot,” you deadpan. Just as much of a smartass drunk as you are sober, he thinks.

“Neither,” you can’t take that for an answer and offer him your spoon instantly. Jack’s well aware that there’s another spoon in the centre console if you wanted, he’s aware that if he takes this spoonful you’ve crossed a line that he’ll think about forever.

“Taste,” you demand and try to shove the spoon past his lips. He turns his head at the last second, making you whine. He tries not to think about the sound.

“You have to try it, I’m drunk and I’m asking you to.” You force your lips into a pout to drive home your point and watch him clench his jaw and keep his face turned to the road. “C’mon Jack, a little bit of ice cream isn’t going to keep you up all night.”

“You’re so ridiculous,” he mutters but tilts towards you to take the spoonful you offer to him. “There, happy?”

You nod, feeding yourself a spoonful with a pleased smile on your face. “You need to have a favourite ice cream. That’s a basic favourite to have figured out.” You grab the Oreo cup and hold out another bite to him, trying and failing to find his mouth this time as he bends a corner.

He doesn’t like either, but distracts you by asking, “So what’s your favourite then?”

You light up, fries halfway to your mouth. “Anything with chocolate flakes in it. Reminds me of salt and pepper, like your hair.”

He tries to fight the blush on his neck because he knows you’re drunk so you probably don’t mean to insinuate that it reminds you of him, but it’s still nice to be complimented.

“But anyone who hates ice cream is just lying. It’s one of the best desserts, there’s soft serve, gelato, and you can mix any flavors together and it’ll still taste good.”

He wasn’t expecting your spiel and can’t help but tease you, “I wasn’t aware I was in the midst of an ice cream connoisseur.”

You blow a raspberry at him, about to have another bite of ice cream when the car is filled with beeping.

“What’s that?” You ask as he pulls up to your gate. The trilling is familiar but through the sludge in your head you can’t distinguish what it is.

Jack remembers the first time he’d heard it and feels his heart beat falter. There, on your upper arm, is your glucose meter, flashing red.

“Where’s your phone? It’s your glucose meter.” It’s like you instantly sober up, fishing your phone from your bag and opening the app.

Rapidly Rising, 250 mg/dl.

Jack’s stomach drops.

“I should’ve bought you a couple bottles of water.”

You shake your head, “The dancing should’ve brought it down. I’ve got nuts and stuff in the house, it’ll go down on its own.”

He doesn’t think so, the ‘Rapidly Rising’ notification call he can think about.

“I’ll help you inside,” he murmurs, taking your keys from you and pushing open your front door. Jack likes the peek at your personality through the things you have in your house.

You’ve got vintage end tables, and a green sofa, his eyes snag on the countertop that’s different to his with the mosaic top.

You stumble through the living room, all the way to the sofa and fall into it. “Do not close your eyes,” you hear Jack say as he heads into your kitchen and finds you a couple bottles of water.

“Drink,” he murmurs, trying his best not to panic because the moment he acknowledges it, the moment the thought of you going hyperglycemic becomes the only thing bouncing around his brain, he knows he’s going to start realising this is all too real for him.

You shake your head, struggling to keep your eyes open as you look up at him. “C’mon,” he tilts your chin upwards, eyes tracking your pupils, but he can’t tell if they’re blown and glassy from the alcohol or from the glucose spike.

“Drink, baby, c’mon. Don’t make me force you.”

Your jaw drops a little and the water slides down your throat, cool and refreshing. The minute you swallow it’s like you can’t stop. You grab onto his wrist to control the pour and finish the bottle in no time.

The second one follows quickly. When you down two and a half bottles, he relents. “It should start coming down soon.”

You nod, eyes blinking up at him slowly, your chin still in his hand and your hand still clasped around his wrist. “Do you think I could sleep right here?”

He chuckles, “I don’t think your back will like the sofa,” his free hand pushes back some of the hair back off your forehead. “You’ll be all sore and achy.”

You shake your head, a playful smile on your face. “M’not old like you, Abbot.”

His laugh bounces around your walls, and that makes you smile outright.

“You’re a smartass,” he releases your chin when you start looking like you’re about to fall asleep on yourself. “Make some room,” when you don’t shift and just blink up at him, he sighs all fondly exasperated. “I’m not leaving till you’re back to your usual low. It could keep rising before it starts dropping.”

“Oh,” you move a little, your eyes tracking his movements as he sits beside you. You’re both so close on your small sofa you can feel the heat of him coming through his sweatpants.

You pull your hair from it’s ponytail and let your head fall back to the sofa. “It could take a half hour to come down, Jack.” you start, your words already sounding slurred. “I can just send you a picture of the meter then.”

He chuckles and turns to face you, his hazel eyes tracing your face. “I think you’re gonna fall asleep before that half hour,” you shake your head, setting your temple against his shoulder.

“M’not.” your breath soft and the words are hardly above a whisper.

Jack’s hand hovers at the side of your face, wanting to stroke your cheek as your breathing starts evening out, but he doesn’t. Knows that if he lets himself indulge too much, getting off your sofa in half an hour will be tough.

You’re barely asleep twenty minutes later and when he uses your face ID to get into your phone and check your app. He sees the messages from your friends and tries not to read them, but then he sees a text from Mel and can’t stop himself before reading it.

You should just tell him. The most that could happen is that the flirting stops. I doubt it will, he looks at you like you’re the sun he orbits.

Who is the ‘he’? How does Mel know him? Do you really have a boyfriend and lied that day a couple months ago?

Your blood sugar’s down to 200, and it settles his worry because there’s still time for it to drop to a much more manageable level.

He starts pushing off your sofa, ready to carry to your room when you grip his wrist and his shirt hem. Your fingers brush against his abdomen and he tries not to shiver.

“Please,” you whine, eyes barely opening. “Stay, Jack.”

God he’s such a sucker. He doesn’t even think twice about saying, “M’right here, sweetheart.” He carries you up to your room and finds an oversized band tee in your drawer. He changes you quickly, not looking at you as he does and then tucks you under the sheets. You whine softly when you don’t feel the pressure of him lying down next to you.

“M’right here,” he whispers as you curl into him, his hand finally falling to your cheek.

“I’m so fucked.” he says after you settle against him, eyes up at the ceiling as he tries not to think about who the ‘he’ Mel was talking about could be.

You’ve got him wound tight around your finger, and you hardly even know how hard you could break his heart.

[kxsalt]

Witches’ Brew. Low fog drapes itself across the ancient willow trees. Slapping a bug off his neck, the adventurer slowly approaches the derelict cottage. Hidden away in the swamp, a thin pillar of smoke from the chimney mixes with the mist. Weeks of treacherous travel had led him to this spot. Now at his destination, a cocktail of nervousness and excitement stirs in his belly.

A chubby black cat watches him through the window. Rasing his gloved fist, he knocks three times.

“If you’re here to burn me at the stake again, it won’t work! I keep telling you! Stop ruining my damn shoes and piss off! I’ll hex ya!”

Taken aback, the adventurer clears his throat. “I’m, uh, not here for that.” A long silence. Latches and bolts click on the other side of the door before it cracks open. Pretty black eyes stare out at him through the doorway. The witch sizes him up. “You look like one of those perverts who likes to weigh me with a duck.”

The man gives her an awkward smile. “I’m… not here for that, either…” She lets him stew in his own anxiety. The witch is prettier than he expected. Snapping himself out of her piercing gaze, the adventurer explains himself. “I need a potion.”

She snorts derisively. “You can’t afford one of my potions.” He lifts his cloak slightly. “Actually…” The witch’s eyes widen as he produces a red and gold feather. “…I have these.” She snatches it from his hand. “Griffin feathers? How? Did you kill it?” The man exhales, grateful that the witch is interested in his barter. “No, I tamed it.”

“…you tamed it?” Holding the elegant feather in her palm, she examines it, then him. “You’re braver than you look.” The adventurer pulls a dozen more feathers from his cloak. Offering her the bouquet, his heart skips when she smiles and takes them from him. “Come in, I’ll make you your potion.”

His damp cloak hangs by the fire. The feathers rest on a small table by her bed. The adventurer sits on a worn chair. Her black cat nuzzles relentlessly against his unshaven face. Leaning over her alembic, the witch adds strange herbs and colourful powders to the boiling liquid. “Sorry about him.” She gestures to the cat trying to crawl inside his tunic. “He’s very needy.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He mumbles through the enormous black fluff. “Mine’s the same way.” The man tries to keep the conversation going. “What are the feathers for, anyways?” She barely looks up from her work. “I use them in crafts and such. I’ll make a dreamcatcher, I think.” The adventurer blinks. “Crafts? That’s it?” The witch rolls her eyes. “God forbid a girl have hobbies.”

She stands and strides over to the man. His stomach flutters when she touches his hair. Plucking a single strand from his head, she returns to the concoction. The translucent liquid turns bright pink when she drops it in.

“Your love potion will be done in a few minutes.” He nods solemnly. “Wait… how did you know I wanted a love potion…?” The girl lets out a loud, barking laugh. “Men always want a love potion, you’re all the same.” Clicking his tongue, he shoots back. “I guess men know what’s really valuable in life.” She shuts up, unable to find a retort.

The potion is carefully poured into a glass bottle. Wiping the outside, the witch hands it to the adventurer. “Here you go, enjoy your creepy whatever.” The man sloshes the liquid around a bit. “Thanks…”

She turns to her feathers, brushing them smooth while the man ponders the magical item. “…How do I know it works?” The witch lets out an annoyed grunt. “I know what I’m doing. Besides, I always keep up my side of a bargain.” He slowly steps towards her turned back.

“Hey!”

Snatching her by the waist, he drags the witch in close. “Get off me!” She screams, her light body twists as she tries to pull away. The feather floats to the floor. Gripping her face, the man squeezes her cheeks and pushes her mouth open. “Duck-weighing pervert! Let me go! LET ME GO!” Her fighting is useless against the stronger man.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, raising the bottle to her lips. “Stop!” The man’s heart beats faster than hers. “I’m so sorry about this.” The pink mixture pours into her throat. She struggles and fights but almost all the drink finds its way inside her. A few small trickles run down her chin. The fight ends, and the bottle clatters to the floor.

“You fucking dick.” The witch gasps, still wrapped in his arms. “You have no idea what you’ve done.” She stares into his soul. He can see the swamp’s mist cloud her black eyes. “You are in so much fucking trouble.” The naïve adventurer takes a step back. The witch leans in and kisses him.

Grabbing him by the cock, she pushes him towards the bed. They strip like animals caught in brambles. Mounting him, the witch takes his hands and presses them into her naked body. “Is this what you wanted?” She squeezes his hard cock and strokes him against her pussy as he grips her tits. “…yes…”

A wicked smile. “Careful what you wish for.” The witch’s nails sink into him as she drops her hips onto his dick. The man groans as her pussy takes him all the way in one smooth stroke. She drags her fingers across his chest and stomach, down to her clit. The witch starts to rub and grind and bounce in his lap.

“Oof… You’re so tight…” The adventurer groans. “Yeah?” She leans in close, letting her tits press into his face. “…do you have any idea what you’ve gotten yourself into?” The witch whispers into his ear, humping faster. He can’t reply, sucking and nibbling at her nipples. Her wet pussy devours his cock. “…do you have any idea how long I’ve been alone out here…?”

He tries to hold her hips to slow her down. She doesn’t break pace. Rubbing frantically at her clit, the witch’s body shudders as she orgasms. Refusing to ease up for even a second, her tight pussy drops onto his cock over and over again. The girl keeps rubbing, chasing her second orgasm. “I’m going to cum if you keep…” - “Don’t you fucking dare.”

The adventurer tries to hold on. “You keep going until I’ve cum again, then you finish down my throat. Understand?” He lets out a soft whine. She bounces faster. “Understand me? Don’t finish in my cunt. I’m going to drink your cum.” The man nods, lost in the sensation of her fucking. Returning her fingers to her clit, the witch makes herself cum again.

Hopping off his cock, she drops to her knees. Fitting him inside her mouth, the girl’s cheeks concave and she starts to bob her head with the same vicious pace. His toes curl. The black cat cleans its paws as she deepthroats the adventurer. He grips the sheets and starts to tremble. A loud outburst makes the cat look up for half a second before returning to licking.

He stares into her black eyes. Her lips stay firm on the base of his cock as his ragged breathing becomes hoarse. The witch swallows. He groans. She swallows again. They never break eye contact. Slowly rubbing and holding onto his balls, the witch swallows a third time.

She pops her lips off his cock with a giddy grin. The man pants slowly, completely depleted. Nuzzling her face against his wet cock, she starts to giggle. “You know, putting in your hair makes it a love potion…” His head swims around in spirals. “…mixing it with your cum makes it something… closer to lust…”

The adventurer is at a loss for words. The witch clamps down on him again. He lets out a desperate gasp. “Stop… I just came.” She ignores him, sucking firmly on his half-hard cock. Her tongue strokes along his shaft, coaxing the man hard again. Losing the fight, he groans again and lays back as she deepthroats his freshly sucked dick.

She always keeps the same pace, roughly fucking her throat with the helpless man’s cock. He squirms and shudders. It takes him even longer the second time, a painful and maddening blowjob to completion. When he finishes, she swallows three times again.

Half asleep, the man lies defeated in her bed. Through hazy eyes he watches her putter around the cottage. Petting the cat, organizing her crafts, brewing another potion. He falls asleep for a moment. When the adventurer wakes, she sits on top of him. His soft cock is pressed against her warm pussy.

“Open wide, lover boy.”

In the confusion, his mouth opens. She pours a potion down his throat. “I told you, you’re in trouble.” He coughs and sputters. The witch kisses his cheek and nuzzles her crotch against his dick. “…what was that…?” The man murmurs, wiping his lips. She stares down at him with those pitch black eyes.

“Darling, I love you… I need you…” They feel him twitch, rapidly growing into a thick erection. “Oh no…” He tries to sit up. The witch sits on his cock. Her wet, warm grip makes him relax back into the pillows. “This is all your fault.” She whispers as she starts to fuck him again. “I know… I’m sorry…” His aching dick pounds into her pussy. “Would you do anything different?” He kisses her between shallow breaths. “I wouldn’t.”

The adventurer doesn’t sleep much that night. The witch climbs onto him a half dozen times. No matter how hard he cums, his thick cock doesn’t subside. As dawn breaks, they manage a few hours of rest. They awaken to dappled sunlight through the willow trees. She presses her face into his neck while she sleeps.

A soft yawn, and the witch stretches her body. The adventurer covers his eyes and tries to sleep. He feels her hand lightly touch his still-hard dick. “I’m wrecked…” He says quietly. “I know, my love.” She kisses his forehead. “How long does this last?” The witch’s thumb rubs the swollen tip. “Should have worn off already.” He peeks through his fingers. “Hey, don’t look at me. You didn’t drink the love potion.”

“Maybe you just think I’m pretty.” The adventurer chuckles. “You got me there.” They kiss, laying in the sunlight. Small pecks lead to deep tongue. She runs her hands through his hair. “I think I’ve cum enough times for now.” He lets out an exhausted exhale. “Thank god.” Her fingers play with his morning wood.

The witch gives him a coy smile and rolls onto her side. Wiggling her butt into his crotch, he feels her hand start to guide him. The man’s breathing quickens as the head of his cock presses against her ass. “I thought you said you were done.” She tries to relax, tries to push him in. “Done cumming, not done fucking.” His head starts to stretch her out. “Besides, we still need to take care of you… I keep my side of a bargain…”

Holding her in his arms, he tries to work his cock into her tight ass. The witch winces and fidgets. “It’s too tight.” The man protests. She spits on her fingers, rubs it against his cock, and tries again. “It’s okay.” The girl gasps. “It’s okay. Make it fit.” The adventurer rolls on top of her. Pinning the girl under his weight, he holds her wrists to keep her from wiggling away. “Is that too much?”

“Yes.” The witch whines. “Make it fit. It’s okay. I love you. Please make it fit.” A gentle kiss behind her ear and he forces himself inside. “Oh fuck…” The girl sinks her teeth into the pillow. Involuntary struggle is met by his firm control. Holding onto her shoulder, the adventurer works himself as deep as he can go.

Every time he thrusts, she tries to push him off her. He keeps his weight spread across her back. The witch can’t move with him holding tight on her wrists. “Do whatever you need to, please…” Her asshole stretches out to fit his cock. “I’m sorry for fighting back. I can’t help it. Please don’t stop.” The adventurer kisses her lips and stares into her dark eyes. “Harder.” Her hips buck, trying to escape him but only pushing him deeper. “Harder, please… I need you to cum…”

They barely leave the bed that day. One time, by the fireplace, he takes her ass again. The adventurer ties her up in ropes so she can’t fight back. He loosens the knots as his soft cock drips the last few droplets of cum onto her used bum. “I want you to make another one of those potions you gave me.” The girl nods. She has to crawl to her alembic.

The griffin greets him with a firm headbutt. Nuzzling it’s face against him, he pets the monstrous creature. “Hey buddy, I missed you too.” Outside the cottage, the adventurer adjusts his saddle. The witch sits on the wooden steps.

“You know I have to go with you.” The man tries to break away from the cuddly griffin. “I was just about to invite you. I could use the company.” She smiles, petting her cat. “Good. I wasn’t about to give you a choice in the matter.” Distracting the griffin with a shiny ball, he walks over to the witch and kisses her. They embrace and hold each other close.

“I’ll pack up my cottage.” Sparks of purple lightning dance between her fingers as the building folds into itself. He watches the structure shrink with awe. “…don’t you want to know where we’re going?” The witch picks up the tiny wooden house and drops it into her bag. “I don’t much care about that, lover. I’ll go anywhere with you…”

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[starshipsofstarlord]

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

This week’s agenda is here

See what fics will be released through the week on the agenda ⬆️⬆️⬆️ (needs to be updated)

any smut on this page is 18+, please respect that. I have to put this now because I thought people would have assumed so but apparently not, so please respect this, minors are allowed on my page so long as they stick to works that are strictly NOT smut. And now that I have started to put it in the warnings I have seen people disrespecting that boundary, so please no minors make smut requests either, thankyou

TEEN WOLF MASTERLIST

SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST

VAMPIRE DIARIES MASTERLIST

HEMLOCK GROVE MASTERLIST

5SOS MASTERLIST

HARRY STYLES MASTERLIST

MARVEL MASTERLIST

DC MASTERLIST

SHADOWHUNTERS MASTERLIST

OUTER BANKS MASTERLIST

13 REASONS WHY MASTERLIST

THE WITCHER MASTERLIST

THE ORDER MASTERLIST

FROM DUSK UNTIL DAWN MASTERLIST

STAR WARS MASTERLIST

SKINS MASTERLIST

TRUE BLOOD MASTERLIST

THE DEVIL ALL THE TIME MASTERLIST

SHADOW AND BONE MASTERLIST

FRIENDS MASTERLIST

STRANGER THINGS MASTERLIST

DARYL DIXON + NORMAN REEDUS MASTERLIST

Fake Insta / Twitter Imagines

-

FAN FICTION RECOMMENDATIONS

Just a bunch of amazing works by some amazing writers that I strongly recommend, and have put together in a small, somewhat masterlist.

Bucky Barnes Fic Recs #1

[starshipsofstarlord]

norman reedus // daryl dixon

divider credits. @cafekitsune

🥀 = includes smut (18+, minors dni)

🍄 = requested

daryl dixon

Sleepless

On the farm, you struggle to fall asleep due to all the things that you know that surround you, from the walkers in the barn to Shane. The only thing that can make you feel any comfort is Daryl (1.4k)

Prisoner 🥀

(Early season 3 based) Winter had been a long journey for all of your group, especially you and Daryl given that there was always a lack of privacy. You find it difficult to feel at home in the prison, but Daryl is always there for you when you need him, and you have the chance to relish in a night alone - or as lonesome as a cell can be (2.9k)

Pretty Eyes

(Late season 2 based) throughout the outbreak, after meeting Daryl Dixon the two of you had always clashed heads. However when you reach the CDC, convinced you had been saved, you decide it’s time that you get along (1.4k) 🥀

you and daryl have reverted to your original positions, however your divide in getting along isn’t only affecting the two of you. it’s endangering the group, and so when needs must, you have to reconcile and make a truce (2.2k)

picking up where you left off isn’t always the easiest thing to proceed with, especially when you and daryl are still bickering. but there are ways to make amends 🥀

Throbbing 🥀

Daryl needs you, however you’re out on a run, so he has no other cure other than to take care of himself (0.8k)

Using You 🥀

you love him, you really do - he’s your best friend, however you’re scared if you choose to be with him you’ll lose him; you’d already lost too much. However, Daryl thinks that you’re using him to distract yourself with sex. It’s up to you to prove him wrong (2.9k)

Bemused

daryl becomes bemused by y/n and her affections towards him. also the story of how daryl ‘found’ his vest (0.6k)

How to Weaken a Man 🥀

you were going to get what you wanted, Daryl however was going to have to wait. He was deserving of a taste of his own medicine, after him constantly being in charge, it was time for a change (3.3k)

Cuddle Bunny

all you can do is reflect on the past as you sit by a tired and bedridden daryl, hellbent on not leaving his side. It seems he doesn’t want you to leave either, as you are the only person that sees him for who he is, in every light (1.3k)

Nexus to the Next Life

the cdc was supposed to be the start of continuing life, however after jenner has revealed that the haven of which you had travelled to is going to self destruct, you endure a battle with yourself. to stay and die quickly, or leave and possibly die slowly (1.2k)

Not Yet Corpses. Still, We Rot 🥀🍄

you were surviving after the prison fell, whilst you felt lost deep inside of yourself. without daryl, and the others that you had lost and yet to find, everything only seemed to get worse. and all was proven when the claimers interrupted your futile attempts of avoiding nightmares (5.3k)

Lap Girl

a series of unchronological scenarios of y/n being in daryl’s lap within part of their journey (part 1 - the first night in alexandria) (0.6k)

daryl needs comfort at the greene farm after he fails to find sophia again. luckily his girl is willing to give him exactly what he needs; her in his lap (1k)

there’s no better position for daryl than when his girl is in his lap 😉🥵 🥀 (0.7k)

daryl is in mourning for his brother merle, overcome with grief and guilt. all he needs is to lay on his girls lap and receive her affection (0.7k)

y/n and daryl are seated on the couch in their home, however there’s only one problem; he’s in her spot. he’s happy enough to move so that she can be comfortable, but his girl has a better idea (0.6k)

daryl had never been one for emotional intimacy, even in his own relationship, however when y/n is saddened by the death of a loved one, he comforts her which would be unexpected by his broody natured character for those that did not know him. But being close to her in attempts of trying to make her feel better comforts him too, it is something that both him and his girl realise they need (1.4k)

one last night for y/n to be curled up on daryl’s lap in hilltop after he escaped from the sanctuary before the war against the saviours grow with intensity (0.9k)

daryl is frustrated, forced to rest in his and y/n’s tent on the greene farm after not finding sophia and andrea shooting him. his partner is also feeling his frustrations, and so they relieve them together (2.4k) 🥀

Locked Away 🥀🍄

whilst hiding out from walkers in a closet, you grow extremely bored. the only thing to do is daryl, but you have to make sure he stays quiet (1.3k)

Honey suckle 🥀

daryl gets lost in eating his favourite meal between your legs (0.7k)

in sickness and in health 🍄

daryl is distant, more so than usual, and so you force yourself into his personal bubble, wanting to make sure that he is okay since he is the only reminder of your old life before the outbreak (2.4k)

parental advisory 🥀

at the beginning of the strenuous outbreak, you never thought there would ever be the opportunity to build a family. it was never safe, that was until you reached commonwealth. all you want is a baby of your own, but you are unsure if daryl would agree due to the impractical risks and unspoken label of your relationship together (5.8k)

sophia

carol goes out to find y/n and daryl with henry, only to discover much more than she had initially expected (1.9k)

divine like aged wine 🥀

daryl begins to feel like you will get bored of him sooner or later as he is older than you, and starting to show his age. you show him just how much that doesn’t matter, and that despite the grey hairs and looming wrinkles, that you still love him (6.2k)

claimed 🥀

whilst in the company of the claimers, they take notice of you being the only woman upon them. you hadn’t felt safe prior to the prison being turned into a cascade of ruins, and their company only encompassed the paranoia that you felt. luckily, you weren’t alone, you had daryl. but will he help keep the claimers from arguing over of whom you belong to? (6.7k)

nosebleed

you’re prone to nosebleeds, which startles rick when he first witnesses it, but your ever doting boyfriend daryl knows just what to do (0.9k)

she’s my woman

after escaping terminus, you hold up shelter in the church, and daryl realises that abraham has interest in you. he says nothing, knowing that you can more than take care of yourself (1.7k)

river

daryl left alexandria, and also you on his fruitless search to find remains or an inclination that rick survived. you go after him, rejecting his abandonment of you, knowing that deep down you needed each other more than anything else (1.6k) - idea by one of my favourite moots, @dixondisease

relatively close 🥀

when he hugs you from behind and you can feel his boner against you, it erases all practical thought from your mind (2.3k)

rest and ‘relax’ 🥀

both of your schedules are busy with a new threat on the rise, but through it the two of you manage to get some time to yourselves (1.5k)

butterfly kisses

you give daryl butterfly kisses on his back, over all of the scars that had marked his skin throughout the years (0.5k)

you’re not together?

you are struggling to settle into alexandria, the change being a great contrast to what you are used to. the one constant that you have - daryl - helps you realise that it isn’t so bad, but amidst that both of you realise something else (𝟑.𝟐𝐤)

aus

secret 🥀 (dbf!daryl)

your dirty little secret is that you are fucking dbf!daryl (0.5k)

done dealing (preapocalypse!daryl)

everything seemed peaceful in your home when you awoke, even with a baby crying. but that is sourly interrupted by the early wake up presence that merle begrudges his brother with (1.2k)

tell no one 🥀 (dbf!daryl)

you and dbf daryl are not only seeing each other but in a relationship. things become tense however as a close call leads your father to almost finding out the truth fate he visits daryl’s apartment (2.1k)

draw on me 🥀 (tattoo artist!daryl)

whilst getting a tattoo, you didn’t expect your tattoo artist to be so attractive. one accident leads to another, and you’re bargaining to get more than ink on your skin (3k)

daddy doesn’t know 🥀 (dbf!daryl)

you had a drunken hookup with your dad’s best friend, and since then it had not been spoken about. that is until he comes over, looking for your father, who conveniently isn’t home, leaving you and daryl alone… (2.7k)

prompts and drabbles and headcanons

“I don’ have the patience ter remove yer clothes righ now.” 🥀

daryl returns from a hunt, but he doesn’t care for what he caught; he’d rather catch you beneath him (0.8k)

“thought you were mad at me.” “it’s a hate boner, i swear.”

you and daryl, despite fighting and surviving side by side for years, have always had a tendency to get on each others nerves. the one thing he hates more than your recklessness however, is seeing you hurt (2k)

nsfw alphabet 🥀 (2.4k)

daryl pre-apocalypse dating headcanons (0.5k)

sub!daryl headcanons 🥀

what it would be like to have a subby daryl at your hands 🥵😭 (1.4k)

daryl + tit fucking drabble 🥀 (0.5k)

daryl + doggy style 🥀 (0.4k)

cuddling headcanons (0.5k)

daryl + mouth spitting 🥀 (0.8k) reverse 🥀 (0.8k)

daryl + cowgirl 🥀 (0.5k)

daryl’s kinks 🥀

a variety of small scenarios in which you and daryl are intwined in a passion, exerting various kinks in your shared sex life (2.2k)

daryl + his first blowjob 🥀 (1.5k)

petnames + when daryl uses them 🥀

a collection of instances and examples of the petnames that daryl has for you and when he uses them (1.8k)

daryl + cockwarming 🥀 (0.8k)

daryl + thigh riding 🥀 (0.7k)

daryl + missionary 🥀 (0.9k)

young!daryl dixon

surrogate comfort 🥀

daryl comes to your home, finding peace between your legs before you relieve his homeward bound struggles (0.6k)

like rabbits 🥀

merle is humanised by his strict and overwhelming tentativeness of protecting his younger brother daryl and his girlfriend in the outbreak. but they are less helpful around the camp as they have other priorities with what to spend their time on… and others accidentally notice that too (5.3k)

norman reedus

Got a Light?

Norman goes to a bar after a long day on set, and he’s unexpectedly approached by a ‘stranger’ (1k)

Normal Morning with Norman

inspired by this prompt - early morning kiss - a kiss that’s a wake up call, it’s barely even a lips touching, more like they’re kissing your chin because they’re so tired in the early morning haze (0.5k)

[alliewrights]

trinity and student doctor reader working with her who’s insecure about how she looks? trinity likes to fluster her but also give her the confidence boost

Confident

Trinity Santos x student doctor!reader

Summary: what starts as harmless teasing stops being funny when your resident realizes there’s more to your flushing than just attraction.

CW: non-described but apparent insecurity, slight student/teacher dynamic, fluff, I don’t think there’s anything else?

WC: 3.5k

Part 1 (you are here!) - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

A/N: My first request!! Ah!! Thank you! You left it pretty open-ended without a genre, so I hope this is okay! I love Trinity so much 💛

⟡ ───── ⟡ ───── ⟡

Your second shift is supposed to be worse than your first.

Yesterday, you could hide behind the excuse of orientation, getting lost, not knowing where supplies were kept or your attendings’ names. Yesterday, you shadowed Dr. Whitaker, who had been nice but quick, the kind of doctor who moved fast enough that you barely had time to be anxious because you were too busy keeping up. It had surprised you when he explained he was only an intern; you wondered if you’d feel as prepared when you reached intern year.

Today, you have no such shield. It’s not your first day anymore.

You sit at one of the workstation computers, cursor blinking impatiently at the end of a half-finished note while the emergency department moves around you.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, unmoving.

Instead, you’re tugging at the hem of your scrub top.

It had looked fine when you left your apartment, you’re sure it had. But now, sitting under the fluorescent lights, the wrinkles in it feel magnified. You smooth the fabric flat over your stomach, then your sides, then down again when it bunches as you shift in your chair.

Nice. You just want to look nice.

You’re halfway through another anxious adjustment when a voice speaks just behind your ear.

“Is that part of your charting process, or…?”

You jump in your seat.

Your elbow bumps against the desk and you hiss, the mouse skitters across the pad, and you twist around too fast and almost collide with the doctor standing just behind you.

Dr. Santos is looking over your shoulder at the half-finished work on your screen. Her posture is confident, arms folded over her chest, her dark eyes flicking from the screen to you, amusement over your jumpiness evident on her face.

“I – sorry,” you stammer, heat crawling up your neck. “I didn’t realize anyone was – I was just…”

One eyebrow lifts, waiting.

“I just want to look good,” you admit quietly. “Professional. Since it’s…you know. My second shift and everything.”

There’s a pause as she looks you over, slowly, from your blue-and-white Hokas up to your face. 

Then she says, completely casually, “You don’t have to try so hard. You’re really pretty, so nobody’s going to care about a couple of wrinkles in your scrubs.”

Your brain stops working.

You stare at her, mouth parting as warmth floods into your face, your ears, probably raising your whole body temperature. 

Dr. Santos, meanwhile, has already turned away like she doesn’t even realize what she’s done to you. She steps past you, tapping her badge against the reader to log into the station beside yours. The computer wakes with a hum as she types in her credentials, totally unbothered.

You swallow hard, attempting to look like a normal, functioning adult. But out of the corner of your eye, you risk a glance at her.

She’s focused on the screen in front of her.

You release the breath you’re holding, hoping – praying – that she hasn’t noticed your fluster in real time.

Dr. Santos scrolls through a patient chart, her expression neutral.

And then, just barely, the corner of her mouth lifts. 

It’s subtle. You almost miss it.

Her gaze slides sideways, not enough to be too obvious, but just enough to catch the reflection of you in the dark edge of her monitor. Your rigid posture, your death grip on the mouse, the way you’re clearly pretending to read something while blinking a little too slowly.

Her smirk deepens for a second. 

“This’ll be fun,” she murmurs to herself under her breath, so quiet it’s swallowed by the everyday noise of the department.

You don’t hear her.

After a few minutes, Dr. Santos straightens up. “You’re a student doctor, right?” she asks, glancing down at your badge.

You nod, words apparently beyond you.

“Thought so,” she says. “You’re with me today.”

“I am?” you blink. “I was with Dr. Whitaker yesterday.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not gonna hold your hand like Huckleberry,” she declares, already starting to walk away. “So try to keep up.”

You sit there for a full three seconds before your brain catches up with the fact that you are, apparently, now supposed to be following Dr. Santos.

You nearly knock your chair over scrambling to stand.

“Wait – Dr. Santos,” you call, immediately wincing at how breathless you sound as you hurry after her.

She doesn’t slow, weaving easily through staff and stretchers. You have to half-jog to catch up, clutching your tablet a little too tightly against your chest. 

“So,” she says, pushing through a set of double doors, holding one open behind her for you without looking. You rush through it before it swings shut. “You learn a lot from Huckleberry yesterday?”

You assume she means Dr. Whitaker.

“I tried to,” you say a little sheepishly.

She finally slows near the tracking board, scanning it with focus. “You’ll be fine.”

“I just don’t want to slow anyone down,” you admit.

That earns you a sideways look as she assesses you.

“You will.”

Your stomach drops.

Then she adds, “That’s part of being new.”

Oh.

“You ask questions, you double-check everything, you take longer than you should. That’s expected.” She gestures toward the board with her pen. “What’s not expected is pretending you know something you don’t. That’s how patients get hurt.”

You nod quickly. “Right. Of course.”

“Good.” Her gaze shifts back to you fully now, and you feel like you’re being evaluated. “So, if you’re confused, you say so. If you’re nervous, you do what I say anyway. And if you need help, you ask me.”

Her bluntness is intimidating.

“Yes, Dr. Santos.”

She studies you for another second. Then, almost as an afterthought:

“You can call me Dr. Santos in front of patients and staff. Trinity’s fine when it’s just us.”

Your shock has to be written on your face, but she’s already turning back to the board.

“Come on,” she says, pointing up at the screen where a new lab result has popped up. “We’ve got a handful of follow-ups and a fresh admission triage just came in. You can start by just watching, and if you don’t faint at the sight of blood, I might even let you help.”

“I don’t faint,” you say quickly.

You trail after her again, trying to match her pace, hyperaware of everything – her confidence, the way nurses greet her as she passes. She acknowledges each one easily by name.

Halfway down the hall, she slows just enough that you pull even beside her. 

“So, your second shift,” she comments, revisiting the earlier conversation.

“Yes.”

“You sleep at all last night?”

You hesitate. “…some.”

She lets out an amused little laugh. “You’ll learn. Emergency medicine runs on caffeine and adrenaline.”

Despite yourself, you laugh.

Her mouth curves faintly, like she counts that as a win. 

She stops outside a patient room, hand resting on the chart holder beside the door. When she turns to you again, she’s all business – but her eyes are still warm, still relaxed, and still just slightly amused like you’re her own little private joke.

“Alright, student doctor,” she says. “Observation first. You watch how I talk to the patient, what I ask, and what I look for. Then we’ll talk after and you can tell me what you noticed.”

You nod, heart thumping hard under her gaze.

“And,” she adds, already reaching for the curtain, “try not to overthink your scrubs. I promise they’re doing their job.”

Your face reheats instantly and you’re back at square one.

She doesn’t look back this time when she pulls the curtain open, but you’re almost certain you catch the ghost of another smirk before she steps inside.

⟡ ───── ⟡ ───── ⟡

It was definitely a smirk.

Not the polite, professional smile she gives patients or her colleagues.

And as the shift stretches on, you become increasingly convinced you hadn’t imagined it.

Because Dr. Santos seems to make it her personal mission to see how easily she can trip you up.

It starts subtly.

A hand resting briefly against the small of your back as she guides you out of the way of a gurney barreling down the hallway. Fingers brushing yours when she passes you a chart instead of simply setting it on the counter for you to take. Leaning in just close enough when reviewing patient notes that you can feel her breath on your neck. 

They’re all quick. Justifiable. Mostly professional, but easily explained if you were to question her.

By mid-morning, you’re assisting with lab samples, carefully initialing a vial while trying very hard to remember the exact instructions the nurse had given you. Your tongue presses against the inside of your cheek in concentration as you rotate the tube just a little, lining your initials along the label.

“Make sure the edges don’t peel up,” Dr. Santos says from behind you.

You jump a little at her voice, and you swear you hadn’t heard her walk over.

“The lab will reject them if they lift too much,” she continues.

“I’m being careful,” you say quickly, hoping you don’t sound defensive. Or nervous. Or both.

“Are you?”

Before you fully process the question, her hands slide over yours. 

They’re warm.

She adjusts your grip on the vial gently, guiding your fingers as she smooths the label down, her chest brushing lightly against your shoulder as she leans in.

“Press along the seam,” she murmurs near your ear. “Like this.”

Your brain is a dial tone.

You nod, even though she probably can’t see it from where she’s standing behind you, and you pray your handwriting hasn’t suddenly devolved into illegible scribble. 

“There you go,” she says after a second, her voice threaded with approval. “See? Perfect.”

She doesn’t step away immediately, hovering too close just long enough for your pulse to spike another few beats before she finally withdraws, already reaching for the specimen bag like nothing happened.

You stare at the vial for a solid three seconds before remembering to breathe.

It isn’t an isolated incident.

She praises you when you speak clearly during patient histories, her voice warm with approval. She corrects your positioning during an exam by lightly adjusting your wrist, your elbow, your stance – always with an explanation, some sort of clinical reasoning.

Once, while reviewing imaging results beside her, she leans over you to point something out on the screen, her chin nearly brushing your temple.

“You have good instincts,” she says, her tone thoughtful. “You notice details most students miss.”

You almost miss the actual finding she’s pointing at because you’re too busy trying not to spontaneously combust.

Every time you think you’ve adjusted, built up some tolerance, regained your composure, she changes tactics. A quiet compliment, or a teasing correction, or some sort of physical contact that seems accidental or professional but is very much not. 

And every time, without fail, she’s watching your reaction from the corner of her eye.

You catch it once when you’re reorganizing supplies at the nurses’ station: the tilt of her head, the barely-there curl of her mouth when you fumble a package of gauze after she thanks you for “being so helpful today.”

It dawns on you then that she knows exactly what she’s doing.

And worse? 

She seems to be enjoying herself.

⟡ ───── ⟡ ───── ⟡

Trinity Santos is having entirely too much fun.

She knows it somewhere in the back of her mind – tucked between patient updates, lab values, and the ever-growing list of charts she still hasn’t finished – but she can’t quite bring herself to care.

The week has been relentless. Overflow rooms are full, two traumas back-to-back before noon, and Dr. Al-Hashimi has already cornered her twice about incomplete documentation, both reminders delivered with a kind of calm professionalism that feels way more threatening than irritation.

Under normal circumstances, Trinity would be running on autopilot by now. Counting down the hours until she can collapse into her car and sit in silence before driving Huckleberry home.

Instead, she keeps finding herself looking around the department, searching for a flash of nervous movement or the unmistakable sight of you trying very hard to look like you know what you’re doing.

It’s cute.

You’re attentive without being overeager, you’re careful with patients, thoughtful with your questions. And, most notably, very easy to fluster.

She hadn’t planned on testing that theory when she’d first spotted you at the workstation that morning, smoothing your scrubs repeatedly like they might undermine your competence.

But then you’d flushed.

And now she’s committed.

It’s harmless, she tells herself. Mentorship. Mostly. Maybe a little hazing, but all in good fun.

You’ve just returned from assisting with a discharge when she intercepts you near the nurses’ station.

“Go eat,” she says, nodding toward the hallway leading to the break room.

“I’m okay, I can stay -”

“That wasn’t a suggestion.”

You tense a little like you’re preparing to argue, but then slowly relax. “…yes, Dr. Santos.”

She thinks about it for a moment. “Thirty minutes,” she adds. “Hydrate, sit down. I’ll survive without you.”

You nod, offering a quick and grateful smile before hurrying off.

Trinity watches you go for a second longer than necessary before exhaling and rubbing a hand over the back of her neck.

Then she checks the tracking board, wincing at the number of incomplete notes attached to her name, and resigns to finding somewhere quiet to chip away at them before Al-Hashimi appears again like a well-dressed omen of accountability.

There’s usually an on-call room empty this time of day.

She makes her way to the row of them, selecting one and opening the door carefully, easing it inward just enough to slip through. The overhead light is off, leaving only the reflective glow off the mirror along the far wall.

She steps inside, reaching for the door to close it silently behind her, when something stops her.

You’re already in there, standing in front of the mirror.

You haven’t noticed her. Your back is angled through the door, shoulders slightly hunched, one hand absentmindedly tugging at the side of your scrub top the same way you had this morning. You turn sideways, studying your reflection with a critical intensity that feels uncomfortably familiar.

Trinity stills.

You smooth your scrubs again, slower this time, pressing your palm flat over your stomach before letting it fall. Your expression tightens, the kind of small, private frustration most people only wear when they think they’re alone.

You shift your weight, examining your profile, lips pressing together like you’re listing flaws in your head that only you can see.

Trinity’s chest twists.

She recognizes that look.

She remembers bright locker room lights that make every perceived imperfection feel worse. She remembers tugging at clothes that never seemed to sit right on her, second-guessing her posture, her shape, the way she took up space. Remembers how exhausting it had been to carry that voice around in her head while trying to learn how to save lives at the same time.

You exhale slowly, a sigh.

And just like that, her teasing stops being funny.

Trinity closes the door the rest of the way, the click soft but audible.

You jump anyway.

Your head snaps toward her reflection in the mirror, eyes widening as your brain catches up to the fact that you’re very much not alone.

“Dr. Santos, I – I didn’t realize anyone was -”

“It’s okay,” she interrupts. 

You immediately straighten, your hands dropping to your sides like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t have. The defensiveness in your posture is exactly what Trinity expected after finding you the way she did.

She moves to lean casually against the table by the mirror, keeping her voice intentionally neutral.

“Taking a break like I told you?”

“Yes,” you say quickly. “I mean – I was just about to -”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

The words settle you. You glance back toward the mirror, then away again just as quickly.

Trinity watches the motion, watches the way your fingers fidget against the hem of your shirt like you’re resisting smoothing it down again.

“You handled that discharge well earlier,” she says matter-of-factly. “You explained the follow up instructions clearly. The patient actually listened.”

You blink slowly, caught off guard by the shift in subject.

“Thank you,” you mumble.

“And you caught that medication interaction before I did,” she adds, her eyes on the mirror rather than directly on you. “That was good work.”

Your shoulders ease just a little.

Trinity lets that linger before she adds, “Also, for the record…those scrubs are fine.”

You huff out a small, embarrassed laugh.

She glances sideways then, meeting your eyes in the reflection for just a moment. Just long enough for you to register the change in her demeanor, stripped of its earlier teasing edge.

Then she straightens, pushing off the table.

“Finish your break,” she says, her voice settling into its usual cadence. “Then come find me. There’s a case I want you to see.”

You nod, this time with a genuine smile, albeit faint. 

Trinity turns to the door, pausing only briefly as she reaches for the handle.

Behind her, you’re still facing the mirror, but now your hands stay at your sides.

She leaves before you can catch her watching.

⟡ ───── ⟡ ───── ⟡

By the time the shift starts winding down to a close, your feet ache, your brain feels like it’s running three seconds behind your body, and your tablet is filled with notes you’re pretty certain will need revision later.

But you’re not smoothing your scrubs anymore.

You don’t even notice at first.

You’re seated at the same workstation from this morning, finishing the last of your documentation, your fingers moving slower now but steadier. The department noise has softened into end-of-shift chatter, supplies being restocked, monitors beeping quietly in patient bays. 

You reread your note once, twice, then sign it with a small breath of relief.

“Look at that.”

You glance up.

Dr. Santos leans against the counter beside your chair, arms loosely crossed, her expression unreadable in a way that makes it hard to tell whether you’re about to be corrected or congratulated.

“You survived,” she says.

“I think so,” you reply, unable to stop the small smile that pulls at your mouth.

She glances at your screen, reading your note with quick efficiency. You try very hard not to watch her watch your work.

“This is solid,” she says after a moment.

“Really?”

“Really.” She taps once against the desk beside your computer. “You’re still slow. Your differential could be tighter. And you over-explained your discharge instructions.”

Your smile falters slightly.

Then she adds, “Which means you care about being thorough. That’s harder to teach than speed.”

Your cheeks heat again.

“Thank you, Dr. Santos.”

She studies you for a second, looking over your posture, your hands resting loosely in your lap instead of twisting anxiously together.

Approval passes across her face.

“You did good work today,” she says.

You duck your head, trying and failing to hide the way the compliment affects you.

It’s endearing.

Around you, staff begin filtering out, trading goodnights and tired laughter as charts are signed, pagers turned off, and handovers completed.

You hesitate, then gather your things, sliding your tablet into your bag.

“Thank you for letting me work with you,” you say, aiming for professional and hoping it doesn’t come out as shy as it feels. “I learned a lot.”

Trinity makes a noise akin to a hum, thoughtful as she pushes off the counter.

“Good,” she says. “Because I already told scheduling I’d take you for your next shift, too.”

Your head snaps to her. “You did?”

She shrugs one shoulder like it’s nothing.

“You ask good questions,” she says, reaching for her coffee cup. “And you don’t faint at the sight of blood, which puts you ahead of at least two other students I’ve had this month.”

You laugh, and she watches the sound leave you with that same satisfaction lingering behind her eyes.

“Go home,” she says, nodding toward the exit hallway. “Eat. Get some sleep.”

“Yes, Dr. Santos.”

You step around her, but pause when she catches your elbow with her hand. You turn back to find her looking you over, her gaze assessing you in a way that you’ve come to find familiar throughout your shift with her.

“You look more confident when you stop overthinking,” she says, her tone light enough to be casual but firm enough that you know she means it. “You should do that more often.”

Your face warms for what feels like the millionth time today, but the embarrassment doesn’t spike the way it used to.

“I’ll…work on it.”

She nods, satisfied.

You make it halfway down the hallway before you glance back over your shoulder. 

She’s already turned toward another computer, pulling up a chart, fully absorbed again like nothing happened. 

But as you push your way through the exit doors, exhaustion tugging at your limbs, you realize that second shifts aren’t supposed to feel easier than the first ones.

You find yourself hoping that the next one is with Dr. Santos, too.

⟡ ───── ⟡ ───── ⟡

Part 1 (you are here!) - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

⟡ ───── ⟡ ───── ⟡

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[dolloebaby]

frequent flyer jack abbot x f!reader

you’ve worked night shift with jack for years now, so how come the one day he covers day shift for robby, you’re sitting in the waiting room with a nasty bruise on your midsection and a laceration across your cheek

jack abbot x f!reader

wc. 9k

rating. 18+

summary. jack chooses to ignore how his heart constricts when your hands brush, how your eyes meet his, especially when his fall to the wedding ring attached to a delicate, gold chain hanging right below the collar of your scrubs. however one moment can change everything and that proves true when he covers the day shift and finds you in the waiting room injured and with red, swollen eyes.

tags/warnings. MDNI protective jack abbot, afab!reader, blood, needles, inaccurate medical descriptions, mutual pining, age gap, (reader is mentioned as younger than jack), reader is referred to as “sweetheart”, resident!reader, talks of domestic violence, graphic violence, physical and emotional abuse, possible emotional affair between jack and reader, female pronouns, female anatomy

requested? no

jack abbot can remember the day he met you, just a young second year resident transferring to PMTC due to budget cuts. you were still learning, eager with a passion he used to possess, before it became routine, steady. you’d shown up with a notepad that by the end of the way hadn’t been touched once, forgotten in your locker along with a half eaten granola bar. the minor bruise on your cheek, running into a mounted cabinet you’d informed.

he knew it must’ve been difficult, suddenly tossed into a new environment, with new challenges, people who already were accustomed to each other. however he took notice in the way you didn’t waver, chin held high and shoulders back, no matter how often that night he swore he saw your bottom lip wobble. you were resilient, something he admired greatly and found himself drawn too even on the most desolate of nights.

jack could also recount the exact moment you became something more than his favorite resident and trusted colleague, something special.

he’d found himself on the roof, not yet beyond the barrier yet gripping it as if he’d cross any moment, if he decided as much. the sun had began fading into the horizon, the soft, orange glow of morning bright against the overwhelming dimness jack felt festering in his gut.

it was then that the door to the roof screeched in protest against rusty hinges as someone pushed past. a pause as jack pondered if robby had sought him out yet again.

“dr abbot.” you, with your gentle tone that threatened to tug jack over the buildings side. his mind swam, struggling against the tide.

he could hear how your shoes approached, the squeak of the soles so pristine and new. a mark of the shift last thursday when your last pair had been made a vomit mat by a young girl with the flu.

he wasn’t sure if you’d been looking for him or simply decided you wanted to watch the sunrise, maybe both if by coincidence. you appeared in his peripheral, eyes focused ahead mirroring his own watchful gaze of the city.

“tonight was rough,” you spoke, calm, in control. he appreciated that about you, your professionalism and how you knew when to put it to use, and right then he felt properly doctored. he wanted to agree, nod, although he found himself quiet, urging you silently to continue, “it’s always rough.”

if that wasn’t the truth he didn’t know what was. you hummed low in your throat, and jack swore he could sense your next move as you glanced towards the side of his face.

“dr abbot, why do you come to the roof so often?” ah, so you’d noticed, and of course you had. always so perceptive.

he kept his eyes on the horizon of buildings, willing himself to think of an answer.

“why did you become a doctor?” he answers with a question, finally tearing his eyes away from the view to take in the woman standing a few feet away. you probably felt as exhausted as you looked. eye bags heavy beneath slightly red eyes, the look you’d get when he knew you were already clocking out and bidding everyone goodbye. he’d seen the very same on his own face many years before you came into the picture.

you don’t seem bothered by his question, eyes however deviating from his to dance around, probably searching for a response. you’re always quick when a trauma comes in, firing off directions, on the go with medications, prepared and agile and ready. but he pocketed in the recess of his mind how you’d hesitate to answer questions outside of the ER, thoughtful and important, like the words you put out there mattered.

“i don’t know.” is something he isn’t expecting to hear, no life story, no long explanation of how it was your calling, all things he’s heard and respected.

and its final, your indecisive decisiveness, no bother the oxymoron. it was a tad refreshing, hearing someone so sure be just a bit unprepared for once.

jack decides he can reward your candor, sighing like giving any piece of him away will spell doom.

“sometimes i think about crossing the barrier and,” his pause means more than words could allow, a deep set line between his brows pushing together when your breathing stutters, possibly something akin to concern, “this job can get to you.”

he doesn’t have to continue for you to understand the silent storm behind his eyes, emotions you’re far too aware of.

jack watches with batted breath he doesn’t know how to exhale as you shift from one foot to other before looking back to him. you don’t look at him with pity, no, there’s something different hidden in your gaze, something that twists his stomach.

“my intern year we had a suicide attempt brought in, benzos from his aunts medicine cabinet,” you waver, lashes fluttering like you’re just now reliving the memory. your hands tuck into your colombia zip up, shoulders rising and falling like a deep breath that can’t help but be seen. you turn towards the barrier, leaning forward so that your stomach presses gently to it, “16 year old, was being physically abused by his uncle.”

jack doesn’t speak, he listens.

“they got sole custody when he was 11, parents passed in a head on collision,” its awful, and jack can tell it must’ve left a steep mark on your soul if it’s something you can recall so vividly. he’s had those patients, the ones that leave behind burn marks and cause your faith to slip just a bit further down then the last, “poor kid barely lived, all he knew was suffering.”

you sound like you did when jack first met you, the underlying fear that came with realizing lives were in your hands.

“that was my first loss as a doctor,” the light behind your eyes has dimmed just so slightly, and jack can tell you’re reliving a moment you’d long since buried. he knows because he’s been exactly where you are, it’s like looking in a mirror, “i see his face every time i fall asleep.”

it lands in jack’s chest with a dull thud, aching at the raw vulnerability in your voice, the sound of grief.

“it’s true when they say it doesn’t get any easier.” you concede, nodding towards the rising sun like it understands your plight.

silence fills the space between you and jack, a comfortable silence that stretches across the roof. where the two of you stand together, enjoying the way the morning air gradually grows warmer.

“worse if it did.” jack replies, there’s no room for interpretation in his words, just truth.

“the good cases don’t change the bad one, but they remind us why we’re doing this,” you’re sure in your words, and jack isn’t confident if you’re comforting him or just talking to keep him occupied, like if you were to stop he’d end up on the pavement, “and sometimes we just really need that reminder to cement.”

you were wise, in a way jack saw in how you spoke to patients, their families. something that not only comes with time but also from who you are as a person.

“you don’t need to talk me down,” jack speaks, his voice fatigued and quiet, “if anything, the thought of my team scraping me off the tarmac is reason enough.”

it’s morose, he can see the way your face seems to pinch at the picture he’s painted for you.

the subtle warmth of having another body near grows as you shuffle closer, shoulders a few inches away.

“maybe i ought to come up here more often.” it’s posed as an open ended idea, although jack can pick up on the finality in your voice. he finds a himself allowing the tug on his lips to pull into a smile, chin bobbing as he nods. your throat clears.

“as long as you don’t mind the company, dr abbot.”

“jack.”

“what?” your eyes scan the side of his face, searching.

jack turns to face you, that smile still lingering on his lips as he leans into the barrier.

“colleagues that hassle me this much usually call me jack.” it’s a tease on his tongue, a hint of mirth behind his gaze.

you’ve spoken his name before, when his presence has been absent, talking to lena or on the off chance dana. even in conversations with robby. although you always found yourself back at dr abbot, feeling a line you’d rather not cross unless the man himself allowed as much.

“alright,” your teeth show as you smile, light, comfortable, “as long as you follow your own advice and address me the same.”

jack holds your gaze, the two of you drenched in the hazy sunrise, simply allowing the accumulated stress to melt away from the night. he notices your free hand playing with the badge clipped to your scrub pants. the picture is of you a few months ago, wearing the same smile.

you’re nothing short of breathtaking, and jack can acknowledge that as the sun casts rays across your face. he’d noticed since the day you’d shook his hand, face hopeful. he wasn’t blind, he could see it even behind the layer of night shift grim and fatigue, the way your eyes would sparkle. he’d always considered himself a steadfast man, firm in his ideals and grateful for what he was given.

in spite of all that that held jacks self control, he found himself ready to allow you to tear down his walls. the gorgeous young doctor that cared far too much for her own good, and for some reason sought to confront a war torn veteran in his silent qualms.

“i should get going,” you pull at the last word, like you’re contemplating not heeding it and saying with jack in silence, “especially before robby pulls up on that godforsaken donor-cycle.” it’s cynical, an ill-mannered joke that pokes at the bruise of his friends habit of forgoing a helmet. he chuckles, allowing your crude attempt at humor to erode at something resembling hesitation within his chest.

“i’ll see you tomorrow, or tonight, dr-, jack.” it’s a messy sentence of corrections that cause you to huff, and if jack were to observe your mannerisms any harder he thinks he’d notice the way you seem to fluster beneath his gaze. that being said, your embarrassment is endearing to the older man.

“get some rest, knowing our luck shit will hit the fan.” he’s serious beside the way he placates it for the sole reason you’d once mentioned that thinking bad things will happen before they do is bad juju. whatever that means.

“i expect you to do the same.” you know how jack is, always worried about everyone but himself. he shakes his head like the idea of resting is humorous, casting a glance back at your departing smile as his eyes catch the way the sun reflects off something by the collar of your scrub top.

a wedding ring. precariously looped through a thin, gold chain around your neck. the diamond is quite prodigious, layered with clusters of even more diamonds. they lay on a bed of silver and gold, the band thin and delicate, a stark contrast to your dark scrub top.

jack feels something thorny lodge between his ribs, anchoring in place and refusing to adjust. his eyes watch the fine jewelry as it rustles against your movement, eyes casting up to yours in time to return the wave you send his way.

he shouldn’t be surprised, someone as kind as you, as strong willed yet soft and gentle. someone as exquisite as you were, who the day he met set the back of his neck aflame. who just now had opened his eyes to the startling realization that you weren’t simply a pretty thing he often found his eyes searching for, you were enigma. a painfully smart, beautiful woman who just kickstarted something he hadn’t felt since his late wife.

his eyes found the horizon once more, brows furrowing as his predicament seemed fully settle.

jack abbot‘s heart beat for a woman with a wedding ring around her neck. and it sunk in that while his racing pulse stuttered at the memory of your recent smile, yours raced for another.

jack knew he from that day forward he was fucked. the weeks that went by, the months continuing to grow closer to you like it wasn’t a threat to his health when you’d lean in and his lungs would fill with the sweet scent of your perfume. every time you’d save a life, your hand meeting his in a celebratory high five, your palm soft against his rough calluses.

sometimes he’d catch you out by the ambulance bay alone, simple gathering yourself as the brisk night air soothed your panicky, fried nerves. on occasion he’d join you, standing in silence as the only sound to be heard was your joint, steady deep breaths.

“this is the third time this week, i swear her conditions are progressively getting more outlandish,” dr shen commented as he placed a patient chart beside you, the binder making a dull thud as it landed. you glance towards john, brows raised in question, to which he nods. as you open the chart, your gaze roves over the pages, “purposeful?”

you hum, low in your throat. a habit you’d grown to utilize as an indication of your thoughts processing.

“seems like hypochondria, possibly munchausen, is it the same condition worsening or is it different every item?” you probe, eyes dancing across the woman’s patient file.

“we call it FDIS now, you know what that stands for?” jack. he appears from behind, arms crossing as he comes to a halt before you and shen. your head shakes, chin dipping as you find yourself slipping into an easy smile. he always knew when to teach you, however infrequent the moments arose now.

“yes, must’ve slipped my mind, sorry jack,” shen snickers as he watches the two of you, “factitious disorder imposed on self.”

“differing from..?”

“factitious disorder imposed on another, otherwise most commonly known as munchausen by proxy.” you’re proud of your knowledge, despite the flutter of heat you feel rising to your cheeks. maybe it’s the way jack is looking at you, that tired expression of his sinking into content at your answer. or maybe how shen thought your teaching moment was comical, deciding it the perfect time to obnoxiously slurp the remaining coffee water through his dunkin straw.

“this doesn’t help me.” shen speaks after a second of enjoying his beverage, one he’d been slowly sipping for the past 12 hours, something you swore took skill.

you gaze rises from jack, falling on your friend in dire need of his colleagues professional opinion on the matter.

“you’re the attending, you should know this,” your level of sass is only emboldened by the closeness you’ve accumulated with your fellow night shift staff. a tone you would have never used on either of the men in front of you if you didn’t expect their reactions by now, “or, you could question the boss.”

your chin nods up to where jack stands, his shoulders bobbing as he exhales a sound you recognize as a softly concealed chuckle. shen makes an equally exaggerated noise, dipped in exhaustion as he reaches down for the chart he’d allowed you to mull over. he tucks it under his bicep, his free hand grasping his lukewarm latte as if it’s fine porcelain.

“different condition each time.” he continues the conversation from before jack had interrupted.

“alright, next time she’s here have her speak with psych.” you conclude shen’s query, if you squint hard enough you can see how you’ve wrapped it with a nice, shiny bow, metaphorically of course. your eyes find jack’s once more, however you find his already focused on you.

shen’s lips form a solid line, inhaling through his nose like he hasn’t had a second of peace all night.

“it’s a plan. you’ll let me know if you need help with the head lac in 5?” he asks, gingerly gathering himself to see whoever is next on the board. you simply nod, a small hum leaving you as you watch the doctor make his way towards the waiting room.

you feel the sear of eyes on your profile, the shadow of jacks form falling into your line of sight, leaning against the nurses station. you decide to throw the man a bone, watching how he’s eyeing the clock.

“hot date?” your smirk is teasing, creeping further into the apples of your cheeks as his face turns to look both offended and caught off guard. then he simmers, like you’d poured ice water over his head.

“if your idea of a hot date is tossing my prosthetic across the living room and nursing a guinness.” you lean into lena’s swivel chair, already ready to tell her you were keeping it warm if she suddenly reappears with a brow raised. you can recall when you’d learned of jacks prosthetic, it was fairly soon into transferring.

a young body had lost his right leg in a head on collision, he’d been unbuckled in the front seat. you can remember the blood, the way his mothers screams were raw and painful as she arrived hand in hand with her unconscious child on a gurney. paramedics looked dour, it had been raining that day, you can recount the way your shoes slipped a few times as you raced against the trauma.

but he lived, with one less appendage than before. the kid was young, maybe too young to process fully what had happened yet not too young to understand what he was seeing when they pulled his gown up, revealing a very bandaged stump.

you’d been to the side when jack explained what would happen going forward with the boy and his mother, flipping pages of medication orders and treatment plans.

you’d seen the look on the child’s face, too small to have such an expression of desolation. then jack lifted his pant leg, exposing the titanium.

you always wished you’d remembered the joke jack had made, the advice he gave. nevertheless, you could never, nor would you wish to scrub the image of the boys grin, ear to ear and absolutely fascinated.

“hey, if he’s causing you any issues let me know, i’ll take him out back and set him straight.” you hadn’t named his prosthetic, or the second spare he had. although you decided not too long ago that treating it as if it was sentient and capable of thought made you snort. jacks eyes fluttered shut, head shaking like he had no clue how to answer or what to do with you.

“one day you’ll let that shit go and i’ll be eternally grateful,” he quips at your attempt to get him to crack a smile, something that could be fairly rare most nights, “maybe if i pawn you off to robby it’ll be a lesson you won’t forget.”

that makes your jaw drop, stuck between thinking of a jab to return or just staring him the man like he’d offended not only you but also your ancestors.

“you wouldn’t, you think any of the day residents could handle your overly sunny disposition?” it’s not really a question, more a sarcastic rebuttal to the man’s words. the fact you had met all of the day shift staff cemented in your mind they couldn’t handle it like you could, even if it sounded arrogant. you were allowed to be full of it every now and then, a healthy level of confidence was good for the soul.

“and please, i know you’re messing with me but robby is like a disappointed uncle,” you stand to approach jack, nudging the chair with your foot as you do, letting it roll back into the counter, “like that uncle you see every blue moon that doesn’t remember your name or birthday yet can tell you everything you did wrong with that intubation.” it’s a contrived explanation that makes jacks mouth curl, ignoring the way the ac hits his overheated skin and allows him to register the scent of your lotion.

“you’re a pro at intubations, think you taught me something the first time i watched you do one.” his words spill through your gut, a sense of pride following you as your cheeks grow sore from grinning, a grin that hadn’t once slipped since jack appeared.

“oh my g-, stop,” you laugh, patting a hand against the man’s shoulder as his expression mirrors yours, “if you think flattery will get you anywhere, you’re correct.” your laughter grows, like you know no one funnier than yourself. jack watches as your head tips back, your presence setting him in such an easy going stance he nearly forgets where the two of you are. he wants to join your laughter, pretend the feel and warmth of your palm against his shoulder didn’t set something in his ablaze. be jovial and normal, allow you to pull him into the serenity he’s seen you carry.

but he can still feel your touch. the way your fingertips practically burned into his scrub top, despite your poor circulation and chilly hands. it lasts, the lump in his throat he continuously swallows just to feel it rise again. maybe it’s bile, maybe he’s sick because his hands twitch at his sides like they need to caress you or he’ll die on the spot. it’s unprofessional, it’s inappropriate. he’s glad you’re still lost in your own world of lessening giggles that begin to fade into soft breaths.

“how about i buy you a guinness in a few hours and you can bring me a coffee sometime to return the favor?” you slow into the conversation once make, eyes more awake then jack swears they were when he’d seen you chatting with shen.

“surprise me, just no double shots or i’ll not just be bouncing off the walls, i’ll become the walls.” sometimes your humor confuses him, but he stays enjoying the way your words are normally silly and ill conceived.

“i can afford my own beer.”

“consider it a thanks for teaching me about FDIS.” you shrug. jacks brows pinch inward.

“you said you already knew of it.”

“alright, consider it my thanks for reminding me of information i knew prior.” maybe someone had opened a window nearby or maybe jack could just breath better around you. like a weight had been lifted and dropped from his shoulders, no longer overbearing and constantly expecting more.

“tell you what, i’ll think about it.” he responds, eyes on the way of your gaze darts to the clock behind his head.

“thinking about staying late?” late as in far into day shift. you always arrived early into the evening, however lately it seemed like you’d been staying longer as well.

jack observes the way you look apprehensive, a tight smile taking over the genuine one you’d worn seconds ago. it made his stomach twist uncomfortably, an expression upon your features he wasn’t aware you could even muster up.

“i can’t, date night.” the words land uneasy in his chest, unable to place reason for the sudden change in the air.

jack eyes the smile lines beneath your eyes, the slight purse of your lips.

“you don’t talk about him.” jack announces.

“what?”

“your husband.”

“oh, yeah,” you chuckle, a hand coming up to fiddle with your badge, “i like to keep my private life separate from work.”

it’s a common response, one jacks heard more times than he can count. professional, letting whoever’s asking know they’re prying a bit, and to mind their business. kindly.

nevertheless, something about that kind of response coming from you settles awkwardly in jack. he knew your coffee order, he knew you liked to wear a long sleeved shirt under your scrubs. he’d noticed months ago how you like gossip with shen and lena, how you were dr parker’s preferred resident, dependable in your right.

he knew what kind of women’s sanitary products you like since this one day your menstrual cycle started and you were stranded in the hospitals staff bathroom. you trusted him with that phone call, for him to bring them to you. he can picture the look on your face after you exited the bathroom, the way you avoided eye contact and sheepishly told him, ‘thanks jack, please never bring it up though’.

and yet, you wanted to keep work separate from your private life. it felt wrong that it bothered him. he respected you greatly, and you were completely in your right to set that boundary. but if jack said it didn’t sting at all, he would be lying.

“do you keep your work life private as well?” he’s prying, but it’s all he could think of to say, glancing at the patient board. you’re a doctor, more often than not you’re working, how could there not be any overlap?

you shift from one foot to the other. then you say a man’s name, clearly your husbands.

“he doesn’t like hearing about my work, even the good cases,” you pause, almost like you’re saying too much. jack finds his gaze back on you, subconsciously leaning in at the sound of your voice, “says he has enough on his mind without me adding too it.” you laugh, but something in the way you do so sounds hollow, like you’re intentionally distracting jack from how off that sounds.

his brows furrow, his mouth opens to retort about how you husband sounds a little full of it, although he’s cut off when you rush to speak.

“he’s a really good man.”

he finds it disconcerting how you felt the need to inform him of that.

a few days later jack is sitting across from robby in the park, bench cold under him, his prosthetic off to his left.

“a good man listens to how his wife’s day went.” he’s steadfast in his words, like it’s only logical. he was married once, he knew how to treat his wife, the woman he loved. to him it wasn’t even a matter of principle, he simply always wanted to.

robby nods like he’s only half listening.

“have you met him?”

“who?”

“her husband.” jack probes, hoping maybe robby had some insight he’d managed to miss. robby leans back into the back rest of the bench, the wooden beams creaking against his weight.

“i haven’t,” robby pauses like he shouldn’t continue, “i do know he works out of town often, she’s usually alone for days on end.” that definitely tracked with the little jack knew about him. and it makes him a little forlorn, thinking about you coming home from a long shift, exhausted, maybe even upset, hurt, just to be met with an unlit house and empty bed.

jack catches the way robby looks uncomfortable, like he’s keeping something else too himself.

“alright,” jack counters, watching the way robby scratches his chin, “and you know this how?” he secretly hopes the whole time you haven’t been speaking more about your life intimately with robby then him, and he hasn’t been overestimating the closeness the two of you have grown to share.

“she’s friends with some of the day shift staff, confides in cassie, dr mckay, sometimes.” robby says, and jack just nods. condensation from the beer can drips down his hand.

“listen,” jack is all ears, “all i’ll say is, she doesn’t speak very affectionately about the fella.”

“she’s spoken poorly about him?” jack leans in further, punctuating his point as his expression twists into confusion. robby shakes his head, like the idea is absurd.

“no, you know her, she’d never speak badly about anyone,” and jack has to agree with robby’s words, you weren’t the type.

“so, dr mckay told you this?” jack inquires, as causally as he can manage. robby hums, looking towards the brick walkway between them.

“i think she was concerned,” that makes jack pause, eyes locking with the man across from him. he feels a pit form in his stomach, burrowing through his muscle and bone, “just a feeling she got.”

cassie had always been good at that, especially considering her own past and patient experience.

“a feeling?” jack implores.

“i wouldn’t look too hard into it, probably just strain from him traveling often,” it makes sense, although the pit in jacks stomach hasn’t let up, in fact it’s more like a crater now, “they got married young, it happens.”

the beer in jacks hand has been completely forgotten.

something about his conversation sat with jack even after a week of trying to push it from his thoughts. even as he was watching you perform chest compressions, his gaze was far away, focused but preoccupied, much unlike him.

“stop compressions,” he spoke, the monitor droned, the room silent, “asystole, resume compressions.”

it was one of those cases where the patient was unresponsive on the scene, unsteady rhythm in the ambulance, DOA.

but there was protocol, a standard of care they had to give all patients brought in, even if the odds were against them.

sweat dotted at the back of your neck, eyes on the monitor as it remained flat, unchanged.

“alright,” you dreaded the words as they prepared to leave jacks mouth, the go ahead to stop care entirely. no matter how tired your arms felt in the moment, you never enjoyed removing your hands and accepting there was simply no more you could do, “time of death, 11:45.”

your hands pumped a few more times, fingers trembling as they then froze against the woman’s chest. your gaze moved to her face, pale, sickly against the overhead fluorescent. a sight you never got used too.

“you did good,” jack spoke as you moved away from the patient, biting at the inside of your cheek, “you always do good.”

you can’t lie and say his words don’t help the ache, he’s always been a voice of reason against the tidal wave of doubt within your subconscious. your eyes meet his, sighing heavy as the knowledge that you’re still only a few hours into your shift falls heavy against your shoulders.

“i was taught by the best,” jack can physically feel himself soften at your comment, in addition the look directed at him, “I-,”

CRASH

a metal tray goes flying, the impact of it landing on the tile floor echoes across the ED, several gasps ringing out as well as voices speaking in confusion. an apology follows, probably a med student that wasn’t paying attention to their surroundings, an accident. jack huffs a chuckle, ready to comment about interns and their lack of awareness, when his body goes cold.

you’re pressed into the wall near where you once stood, hands pressed into the drywall at your sides, fingers slightly bent like you’re trying to stay grounded. although jack is more taken aback by the expression you now wore.

your eyes are wide, wider than he’s seen even in high stress situations, aggressive patients, family, blood spraying across your front, bones sticking out where they definitely shouldn’t be. all pale in comparison to the sheer terror you now gracing your normally relaxed features.

your mouth is open, taking in deep breaths that only seem to worsen the state you’re in. jack can’t tell if you’re hyperventilating, although he’s not going to wait to find out.

he’s taking steps forward in an instant, hands out like he’s bracing, or approaching a scared, wounded animal.

he speaks your name like a question.

“what happened, talk to me,” he’s insistent in his tone, weary, like he’s going to spook you. before he can get any further you’re putting a hand to your chest like you’ve finally taken in some air, eyes fluttering shut for a second before they reopen and land on jack, “are-,”

“i’m sorry,” you speak, voice no louder than a whisper. you face is pulled in shame, running a hand across your forehead before moving to pass the man before you, “that was unprofessional, i’m sorry.”

“no, it’s okay-,” jack is quick to respond, resisting the innate urge to reach out and grab your wrist, keep your from leaving the room. but his hand clamps at his side, eyes following your form and it exits the glass doors and makes a sharp left. jack finds his back pressing into the side of the doorframe, mind racing.

you had brushed off the interaction when jack confronted you in the break room. you were startled, it happens sometimes, you were fine. all things he didn’t really believe, but he’d decide to trust you on this. you were off the next night, and you mentioned you’d been looking forward to an actual night of sleep, not just during the day or sneaking naps in the moments during the week you could. maybe you were just tired, hence the reaction.

jack didn’t cover the day shift often, especially after discovering he was more of a night owl than anything. but sometimes you have to take the hit for the sake of it, even if it means you’ll lose a few extra hours of sleep.

at least that’s mindset jack has as he walks into the doors of the ED, the smell of various people in the waiting room hitting him as well as the pungent scent of sterile products. his bag is slung over his shoulder, badge in one hand as he readies it to show to security. as he approaches ahmad, his gaze pans over all the people in chairs. he can see a myriad of visible, thankfully minor, injuries.

his heart hits a stutter as his scan lands on a pair of eyes he’s very familiar with, no, it’s just a coincidence. it’s a young woman, in casual, comfy clothes like she’d just rolled out of bed. she’s not wearing a badge, eyes trained on her phone screen and she seems to be frantically typing something.

she has a nasty head lac, a recent looking one as well. she’s holding a dripping, probably mostly melted ice pack to her head with her free hand, he can see a wince throughout her body when she presses it into the cut.

he’s seeing things, on two hours of sleep, but then she looks up, and his worries are confirmed when it’s not just any young woman, it’s you. he’s already on the move before his brain can catch up with his body.

he doesn’t bother to speak any pleasantries as he slots through a small crowd, heart beat increasingly rapidly as he grows increasingly closer to you. he can see red on your shirt collar, down the front of your shirt. it’s wrong, you’re not supposed to be in the waiting room as a case, you’re supposed to be the doctor. why haven’t you been seen yet? why are you sitting out here with your head cracked open?

his breathing is erratic as he finally stands before you, chest heaving.

your eyes pan up, suddenly wide and caught as you stare up at him. the ice pack lowers from your forehead and jack has to physically control himself and not immediately grab it from you and press it back onto the wound.

“jac-, dr abbot.” your correction stings, it feels like a set back, something he doesn’t want to think about as a storm is still raging within him.

“does lupe know you’re sitting out here?” by this point a few strangers are staring, quizzical as to the interaction they’re seeing. jack sees the way you seem to withdraw into yourself, hands finding purchase by fiddling with the zipper on your jacket.

“stand up.” it’s not a request, his voice is rough and strained, it’s a demand. one that makes you swallow so harshly jacks worries you’ll choke. his eyes soften, he takes in every bit of your appearance. it’s his turn to withdraw.

he’s on his knees in a second, ignoring the stares. he takes your bag and slides it over his shoulder where his sits, then places a gentle, hesitant hand on your knee, touch feather light.

“please, sweetheart,” you suck in a breath audibly, the exhale coming out shaky. your eyes meet his, “let me take a look at you.”

your nod is all the push he needs to stand, stepping back to allow you room to follow him. he’s silent as he walks to the double doors, badge in the air as he angles it at security. they nod, permission to enter.

jack doesn’t bother greeting dana as she flashes him a quizzical expression, eyes falling to you only to turn to concern. he’s quick to scan for an empty patient bed, leading you to one a few rooms down. as you enter the space, your gaze stays on your sneakers, ignoring how jack closes the glass door, pulls the curtain closed.

“please, sit down,” his voice is tender, softer than moments ago. you follow as he says, “can you tell me what happened?”

he starts gathering the necessary supplies from the wheeled table in the room.

his arms cross over his chest, sturdy. you shift on the bed, fingers clasping in your lap.

“i tripped going down the stairs, hit my head on the hand rail.” it’s almost absurd to jack, you’re not particularly clumsy, and most definitely not to this degree.

“uh huh,” he doesn’t sound like he believes on second of it, and you wince at he applies some pressure to the wound, he mentions you husband by name, “did he bring you here?”

he wants to ask why you’re alone, why your husband isn’t here with you, but he bites his tongue. maybe he’s out of town, that’s the only logical reason he would abandon his wife to deal with a head injury on her own. you nod.

“he doesn’t like hospitals.” so he’s home right now. while his wife is in the hospital. jack feels something in him very similar to anger begin in boil.

“he couldn’t suck it up?” he chuckles with no humor behind it, you can feel the shift in the air.

“he’s squeamish.”

“his wife has a gash across her face.” he says it with a flat tone, straight faced. pulling the gauze away from your temple, he makes a decisive noise at the back of his throat.

“well it’s no longer actively bleeding,”

“i think most of its on my shirt.” you snicker, trying to get a genuine smile out of jack. he doesn’t take the bait.

“you don’t need sutures, thankfully, does it hurt anywhere else?” god he hopes you say no, but the sheepish look on your face says otherwise.

“yeah, when i fell i smacked my side as well,” your hand rises, gripping the edge of your jacket and shirt, he can see the hesitation in your movements, and he hones in on the skin that comes into view as you lift it, “it’s just a bit tender.”

it’s a dark purple, hues of red and pink fading in at the edges. a colossal bruise, covering nearly half of your midsection. he knows there’s no signs of internal bleeding, especially considering the fact that this apparently happened hours ago, you’d be on the floor by now. his eyes shut at the thought.

as he swallows back the bile rising in his throat, you laugh, something light, he can tell it’s fake just to put him at ease again like you’d tried earlier. it still has no effect.

“you got this from a fall?” he wants to ask more, how. how would falling down a few steps land you in this condition, it made no sense. he glances at the necklace tucked into your top.

“where was your husband when this happened?” you shuffle, eyes casting towards your shoes once more.

“out.”

“and he came home and found you?”

“yep.” they’re simple answers, ones that should quell the anxiety bubbling in jacks gut. however the way you’re avoiding eye contact forces him to think otherwise.

he takes in a breath, pulling a chair from behind him to sit himself down.

“this is a serious injury. i have to ask, do you feel safe at home?” it’s wrong the way your face crumbles like he’s figured it out, just to meld into anger.

“what are you implying?” he leans back at your words.

“i’m not implying, i’m concerned-,”

“don’t be. accidents happen.” you shrug, brushing off his comments.

“seriously jack,” you sit up with a slight grimace, scooting to the edge of the bed to place a hand on his knee like it’s your first instinct. he can feel the warmth of your palm on his scrubs, the way you’re looking at him like you need him to listen, so he does. he tries his hardest to ignore your hand on him, the drying blood on your clothes, the irk in his stomach that these injuries are congruent with a fall.

you seem to notice what you’ve just done. hand yanking back like you’d been burned.

“i’m sorry. that was inappropriate.” he chooses to look past the way you sound nervous, look past the way his heart skips a beat at the sound.

“and i appreciate it, but i’m fine, i promise.”

you move to stand, although jacks own grip is applied to your shoulder, softly pushing you back where you sat. he stands, sighing.

“at least say for an hour in observation, let us run concussion protocol on you.” you can hear the strain in his voice, and you allow yourself to agree to his terms. knowing full well as a doctor, walking out of here after a brief run down isn’t how you treat a patient properly. and as of right now, you were the patient. so you just nod.

“okay. i’ll be right back.” before jack closes the door behind him, he switches the lights to dim the room, sending you a tight lipped smile. he shuts the door quietly, facing the herd of noise beyond the minuscule room he’d just been in.

“everything okay?” dana, she’s appeared from the left holding a chart. jack sends her a look before walking towards the nurses station and leaning into the counter.

“she alright?” she asks, more concerned than a second ago. jack nods, trying to convince himself more than her.

“yeah, nothing that won’t heal, it’s just,” he pauses, scrubbing his hands over his face, this isn’t how he wanted to shift to start, not because it’s messed with his day, but because now he won’t be able to think about anything but you. picture the look on your face when you saw him in the waiting room, the nervous twitch of your bottom lip when you’d laughed about your injuries, god, he couldn’t breathe properly, “it looks like the cut you’d receive from a ring.”

jack insists you take the next few days off, he’s asked for a week but you’d been vehemently against that long. robby agreed. you accepted the time to allow healing, either that or two attendings on your ass for not considering your own health above all.

and he won’t lie, everything feels different, not as lively with you around. you had brought something he hadn’t noticed the ED needed until you left with it. he was lucky to have never noticed this, considering you’d always said you’d rather be at work than bored at home alone. however you informed him you weren’t alone this time, your husband had been back since the injury than landed you in this predicament.

he tried to push down the gnawing in his stomach. you were fine, you were healing, you had someone to look after you. then why couldn’t he reason with his instinct that something was wrong.

the day you returned it was like the incident had never happened. or at least you were deciding to put it behind you, and jack would respect that decision. you worked, joked with shen and dr walsh, assisted ellis, like everything was normal. like jack couldn’t see the fading scar on your forehead of a moment he’d never be able to scrub from his brain. a situation that had been keeping him awake at night, hoping he hadn’t sent you back to the person that had done it.

but at the end of the day, that was just a suspicion. jack couldn’t act on that, it could hurt you more then intended. he had to just let it go, if you had, so could he.

towards the end of the night shift, he found himself looking for your familiar face, hoping to congratulate you on an impressive save today. lena pointed him in the last direction she’d seen you headed off too.

he found you on the roof around 7am, watching the clouds slowly travel past, the sun coming up from behind the myriad of buildings. it was brisk out, enough that goosebumps rose across his bare arms.

he watched your silhouette for a minute, framed like a painting against the orange and blues of the awakening sky.

as he began to approach, he noticed you turn slightly, clearly aware someone was now behind you.

his eyes found yours as he placed his elbows against the barrier.

“you saved that kid in 12,” he says, and although you try to act nonchalant about it, he can see the smile creeping onto your face, “it was impressive. everyone certainly thinks so.”

“it’s part of the job.” you say with a sigh, although your cheeks hurt from grinning. jack chuckles.

“without you here, we’d be at a disadvantage.”

“you really think that?” you turn to him, absolutely failing at hiding the reaction to his comment.

“i do.” he nods, watching the way you light up. he’s glad this place hasn’t taken all chunk of your soul yet, he hopes it never happens. he’ll make sure it doesn’t.

“you don’t come up here much anymore,” you say, leaning over to nudge the man with your shoulder, “i thought it would become like, our spot.”

you’re teasing him, he can tell. yet it doesn’t stop the way he feels a slight warm tickle the back of his neck.

“i don’t have any reason too anymore, i guess.”

“you guess?” you remark.

“someone very important helped me realize that.” your mouth goes dry, hands that gripped the barriers rail tightening. the jewelry around your neck feels like it’s weighing you down, it’s too heavy, it couldn’t have been this heavy the whole time, couldn’t it? you stomach does a somersault, bottom lip biting against your teeth and you bite into the flesh.

happy. you felt happy right now. overjoyed. you can’t even think of the last time you felt that way when you were at home, or on date night, your anniversary.

you breath was stolen, something illogical and tingly and just right planting itself in your lungs.

the only time these last two years you’ve felt true, unbridled elation, had been moments you’ve shared with dr abbot, jack, the man standing in front of you. looking at you like this rising sun paled in comparison to your face mere feet from his, like pulling his gaze away from you would be torturous and inhumane.

but the ring against your chest is scratching uncomfortably against your skin, tearing and putting wear on your scrub top.

“jack-,”

it’s then you notice the breeze across your body, specifically your bare arms, and where jack is now fixated on.

ice filled jacks veins.

“what is that.” it wasn’t a question, he knew what it was. a deep bruise, mottled yellow and purple, probably already a few days old. it spanned most of your forearm, and if jack squinted it kind of resembled, a handprint? his breathing picked up, he was worried his legs would give out from the sudden fuzziness taking over his brain.

your eyes moved to him, blinking with furrowed brows as you followed his eye line, down to where you’d pushed up your sleeves.

jack wanted to puke the second you frantically pulled your sleeve down, covering the injury he hadn’t noticed until today. you looked, embarrassed, for what reason? jack wasn’t sure.

“i fell.”

“bullshit.” it’s blunt and jack feels remorse only for the way you look surprised, caught off guard by his tone and abrupt language.

“excuse me?” your attempt at sounding assertive falls flat as your voice wavers. jack takes a tentative step forward.

“is he home?”

you say your husbands name in questioningly, jack nods.

“why does that matte?” you sound worried, unsure as you blink wildly, looking everywhere but jack.

“because every time you show up skittish, and hurt, it’s coincidentally when he’s in pittsburgh,” he can see the panic set in when you realize he’s noticed the pattern, the waver in you behavior. of course he’d noticed, he’s jack, “and i want to help.”

he’s pleading, face pulled in despair that he hadn’t put it all together until now. he can physically see how you’re pulling away mentally.

“why?” your voice is small, scared, trembling in a way that hurts jack in a manner he can’t articulate.

“because i care about you.” your eyes shoot up to his, wide. your mouth opens and closes, shoulders falling from their tense position.

“is that the only reason? because you care?” he’s never heard you so unsure an fragile. he would laugh at your question if the situation wasn’t so dire.

“of course that’s not the only reason.”

“then why? jack-,”

“i’d do anything for you.” that shuts you up. your mouth closing and throat bobbing like that’s the last thing you expected him to say. jack is ready for you to yell at him, tell him you have too much going on in your life, you’re married, regardless of all of that you don’t want his help, most of all you don’t want him.

your lip quivers, he catches it.

“jack, i,” you look close to tears, stumbling over your words as you pull your jacket tighter around you, a particularly chilly breeze flowing over the roof, “this isn’t-.”

you can’t seem to find the words, blinking away the accumulation of wetness in your eyes.

“let me help you.” he begs, silver curls moving against the breeze.

jacks heart cracks as you shake your head, stepping back away from him.

“no, it’s not that simple.” he knows how this works, he’s spoken to women in abusive situations with their spouse. but it feels like all that training and knowledge flies out the window the second tears begin to roll down your cheeks, your delicate skin marred with desolation.

“please-,” he reaches a hand out.

“i’m fine, leave it.” you put an end to his pleading, wiping at your tears with the back of your hand.

he says your name, in a voice so broken you pause in your retreat to the staircases door. picking up into a light jog, you ignore the second call of your name as you disappear through the threshold, back turned away and unaware of the expression of devastation now on jacks face.

what’s he doing?

he’s racing after you as his body catches up with his brain. but you’re gone, no where to be found in the ED, the upper levels, chairs, hell he even checked the woman’s restroom. as his legs carry him to the ambulance bay, he’s pulled back into reality as the spot your car was once in is now empty. a hand combs through his silver curls, stressed.

and that’s how he spends the next hour feeling. even as he clocks out, commutes home, tosses his go bag on the dining room table and tears his prosthetic off. despair, longing to see your face, hear your voice, your reassurances.

until another half hour passes and his phone rings. he lets it go to voicemail, waiting to hear the tone and whoever’s trying to get in touch with him.

but the voicemail never comes, only more incessant buzzing after a brief moment of silence. torn from his stupor, the man reaches across the couch to grab his cell, already prepared to head back to work or tell robby to fuck off.

he’s not expecting your caller id. you never call him, you exchanged numbers for emergencies, and thankfully you’d never had to use them. but it your name, clear as day. he picks up on the fourth ring, afraid the call with cut off and you won’t return it for the third time.

he brings it to his ear, ready to spew apologies, beg for a proper conversation, but all he gets out is a choked sound as a cry comes through the speaker.

he sits up, all exhaustion gone from his body in an instant.

he can hear you sniffling, saying something incoherently, than a sob. he’s frantic, listening to you blubber about something, ready to plead for you to take a deep breath and tell him what you need, when a sentence full of anguish manages to make it through your cries.

“jack, please, i need you to come get me.”

you’ve reached the end of part 1…

thank you for reading! part 2 will be linked to this post when it’s out 💋

taglist below part 1

@44na44

@chronic-fangirl-222

@hanuh

@hehehehehehehaaaaaaaa

@motherofkittens96

@blahbluhblah06

@noitsforthebetter

@outofstyles3

@lostinthes4uce

@shadow-nala10

@junosbugs

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@uiscefhuaraithe242

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@kitten-daisy

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@passingpriorities

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@vanillacloudmochi

[starshipsofstarlord]

she’s my woman | daryl dixon

summary. after escaping terminus, you hold up shelter in the church, and daryl realises that abraham has interest in you. he says nothing, knowing that you can more than take care of yourself (1.7k)

warnings. mentions of death and sex, reader smoking, abraham trying to flirt with reader, amused daryl, like one swear word, established relationship

divider credits. @cafekitsune

It was a particularly warm day, leaving each person sweltering, including the priest Gabriel whom had held no choice in offering shelter in the church he had served before the outbreak and continued to maintain. The lot of you were exhausted, Terminus having exhausted much will and motivation from each of your persons, including the new survivors that had joined along the way; Rosita, Abraham and Eugene. Daryl found you seated outside, sat there lulling in the anguish that braced tension in each muscle of your body.

“That woman’s something.” Abraham told him as if he didn’t already know that fact, and Daryl grunted in reply, aware of how the redhead’s tired gaze trailed across your frame with interest - he had thought that Rosita was the last woman on earth, and he had certainly been proven incorrect on that matter. The archer did not like the way that the newcomer was ogling at you as you nursed a cigarette between your lips, one that you had found in the home of religion along with a lighter, stashed away beneath a pew, as though the sin was hidden from god himself. Someone must have really needed a breather after church.

The smoke wafted around you in relieving waves, contorting around your silhouette as a grey outline, the distinct scent imbedding itself within both your hair and the articles that you were clothed in, the strong tang despite being disliked by many others brought you a sense of comfort that seemed impossible to inhale. Yet you had found something to soothe your energised nerves, to momentarily distract you from the turmoil that contagiously followed any life that remained. You were oblivious to the men watching you by the steps, a machete resting upon the placement of your lap in the case that any walkers appeared.

It was almost peaceful, if you thought not of the forlorn past and those that hadn’t made it… those that still were missing. You held onto the cigarette tighter, pursing your lips as you exhaled a cloudy spill of smoke, watching intently as it danced in the air. Abraham heavily shifted his weight between each foot, as though he were preparing for something, and Daryl could only imagine what that would be. He squinted at the red haired man, as he sturdied a hand on his hip, the other brushing through his facial hair. “I’m gonna talk to her.” There hadn’t been much time for forming a bond with each of the new people, other than enduring the torturous confines of Terminus together, and it appeared that the large man was taking a shot.

Daryl quirked a thin brow at the motives that no doubt rested beyond Abraham’s intentions, though he chose not to get in his way, instead having faith and having witnessed it multiple times first hand that you had the ability to take care of yourself. And so Abraham moved onwards, towards you, with a confidence that you would no doubt deflate. It was what you did, you pushed those away that held no respect for your boundaries, hell, even Daryl knew when to give you time to yourself. Sometimes a moment alone was all that was needed to refresh yourself, to assert a newfound thought that drove you to keep pushing you in the direction of survival.

It took great strength for Daryl not to grab the man and make him reassess his prerogative; you were enjoying the hard to find silence that surrounded you, and the archer was not going to be the one to make a scene and disrupt the bubble of solace that you lulled in. That alone was a death wish for anyone,no matter who they were, and so he idly surveyed in your direction as you allowed your knee to jog up and down as you rested on the ground, breathing in the fumes of the cigarette without any regard.

“Hey pretty lady.” The sound of a voice made your head snap upwards, hand instantly finding the handle of your weapon that had taken many a life. It had not only been walkers that had received the sharp impact of the machete, humans had too when they had infiltrated the prison, breaking through the walls and destroying any aspect of security that had once been. With a glare in your eyes, you found the face of Abraham smiling down at you, and you had the impulse to scoff. “Those things will kill you.” He nodded towards the rolled up tobacco that was in its most popular form, the end singing as each second it grew shorter, wilting away from the flame that had touched its end.

“Better this than something or someone else.” To emphasise your point, you inhaled from it once more, squashing the lacklustre stub beneath the sole of your boot. “Did you want something?” The tone of your voice was tired, and tired it was for good reason. All of your energy had been exerted into getting this far and surviving this long. It seemed to deflate the arrogant confidence that Abraham had previously had when he stalked in your direction, and that was exactly what you wanted - for him and everyone else to leave you alone for a moment. Perhaps it was too much an ask for some people, you thought to yourself, releasing an audible sigh.

Your attitude had not been expected by Abraham, you spoke rashly and with a hardening edge, but he found himself to be fond of it. Not many people made their desires clear in the old world, but he expected that you had. “Wanted to talk to you, get to know you.” He appeared friendly, though you noticed his self serving motives as his round eyes sketched your frame with interest. The most you knew about each other was the basics, that the prison had fallen prompting him to meet Glenn, and of course your name. That was the bare minimum, and he wished to be filled with all the information that you would only share with another that you poised an intimate relation with.

“Ain’t much to it.” You nonchalantly shrugged, not understanding why you out of all others had peaked his interest, especially considering that Rosita and he seemed to be a thing, though you had not scraped for the details, caring not for the bond that others had with themselves. “So if you think that you can get in my pants, think again. I ain’t interested.” Stupidity was not a personality trait that was known to your mind, and your blunt words caught the man off guard, even though it had been blatantly obvious of his idea in disturbing you. You did not get up, you remained seated on the short grass, hugging your knees as you thought internally of where else you may find some more cigarettes, or something that could bring you a distraction that did not leave you to ponder on those that were now deceased or the whereabouts of Beth Greene.

“Why aren’t you interested?” Abraham did not mean the question to pressure you, he was genuinely curious. From his experience, sleeping with another proved to be something that lost focus to the present reality, the climate of looming death peering around every corner. “Don’t you not want to think for a while?” That was what you had been trying to do prior to his presence, but you bit back your temper, not wishing for it to explode. Even if you had not been in a relationship that Abraham clearly had no clue of, you wouldn’t sway entertainment in his direction. Things were tough enough already without pissing someone off, and whilst you did not know Rosita, doing that to another woman that had feelings for the man that she laid beside was practically traitorous.

“I don’t think your dick would satisfy me.” You jabbed as a reply, smirking as a scoff retorted from the red haired man, and he reluctantly walked back to the entrance of the church. He frowned when he saw the cocky expression on Daryl’s face, not understanding why it had appeared. It was acknowledged that the two of you had been companions for a time alongside a handful of others, yet he could not exasperatedly reason for the amused glint that shone from Daryl’s eyes. His interaction hadn’t gone as planned, and Abraham thought of the answers as to why. Maybe you were celibate, saving yourself for someone that had such morals that reflected the same, or you were not into his gender. He was going to pry at the archer until he was given an explanation.

“She wasn’t interested.” He stated to Daryl, and the archer quirked an all knowing brow,a short laugh expelling from his lips. “You know why?” Oh he did, and he could not wait for the expression that would fall upon Abraham’s face, it would no doubt be priceless. He hadn’t intervened, aware that you would send him running, possibly telling him to piss off or something else insulting. Within the prison other men had attempted to seek your company, whether that be for a one night stand or a steady relationship, and you had treated them all the same. It had taken him some time to realise that he was exactly what you wanted, even during your relationship, and he wasn’t going to argue about the matter in disbelief, knowing how lucky he was to have a partner that had his back at all times, and was strong willed and able to look after themself. You were all of those things and more.

“She’s my woman.” It may have seemed almost objectifying to others if they did not know Daryl well enough, however there was affection that underlined his words, affection that could be heard to anyone listening. “An’ I didn’t warn ya b’cause I knew she would send ya packin’. Tha’s what she does to men that wanna get in her pants.” He noticed both the surprise and the slight embarrassment that had overtaken Abraham’s face, smirking at it. It was indeed a priceless sight. As the other man that had tried to seduced you walked around the church to find Eugene, trying to act as though his pride had not been wounded, Daryl remained where he stood, watching you, allowing you the momentary silence that you wished for, knowing that the quiet peace was rare to come by and you deserved to enjoy it whilst you could.

[diilfluvrr]

ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏꜰᴛᴇɴ?

dennis whitaker x fem!afab!reader

summary: when things get heated, dennis gets a little too excited

word count: 774

warnings: smut!! dryhumping, making out, grinding, all that fun stuff, 18+ or i will find you. idk if it counts but they’re on the couch but they’re alone. no use of y/n. subby(ish) dennis. (heavy on the ish.) not beta’d

dennis masterlist - main masterlist — request a fic!

a/n: okay so this was like completely self indulgent LMAO but enjoy this little blurb i threw together :P this is my first time writing anything like this so if it’s bad sorry lmao

reminder: this is an 18+ blog, minors PLEASE dni!

you're not quite sure how you two ended up like this. well, you do actually. you and your boyfriend were having your weekly movie night at his place when suddenly you just couldn't help yourself anymore. one thing led to another, and now you're perched in his lap, knees caging his hips. your hands grip his cheeks, pulling his face closer to yours, while his hands are firmly against your hips, holding you down onto him. you grin against his mouth, rolling your hips slightly, moaning at how delicious the friction feels.

dennis lets out a soft moan, his hands on your hips pushing you down towards the tent, now fully formed, in his pajama pants. "fu-fuck baby. s'good. mhmm." he breathes out, his head falling back against the couch. you press a rough kiss to his throat, grinning against the sweat slicked skin. "yeah? talk to me denny. tell me how good it feels." you demand, sliding your hands to the hem of his shirt, pushing them underneath the thin fabric.

"oh my god... please. m'so hard. ple-please." he whines, his hips now rolling into yours. your forehead rests against his shoulder and you let out a pathetic moan. his covered cock rolls up, chasing the pressure and friction of you. you tilt your head, nipping and sucking on his neck.

the moan that falls from his lips can only be described as pitiful, and you back off for a moment, looking into his stormy blue eyes. “trin’s gone for the night, right?” you ask, running your hands up and down his chest as his brain malfunctions. “huh? oh! i-yeah she’s-shes gone for the night. with um… a girlfriend? i think?” you laugh softly, smiling at him before continuing to kiss his neck. “oh fuck me…” he breathes out, his head flopping against the back of the couch. “that’s the plan denny.”

you grin as you kiss your way back up, leaving kisses along his jawline and his cheek before capturing his lips once again. he moans against your mouth and you grind your hips again, craving the friction against your clit. you whine against his lips, your hands finding his. you guide his large hands to your tits, moaning as he squeezes and kneads the flesh. “oh fuck. denny baby. s’good to me baby.” you moan, rolling your hips over his.

dennis whines loudly, squeezing his eyes shut as his hips buck. the head of his cock catches on the seam of his pants and his hips stutter. you notice the change in movement and smile. he drags his hands down, gripping your hips so tightly you’re sure you’ll have small bruises in the morning. dennis whines and grunts as he drags you against his cock, the friction from the thin pajama pants you’re both wearing doing wonders for him. your mouth falls open and you lean forward, the sweet sound of your moans parading in his ears like his new favorite song.

his bottom lip gets tugged between his teeth, muffling his pathetic whines as he tries to hump you like a dog in heat. he can feel his cock practically weeping as your clothed pussy grinds on him and he swears he’s never felt better. you move to suck on his neck, biting the spot then soothing it with your tongue and dennis is absolutely wrecked. he feels his stomach tightening as his toes curl.

he tries to speak, but his brain is mush. he lets out a broken moan as he cums, his dick twitching and soaking his pjs. you don’t stop moving your hips, lost in your own pleasure. he rides his orgasm out, the tingles in his spine returning as the overstimulation starts to creep in. he whines again, the pinprick sensation starting to feel painfully delicious as you kiss a path to his ear.

“denny, wanna suck your dick.” you tell him, nibbling his earlobe gently. his face turns a deep red as he croaks. “that’s uh… you don’t have to…” you pull away, moving a hand to cup his cheek. “hey, i know i don’t have to. i want to.” he shakes his head, looking down at where the two of you connect. “um… it’s really not necessary…” your brows knit together, confusion writing itself on your face as you look down. “why no-oh.” you say, noticing the large wet spot on his pj pants. you grin, electricity thrumming through your body. dennis clears his throat, his voice shaky. “so-sorry, i couldn’t help it…” he says, clearly embarrassed. you look at him, your eyes swimming with lust.

“are you joking? that’s so fucking hot baby.”

divider creds: lace @cursed-carmine, mdni @anitalerina

[kissophile]

under the influence

dennis whitaker x resident!reader

summary: some inappropriate touching after accidental intoxication is all it takes to send huckelberry over the edge

warnings: filth. mdni. female reader ( she/ her used ), sub!huckleberry, kinda dom!reader (but not much time given to that), use of pet names, light smut, implied pervy!dennis, keep in mind the touch/ affection is mutual even if they both think it’s not, we love a mutual crush, no non-con here, implied small age gap

notes: …not proof read i just needed my idea out of my head, but i hope you enjoy!

“holy fuck!” she screamed. the needle went in deep. between the struggle of trying to hold down an uncontrollable six foot seven patient, an intern stuck her senior resident with something over 13 mg of ketamine.

“i’m so sorry! i didn’t mean to!” the poor girl squealed. doctor robby ran to the door to yell across the floor, “i need a gurney!” those remaining around the unruly patient continued to struggle to hold him down.

the resident shook her head, attempting to fight off the sedative. “no it’s alright, i’m about to go on the trip of a lifetime.” adrenaline seemed to be the only thing keeping her on her feet. she held her hand in her palm, a wave of wooziness suddenly washing over her. she mumbled, “down.”

“what?” student doctor dennis whitaker had poked his head in through the double doors, holding one side open, waiting for the nurses to run in with a gurney.

“falling down.” is all she could slur before the world went dark.

౨ৎ

she released a long, drunken hello, marbled by her dry throat. whitaker smiled, “hi.” he slightly adjusted the blood pressure cuff on her upper arm. “i’ll be quick, i promise,” he whispered. she nodded slowly. her head felt like it was a million pounds and weightless all at the same time.

his fingers grazed against her skin as he quickly tested the space beneath the cuff to make sure it was tight enough. had his hands always been so large? and his fingers so tough with callouses?

“was i sleeping?” she mused as the plastic cuff tightened around her arm. whitaker, taking note of her charts, shook his head. “you got stuck with an accidental dose of ketamine. fun, huh? yeah. you uh fell. pretty hard. we thought maybe you hit your head on the way down so we gave you a ct scan. you had just succumb to the sedation. how do you feel?”

she groaned, “i’m really sleepy. i miss you.” whitaker lowered the tablet, “i’m right here,” he chuckled. “no.” she patted the spot next to her in bed with a heavy hand, “you’re not.” she licked her dry lips, “you’re always so warm. i’m cold. c’mere. pretty please, denny?” she pleaded with half lidded eyes. her hands slowly stretched outwards towards her coworker. whitaker’s face flooded with a pink flush, all the way from his cheeks, down his neck, to the tips of his ears. the blood pressure cuff deflated with a loud beeping on the monitor.

“oh uhm…” his mouth hung slightly open in shock. it simply made him all the more handsome in her hazy, heavily intoxicated eyes. the way his wet, plush lips parted, she just wanted to slot her “fingers -

“what?” whitaker suddenly drew his hands up defensively. she shook her head as if to clear something out. she responded, “what did i say?” those big blue eyes wide as saucers, he quickly undid the cuff on her arm, pulling it off and setting it aside. he was suddenly nervous. “i’m - i’m gonna push a little bit of flumazenil now that we know you’re stable. it’ll - it - well you know, you’re a… doctor. uhm, and i have some ondansetron - zofran. zofran. so you can eat. i’m gonna, uh -“

in a gloved hand he plucked the pill from a white capsule cup off the counter. he held it up as if to show it off. “we could inject it, but since you haven’t eaten today, we’ll let it dissolve under your tongue so that it doesn’t have as many adverse effects on your tummy. sorry - stomach. i give this to a lot of children.”

whitaker lowered his hand, “say ‘ah.’” she shook her head and smiled up at him hazily, jaw shut tight. he huffed in building frustration, “doctor -“

“what’s the magic word denny?” she cooed. the intern sighed. he looked tired. he shrugged limply, figuring she was just arguing to argue. she encouraged, “say ‘please, doctor!’ c’mon, be a good boy.” her heavily euphoric mind had her flirting with her colleague.

whitaker swallowed harshly. he had always admired his superior. the dichotomy of her bedside manner, her overwhelming kindness and her crass sense of humor - reserved only for the colleagues who she knew could handle it - was violently charming.

once he had seen her at a bar. it was a weekend and she was wearing clean heels and a tight mini dress. she was flirting with a man too old for her. in fear of feeling like a pest, he sat across the bar. he watched for hours. she traced her polished fingertips over a ladder in her stockings as she spoke. she spun her hair in a tight coil around her finger nervously. she brushed his arm, she slipped her hand up his thigh. she delicately picked up her glass and slipped a twenty beneath it. after what felt like an eternity, she stood, pressed her purse into her side and pulled at her skirt. she left. he hid himself behind the rim of his glass when she passed by. then he left too. whitaker spent the rest of the night touching himself to the thought of her exposed thighs. he had never seen her in a tight dress. he had never seen the bare skin of her legs before. it was only ever baggy scrubs and messy buns. if only she’d let him kiss her there. at the crest of her pelvis. he’d spend hours between her legs and plead for more like a man starved.

so his look softened. a sudden lust pooled in his stomach. hot and needy. his brow scrunched up in a perfectly pathetic arch. surely she meant nothing of it. it was a cruel, crass joke. still, his pants were becoming uncomfortably tight.

“p - please…” he cleared his throat quickly, “please, doctor.” it almost sounded like a moan.

she gently parted her lips. whitaker’s brows furrowed. he cradled her chin with his free hand and pressed his fingers into her cheeks, forcing her jaw wider. oh what he’d do to see her like this on her knees. preferably sober. he’d brush his head around her silken lips -

she lightly giggled and lifted her tongue. whitaker pressed the pill into the underside of her mouth with two fingers. she closed her lips around his touch.

his body stiffened, “ah -“ he squeaked. she sucked gently, tongue circling around his fingertips until his gloved fingers left her mouth with a harsh pop.

the intern swung around. he gathered his things in his arms. he was being completely inappropriate. she pouted, “don’t go,” she whined. he blinked his big, nervous eyes, “i’m gonna get you a sandwich. i’ll be back.”

she puffed out her lips and threw her head back like a child. her lower lip quivered and suddenly she was letting out tired, dry sobs. she felt childish and silly, but she also felt like she was completely out of her mind. everything was distant and dreamlike. so she laid her head back and cried until she eventually fell asleep again.

“hey,” his soft voice beckoned her into the waking world. whitaker brushed his thumb against the apple of her cheek to swipe away a rolling tear. she palmed at her eyes until she could make out the redheaded country boy through her fingers.

she giggled like a school girl, “hi, huckleberry!” he winced, “you too now, huh?” his face was so close. he smiled lightly, “here’s lunch.” he laid a giant, wrapped sub in her covered lap. it was only when she looked down that she realized she was dressed in a gown. those expensive scrubs she wore for her slow day, probably torn up to pieces somewhere, knowing dr. robby. her hunger outweighed her surprise.

“oh i could fuck the shit out of you right now little farmer boy,” she groaned as she quickly unwrapped the sandwich. she took a likely dangerous bite. he cleared his throat. maybe it was the drugs, the euphoric hallucinogen boiling under her skin. but she swore, in that fleeting moment, between the beeps of the monitor and the bustling noise outside, she heard a small, quaint, “please,” fall from whitaker’s lips in a whiny sigh.

the pallid farmer turns on his heel toward her iv before she can think about it much. “we are going to up the anti-sedative, alright? sometimes it makes your heart beat a little bit faster, so tell me if you feel anything strange.” his bedside voice is so sweet. so gentle. what was his… under… bed voice like? yeah, she’s definitely still high.

“sorry i don’t know why i’m explaining, you know all this. i don’t mean any disrespect.” he bit his lip nervously. between a mouthful of the best sub she’s ever had - no tomatoes ( something she had offhandedly mentioned to whitaker ) - she yelled, “yeah respect your superiors! i don’t know where i am. i don’t care. i could put my dick in this sandwich.” he loudly laughed, out of shock more than anything. she covered her mouth, “oh fuck sorry.” but he didn’t seem to mind, he burst out suddenly in a slew of loud laughs. she laughed with him, groggily. highly. closing her eyes as she continued to down her food.

when the boy had finally calmed down, she added, “i think i’m still tripping.” whitaker nodded in agreement. he heavily sat in a rolling stool and leaned into the railings of her bed. he scrubbed the back of his neck, “i’ll… i’ll stay with you for a bit, til you fall back asleep. no aspiration before you’re released.”

she put up a lazy thumb. it took her a while to eat, and she mostly had quiet, odd thoughts. happy ones. still odd. as she reached the end of her footlong, she asked, “have you considered prostitution? or elder care. you’re such a sweetheart.” bringing her sandwich to her lips she added, “just wanna eat you.”

thankfully, she didn’t see the red flushing whitaker’s face. in an attempt to match her humor, he mumbled, “i have a pretty steep price.”

she hummed, “yeah? i’d spend all my er money on that fine piece… of…” she had the sudden conscious to sensor herself. whitaker waited, eyebrows raised. when she didn’t finish, he slapped his hands on his thighs and stood up suddenly, as if he had been fixated in a trance. the sound drew her eyes to his lap. his bulge was pressing against his trousers like a big red arrow screaming ‘look at me!’ one big, big arrow.

a smirk cracked across her face and she drew her gaze down to her now empty lap. she was high, and she knew she was probably seeing things. but if not, what exactly had she said to give whitaker so little room in his pants?

“i’m gonna, uh, grab you some water. need anything else? there are popsicles in the staff room. pink ones.” he grabbed the trash from between her legs. he brushed his hand across her bare thighs to clear the crumbs. she suddenly grabbed his wrist.

whitaker paused. she pressed his hand firmly into her plush thigh. his wide eyes met her own. he took his chance and groped it. his thin, calloused fingers instinctively dig into her flesh. one squeeze, two. his eyes fluttered lightly and he croons toward her. melting at her touch.

“one pink popsicle please,” she pats the poor boy’s hand politely. the anti-sedation was kicking in, but not enough to stop her from succumbing to lust.

dennis whitaker. polite, shy, lean under those messy scrubs. he pulled his hand away like he had been scorched. he nodded, and rushed out the double doors of the room.

he was gone for too long. maybe he got distracted or maybe he was with a patient. without the occupation of a purpose, a thick wave of lethargy wracked her body. her racing thoughts quieted, and before she knew it she was dreaming again.

౨ৎ

she took a handful of days off, using her pierced hand as an excuse to lay around and watch tv. the woman boiled in her embarrassment for the same amount of time. why did it have to be dennis who took care of her. why couldn’t she hold her tongue. it was all a hazy memory, but she remembered pressing his hand atop her thighs, and the wetness left between her legs afterwards. when she finally returned, she avoided dennis like the plague. until finally there was a lull in the er and she caught the farm boy filing paperwork on the computer.

hands clasped behind her back, she greeted him, “hey, whitaker -“ the student furrowed his brow, she never called him whitaker. she continued quietly, warm breath tickling his ear as she leaned down, “can i speak to you in private.”

he shot up. his chair loudly rolled back a few inches. “i’ll take my lunch!” he drew a few eyes. she chuckled, “uh yeah, perfect, sure.”

dennis quickly handed his patients off to an attending before following her into the staff room. he closed the door quietly behind them. she thought she heard the lock click. she leaned against the wall, waiting for him to berate her, call her a slut. and when silence lingered in the air, he finally asked, “what’s up?”

she ran a hand over her face, heart beating in her throat. “i just wanted to apologize for last week.” dennis’s eyes had that look. big and glossy, like he could cry on command. he cracked a small smile, “oh - pft -“ he waved the thought away, “that’s not necessary.”

she shook her head violently. “yes it is. i’m so embarrassed. i was acting completely inappropriate. high or not, i should have never spoken to a colleague that way. especially a subordinate. as a senior resident i should have much more self control. i am so sorry and i don’t want this to effect our friendship or relationship. i just want to pretend it never happened.”

dennis’s smile dropped ever so slightly. “i mean, you were on ketamine,” he offered. if she didn’t know better, she’d say he almost sounded disappointed. she laughed gratefully, “a lot of it.”

“do you remember what you said?” he dug his hands into his pockets, picking at his fingers beneath the fabric. she crossed her arms and cleared her throat, “…well, just a few things. i remember asking you about prostitution, and uh, how much i would pay for it. and… well…” letting you grope my inner thigh. “that’s it really.” a pathetic laugh passed her lips as she internally pleaded for sympathy.

he took a few steps closer in the tiny room and nearly closed the space between them. she pressed herself closer to the wall, anything to avoid touching him, hurting him. corrupting him. she could feel his breath as he spoke. “so you didn’t bring me here to fuck me?”

her heart dropped to her stomach. “what?!” she laughed incredulously. she put her hands up, “dennis - whitaker. no. i wouldn’t -“

“you wouldn’t?” his face was all pouty, like a keening puppy. his eyes were wide and lips slightly plump. he was playing with her, but he wasn’t joking. he was toying. teasing.

no, he wasn’t. it was whitaker, too young for her, too pretty for anybody… for anybody but her. “denny -“ she scrunched her eyes closed and palmed at them harshly, searching for the right thing to say. trying to press perverted thoughts from her swirling mind.

before she could breathe another word, dennis lunged forward. he grabbed her wrists and held them at her side. her eyes widened. he kissed her. it was sloppy and broken. teeth clashed wildly and tongues danced. eventually she broke free of his grasp and buried her hands in his short hair. she was being smothered by his lips. lightheaded and heaving the hot breath he passed into her mouth.

he pulled away panting. his lips were kiss chapped. he began to kiss a trail from her cheek to her collarbone. “when i left that day… i went to the bathroom…” he muttered, slightly nipping at a her neck. he soothed the burn with his tongue, licking a stripe across the now red mark before planting a gentle kiss. he continued in a whisper, “i fucked my hand and pretended it was yours.”

“oh fuck” she groaned. her head reared back and hit the drywall. every doubt she had melted from her body. so did her inhibitions. she harshly pushed dennis away.

“beg for it.” she didn’t have to ask, he dropped to his knees the second she spoke. he crawled. just a few paces, just to close the space between them again. he stopped at her feet, big blue eyes doing the pleading on their own.

“please? i need you so bad,” he whined. “the second i saw you. i saw you, at the bar on main. in your pretty dress -“ he sat up on his heels, and a hand slipped under her pant leg and pushed up her smooth calf. his hips jolted forward ever so slightly. “your legs are so pretty. your thighs - i just wanna bite into them, kiss them, lick you up. i could be so good to you. please let me be good for you?”

a weak moan escaped her lips. before she could respond -

“hello? you can’t lock the fucking break room door, c’mon, man. my lunch is in there?!” it was santos. of course it was fucking santos. banging on the door like a lunatic. dennis shot up, hoping she wasn’t tall enough to see his head pop up in the door’s window.

she laughed quietly and pointed to his crotch. he followed her finger downwards. there was a wet spot pooling through his blue scrubs. blue because he had been thrown up on not once, but twice in fifteen minutes.

whitaker yelped, “sorry! just a second!” he tried to wipe at the spot, but he only smeared it further down his crotch. she covered her huge smile with a polite hand. he shot a glare at her, but with how things were going, she was sure he’d get off on the embarrassment later. “fuck!” he squealed.

covering his crotch in a very obvious way, whitaker approached the door. she took a seat in one of the stiff chairs, and buried her head in her hands.

as dennis opened the door, he slipped out with his back turned to his roommate. santos watched him run across the er floor with a raised brow. the door swung shut behind her as she went to open the fridge. “what the fuck is wrong with him?”

[missmanlykink]

𝜗୧ JUST A THANK YOU | dennis whitaker ⁺ ‧₊˚ ⋅ 

MDNI - 18+ | navigation - m.list - taglist 𝜗୧ | (✿. INBOX OPEN !) 𝜗୧

✿. summary: after your sweet roommate whitaker defends you in the er you think it’s only right to give him a proper thank you

✿. paring: coworker!roommate!whitaker x intern!fem!reader

✿. wc: 1.5k

✿. warning: reader offered whitaker a room in her apartment instead of santos, oral sex (m!receiving), sub!dennis (?), friends to fwb?, cummy kiss. it’s implied that whitaker likes the taste of own cum (i’m deeply sorry guys…)

✿. a/n: that fact i’m one of the only people who has written smut about whitaker is ridiculous…do better guys.

SMUT UNDER THE CUT | 18+ MINORS DNI </3

Whitaker had been your roommate for about a month now. At the end of your first shared shift you offered him a place to stay indeed you learned that he had nowhere to go. During said shift, you couldn’t lie, he immediately caught your eye. Something about those big sad blue eyes called to you. he looked fucking miserable. It was cute. You were happy when he accepted your offer with a hopeful smile on his lips. Now you will be greeted with that cute little face of his every morning. 

Him staying with you was pleasant. He was quiet, kind, and helpful. Always doing his chores—even though there wasn’t much since you guys were always at work. He was a good roommate. You loved complimenting and teasing him. He always got so bashful. His cheeks would heat up and the blush would travel from his ear down to his neck. 

The day before this one, it was the last hour of your shift and you had got into an argument with a patient. It was more one sided, the guy was screaming at you and you just took it. To use the soft words you learned in medical school to get him to shut up, but it didn’t work. And you were alone with him for fucks sake. The insults were endless and getting more personal as he said them. You don't know where Whitaker came from, but he stood up for you. You snapped your head around to see him and he looked pissed. 

After he was done, he grabbed your arm and dragged you out of the exam room, saying something along the lines. “Let's go to Dr. Robby. You shouldn’t have to deal with that bullshit.” You were mad, but god. You’ve never seen him like this. It was hot. You stifled a smile after he swore. He hardly did it but when he did you liked it. 

Now it's the next day and the two of you were about to leave to go into work, but there was something you wanted to do before. You popped into his room and saw him putting the rest of his thing into his bag. “Whitaker, do you have a sec? I wanted to talk to you before we leave.”

“Yeah, of course,” he said, voice still a little low from how early it was. He placed his bag on the ground and turned around to face you. The strides you took were slow and intentional. Making sure that your hips catch his attention, as well as the look in your eyes. 

“I just wanted to say thank you. You know. For defending me and all.” you said smoothly, grabbing his hand in your, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. 

“I-It’s really nothing,” he stuttered, eyes focusing on the way your hands were on his. He was already so nervous and you hardly touched him. You smiled as the familiar hue colored his cheeks. 

 “He was saying some really messed up stuff, you didn’t deserve it.” You shook your head and scoffed. 

“It’s not nothing. It meant a lot to me,” you said, placing a soft kiss on the corner of his lips, slowly sliding a free hand up his chest. We He swallowed hard from the lack of distance between the two of you, at the feeling of your lips so close to his. You pulled back to see that his eyes had widened like he had seen a ghost. You couldn't help from flickering your gaze down to his parted lips. They were so pretty, so kissable. His heart beat picked up as you gave him those bedroom eyes. 

Quickly, you let your eyelids fall shut as you lay a kiss directly on his lips to test the waters. At first, he was shocked. He had suspicions that you were into him, but he chalked it up to you just being a sweet girl. There was no way someone who looked like you was interested in anything romantic—or even sexual for that matter—with him. It's like you stepped out of a magazine. But he wasn’t stupid, this was his chance. He kissed back slowly, hesitantly putting his hands on your waist, not wanting to scare you away, but you encouraged it. You grabbed whitakers hands and moved them down to cup your ass as your lips danced with each other. 

You slide a soft hand up his jaw and deepen the kiss, noses bumping together as he let out a sweet whimper into your mouth. Unfortunately, there was much time before your shift started, but you could make it work. To his dismay, you pulled away from his lips but the displeasure was quickly replaced with something better as you kissed down his neck and dropped down to your knees to leave kisses on his stomach. “Oh my God…” he rasped, brushing his tense fingers through his hair. 

A gasp slipped from his throat as you pulled him down on the bed, slipping between his thighs and hands working to pull his pants down as fast as they could. “W-Woah! What are you doing?” he asked, still breathless from the kiss. Don't get him wrong, he really did want you to go down on him, but part of him felt guilty. Immediately, you draw back if this was some he wasn’t comfortable with, you weren’t going to force him. “Listen, if you don’t want me to—“

“No! I mean yes-yes. I want it but y-you don’t have to do this-“ he stuttered, grabbing your hands into his as you flash him a seductive smile from between his thighs which were practically twitching from a mix of excitement and anxiety. “But I want to…I really really want to, Dennis.” you purred, gliding your hands up and down his legs. A chill shot down his spine once his first name came off your tongue so sensually. God, he wanted to say yes, but “We’re gonna be late…” shuddered from his throat as he gazed down at the hunger in your eyes. “Traffic. I’m sure everyone will understand if we’re 5 minutes late.” 

“5 minutes?” he asked, cutely tilting his head in curiosity. “Yeah. I only need 5 minutes,” you smirked, slowly rubbing the prominent bulge that swelled up in his pants. Biting his lip, he nodded rapidly, gasping as you squeezed him in your hands. “Please—I want it,” he whimpered, getting lost in the sense of pleasure. “See, I knew you’d come around,” you said smugly, hooking your fingers on his waistband and pulling his pants down along with his underwear. 

His cock flopped out and fell against his t-shirt, leaving the fabric stained as his pre-cum smear against. His tip was already red and dripped, like it was begging for release, like it craved a hole to slip into. As much as you wanted to admire dick in this painful state, you had to get to it, there was a lot of time on your hands. You grabbing him in your hands and pulling down his foreskin earned you a pretty whine from those puffy lips—that were swollen from the tugging his teeth did. ”You’re so pretty, Dennis,” you coax. Before he could let out a sheepish ‘Thank you..’ A sharp inhale cut through his throat as you took him into your mouth. 

You swirl your warm tongue around the head of his cck, licking up all the cum that had to ooze out from arousal. ”Oh my—“ he whispered, chest already heaving at a near dangerous speed.His hands flexed by the sides of his bare hips nervously, but you grab his hands and place them in your hair, inviting him to tug as hard as wanted. But he never did in fear of hurting you. Too sweet and innocent for his own good. As you began to bob your head up and down, he whimpered out your name softly. Gently swirling your hair around his trembling fingers as you sent him to a world or pure bliss and pleasure. 

You hollowed your cheeks and sucked him like you wanted to yank his soul from his body using your pretty mouth alone. You twist your head around his length, the wet sounds of you sucking his cock  and whines, moans and whimpers from Dennis’ lips  were borderline pornographic. His hips buck up into your mouth unintentionally, but you push them back down and finish him off. Making sure that he’s a whimpers shaking mess as his cck is shoving down your throat. 

It was just too much for him to handle. He wanted to last longer, but you felt too good, too warm, too wet. It drove him crazy. His whole body was buzzing with the sweet string of his soon orgasm taking him over completely. “I-I’m gonna cum,” he gasps, throwing his head back in ecstasy and trying to move your head off of him, but you didn’t budge, wanting him to shoot his ropes of shocking pleasure down your throat. And as he did so, his grip tightened around your hair as a loud moan bounced off the walls of his room. 

Pulling up off him, you smile and swallow his seed. His lips parted watching you commit the lewd act, like it was the sexiest thing his big blue eyes ever seen. “I’m thinking that was about…4 minutes?” you giggle, lifting up a hand to wipe your mouth clean, but that was put to an abrupt stop when his hands grab your cheeks and pull you up to give you a deep, open-mouthed kiss. He groaned into your mouth as he tasted himself on your tongue. Maybe he wasn’t as innocent as you thought…

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