in which jack gives you unsolicited advice on vibrators and how to use them.
genre: smut!! 18+ mdni!!!
(a/n: can't sleep, feeling weird. deciding to write to get my mind off things. sorry it's kinda filthy lol what can i say.)
You were running on four hours of sleep and weeks of agonizing physical frustration. So yes, technically, sitting in the breakroom with a tab open to a high rated silicone toy review page wasn't ideal workplace decorum. But you were on your break. Off the clock, tired, frustrated, and researching every available avenue to make something happen.
"That one’s no good."
You froze, every muscle locking up. You slowly turned around to see Jack leaning over, eyeing your phone screen.
Before you could scramble to lock your phone or throw it across the room, Jack gave a casual, unbothered shrug and walked right out the door.
The rest of the night was psychological torture. Back on the floor, Jack acting like he said nothing. Not a smirk. Not a lingering look. Nothing. By the time you clocked out, you were convinced you’d hallucinated the entire breakroom encounter.
…
Two glasses of wine later back at your apartment, unwinding on the couch and feeling comfortably tipsy, your phone buzzed on the coffee table.
Jack: I can make some good recommendations for you.
You snorted into your glass, staring at the screen. The wine gave you a reckless surge of courage, and your thumbs moved before your brain could filter them.
You: you gonna show me how to use it?
His reply came back within seconds.
Jack: Yeah. My place tomorrow?
…
So that’s how you were here. On Jack Abbot’s lap, writhing as his thumb guided a small, buzzy, impossibly effective vibrating bullet directly against your center. His hand was around your hip, holding you steady while his hard length pressed hot against you through the fabric of his sweatpants.
"Told you the other one was overrated." he murmured against your neck, his voice raspy.
You let out a breath, hands clutching his shoulders as you rolled your hips into his palm.
"That good?" Jack said into your skin, tightening his grip on your hip as you squirmed against him. "Need you to come all over my lap, sweetheart."
summary – winding jack up all through date night earns you a one-way ticket to the doghouse. a photobooth at midnight gives jack the perfect place to get you back for it!
warnings – [ wc: 3.8k ] 18+ MINORS DNI! fingering, brat tamer!jack, brat!reader who’s slightly insufferable to jack at the beginning, reader’s wearing a silk dress, grinding/dry humping, thumb in mouth, semi-public/public intimacy (photobooth on an empty street!), jack’s got a mouth on him, hair-pulling, light degradation, sex while under the influence (consensual!), established relationship dynamics, soft-dom/dom!jack
notes – this is basically part of the controversially young gf!reader universe but it got a lotttt longer so i just thought i should make it a oneshot
You’d been a pest all throughout dinner. It was awful, and you and Jack both knew it was intentional. You’d sank down five glasses of red with your alfredo, cooing by the third one that Jack was just so amazing, running your foot slowly up the inside of his calf under the table while you said it. The fine wool of his trousers was warm under your bare arch, and you felt the muscle beneath it tighten. So handsome and hot and grumpy, how you couldn’t wait until the two of you got home to see it all, you’d said, loud enough that the elderly couple beside you had glanced over, and Jack had shot you a glare over the rim of his class that did the opposite of ceasing you.
Fuck, you’d been wrong. You’d stolen forkfuls of his plate. You’d found a dozen flimsy excuses to lean across the table, every one of them cover to let the champagne silk of your neckline fall low, watching his gaze drop and stay. A flush had climbed up his neck at the sight of the swell of your breasts underneath and you took such immense satisfaction watching how his throat bobbed as he swallowed. Poor Jack, always so composed and now losing it at this Italian joint. Your hair became a little tousled because you kept sweeping it back off your shoulder to expose the line of your throat. You kept leaning in close so the candlelight caught the gloss on your mouth, your tongue peeking out slightly as you tried to catch the wine at the corner of your lip.
He’d hooked his good leg around yours at one point, a pained and warning smile on his face, when you let a strap fall loosely off your shoulder, and said, “Asking for one nice dinner with my girl.”
“S’this not nice?” you’d asked, frowning, your lips jutting out so sweetly.
“It’s really nice.” He reached over and tugged your strap up onto your shoulder, knuckles dragging down your bicep once it was fixed, gooseflesh chasing the graze of them. “It’d be nicer if you’d sit still for two minutes.”
“I’ve missed you,” you murmured, because you had.
It was almost embarrassing how badly you’d wanted to simply push him onto the bed once you were both ready; your stomach coiling as you watched him spritz on the cologne you liked and roll his sleeves. You’d sat on the edge of the mattress in your robe, watching him. And then he’d told you that your makeup looked just so pretty, how the night was going to be so much fun, and you’d realized there was no way you were going to last through this dinner.
You’d been starved of him the past week, practically living on scraps of him. You had a feeling Jack knew exactly how much you’d missed him. You weren’t sure what hint you’d ever given him that made him think you were going to play fair.
“Missed you, too,” he said, thumb finding your wrist on the table. “That’s why we’re here. Missed you so much I got us to the place you’ve been goin’ on about for a month. You can do all this at home.”
Wine-fueled and pouty, you said, “Should’ve just stayed home.”
“You’re complaining about being taken to the hardest reservation in the city?” Jack’s brows went up to the middle of his forehead and he set his fork down. When you opened your mouth, he shook his head and said, “No. No. You’re right. Should’ve done the couch. Saved myself a fortune.”
That may have been the straw that broke the camel’s back, because now, you were walking beside Jack – past midnight – trying to find a dessert shop in silence. He’d indulged you when you quietly, hesitantly, asked him if you guys could get something else after trying the tiramisu, which had been – you’d whispered it – kind of dry, actually. His jaw had tensed, and he’d nodded quickly and said, “Sure,” reaching for the check, “let’s get you somethin’ else.”
Your heels clicked too loud on the pavement and Jack was a half-step ahead of you the whole way, hands buried in his pockets, so silent. He wasn’t holding your hand, and Jack was a hand-holder through and through. A small-of-the-back toucher. A man who steered you like a wheel through the world. And now, it felt like a very, very painful punishment he was doling out on you.
“Are you mad?” you tried.
“No,” he said, tossing the words over his shoulder without looking. “Looking for your dessert.”
“You could hold my hand,” you said, and hated just how small you sounded. “Jack,” you tried again when his hands stayed exactly where they were. “Are you going to talk to me?”
“When you’ve got somethin’ to say,” he said, shaking his head with a small click of his tongue at a closed bakery. “There’s a place two blocks up that stays open late.”
Two fucking blocks. Your heels clicked, and his footsteps stayed silent. You let the gap between you stretch – a foot, then another, as you slowed and he didn’t – until you were trailing him down an empty midnight street. Groaning to yourself, you bit the bullet, speeding up to catch up to him properly. You slid your hand into the crook of his elbow and pressed yourself into his side, tucking your cheek toward his shoulder.
“Sorry, Jack,” you mumbled.
He breathed out through his nostrils, pulling his hand out of his pocket to maneuver it around you now, pulling you in. Still tense, but the relief of being by his side was so immense you sagged against him, still wine-drunk and loose.
“Woah – ” he muttered, trying to catch you as you tipped into him, your heel skidding a little on the pavement. His arm clamped tightly around your waist, hauling you upright to his side before you could go anywhere, and he huffed out a small laugh. “Who told you to drink this much?”
“Was trying to match you,” you mumbled.
“Now, that’s stupid, isn’t it?” He patted the side of your waist once. “Gotta take care of you now. Wound me up all through a nice dinner ‘cause you wanted my attention and couldn’t ask nicely. Congratulations, you got me.”
“You’re being kind of mean,” you mumbled, tucking into his shirt.
“Not getting you out of the doghouse, so don’t try it.”
“I’m in the doghouse?” you asked, surprised.
“Oh, you’re in the doghouse,” he said, chuckling, steering you around a crack in the pavement. “Forget brunch and the whole big day we planned tomorrow. We’re on house arrest.”
You squeaked out something incoherent. “How do I get out of the doghouse –?” Your words trailed off, when your eyes landed on the photobooth – wedged into an alcove between a laundromat and a corner store, a curtained one with the pale blue fabric hanging crooked, its light still buzzing faintly. It was like a star in a cloudy sky to you, your body perking up at his side, feet slowing as the wanting rose brightly, childishly.
But you were in the doghouse, so you made your lips clamp shut. You’d be surprised if Jack ever did an outside-activity with you ever again, much less indulged a wine-drunk detour into a novelty photobooth this late. You were pretty sure you’d used up your whole allotment of Jack’s patience when you’d stood up on the pretense of the ladies’ room and instead leaned over to whisper something dirty in his ear as the waiter arrived with the entrées. Somewhere in the gauntlet, Jack’s amusement had faded and you were now, a little too late, sure you were the worst, most ungrateful girlfriend ever.
So you did the hardest thing ever: you said nothing. You looked at it like you were a kid looking at a toy in a shop window – doomed – and you dragged your gaze forward to keep your feet moving.
Jack, whose open book you were, read the longing off you in an instant. “No.”
“Didn’t say anything,” you mumbled.
He got four steps forward before he paused, craning his neck down to look at you nuzzled into him. His arm tightened around your waist, and you had a feeling that this time, it was more exasperation toward himself.
“What is wrong with you?” he mumbled. “You don’t want a picture with me?”
“I do,” you said, immediately, through a sharp breath. Your shoulders stiffened at your sides. “But I’m in the doghouse.”
Jack let out a laugh at that, disbelieving. He turned, so the two of you stood across properly, chest to chest, and his face dipped down toward yours. “You know you can ask me for it.”
Your hands came up to fist at the fabric above his chest. “Can we take a picture?”
He took his time, eyes dropping from your face, down your throat, lingering on the silk covering just more than a third of you, how the fabric clung and skimmed and gave everything away. Your brows furrowed in suspicion when his tongue quickly dragged over his bottom lip.
“Why, yes, we can.” His hand slid up your spine as he leaned down to press his mouth against your forehead. “Can’t have you this dolled up and nothin’ to show for it.”
He pushed the crooked curtain aside and held it, nodding his head for you to go in first, and you ducked into the little box. It was three feet with a lightbulb as the screen flickered awake to throw its glow across the two of you. Jack folded his frame down onto the single stool with a low grunt, one hand bracing against the wall, taking the weight off the prosthesis, settling back against the metal. He worked the ache out of his thigh with the heel of his palm before he spread his knees wide enough that it took up the entire square footage of the space.
You stood in the vee of them, hemmed in, and looked down at him. His knee bracketed you in, the walls an inch off your shoulders, the heat of them crowding out the air outside.
Your bottom lip tugged between your teeth as you watched him thumb through his wallet. He glanced up at you through his lashes as he counted coins into his palm, heavy-lidded, a slow curve pulling at his mouth, and he looked suddenly, thoroughly, indecent. He placed the coins into your open palm, then gestured to the slot.
When you turned to feed the coins and leaned down slightly, Jack’s palms came to the sides of your thighs, sliding up to go up to your bare skin under the dress, and he let out a pleased hum.
“This is a nice view,” he murmured, his thumbs pressed to the side of your hips before he turned his palm to squeeze the globes of your ass. “Take your time there.”
His hands filled themselves with no hurry at all, kneading slow, palming you like he’d also been waiting all night for you to shed the layer off your skin.
You let out a small fuck as the quarter hit the slot and clattered somewhere on the floor.
“Butterfingers,” he mused, palms sliding up from the curve of your ass, dragging the dress up until it bunched up around your waist, exposing the tiny black lace pair you’d picked out before dinner.
Before you could say anything, his mouth pressed over the base of your spine, letting out an appreciative hum into your skin. You’d chosen it for this reason, only you hadn’t expected it to be revealed in a shitty photobooth. You hardly had time to think about dignity, or anything dignity-adjacent, because Jack blew out a long breath that ghosted over your skin while pulling away, and his thumb hooked into the delicate band at your hip and snapped it along your skin.
“Maybe we shoulda stayed home,” he muttered.
“Thought you wanted a nice dinner,” you said, palm bracing flat to the wall as you tipped your head down, having no space to spread out.
He clicked his tongue, letting his hands go greedy, spreading his palms wide over the bare curves of your ass. “S’my fault for thinking my girl wants to be wine and dined.” He gave a pointed squeeze, humming delighted as your back arched in response. “No, this is all you wanted.”
On any other day, you would’ve – you were sure of it – had some quick thing to fire back at him, some retort to keep the game going. But the calluses in Jack’s palm were kneading slowly, the roughened skin catching the softness of you with each pass, and the friction of it scattered every thought you’d ever had. His hands were so functional – so broad, innately warm, scarred at the knuckles – and they moved over you so achingly slowly, and the wit just drained straight out of you and pooled right about where your dress was shamelessly resting on his wrists.
The box had gone humid, the air thick with the warm cedar of him and the wine, your breath fogging on the glass every time you exhaled. You managed to shove a coin in with wobbly hands, determined – for what? You didn’t know.
“Hey, look at that. Cat finally got your tongue.” He let one of his palms drift down, finger reaching out testingly where the damp fabric sat between your legs, tracing one feather-light stroke along the lace, and your knees buckled slightly, your head pressing against the cool, glowing glass of the screen, your reflection – completely undignified – swimming an inch from your face while his breath fanned against your back. “This the off switch for your mouth now?”
“Jack–” Your hips went to chase the touch before you could think better of it.
His hand went to splay wide and heavy over your hip, pulling you back slightly closer to hold you steady as your legs shook. His other finger hooked the lace aside – one blunt finger easing the sodden fabric out of the way – and pressed the pad of his thumb through the bare, slick heat. You let out an embarrassed whimper, teeth digging into your lips as your eyes pinched shut.
“Did all this to yourself thinkin’ about me at dinner while I was right across from you, huh?”
Letting out a low groan, he dragged you back in one motion, tumbling you into the sprawl of his lap. His arm wrapped around your waist to hold you right there, and he ground you down against him, so fucking mean with it, slow and fast all at once, so you felt every inch of two hours’ worth of tormenting him pressed against your legs, the blunt drag that made you chase more, more, more.
His free hand slid beneath your thigh, fingers digging the soft crease on the inside of your thigh, and pulled it outward, patting your skin once. “Open up.”
He rolled his hips up when you did, and your eyes snagged on the screen in front of you, catching your faces from the neck-up. His head tipped back against the metal wall, hands sliding up under the silk bunched at your waist, up over the bare plane of your stomach, and closed over your breasts, palming them full and greedy – the band of his watch a shock of metal against the warm underswell of you – as his thumbs grazed over the hardened peaks until you arched back into him with a broken sound.
“Jack,” you said, trying to force a hiss as you looked down, noticing how your dress had bunched into nothing but a few inches of fabric sitting shamelessly over his forearms like a tiny towel. “Someone could walk in –”
“Mhm – they could, couldn’t they?” His chin fell onto your shoulder to watch your face on the screen. His tongue dragged over his lips before his mouth found the shell of your ear. “Someone could see my pretty girl fallin’ apart on my lap.” He shifted his hips forward, pressing against your core with a groan. “Wanna take the risk?”
Your teeth gritted together as you tried to focus on him, focus on the screen, focus on his hands that had seemed to already have done a clean sweep of your entire body. “Thought I was –” you started, and his brows furrowed in amusement, “in the doghouse.”
“Oh, you are.” He slid his fingers back down, bumping his hip against yours to slide his fingers down the lace, thumb finding your aching and circling it. “You love it here, too.”
“I don’t–”
“No?” he drawled, thumb circling while his teeth nipped at your throat. “Coulda fooled me.” He let his fingers drift down, the pads of them gliding through the slick heat you’d made for him until two fingers pressed against your entrance while his thumb rubbed over your clit. The lace was now clinging in a dark, translucent patch against your inner thigh. He tapped his fingers against your entrance. “You’re soaked for me, baby. I could slide right in here.”
You let out a small whimper at the words, and like you’d done a magic trick for him with the sound, his fingers sank deep in one broken press until his knuckles rested against you. On the screen, you watched your own mouth fall open, watched how he smiled against your throat like he’d won something.
He curled his fingers, dragging them over a spot that made your whole body seize in Jack’s cage, the sound following was filthy enough to make the entire booth feel smaller. His smile widened, and he pressed a lazy, open-mouthed kiss right under your ear.
“Got myself such a pretty girl,” he murmured into your skin, the lower half of his face nuzzling into the flush emanating off your neck. He kept dragging his fingers in you, always knowing your body better than you knew yourself, until your thighs trembled against his.
He shifted behind you, free hand pressing flat between your shoulder blades, folding you forward until your palms hit the glowing glass of the screen and your spine curved down.
“Hold there,” he rasped, the new angle somehow driving his fingers deeper. “Attagirl.”
Your eyes flickered up to catch him on the screen as he worked his shirt open one-handed, thumbing the buttons loose. The fabric fell away from the broad stretch of his chest, exposed in the wash of the screen, and you watched him move behind your own reflection with your breath picking up.
“See somethin’ you like?” His hand gathered a fistful of your hair and tugged, drawing you up back against him in one motion. Your spine hit the heat of his chest, the sweat sticking to you, and your head tipped back. “Got warm in here,” he said, smiling when you tried to press even closer to him.
Your hand awkwardly reached up to his neck, manicured nails raking up the hot column of it, scraping through the short hairs at his nape and holding on for life as everything in you wound tighter, brighter, and turned completely unbearable. “M’close,” you said, words slurring together, and your head nuzzled the side of his face.
“Aw,” he cooed softly, fingers continuing their rhythm. “S’that what that is?” He curved them inside you pointedly, and you bit down a sound. His thumb pressed into making quick, merciless circles. “That why you’re squeezing my fingers, huh? Spoilt girl.”
When you pulled at his hair, he tsked, amused, and brought his free hand up to wrap loosely around the front of your throat, thumb resting against at the hinge of your jaw, dropping your head back against his shoulder where he wanted it. His thumb, pressed at the corner of your mouth, and your mouth just felt so empty, so achingly unoccupied, so you turned your head and drew it in – the blunt salt-and-soap of him, slightly rough against your tongue – and the weight of it in your mouth settled the frantic-ness in you, gave your restless want somewhere to wrap.
Jack’s face in the reflection had gone hooded, brows drawing in together at the sight. His pupils swallowed the last of the color from his hazel eyes as his jaw clenched. His hips rolled helplessly beneath you.
His thumb pressed down onto your tongue, forcing your mouth open, then dragged his thumb along your bottom lip, pressed it back in, out, and every second your throat worked around a sound or your lashes fluttered at the overwhelm of him, his fingers stuttered still buried in you.
And fuck, the relentless attention of Jack tipped something in you. You’d spent all night starving for exactly this – his eyes, his focus, all of it aimed at you, selfishly – and now you had it completely that it made you drunk in a way the drinks hadn’t managed.
“I think you like watching us,” you said around the shape of his thumb.
He chuckled, and his thumb slipped from your mouth to trace along your jaw, tilting your face just so, and his lips curved into a crooked smile.
“No, I think I like you,” he said, fingers still working you through the peak. His mouth pressed to your temple. “Love you.”
“Jack,” you said through a small, cracked whimper. You almost hated how he could do that, how easy it was for him to reach past with two plain words and disarm you so thoroughly. You turned your face to nose against his jaw, greedy for him. “Love you, so much. Even when you’re mean.”
He laughed at that, fingers moving your jaw so you could face the screen again. “So mean to you, huh.” He tilted his head in the reflection, amused as he watched your face scrunch up. “Looks like you’re suffering real bad.”
He pulled his fingers out of you completely, and they came away slick. He dragged them up over your clit in one small smear, then pushed back in almost as quickly as they were gone.
Your hips ground down into the heel of his hand, chasing that unbearable brightness winding tighter and tighter behind your stomach. And Jack, watching you on the screen with such naked curiosity, chose the exact moment to reach with his free hand and jab his thumb against the plastic of the machine.
Your eyes, hazy, barely caught the countdown on the screen. Behind it, your head was lolled against the crook of his shoulder, throat damp with sweat, your mouth slack and parted, the hints of gloss coating your lips and around. Jack’s jaw shadowed your temple, his eyes hooded with pupils blown out, fixed on your reflection, one hand a clear hard line where it disappeared beneath the dress bunched underneath. A loving couple, from the collar up. A postcard, and below the frame, his fingers buried deep, your lace panties shoved aside, and his whole length straining against his pants and rubbing into you.
The countdown blinked, and Jack’s fingers curled for the final few pumps so knowingly, your vision had started going white at the edges.
“C’mon, baby. Give the camera somethin’ good,” he whispered. “All it can see is you lookin’ like my fucking angel.”
summary: Luck did not seem to be on your side today. The entire ER had figured out your attraction to older men thanks to Trinity, and now it was coming to haunt you. All you could hope for was that Jack wouldn’t figure out that it was actually about him.
tags/warnings: jack abbot x fem!reader, yearning, reader gets assaulted, injury, angst, miscommunication, medical inaccuracies, fluff, age gap (reader is in mid-late 20s, jack is in late 40s) jealous!reader, trinity and dennis dont have boundaries, pitt crew appearances
wc: 4.7k
“The mystery man you've been crushing on is night shift attending Jack Abbot?!”
Trinity bursts into the lounge whisper-shouting. Your eyes go wide and you abandon the yogurt you were eating to run over and clamp a hand over her mouth. “Shut the fuck up! Shut up. Please for the love of god, shut up.” Your heart was beating like crazy, and you felt like you were gonna throw up. She slowly nods and you finally let go.
“What makes you say that?” You say with an almost threatening tone. She grins sheepishly at you before backing a few inches away. “Well I might have gone through your locker, and I might have taken a peek at your journal…”
“Oh my god, that's a total invasion of privacy Trinity! How the fuck did you even get my combination?!” You were running your hands through your hair, this girl was unbelievable. “Huckleberry might’ve helped me,” she says while trying her best to avoid your gaze.
“No, you know what, that’s great, I'm so glad I decided to move in with the nosiest people in Pittsburgh!” You clasp your hands together and start pacing back and forth.
“Okay, first of all, Perlah and Princess beat us in that category, and second of all, you weren't telling us anything! No hint, nothing, so what better way to find out than snoop through your most prized possession? A book that you never let leave your vicinity. Don't worry though, we skipped all the emotional stuff and landed on the page that had a cutout picture of him with hearts around it.” She chuckles, and you feel like you could kill her.
“I'm burning that goddamn book and the two of you with it. I can't believe you guys went through my journal!” Your cheeks burn with embarrassment, god, did they know anything about boundaries?
Yes, you had a picture of your night shift attending with hearts around him in your journal, but you weren't obsessed with the man. The topic of manifestation had come up once or twice with Trinity, so you decided to try it out knowing nothing would probably happen. You had a crush on him since you started working at the PTMC, feelings you knew he would never reciprocate, so that silly page meant nothing, not really.
“I'm sorry, we went too far.” Trinity walks over and puts a hand on your shoulder, the guilt finally catching up to her. “But I'm surprised I never caught on. Now thinking about it, your feelings for him are so obvious.” She almost sounds annoyed at herself.
You scoff and remove her hand. “Obvious? Please.”
“Oh my god, is he the reason why you make me or Huckleberry bring you in early and leave late?” she asks, her annoyance now directed at you. “N-No, don't be ridiculous.” You're a lying, stuttering mess. Of course he was the reason why.
“And the way you hover, listening to every last word he says. I've noticed the way he flirts with you but he does that with everyone, so I didn't think anything of it. I just thought he was a mentor that you admired, but it all makes sense. Just know that I never caught on cause I didn't know you liked them old.”
“Likes what old?” Panic rushes into your chest as Robby walks into the room cutting you two off. “Her men,” Trinity says casually and Robby’s eyes go wide. “Oh?”
You start shaking your head and fake laugh. “She's just joking, I don't like them old, that would be weird! N-Not that there's anything wrong with being old and liking older men but I definitely don't.” You were speaking so fast your brain couldn't catch up with your words. Horrified, you watch Robby look at you amused while Trinity holds back a laugh.
Fuck, you were such a bad liar.
“Okay— I'm gonna grab an apple and head back out so you two can keep discussing your attraction to older men,” he teases, walking towards the fruit basket. You watch him grab his apple and chuckle before heading out. As soon as he's gone Trinity lets her laugh out and you smack her chest. “Ow, my boob.” She rubs her chest frowning.
“That wasn't fucking funny, why would you say that it was so humiliating!” You cover your face with your hands, your embarrassment being tenfold now. “To be fair your response was what made it humiliating, but you'll be fine babes, it wasn't that bad, and at least it wasn't the man himself.”
You moan into your hands and look back at her. “We’re not discussing this further. I'm mad at you.” You state, while walking to throw your yogurt away, not being able to stomach the rest. “Hey, that's not allowed!” You flip her off as you exit the room, trying to leave your embarrassment behind as you reenter the chaos.
She follows, but it's not long before you freeze, almost causing her to collide with your back. You see Jack rush into Trauma One with one of his SWAT officers on a bed bleeding out.
“Maybe you should sit this one out,” Trinity says while passing you to head to the room. You nod and stay in place as you watch them get to work. Seeing him felt weird now that Trinity and Dennis knew, it made your crush feel more real, and completely childish.
“You doing alright?” A deep voice from behind you pulls you from your thoughts, making you jump. “Dr. Langdon, you scared me.” You turn to see him with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. “Yeah, you were completely zoned out there.” You see him glance at what you'd been staring at, and back at you. “You know them?” He asks and you shake your head. “No, I was just lost in thought, sorry, I'll get back to work.” He slowly nods his head. “If you need a break doc, take it.” He pats you on the back and moves past you.
God, you'd be pathetic if you had to take a break over Jack Abbot.
The next time you saw Jack was right after they'd successfully saved the SWAT officer you saw him roll in with. You had come looking for Robby, wanting a second opinion on a patient you had just seen, when you heard Jack speaking with Dr. Al-Hashimi the new attending. “We should grab a beer sometime, share war stories” You felt a wave of jealousy pass through you. “I'd like that,” she casually replied, and walked out of the room. Trying to ignore your stomach you walk up to Robby. “She seems cool.” Jack says to Robby, both of them not noticing your presence “Yeah, maybe.”
You clear your throat, trying to catch Robby's attention and you watch the amused look from earlier reappear on his face as he turns to look at you. “You here to tell me more about how you're ‘not into’ older men?” You see Jack perk up in your peripheral vision and your eyes go wide. “Um, no, but if you have time could I get a second opinion on this patient?” You try to keep your voice steady even though your heart felt like it was going to explode. He chuckles and looks back at his laptop. “Yeah, I'll be out there in a second.”
You nod and turn to leave. Once out you hear Jack’s voice through the door. “You gonna tell me what that was about?” Hearing him laugh makes you burn up at the thought of Robby telling him everything. You don't know if you could handle any more embarrassment today, so you were gonna try and focus on your charts for the time being.
While looking through your charts you hear someone clear their throat next to you. “You enjoying Dr. Al-Hashimi’s AI tool?” Your eyes go wide as you look up to see Jack standing next to your desk. “Oh, no. I'd rather write these up myself.” You say, turning to look back at the monitor, unable to hold eye contact with him. “Smart girl.” He says and moves closer, making your heart skip a beat.
“Sorry I couldn't help earlier, hope your friend’s doing better now.” You muttered, trying to ignore his closeness and warmth. There was some guilt there, you had froze, so Trinity moved for you. “He's gonna be fine, but it would've been nice to have my favorite resident there.” He says softly.
Favorite resident?
The smile that emerges on your face is subtle but you know he can see it. He starts speaking again before you can respond. “But I think she was too busy staring at an older man.” You whip your head to look back at him, your smile instantly dropping. “W-What? He shrugs playfully while turning to walk away. Your heart was beating so fast, he definitely knew you were looking at him, but you hadn't even realized he noticed you earlier. You quickly get up abandoning your charts to busy yourself with something else, you were too worked up to sit at a desk right now.
The next few hours go by somewhat fast. You were able to avoid Jack the entire time surprisingly. You slipped into random rooms when you heard his voice nearby and would rush to find a patient when you'd see him. Were you being dramatic? Yes, but you needed to stay clear of him, his teasing would be the end of you.
You had just discharged a patient, working on finishing their notes when you hear a familiar voice. “I'll pay for it.” You don't know how you heard him, he was borderline whispering, and you were surrounded by a noisy hospital. So you couldn't help the curiosity that crept in you deciding to walk by the room you heard his voice in.
He was sitting on the hospital bed shirtless with Dr. Mohan smiling behind him. You hear her say “Our little secret.” and the frown that was usually on his face was gone, replaced with a similar smile. As much as your body wants to stop in place, you don't and keep walking.
Jack was known for being a smooth talker, you knew that, but there was a small part of you that had hoped it was different when he flirted with you. Now witnessing it twice in one day with two different women, you couldn't help but feel stupid. I mean you had never gotten as close to him as Dr. Mohan just was, you could only imagine what else had transpired between them.
“Damn, where you headed to?” Trinity’s voice stops you in your tracks, you see her head emerge above a monitor. “To check on a patient Trin, where else?” You lie, but it's because you don't want to deal with her questions right now. “I don't know, it looks like you're running away from something, plus you have this horrified expression on your face.” She dramatically waves a hand over her face, emphasizing “horrified expression”
You groan and shake your head. “I'm not running, and I do not have a horrified expression on my face. Please just go back to doing your charts.” She opens her mouth to reply but you cut her off by walking away.
You make your way towards the ambulance bay and when you walk out you're instantly hit by a cloud of smoke. You look over and see Dana leaning against the wall. “Hey, kid.” You reply with a quiet "Hey" and walk over to stand next to her. “Don't look too good, you want a puff?” She holds the cigarette out for you to take and you sigh. “Fuck it.”
Smoking wasn't really your thing, but right now, it didn't seem too bad. You grab it and bring it to your lips, inhaling slowly, then exhaling. You mumble a “thank you” and give it back to her. “No problem, although I'm surprised, you’ve never accepted before.”
You let out a laugh because it was true, you never joined in drinking when the crew would ask you to after a rough shift, and the very few times Dana’s offered a cigarette you've refused. It's not like you don't partake. You used to in high school and college, but ever since you started working at the PTMC you haven't had the urge to, which is surprising considering the fact that it's the reason most people start and continue.
“Today's been rough, nothing terrible, just mentally draining.” She nods at your words, understanding that feeling before you continue. “How bout you? How's your shadow, Emma doing?” You watch as she deeply sighs at your question. “She's doing real good. Yeah, she’ll be great.” You can hear the concern in her voice. “You're doing good too Dana, she’ll flourish under your wing.” You put a reassuring hand on her shoulder wanting to comfort her even though you know her concern will never fade.
“Yeah, here’s hoping.” She takes another drag while looking at the calm in front of you two. There's comfortable silence before she looks back at you. “You out here because of Robby's loud mouth?” A bitter chuckle escapes you, because of course he was going around talking about what had happened in the lounge.
“No, not really, I didn't realize he was telling everyone.” He was your superior but that wasn't gonna stop you from killing him. “Oh yeah, word travels quick round here, everybody knows about your interest in older men now.” She was laughing now.
You wanted to crawl in a hole and never come out.
“Ugh, it's all Trinity’s fault! She told Robby I like my men old, and then I word-vomited trying to save myself from humiliation. I failed miserably, if you were wondering.” You were reaching for the cigarette in her hand again, which she easily gave up. “Santos, really?” She asks and you nod your head while breathing in more smoke. “Eh, I wouldn't worry too much, I'm sure everyone will forget about it by tomorrow. They're so bored they’re grasping for any sort of gossip, something new’ll come up soon,” she says, putting her hand on your shoulder now.
“Honestly, I don't get what the big deal is. Why is it so crazy that I'm interested in a guy that's maybe a little too old for me? News flash, I'm a fully grown adult.” You can't help the irritation in your voice, this was all so annoying. “It can be a big deal, depending on the circumstance,” she says, and you sigh, taking another drag. She's right, HR would be on your ass if they found out all this ruckus was about Jack.
“You're lucky no one else knows which older man you like.” She adds and you start coughing, choking on the smoke you inhaled. “Christ, I'm sorry kid.” You can hear the smile on her face as she speaks. She moves her hand from your shoulder and pats your back, trying to help you.
You catch your breath and look back at her. “Don't tell me you went through my journal too,” you say defeated.
She shakes her head. “I've known for a while now, I can see the way you look at him.” She hesitates before continuing. “And the way he looks at you. You need to be careful.”
You can't help but scoff at that. “Dana, the man's a chronic flirt. There's no need for you to worry, cause nothing will ever happen.” You try to take another drag, but she grabs it from your hand and drops it on the ground, crushing it with her sole.
You pout your lips at her, and she shakes her head. “Alright, no more cigarettes for you. How bout you go back in, I'll be right behind you, just give me a second.” You mutter an “okay” and start walking back into the ER, there was no point in arguing with her.
You’re only a few steps in the hospital before you hear a scuffle in one of the rooms. Walking over to see what was going on you witness a patient putting Emma in a headlock.
Panic and pure adrenaline surge through you as you run into the room to get the man off her. You used all your strength to pull his arm, managing to free her from his grip, but now he was focused on you. He lunges for you, grabbing onto the sides of your head before head-butting you. As you fall to the ground you hear Dana yell and watch her tackle the man to the floor, stabbing him with a needle in the process.
You close your eyes as you hear a bunch of footsteps rush into the room. “What the hell happened?” You hear Robby's voice, the noise making you wince. “He attacked them so I gave him a shot to settle him down,” Dana replies, her eyes wide with shock.
You feel movement next to you before someone touches your face, knowing exactly who it is before he speaks. “Fuck, she’s bleeding, help me get her up.” You cry out as Jack picks your body up. Your head is throbbing, and your face is on fire. “That fucker got me good.” You open your eyes to see Jack in front of you, concern covering every inch of his face.
You look over at Emma wanting to make sure she was okay, and she's staring right back at you while being bombarded by questions. You notice the red ring around her neck, and you feel anger finally hit you. “Hey, focus on me, we need to get you to a different room.” You nod your head, and hear Robby grilling Dana as Jack leads you out of the room, your hand tightly wrapped around his arm.
As soon as you sit on the edge of the bed, Jack is on you, checking your face and head. You weren't able to hold back your whimpers as he touched the inflicted areas. “I'm gonna kill him.” He mutters under his breath and you manage a smile. “I'm fine.” You’re breathless as you speak. He picks your chin up, eyes not leaving yours.
“You could have a concussion.”
“I don't,”
“Your nose could be broken.”
“It isn't.”
He sighs before grabbing an alcohol pad to wipe your face carefully, you hadn't even realized your nose was bleeding.
“I didn't realize you could be this gentle, Jack.” You watch as he freezes, it was the first time you had said his name out loud. “I like the way you say my name.” You couldn't stop the bitter laugh that escaped you. “I wonder how many girls you've said that to.”
You move to grab the wipe from his hand but he grips your wrist before you can take it. His touch was scorching, while the metal band on his ring finger was freezing. “I haven't used that on anyone.” He states, and you raise an eyebrow at him. “Really? Not even earlier on Mohan?” You don't know what had gotten into you, were never confrontational, maybe you did have a concussion. His eyes go wide and he drops your wrist. “What are you talking about?” He asks, confused.
“Our little secret? I'll pay for it?” and you watch as he figures out what you were talking about. “When I said I'd pay for it, I was talking about getting her an uber for supplies she wanted to send home with a patient. That's all.” He sighs before continuing. “And I was grazed by a bullet earlier, I didn't want to do the paperwork, so she helped and promised to keep it quiet. That's it, I promise.”
Now you were the one looking at him with concern. You felt so stupid, you were so quick to assume things. “Are you okay?” You place a hand on his shoulder, worried. “I'm fine, don't worry about me,” He says while putting his hand over yours. All you could think about was kissing him, your jealousy from earlier completely gone, and you could tell he was thinking the same with the way he was staring at your lips.
You start leaning in, only for him to back off. “You‘re not feeling okay, you're not thinking straight.” He shook his head, voice wavering, almost like he was trying to convince himself.
The rejection stung, and to make everything worse, your head was fucking killing you. “I'm fine.” You snapped, moving to get up, but as soon as you're on your feet your legs get wobbly. “Let me help you.” Jack grabs onto your waist and you push him off. “Jesus, get off me, I said I was fine!” Your own volume made you wince, and the hospital lights were only getting brighter. You stumble out of the room extremely dizzy, almost tripping before Jack catches you.
The movement grabs Robby’s attention. “Is she okay? I need to ask her what happened.” Robby questions, but before Jack can answer you cut in. “The guy headbutted me, and I fell. I'm fine, I just need to rest, please.” Robby runs over, opening your eyelids to check your pupils. “Shit, did you evaluate her?” and Jack shakes his head. “I was going to, but she got up and ran out.”
You remove Jack’s hold on you. “I'm a little dizzy and the lights are too bright, so if you need to give me a CT scan go ahead, but I'm telling you, all I need to do is rest. I'm coherent, I'm good, if anything I have a minor concussion but I doubt it. I'll answer any other questions you have, just get me in a fucking bed, and away from him,” You say, jutting your head at Jack. No one says anything, Robby just gives Jack a weird look before coming to your side to bring you back to the isolated room.
By the time Robby's done asking questions and evaluating you, you’re ready to sleep. “I'll turn the lights off so you can get some rest, but you're going home immediately after. You're lucky it was only a minor concussion,” Robby says and you nod slowly. “Is Emma okay?” You had been worried about her since Jack dragged you away from the room earlier. “Yeah, she's okay thanks to you. There are some red marks around her neck but that's about it,” he says, attempting to comfort you.
You let out a sigh of relief, what happened to her was awful, but you're glad nothing worse happened. “Okay, well Is Dana in any trouble?” you ask, remembering Robby's questions. He was asking if you had seen what she’d done, which you had, but you lied, because you know she shouldn't have had any type of sedative on her. “I don't know.” He sighs and you know not to prod. “I’ll be back soon, rest up,” he adds, and you mumble an “okay.” before you close your eyes, drifting away.
When you wake up, your head feels better but you're riddled with anxiety. Everything that had occurred earlier was immediately taking over your mind, so you get up and get ready to discharge yourself, not wanting to be stuck in this hospital any longer. You make your way to Robby and quickly debrief with him, making sure he knows you're okay, before you say your goodbyes and leave.
You didn't have a car, usually choosing to ride with Trinity or Dennis, but because they still had a couple of hours left you had no choice but to order an uber home.
As you're walking out you hear your name being called. Turning to see who it is, you watch as Jack runs, trying to catch up with you. He stops a few feet away from you and you can see the sweat glistening on his skin. “I heard you were going home, how are you feeling?” You can't help but roll your eyes at him. “I'm okay,” you reply dryly. He sighs and steps closer. “Look, I'm sorry about earlier, I wanted to make sure you were all there.”
“Save it, I don't wanna talk about this right now.” You glance at your phone and see that the uber was only a couple of minutes away. “No, please let me explain,” he pleads and you look at him frustrated, but ultimately nod giving him permission to continue.
“I wanted to kiss you, I did, but I didn't want to while you could've possibly had a head injury. I wanted to make sure you were thinking straight and I didn't want you to regret it.” Your stomach was doing flips at his words.
“Jack—” You try speaking but he cuts you off.
“I really like you, sweetheart, and I have for a while.” He says softly, his eyes holding yours intently. “Jack, don’t say it if you don't mean it.” Your body was on fire, and you were squirming under his gaze. This all felt surreal.
“When I came in today, you were the first person I searched for only to see you already staring back. Later when Robby told me about the conversation he had with you, I couldn't help but wonder if it was about me. Then that feeling turned into certainty when I overheard Santos and Whitaker talking about the older men rumor and how it was specifically about me.” He chuckles, thinking about how the day unfolded.
He was saying all the right things, but couldn't help but cringe. “God, that's so embarrassing, I hate that you had to hear that from them.” You hide your face with your palms, but Jack clicks his teeth and moves them away. “Don't hide from me. And if anything, I'm grateful that I did, don't know if I would've had the courage to confess if I didn't.”
He shakes his head as he moves his hands to hold your face. “You scared me earlier. I don't know what I would've done if something happened without having the chance to tell you how I felt. I just needed you to recover before I did anything, before I did this.” He slowly inches towards you and stops, searching your eyes for permission. This was everything you ever wanted, and you didn't want to waste any more time, so you nod your head and move forward softly planting your lips on his.
The kiss is slow, gentle, and the taste of him was addicting. It was better than you ever imagined. You tilt your head, and wrap your arms around his shoulders, wanting to give him more access, but whimper when your nose brushes his a little more aggressively.
He pulls away instantly, checking to see if you were alright, making you giggle. “I'm okay, I'm still a little sore.” He pouts and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, before resting his hands on your hips. “You need to rest. Please tell me you're taking a couple of days off,” and you shake your head. “I'm coming back tomorrow, I can handle it.” He squeezes your hips and presses his forehead against yours. “I'm gonna make sure you rest, you're not coming in tomorrow. I'll take care of you, don't worry.”
“I won't argue with that. I guess some rest would be nice, especially if you'll be there.” You move to connect your lips again, but are quickly interrupted as a car honks behind you. You groan as you force yourself to look back at the car, “That's my uber.” He presses a quick kiss to your forehead before letting go of your body. “Go home, rest, and I'll be there after my shift.”
“Okay, I'll send you my address. See you later?” you ask as you step away, heading towards the car. “See you later,” He replies smiling, and you light up.
As soon as you're in the car you're messaging the group chat with Trinity and Dennis explaining everything that happened and that you'd have a visitor soon. You scold them, but also thank them for being insufferable today. Then you find Jack’s name and type in your address. You might be a little concussed and in pain but things finally felt amazing.
You shake your head in disbelief, you can't believe you managed to manifest Jack Abbot.
a/c: I was on vacation working on this and just got back so i can finally post it!! I wanted to do smth short but fun while i was away before continuing to work on the sammy bryant fic so theres not gonna be a part 2 but i hope you all enjoy!!
u/dr-abbot.j: AITAH for provoking my girlfriend because i think it's hot when she acts crazy?
+18 mdni, age difference, fem reader, bratting/brat taming, jealousy (from both jack and reader!), lowkey ragebaiter jack, size difference, 'i'll pay for it' jack abbot, oral sex (f! and m!receiving) semi public, cum swallowing, finger sucking, overstim, dirty talk, praise, possessive behaviour, one use of the word daddy said unseriously, alcohol consumption, club culture, unprotected piv, clit stim, begging, creampie, written in one day and bareeely edited!
┊MASTERLIST┊AO3┊
everyone always tells jack abbot that what he needs is a real nice girl to settle down with. someone who will bake him sweet treats and warm dinners, who will make cozy nights in alluring enough to get him to stay home every once in a while.
but the thing is, jack likes the chaos of his life. he likes working twelve hour shifts and then clocking in to dodge bullets immediately after. his therapist says it's a coping mechanism—can't relive old ghosts if you're fast enough to outrun them.
and that might be true for some things, but not with this. not with you.
sure, jack can't deny that he loves the little rush he gets when you somehow manage to look down your nose at him even though he towers over you. he loves that crazy look you get in your eye. he loves when you raise your voice and point a perfectly manicured finger in his face (a manicure that he paid for, mind you).
but more than that, he loves what follows. he loves the groveling apologies and the soft makeup kisses. he loves taming that craziness of yours and soothing you back into that sweet little thing you truly are.
he loves it so much, in fact, that he occasionally finds himself pushing your buttons just for fun.
sometimes he turns his location off in the middle of a shift and make bets with shen about how long it'll take for you to show up to ptmc.
jack comes out of a trauma half an hour later to find you talking with lena at the charge desk, and he thinks you look real cute wearing a pair of his boxers, a hoodie, and your house slippers.
he smiles big and says, "hey, baby. what're you doin' here so late?"
lena snorts and mutters under her breath, "give him hell, kid."
you give him that scowl jack knows all too well, saying, "don't hey baby me. why the fuck did you turn your location off, jack?"
he wraps his arms around your waist and sneakily slides his hands just a liiitle lower than what should be acceptable in a place like this. "just wanted to see you, sweetheart. that so bad?"
"me, or your other girlfriend?"
it makes jack laugh. the idea alone is insane—there would never be anyone else for him but you. his pretty little brat. "c'mon. let's go talk about this somewhere quiet, hm?"
you let him lead you to an empty room, and jack locks the door behind him because he knows good and well what comes next.
he admits he'd stopped sharing his location because he knew you'd show up, and he'd just missed you sooo much. jack sets you on the hospital bed and stands between your legs, his hands roaming down your shoulders, over the curves of your hips, thumbs massaging little circles on the inside of your thighs.
"just been such a long day, baby," he tells you, pulling over the stool to sit between your spread legs. jack presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, mouth moving upwards until he's pressing kisses against your pussy through the cotton fabric of his boxers that you've stolen. "m'sorry i upset you. just missed you so much, you know? can i make it up to you, hm? you gonna let me do that?"
and you do, of course. let him pull your bottoms off so he can lick and suck at your clit until you're writhing, moaning so loud he has to stuff his fingers in your mouth to quiet you.
there's something addicting about it, about having you like this. you're always so strong and sure of yourself, yet you turn to putty in his big hands. so pliant and perfect for him.
jack makes you cum with just the warm slide of his tongue against your clit, circling the pulsing nerves until you're begging him for reprieve, so overstimulated there's not a trace of that attitude left behind.
when he does finally come up for air, his chin is slick with your arousal and he wears a knowing little smirk. "that's better, isn't it? hm?"
you roll your eyes, but the action is full of playfulness instead of irritation and jack knows he'll get through the rest of his shift a whole lot easier now that he's had a little pick me up.
by the time you leave, jack's sharing his location once more and he's twenty dollars richer (much to shen's dismay).
jack's favorite button of yours to push is the jealous one, though. and he knows it might be a little mean, but god. he just can't help it. you get so territorial and it's not like it's his fault that it makes his dick hard.
the two of you will be out shopping one afternoon. jack has the things you've already picked out draped over his arm, and you're carrying a few items you're not sure about when you find a employee to ask for a fitting room.
the woman is nice enough—she wears a tight-lipped smile and leads you to the back of the store and opens one of the rooms for you with the key around her neck.
but then she turns to jack and her smile brightens. "one for you too, sir?" the words are sweet and soft and overly bubbly, and jack fights the grin that starts to form on his face when you turn rigid at his side.
your fingers find his bicep, curling around the thick muscle. "uhm, no. he doesn't. thanks," you answer for him—tone stiff and final. not rude exactly, but something pretty close.
you then pull him into the fitting room and lock the door, already shaking your head as he sits on the little bench across from the mirror. "she was just being nice, baby," he says, but it's a lie, and you both know it.
"yeah, sure. too fucking nice if you ask me." you scoff. "i bet you she was hoping you'd say yes so she could go in with you and suck your dick or something. i mean, seriously. what the fuck is her problem? she didn't see me right next to you? you guys offer eye exams at the ED? i bet she'd love to come see you sometime, jack—"
"okay, hey. come here." you do as he says, coming to stand in front of him with your arms folded tightly over your chest. jack takes your hands in his and untangles them. he's grinning up at you—he can't help it. jack thinks you just look so sexy all riled up. "don't care what she wants, cause i only want you. hm? yeah? you listening?"
you still sport a crease between your brows, but nod in acknowledgment.
jack reaches up with one hand and takes your jaw gently between his fingers. "i only want my dick in this mouth for the rest of my life," he says.
you giggle and try to hide your amusement by shyly turning your head into your shoulder. but there's nothing shy about the way you kneel before him and reach for his belt buckle. there's nothing shy about the way you pull his cock out, already hard watching you indulge those strong feelings of yours.
jack's hands are tender as they stroke your hair away from your face while you swallow him down. your tongue swirls around the tip, your saliva collecting and dripping down to the base of his cock. his muscles go slack at the sensation when you hollow out your cheeks, sucking him hard.
"you look so pretty like this," he murmurs. "taking it so well, baby. feels so fucking good."
he lets you take what you need, lets you prove yourself the way he knows you need to.
"so much better than anyone else could ever be," jack encourages, cock throbbing between your plush lips. "yeah, there you go. that's it—shit—"
he finishes at the back of your throat, groaning as his cum fills your mouth. he slides out slowly, but keeps a firm hand on the back of your neck.
"show me," he instructs, and you obey immediately, sticking out your tongue and looking up at him with wide, glassy eyes. jack feels himself twitch at the sight of what he's made of you. filthy little thing. "mmhm. good. swallow now."
you do, swallowing his release like the perfect girl you are. a small drip spills down the corner of your mouth, and jack swipes it away with his thumb and makes you lick the digit clean.
he tucks himself back in his jeans while you stand. you reach for his hand next, pulling him to his feet to lead him out of the dressing room.
jack tries to grab the clothes you'd picked out earlier, but you tell him to leave them. "over my dead fucking body am i letting her check us out while she checks you out," you grumble. "we're leaving."
he doesn't argue, but he does ask parker to go back a week later with his credit card to pick up the things you liked.
that jealousy appears again a few weeks later when trinity invites a few people out for drinks at a new bar that just opened a short drive from the hospital.
but as it turns out, it's more of a nightclub than a bar—not exactly jack's scene. not for the last twenty years, anyway.
you and trinity have always gotten along so well, and jack thinks the invitation might've only been given to him in hopes that you'd attend, too. robby shows up late, his invitation given from dennis, of course—and the night quickly turns into drinks and a show.
jack and robby sit at the bar, nursing a couple of sweating beer bottles while they watch the group of you dance together animatedly. there's strobe lights and poppy synth music playing. you're wearing a pretty sequined dress, giggling and twirling victoria around in a circle.
and try as he might, jack can't keep his eyes off you—so passionate and full of life, young and carefree in a way he wants to soak up. he could stay here for hours, jack thinks. just watching you have your fun with a smile on his face.
later in the night, you come over to order another one of those garnished pink drinks and a round of green tea shots. you've got your arm around jack's shoulders and his is bracketed tight around your waist, pulling you into him, close enough he can smell your sweet body spray and the faint scent of you underneath.
the bartender is a young guy—far closer to you in age than jack is. he's got a shaggy hair cut and a nose ring and when he sits your drink and the shots on the bar in front of you, he grins and says over the music, "i like your nails."
and jack…well. jack doesn't think it's funny at all, when he's on the other end of this.
you immediately glance at him, at the amusement that falls from his face—and then you turn back to the bartender and say, "thanks! my boyfriend paid for them!"
jack's arm tightens around your waist. he's never considered himself a jealous man, not really. but the way the bartender's looking at you doesn't sit well at all.
you take a drink from your glass and swallow the shimmery pink liquid. "mm, it's so good, jack. here, try some."
at first, he thinks you're going to pass the glass to him to take a small sip. but what you do instead is take his jaw between your manicured fingers and kiss him hard. your tongue slips lewdly into his mouth, sliding against his own. he can taste the alcohol and the sugary sweetness on your lips.
jack doesn't think he'd be able to fight off his big ass grin if he tried.
you pull away, laughing girlishly, and then turn his head to playfully lick the stubble on his cheek. "thanks for the drinks, daddy!"
jack squeezes his jaw and chuckles low as you gather the shots in your hand before returning to the dance floor.
the bartender mixes someone else's drink now, jaw feathering as he pointedly avoids jack's gaze.
beside him,robby shakes his head before taking a slow swig from his beer. "you've got your hands full, brother."
it makes jack laugh.
because yeah, he does. and he fucking loves it.
and later that night, back at your apartment? well, jack's got his hands full of something else.
you're bent over the mattress, dress pushed up around your hips, panties pulled to the side. he palms the pillowy globes of you ass as he fucks his cock into you, pussy slick and dripping for him.
"yeah, there you go. fuckin' take it," he says, hips snapping forward. "my girl. my girl, baby. no one else can fuck you like this, huh?"
"only—hmm—only you," you whimper. you're a trembling mess beneath him, fingers clutched tight in the sheets. your moans echo against the four walls, the obscene, wet slide of his cock making him throb.
"say it," he orders, a low sound rumbling in his chest. "tell me who you belong to."
"m'yours, jack—oh god, oh—yours, yours yours—i'm your girl—fuck—"
"that's right, sweetheart," he says, slipping a hand around your hip and beneath you to find your clit. he circles it gently, applying the perfect amount of pressure. "can feel you squeezing me. you wanna cum, baby? hm? you like the way i fuck you?"
"yes, jack—oh god, so fucking good, please please—"
he drives his cock deeper, spreading you open so he can watch it go in. he can feel his own release threatening, a white hot bliss coiling tight at the base of his spine. "give it to me," jack says. "mmhm. yeah, that's it. this pussy belongs to me. my pussy. my fuckin' girl."
the sticky walls of your cunt tighten around him, pulling him in impossibly deeper, and it sends jack over the edge. he fucks you through it, filling you up with his release, fingers circling your clit until you're shaking beneath him.
when he's spent, jack falls forward, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades as he tries to catch his breath. he presses sweet, soft kisses to your skin, whispering all the while. "did so good for me. my favorite girl. so pretty."
he feels you stiffen beneath him, and jack stands to allow you the space to move. you turn over, tugging your dress up and over your head to discard it on the floor.
you're still panting and your thighs are still trembling, but jack can see the irritation in the way you move.
with his mouth turned up at the corners, jack asks, "what's wrong, baby?"
and he knows the answer before you narrow your eyes at him and say, "your favorite girl, jack? how many girls do you have?"
summary: you and jack have always been flirty and unfortunately that really doesn’t help the huge crush you have on him. seeing him with his girlfriend also really doesn’t help your huge crush.
contents: reader has a nickname (spooky), flirting, talk of mortuary sciences (death, bodies, etc), slight angst, miscommunication, reader is oblivious, only physical description is reader’s boobs, oral (f receiving), nipple/breast play, p in v sex, unprotected sex, fluff, inspired by olivia rodrigo’s maggots for brains
a/n: this is my first time trying to write anything remotely fluffy and i kind of wanted it to feel like a rom com! the medicine in this is probably not accurate at all but i needed it to conform to the plot for storytelling purposes so please forgive any mistakes!! also my first time properly writing smut in…a while so go easy on me i am RUSTY
Mondays are for psychopaths you think, not for the first time, as you watch the hour hand inch past 3 on the clock above your desk.
3AM, that is.
3AM on a Monday morning and you're sat surrounded by the dead.
At this point, the stack of paperwork beneath your hand is meaningless. To you at least, of course. Obviously. Super important for the poor guy who's name is printed in block letters across the top. And his family. Of course.
Truthfully, though, you've just been sat staring at the clock for the last 45 minutes, glazed over eyes and face smushed against your fist, willing your head not to drop forward in a sleepy trance. The graveyard of red bull cans in front of you have unfortunately not worked their magic, and you point blank refuse to even touch the hot tar in the breakroom some heathen has labelled as coffee.
In order to actually finish the custody forms and crosschecking them with sampling logs, you reason that you need to force your brain into gear. Surely stretching your legs will suffice. And if that leg stretch concludes with a lap around the ER which may or may not coincide with a certain nocturnal chief attending's rounds then that will simply be the world's largest coincidence.
A certain nocturnal chief attending who you may or not be working up the courage to ask out for dinner. Eventually.
You've been given enough encouragement by your friends, the usual "What's the worst he could say? No?".
Yes, the worst he could say is no, actually.
Well, not technically. He could turn around and spew off insults and declarations of total disgust and hatred for you. But you figure that reaction would go against the months and months of cheeky smiles and winks brandished in your direction, the inside jokes and flirty comments he greets you with, the smiley faces (and the one-time scribbled out heart!!!) he leaves on the sticky notes littered on the forms he sends downstairs.
So, really, a no would be the worst thing. A no would confirm that you'd done it again- read too far into things, saw signs that were more like mirages- an oasis granting affection in the touch-starved desert that is your love life.
A no would mean having to look into the eyes of a man you have admired for longer than you'd care to admit and watch him reject you. Which he is more than entitled to, of course! You'd take it on the chin and respect his no.
Then lock yourself in your office and sob loud enough to wake the bodies housed on the other side of your office door.
Dr Abbot wouldn't be your first rejection, of course. Far from it. To be human is to be rejected, and you'd learned long ago that picking yourself back up is the only response you can have if you want to remain human.
It would be the first to stop you in your tracks, though, you think. Your professional lives are so entwined- you're the one he calls every time he needs a deceased patient moving, or a DOA evaluated, or legal forms need both of your approval. Even the of his residents who show interest in mortuary rotations have to speak to the both of you, and you always manage to cross paths at hospital galas and fundraisers.
Quite frankly, you would survive the fallout. You would move on, tell yourself that you're a grown woman who has before and will again face rejection. Your professional lives would be just the same.
Your heart is another matter entirely.
It doesn't care that you're a woman with nearly three decades of earthly experiences. Or that your career is logically more important than a silly infatuation with the silver haired grump upstairs.
A muscle so intent on latching onto said silver haired grump cannot possibly care about logic.
Apparently, neither does your brain- the logic machine- as your calf muscles burn through the stretch of the seemingly endless stairs up to the ER.
The floor is almost awkwardly quiet tonight, your trainers squeaking against the linoleum and the sound of your heavy-ish breathing making you wince slightly with every movement. Box breathing is all you can do to tamp it down as you make your way through half empty corridors, every couple of rooms housing a patient but otherwise unusually inactive. The witching hour usually brings a whole host of crazy energy whirlwinding through the ER doors.
Perfect conditions for the native species of nightcrawler who infest this floor.
"Spook. Over here."
Your head snaps to the right at the familiar cadence of your favourite night shift attending. (Only marginally more favoured than Ellis, if only for the fact that Jack doesn't raid your super secret stash of cookies.)
You've gone by that nickname now for longer than your own name. Spook, or Spooky- bestowed upon you by Jack himself after he spotted the poster in your office. The UFO and 'I WANT TO BELIEVE' matching with that of Agent Fox Mulder's from The X-Files.
You suppose there are worse things to be called.
And, admittedly, you probably do come across as marginally spooky what with being cooped up with the dead four days a week.
"Hi."
"Hi."
That lopsided smile. It reminds you of the angle of Orion's bow in your favourite constellation. And the spray of freckles across his face reminds you of the Milky Way. You're almost certain you can trace a path between them, make up your own constellation.
"How are things downstairs?" Jack prompts the conversation at the sight of your slightly glazed eyes. He doesn't want to go so far as to assume it's because of him, so he'll chalk it up to the hour and the steadily growing army of empty red bull cans he's sure are encroaching on your desk.
You rock back and forth on your heels, hands fumbling to do something- anything- in front of you, "Oh, you know. Peachy. Lively as always."
The smile returns, this time more of a purse of his lips, as if biting back a chuckle. At you or with you: you're not sure you want to know.
"As always." Reaching for the tablet in front of him, he starts off in the direction of the triage bays, "Fancy joining me on my rounds tonight, Spooky?"
"Oh, yeah! Can't promise I'll be much help- my expertise is more use for those patients who don't really need fixing anymore."
He looks over his shoulder at you, smirking as you stumble on your feet to rush after him. Like a puffin, he thinks, not for the first time. A very cute puffin.
"Mmm, I'm sure we'll find a use for you yet, Spook. What're you doing up here in the land of the living anyway?" He looks back down to his screen as he walks, content with the knowledge that you're by his side.
You look around the ER with wide eyes like you're seeing it for the first time (even though this probably marks the thousandth time).
"Hm? Oh, um, I…needed to stretch my legs. Thought I'd come up and grace you all with my presence." A hollow chuckle betrays you slightly and from the amused look Jack throws your way, he believes you even less.
Thankfully he lets you get away with the obvious lie, swiping through the charts to find the one he's searching for. He stops in front of a curtain and briefly announces his presence to the patient on the other side, giving them an additional second before gently pulling the curtain aside with a practiced smile. One you've been on the receiving end of countless times, the one you're sure is laced with calming properties. You've seen many a patient be talked down from ledges just with that smile; the one that says I'm here, I understand, I've got you, we'll do this together.
Jack brings himself down to the patient's level, seating himself on the rolling stool, "Mr Romano, I'm Dr Abbot- this is another of our doctors here at PTMC, do you mind if she observes our chat for a minute?"
The patient looks nervously towards you so you take that as a sign to introduce yourself, telling him your name, "I'm normally downstairs in the mortuary, it's nice to meet you up here!"
The facepalm Jack makes immediately after you finish speaking makes your heart jump. Mr Romano's head shoots towards Jack, eyes wide like dinner plates, "Mortuary?! What? I am dying?" His thick Italian accent reverbs off the walls as you wince and rush to placate him.
"No- no,"
"Mr Romano, everything is fine. My colleague is just brushing up on her bedside manner," Jack pointedly looks towards you though you can see the amusement in his eyes from here, "You came in with laceration to your thumb, that is all. Once it's stitched you'll be free to go. No one is dying any time soon."
His words seem to calm the man if only momentarily, so Jack uses the sliver of calm to inform him that a nurse will be in to stitch him up shortly before ushering you out of the bay and shutting the curtain behind him.
You walk to the nurses station with your hands covering your face, refusing to even look at Jack.
"How bad was it?" Your voice comes out mumbled from behind your palms.
Instead of the reprimand you were expecting, you hear a throaty chuckle which quickly dissolves into uncontrollable giggles. A warm hand comes up to grip your fingers, gently removing them from your face. The sight of Jack's laughing face sets off your own, his out of amusement and yours out of embarassment.
"God, Spooky. 'I'm from the mortuary'? Really?" His imitation of your voice only worsens both of your giggling.
"I didn't know what to say! I haven't had to speak to a living patient in years! God he must've thought I was the grim reaper or something." At this point, your quickly warming forehead is pressed to the cool surface of the nurses station.
Jack rounds the desk, still chuckling, to sit in a chair, "You say anything but that, sweetheart. Anything. Did you see his face? Poor guy."
You bring your head up to glower at him still laughing at your expense, "Yeah, keep it up, giggleshits."
That only makes him laugh harder. You can still hear him when you turn and start back down the corridor. The sooner you get back to your safe space with no talking and moving patients, the better.
"Aw, Spook, don't run off! We were just getting started!"
A backwards middle finger is all he receives in reponse.
His chuckling it still audible when you reach the stairs.
A week later, you're back in a very familiar position, only this time during normal people hours.
The dayshift proves a stark opposite to that of the night shift; you're sure you've almost run into at least four separate people in the two minutes you've been on the ER floor. You watch with darting eyes as patients and staff alike flit and scurry between rooms, codes are called, and an incessant hum seems to hover above everything.
There is significantly too much life and noise happening up here for your taste.
Robby had called you a few minutes ago saying he needed your assistance with moving a patient and you find him outside of the family viewing room, a somber smile on his face. Whilst you enjoy each other's company, you'd both much prefer if your professional meetings were kept to a minimum.
Over your years working with him, you've come to find Robby views death as sadness completely. You suppose it makes sense; his job is to help these people, to do everything he possibly can to nurse them back to health- or at least stability before another specialist can swoop in. He is the frontlines for any and all emergencies and so death to him is a failing. Personal and professional.
From your perspective, death is a process. All of us die, some of us at the very hospital you work at. It's your job to treat all of your patients with dignity and respect, making sure they each receive the best possible standard of care. You see death as a ritual, and you have a sacred purpose to take care of their physical body and appreciate the life they lived. If you stopped to grieve for every person you performed on, you'd be stuck in one place infinitely.
If anything, you now have a deep appreciation for your own life. The job just comes with the added bonuses of developing a strong stomach and dark humour.
"Hey, Spooky, thanks for coming up. Sorry for the craziness around here, you know how it is." His accompanying laugh is more of a mirthless breath through his nose.
"Dr Robby, no problem, haha..yeah."
No, actually, you don't know. The speed up here is miles ahead of the one you're used to.
To his credit, Robby doesn't allow the awkwardness to linger for too long, instead sweeping you into the room with a palm hovering over your mid-back.
Transport support is already waiting inside the viewing room as you set to work on the usual identification and verification processes, checking over the death notification paperwork and ID tag, removing the little remaining medical apparatus from the patient's body, and securing a chin strap to ensure both dignity and practicality. After you give the go ahead to the transport staff member, they help you move the patient into a bag and then with securing the body with the concealment gurney. You give Anton, the transport staff, a murmur of thanks before asking him to move the body downstairs using the back elevator and noting that you'll be down in a moment once Robby and you finalise paperwork.
You find Robby waiting outside the room, his chin titled towards his shoes in thought.
"Hey, all finished in there, I'll be heading down to process them in a minute."
His eyes meet yours, some of the heaviness from before replaced with the professionality all doctors have to master- especially when they are the Chief Attending of an city's emergency department, "Thanks, Spooky. You're an angel."
The toothy, too-wide grin you give back makes him smile even more. You never could take a compliment.
At the nurses station, Robby turns to you with both the paperwork you need to complete and an expression you recognise all too well. You've worked with him for too long not to know when Michael Robinavitch is scheming.
"…What? Do I have something on my face?" Your hand haphazardly sweeps at your mouth, praying the pesto pasta salad you brought for lunch isn't smeared across your chin.
"No, no. You look great. Just…a question, if you will."
Your eyes narrow in suspicion, "Hmm, why do I not like where this is going already?"
Robby chuckles, "God, Spooky, at least hear me out before you start accusing me of something."
"You have that look, Robinavitch. I know that look."
His eyes roll good-naturedly before they meet Dana's over the other side of the desk, her own spying on the two of you from above the glasses perched on the tip of her nose.
"I just wanted to ask if you'd put any more thought into that gala. Gloria's been on my ass about numbers and representing the hospital properly, putting on a united front, yada yada. 'S all bureaucratic bullshit, but someone's gotta do it."
Robby watches in thinly veiled amusement as your head tips back on a groan, "Fuck. I completely forgot." You look over at Dana, still watching curiously, for moral support, "Do I have to?"
She raises both hands in surrender, one holding a patient chart and the other the bright red hospital landline, "Hey, don't look at me, Spooks. I got nothin' to do with those bigwigs upstairs."
Unfortunately for you, your puppy dog eyes do not have the same effect on Robby as they do on Jack, "Put those eyes away, missy. Someone from your department has to go or Gloria will ride your ass so hard you'll be drowning in paperwork for the next year."
Robby's words make your whole face screw up in a cringe, "Please, don't ever put that image in my brain ever again."
He simply laughs out loud before fatherly patting you on the back, "You'd best send Gloria confirmation of your attendance." Handing you the final sheet of paperwork, he pauses as if remembering something important, "Oh, actually, you know who else is going? Jack. Huh, at least you won't be alone."
With that, he picks up a chart and heads towards a triage bay. His words make you pause: if Jack is attending then maybe the night won't be so bad, his presence might just make up for the painful amount of schmoozing with potential donors you're going to have to do. Seeing him in a suit will also make the brain melting act of socialising easier to stomach. Maybe you can even dress up nice to feel confident enough to ask him for dinner sometime. You wonder absentmindedly if your sister still has that formal dress from her friend's cousin's wedding sat in the back of her wardrobe.
When you look up, you realise how in your own head you were when you spot Dana smirking knowingly at you, "Don't. Even."
Both eyebrows raise in faux innocence, "My lips are sealed."
After three back to back shifts the last place you want to be right now is in a crowded, overly decorated banquet hall surrounded by the best doctors in the tri-state area, the wealthiest Pennsylvania has to offer, and staff who look like they also want to be anywhere but serving comically tiny hors d'oeuvres to stuffy old white men.
It'd taken your sister over an hour to convince you to leave the house in the dress you're wearing and, despite how good you felt when you first tried it on, you suddenly feel ridiculously out of place considering your day to day attire is usually frumpy scrubs, a hair net, and your comfiest shoes.
A small part of you- well, perhaps a large majority- is hoping you'll find Jack tonight and he'll be starstruck by your dress. That same part of you that has existed since you were a pre-teen and your love of rom coms was kickstarted, watching scenes of undercover princesses swaying down palace steps in a gorgeous dress and captivating the eyes and hearts of Chad Michael Murray and Heath Ledger.
It's a satin fabric in a rich plum colour, an asymmetrical neckline showcasing the oiled skin of one shoulder, boning across the mid-section to accentuate your waist and hips, and the rest falling in smooth pleats around your calves. The silver heels on your feet started hurting before you even got in the Uber here and you're almost 100% positive you lost bloodflow to your pinky toe around seven minutes ago. Grinning and bearing it seems the only option.
You've already made the rounds a couple of times, your schmoozing power running on empty to match the empty champagne glass you've been clutching like a lifeline instead of awkwardly fiddling with your hands as usual.
You're still yet to spot Jack amongst the crowd you think to yourself, and, as if by magic, there he appears. You spy him chatting with a group of donors you're yet to try and work some of your unusual charm with, their faces all alight with rapt fascination as he no doubt captivates them with his otherworldly charisma. He'll be regaling them with some story of his time overseas, or managing to spin a patient story into a subtle yet effective appeal for donations.
He looks as dashing as ever, even if you are only glimpsing him from behind; his deep slate suit stretches taut over broad shoulders, pants tailored to perfection, and his more salt than pepper curls perfectly coiffed. You hope he's missed a day or two of shaving. You love the stubble that grows in after only a short amount of time and have spent more time than is probably healthy imagining how the scruff would feel between your thighs.
Setting out to cross the bustling room to reach his side, the crowd he was previously entertaining seem to fall away with wide grins and pats to his back, leaving him stood alone with possibly the most gorgeous woman you have ever seen.
Your steps fumble slightly, not wanting to make a fool of yourself by marching over there when he's in conversation with someone else.
Especially not when he's smiling like that at her.
She's in a long sleek dress to match her long sleek hair and she looks so elegant you're unsure if she's even real. Of course he'd be smiling like that at her.
Her elegance doesn't bother you nearly as much, though, as the hand on his arm does. Her fingers are wrapped around the crook of his elbow in such a way that looks natural, familiar. And he's not rejecting it. Jack is standing there letting her paw at him, smiling at her in that way that says I'm listening, I'll always listen to you that you foolishly believed might just have been exclusive to you.
For just a minute- though it feels like an eon- you stand and watch them; how good they look together, how naturally they seem to fit together, how she throws her head back on a laugh and he watches the clean line of her throat. It feels like a car crash you can't look away from, though you know the only car crash is the nosedive your potential relationship with Jack just took off the Fort Pitt Bridge.
In the years you've worked with Jack, you've never once heard him mention a partner- you knew he was divorced, everyone at the Pitt knew that, but you had no idea he was seeing anyone. And, from the way they're stood together, they can't be anything but a couple. It makes you feel sick thinking about how many hours you must've accumulated flirting with Jack over the years. How he'd never shut it down- had played along, even. Once again, you feel like that same silly teenage girl again; awkward and a hopeless romantic, only to find out that the cute flirty guy next to you in biology class had been dating your friend since the beginning of junior year.
You feel stupid and small and really fucking uncomfortable in this dress that you wore for him.
Behind you, you hear someone call your name and, deciding you've seen enough, you turn from the smoldering remains that was your crush on Dr Abbot.
In turning away, you miss the way Jack's ears perk up completely at the distant sound of your name, swinging his head around the room in an attempt to find you and the sting he feels in his chest when he can't.
The pile of papers on your desk has officially reached critical mass.
You're at the point where one strong shove of your office door may result in bureaucratic disaster, however sorting and filing them properly would require a trip to the ER. The same ER in which you have been completely avoiding for the last two weeks due to the residence of a certain silver haired grump.
You'd received exactly one message from him at the end of last week (when you figure he finally caught on to the fact that you were quite obviously avoiding him);
Jack's Abs: Hey Spook, everything okay? Didn't see you at the fundraiser dinner, must've missed each other. Let me know if you want to come up and help with rounds again at any point. I'll make sure you don't frighten any patients half to death this time. - Jack
You'd only deigned to reply with a thumbs up emoji, to which you figure he must've guessed he'd done something wrong as he hasn't contacted you since.
In all honesty, you miss him. You miss the chats you would sneak together in the break room between lulls, you miss the way he would make any excuse to come downstairs to visit you, you miss the way he'd always have an energy drink chilling in the fridge for you- hidden behind the leftovers that have gone untouched for so long he's sure no one will bother to look behind them. You miss him when you see something funny on Instagram and you can't show him it, when normally you'd send it to him and watch him furrow his brows in old man confusion.
You've moped around so much for the past two weeks that even your assisstant, Sylvie, has been giving you shit for it.
"Girl, you've been slouching around here like a zombie for too long. Go talk to him!" She's sat in the chair on the other side of your packed desk, her feet propped precariously on one of the smaller piles of paper teetering on the edge of the cherrywood. You're slouched in your reclined office chair, head in your hands as you massage an incoming migraine from your temples.
"You should've seen them, Sylv- there was no way that wasn't his girlfriend. I feel so embarassed."
The whine in your voice makes Sylvie's eyes soften in sympathy, "Hun, there is no way that a man who looks at you like Dr Abbot looks at you has eyes for any other woman. Did you ask him if they were together?"
Shuffling your fingers apart, you peek up at her nervously, "…No?"
The eye roll you receive is expected, the tinfoil ball from her sandwich being thrown at your head, is not.
"Okay, well, if you're not going to take these up, I will." Sylvie begins precariously stacking papers in her arms and heads for your office door, "I'll be sure to tell Dr Abbot you asked after him."
All you can do is cover your face again and groan, slouching down even further into your chair.
It's your day off and you're still moping. Only now, you can mope from the comfort of your own home.
You've not even left the house today, even though you know definitely should've when you open the fridge door and all that's in there is a half-drunk carton of orange juice and a moldy punnet of cherries. The weather is another reason you haven't left the house today, the thunder and lightning and lashing rain mirroring the emotional deluge happening inside your head.
A tiny, insane, part of you thinks maybe you should risk a grocery run today. Should risk driving in the torrential rain if only for the fact that the grocery store is in PTMC's catchment area and any accident that may've happened to you on those rain-slick roads would've resulted in the potential for Jack to be the one taking care of you. You dismiss the thought as soon as it pops into your head, immediately apalled at yourself, and decide to just rot the rest of the night away on your couch. You're sure you have some stovetop popcorn hidden in a cupboard somewhere.
You're almost through Four Weddings and a Funeral, just about to reach Hugh Grant's famous love confession to Carrie in the torrential rain when you hear a pounding on your front door.
Immediately, you check your phone to make sure you didn't accidentally order a pizza in you zombie-like state and make some poor delivery driver make the trek to your house in the storm, only for another, much longer, knock to sound through your living room.
You hop up from the couch, fastening the belt of your robe around you tighter as you swing open the front door to be met with a very wet Jack Abbot.
"What the hell are you doing here?", You shout to be heard over the thunder rolling behind him, brows furrowing in desparate confusion.
Jack brings a hand up to swipe his dripping curls from his face, slicking them back only for the shortest at the front to stick to his temples, "You've been avoiding me for weeks!"
"So you show up at my house?! In a storm?!"
"I had no other choice!"
Looking at him dripping wet on your doorstep makes your defences wither faster than you'd like, "God, Jack, just- just come in. Come in. I'll get you some towels and something to wear." He lets out a breath of relief, making sure to keep his feet on your doormat as he removes his soaked shoes and jacket, trying to minimise the mess he is guaranteed to make. When you return from the towel cupboard, you find him standing sheepishly still in your doorway now with the door closed at least, "Come on, you can sit on the couch- I'll put towels down."
Whilst he busies himself with drying off, you go in search of the biggest sweatpants and hoodies you can find, hoping you have something buried in the back of your wardrobe, and when you get back your heart bursts out of your chest at the sight of Jack's wet t-shirt halfway off of his body, arms stretching backwards to rip it off. When his head is free of the soaked fabric, he catches your widened eyes, curls still damp and now ruffled, the skin of his chest and arms reddened from the cold.
"He-here," you have to clear your throat to speak a coherent sentence, "take these- they should fit. Hopefully." You all but toss the clothes at him and make an escape to the kitchen in a plan to bring him a warm drink and to put his own clothes in the dryer.
Jack takes the time to scan your living room, a space he's never been privy to before but always wondered about- wondered whether you like to keep things neat and minimalist or go all out with bright colours and clutter. From what he can see, it's very you. He loves it. Although he's not sure his opinions on interior design have any weight considering his own house has looked the exact same (if he had to pick a word to describe its aesthetic, he would choose showhouse, Robby would choose sad) since his divorce years ago.
"Black, one sugar." You place a coffee down in front of him, settling in opposite him with your own mug of no doubt something teeth-rottingly sweet that most likely no longer classifies as coffee.
"Thanks, Spook."
For the first time in all of the years you've known each other, the silence between you is awkward. It feels like there's an impenetrable barrier between the two of you, something tangible, something you can reach out and crush betwene your fingers. For the first time ever, you don't know how to talk to each other.
So, Jack takes the leap of faith.
"We need to talk, sweetheart."
The eyes you look at him with make his chest tighten immeasurably, there's hurt and guilt and longing and want burned into your pupils, so clear he can read them like his favourite book.
"You've been avoiding me, for a while now. Too long, really. And I just want to know what I did." Jack puts his coffee down and scoots forward on the couch, eyes wide in desperation, "Did I fuck up? I want to make it right, but I'm at a loss here, Spook. I miss us. I miss you."
"I don't know if you should be saying that, Jack. It's…inappropriate."
If it was possible, he's somehow leaning even farther forward, trying to get as close to you as he can whilst still respecting the clear space you've put between the two of you, "To who? We've always done this. It's been you and me since day one, Spooky."
"God, your girlfriend, Jack. Or partner- wife- whatever she is to you. I'm not coming between that, okay?"
Jack's eyes narrow in confusion, "Girlfriend? I don't have a girlfriend, or-or a partner or a wife."
The pit in your stomach widens, "You…don't?"
"Of course I don't. How could I when I have you? If you aren't filling any of those roles I don't want it." Out of all the expressions you've seen Jack Abbot wear, this one is a first. It's desperate, pleading, pure want.
"What about the woman in the black dress- from the fundraiser dinner? You two seemed…friendly." You can't even look at him as you say it, embarassment swirling in your chest.
"You mean Val? My sister's wife? She's on the board for the woman's clinic outside Presby. Spooky, she's family. I promise you. I'll get out the fucking family albums if you want me too, sweetheart." And god help you, you know Jack would never lie to you. Not about something like this.
"Oh."
The smile he gives you is one of hope and sympathy, "Yeah."
"Well…now I feel stupid."
Jack laugh is full of pity and amused exasperation, "Me too, Spook."
There's one thing still left to clarify, though, "Did you mean what you said before? About…me. Being your…girlfriend or whatever."
Jack's smile is megawatt now, "Oh, my silly girl, get over here."
In an instant, you're rounding the coffee table, and straddling Jack's lap. His hands reach to cup your face automatically, bringing it to down to meet his awaiting mouth. The kiss is desperate and searching, your tongues sweeping each other's mouths, dying to memorise the feel of each other.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-" you pant between kisses, "I'm sorry I avoided you i just-"
"Shh, shh. 'S Okay, sweets. You're okay, I'm here now, hm?" Jack's hands are placating as they smooth over your body, gripping your curves, memorising the feel of your hips, "Now, I love this robe but I wanna see what's under it, yeah? That sound good?"
You nod frantically, aching to have his big hands touch your heated skin. He gently unties the knot, pushing the satin fabric from around your shoulders to pool at your feet. Instantly, his hands are going to your nipples poking from under thin material of your tank top, pinching and rolling and pulling. His mouth drops to envelop one through the fabric, teeth just and so nibbling at it before his tongue sweeps out to soothe. When he pulls away his eyes are heavy lidded at the sight of the wet spot on your tank and the outline of your swollen nipple even more prominent.
He looks up at you, your neck thrown back and whimpers pouring from you, "These tits, sweetheart. The things I've imagined doing to them."
You meet his eyes with your own hooded ones, "Yeah?"
"They're fucking perfect. Perfect for me." His fingers reach to pull the fabric of your tank down under your heavy tits, nipples jutting out proudly. Jack groans uncontrollably, mouth attatching to your tits once again like a man starved. Your hips works against his own, little shorts bunching up against the sweatpants you leant him, though you can feel the unmistakable bulge he's sporting.
"Where's your bedroom sweetheart?", Jack mumbles around a mouthful of your breast, his bite marks and spit leaving a trail across the delicate skin.
You point with a shaking hand in the direction of your room and, within ten seconds, he's pulling you up to stand so he can yank you down the corridor. Once he locates your bed, he shoves you down, standing between your parted legs as you prop yourself into your elbows. Jack takes you in, tits pressed together above the fabric of your top, tiny shorts hiding next to nothing, the outline of your perfect soaked cunt on display for him, your face already sweat slick and looking freshly fucked. He thinks you're the most gorgeous thing he's ever seen.
You watch with unconcealed lust as his rips the sweatshirt from over his head, pushes his sweatpants down, and reaches to remove his prosthetic leg. You watch that part with more interest- next time you want to be the one to do it for him. Once he's done, he leans against the bed, one of your ankles in each of his hands as he begins planting kiss after kiss up the side of your leg. Some are small pecks, others open mouthed, all whilst looking directly at you. Your jaw is touching your heaving chest at this point.
He finally gets to the apex of your thighs, the fat dimpling under his fingers as he places kiss after kiss over the fabric of your shorts, tongue coming out to poke at your clit, nose taking deep lungfuls of you. Your gasps and whimpers spur him on as he looks up at you, "Sweet girl, I want you to take these off for me."
You're nodding and hooking your fingers beneath the waistband instantly, hips lifting from the bed in what should feel an awkward move but doesn't as Jack keeps his eyes on yours- reassuring, guiding, loving. When the shorts are eventually hooked over one ankle, he slips them off and returns to face your cunt, weeping and leaking for him. Once he reaches what he's after he envelops your clit, nose smushing against the thatch of hair above your pussy, tongue sweeping across you, "God, Jack, oh my god-". For what feels like hours he suckles, kisses, licks, fucks you with his tongue. When he comes up for air, his face is glistening, the scruff you love so much completely doused in you.
Your hands grab at his curls, guiding him to where you need him most. His own hands come up to play with your tits, rolling and pinching, sometimes just grabbing handfuls of the plush flesh as if he needs something to ground him. You see his own hips working at the bed beneath him, unable to keep still at the sensation of completely devouring your cunt.
When he feels you beginning to reach the edge of your orgasm, he brings one hand down, rolling your clit beneath the pad of his thumb, his fingers dipping shallowly into your pussy, "Come on, sweet girl, come for me. You can do it, I've got you." Your hips are uncontrollable, writhing and rolling against him, your thighs clamping down on his ears as your first orgasm collides into you. It's less of a plunge and more of a tidal wave, one big wave and lots of slightly smaller jolts that pull you just as far under.
"Yeah, that's it. You're so pretty when you come, baby."
Jack unwinds his hands from your thighs when you release him, moving to his knees to crawl over you. His mouth brushes your stomach as he moves, the skin instantly tightening making him glance up at you as he leans down and presses a firmer kiss to the skin still covered by your tank top.
"You're beautiful. Don't hide from me. I know what you look like, Spook." He tenderly thumbs at your temple as he says it, looking between your eyes. The kiss he plants on the bridge of your nose brings a prickle to your eyes. Before any tears can fall, though, Jack is lining his hips up with yours, the tip of his cock just and so pressing at your hole, "You want me baby? Hm?"
"Yes, yes- please, please. Need it, Jack-" His lips cut you off from anymore begging.
"Okay, sweet girl, you're okay. You'll get it. You'll get it all."
With a deep groan, Jack pushes in in one fell swoop, and it feels like fireworks explode behind your eyes. Like finding the missing puzzle piece. Like you've finally found your person. He's still for a moment, his face buried in your neck and hands gripping your waist, whilst he gives the both of you a second to acclimate.
"Please, Jack."
At your words, he begins a rhythm that feels like your favourite song and the beat of both your hearts, and, listening to Jack's heartbeat now they might just be the same thing.
His hips meet the backs of your thighs, the very tip of his cock reaching the very deepest parts of you. The neatly trimmed hair above his cock catches deliciously on your clit. He's so thick you can feel him everywhere.
"Oh sweetheart. you're perfect. You feel so good. So wet- oh my god-" Jack murmurs into your ear, not holding back from moaning and whimpering right against it. He blanketing you with his full body and you've never felt so secure. Your hands are in his curls once again, nails blindly scratching at the base of his skull and travelling down to his freckled shoulders. You rake lines down his back just slightly, not enough to draw blood but enough to know you were there, "Yeah, baby- like that. Feels s'good," His pistoning hips continue to meet yours filthily, echoing through the room in a delicious symphony.
"Gonna cum with me this time, sweets. Come on, you're nearly there- can feel it.", With his thumb back on your clit, he continues fucking you towards your orgasms. You can once again feel that tidal wave approaching though your ears are muffled now, as if underwater, your head fuzzy and fucked out. Your brain whites out completely as you cum, leaking onto the matress below you, "Come on, baby, now. Cum for me. Yeah- yes. Ohh my god-", Jack's whimpers mix with your own until you're creating a perfect harmony, his hips still fucking you through both of your orgasms, and, though they're slowing, they're no less intense.
Your ears are ringing by the time you come back down to Earth, Jack's heavy breathing the first thing you tune back into, "Oh, you're so perfect. My perfect girl. I love you." His tiny kisses are pressed to the skin of your cheeks, nose, lips, forehead- anywhere he can reach.
You giggle up at him, still spacey and fucked out and exhausted. But happy, so so happy, "I love you, too."
When he chuckles back at you through a kiss, his teeth pressing to your lips, you can't help but feel like the luckiest girl in the world.
A couple of hours later, with the storm still raging outside, you're huddled with Jack under fresh bedding and the TV playing some random true crime documentary. You're propped against your headboard with Jack nestled into your bare chest, and your nails scratching at the skin of his freckled back.
"Do you not see enough of this shit at work, Spooky?", Jack asks as an autopsy is described on screen.
"Hm, yeah. But I don't get to do all the cool forensics stuff normally, so."
He seems to take the answer, turning his head back towards the television. Leaving you to once again trace the constellations between his freckles.
You think from here you can just make out Orion and his bow.
thanks to this tumblr post I cannot get the idea of Santos and Whitaker sharing a partner out of my head. like obviously those two are sibling coded, but but but: imagine them both dating the same person and bickering over their partner.
anyways here's a list of headcannons
Pairing: Dennis Whitaker x Genderfluid!Reader x Trinity Santos
Tags: some light angst, mostly fluff
A/N: no physical description of reader EXCEPT like two headcanons at the end with a curly haired reader
also if my drafts weren't practically overflowing rn I'd write a full fic but for now I needed to get all the ideas in my head out
Trinity has been dating them longer, and then she brought Dennis home after Pittfest and like a week later her partner was leaving books about polyamory laying around the house
Trinity will never forgive Dennis for eating all of the avocados, but literally the next week their partner uses a dozen to make enough guac for the whole ER and Trin is all just "aw you're so sweet babe" meanwhile Dennis is actually fuming
Their partner is genderfluid and when Dennis wants to be a little shit(which is frequently) and their partner happens to be in a more masculine mood, Dennis declares them "mine" because Trinity's a lesbian so he insists that means their partner is his and only his for the day
Trinity makes a point to kiss their partner hard whenever Dennis pulls bullshit like that ^^ because how dare he imply she could love their partner any less
Their partner being an EMT who frequently makes stops at the Pitt
The first time their partner kissed Dennis at the hospital all hell almost broke loose
Princess and Perlah instantly jumping up because in what world does the sweet little thing who packs Trinity's lunches cheat on her
Trinity comes running out of a patient's room because she hears her partner yelling just to realize what's happening
"oh yeah, Huckleberry's dating them too now. yeah I knew."
"so wait all three of you are together now?" just for simultaneous ew no's to come from Dennis and Trinity
And in retrospect it was super obvious because Dennis has been coming in with identical packed lunches to Trinity's
But also forgive the old people of the Pitt for needing a little more explanation to understand polyamory
Their partner getting a kiss from whichever of their partner's isn't in the middle of a trauma anytime she drops a patient off
If neither Trinity or Dennis are in the middle of something they literally race to get the first kiss
Well they did until Trinity tripped Dennis and he broke his nose on the floor
And Trinity never did it again because Dennis got all the cuddles when they got home that night
In fact she was tempted to break her own nose so she could get all the attention
Dennis struggling with the idea that he was brought into the relationship out of pity
Needing constant reassurance that yes they love him just as much as Trinity
Trinity making a joke about how she has a strap-on that's bigger than him, so it's not like their partner was desperate for a dick or anything
As crude as it is, it actually makes him laugh and breaks him out of his funk
Which was her goal, because while no Trinity doesn't view Dennis that way(she literally shakes her head in wonder whenever their partner gets preoccupied staring at Dennis in grey sweatpants because how is that attractive) but she still cares about him in her own way and doesn't want to see him sad like that
Sometimes everyone forgets how strong Dennis is but once when they were all drunk, him and Trinity ended up in a literal tugging match with their partner and Dennis yanked so hard he popped their partner's shoulder out of place and obviously he forced them to go to the ER and he was a mess the rest of the night
He spent the next month waiting on her hand and foot because he felt so bad even though them and Trinity insisted they knew it was an accident
Their partner helping Dennis with his curl routine because it is a shame the way this man treats his beautiful curls
Which leads into a skincare routine. And then Trinity laughs at them and gets dragged into it too.
Which is how Victoria ended up with a screenshot of all three of them in pink clay masks because she face timed them once while they were in the middle of it and their partner was more than happy to show off their boyfriend and their girlfriend getting along so well
★summary★ you’ve made a name for yourself at the top of the league, but someone’s ready to take that title—and your heart
★notes★ competitive reader, loverboy Dennis, enemies to lovers (duh), slow burn…. I will make a part 2 . If you all crave it.
⚠️ warnings⚠️ mdni!, inaccuracies, no proof read
Number 73.
That’s all your eyes can trail, despite the blur of 42 other racers attempting to keep up. Even if you’re watching the playback of the race on your phone, you can still feel the rumble under you—and your nerves boiling with frustration; even more so when it cuts to a grin plastered on your new enemy’s face. The worst part seems to be the fact he’s a heartthrob to a majority—the bright blue 73 on his jacket matching the exact shade of his eyes was definitely there to drive that point home.
“How’s your first NASCAR season?” A beaming reporter shoves a mic into Dennis Whitaker’s hand, who’s giving a sheepish smile back.
Dennis fucking Whitaker—a sickly-sweet rookie with small town charm who’s been climbing the ranks more than you’d like to admit.
“It’s been a great opportunity to really prove myself, I feel honored. I wanna bring my best, keep racing with the greats.” Dennis replies, which almost makes you gag—there’s not a chance he’s so kiss-ass off camera… well, that’s what you tell yourself.
The reporters eyes go wide and eyebrows shoot up, like a predator finally finding it’s prey,
“Are you prepared to race against #16? She’s held that number one spot for—“
“Three seasons, I know.” Dennis replies quick, enough to cut the reporter off, continuing,
“She’s absolutely amazing,” he compliments you, which fills your chest with disdain rather than delight.
“But no one rules forever.” He adds, his smile almost twisting into a smirk—but now you think you’re seeing things, quickly turning off the video and tossing the phone to the side.
For the next week, you have to try your hardest to completely shut out the thought of Dennis—yet you still find yourself surfing news articles and even his Instagram.
Your crew chief, Robby, even told you to block Dennis’s account when he caught you scrolling during practice;
“For someone who appears to hate this kid, you are pretty glued to him.” He muses, snatching the device from your hand and holding it above your head to taunt,
“Don’t let him interfere. You’re staying in that number one spot.” Robby adds, squeezing your shoulder while you sigh,
“Yeah, but no one rules forever…” you grumble, earning an eye roll.
“You really are watching too much,” is all he can muse back.
When you land in North Carolina, for the first time your nerves are high enough your hands are sweating—a habit you thought was long lost after your first season.
That’s immediately how you know he’s really in your head.
Not to even mention you scan the airport for him as you walk toward the taxi outside—Robby was right—too much was an understatement.
Even as you ride in the backseat with the colorful blur of the city rushing by, that stupid quote seems to linger, like Dennis himself left fingerprints on your mind. Instead of watching for your face on promotion material around town, you look for his.
Truly, at the hotel though is when it spirals, because who else would be checking in at the same time as you?
“Oh my god, hello—I didn’t think we’d cross paths until tomorrow,” a saccharine voice chirps behind you and when you turn, you see the smile attached.
You slowly drag your eyes down to his outstretched hand in disgust, shaking it with a limp grip,
“Yeah, that was my hope at least,” you reply in a dry tone, sighing softly—still you force a chagrin smile back.
He releases your hand and starts again,
“I’ll have to catch back up with you at some point—“
“Like on the track tomorrow?” You cut in, his eyebrows raising in surprise; his laugh is even uncertain.
“Uh, somethin’ like that I guess,” is all Dennis can shoot back before clearing his throat,
“My siblings back home asked me to get some stuff signed if we had any free time, so I would like to do that at some point.”
You nod slowly and clutch the straps of your backpack tighter, feeling the sweat in your palms start again.
“Yeah, maybe. Free time is rare for me,” you snap back, stepping toward your crew chief again.
“Why, can’t get anyone to keep up?” Dennis quickly muses back, not letting you disappear immediately—and for some ridiculous reason, you actually hesitate for the first time in a long time,
“Yeah, gotta stay top dog—see you, rookie.” You retort, fully evaporating from his eye line.
“What in the fresh hell was that?” Robby leans down, whispering with a smug expression. You roll your eyes, huffing,
“I dunno, banter? We’re… rivals? I guess?” You trail off, smacking the elevator button while Robby laughs. You continue, though it’s under your breath,
“Rivals implies he’s as good as me though.”
He shakes his head, sighing with a smirk,
“You’ll be frenemies soon, kid,” is all Robby shoots back.
You settle into your hotel room, even showering to totally refresh—and in attempt to drown out Dennis.
While you lie back in bed, already changed into pajamas, a knock raps at the door.
You scrub your face and set your phone to the side, switching it out for your race notes. You flip open the cover, opening the door without glancing up,
“I’ll be honest, I rather do notes in an hour or so but if you rather do now, that’s fine—“
You immediately cut yourself off when you see those bright blue eyes looking down at you, quickly you tuck the notes under your arm to give a disapproving look.
God fucking damnit—
“Is now a bad time to get some stuff signed?” Dennis blurts out, holding two folded teeshirts and a pile of Topps cards with your face. Yet, he continues with his signature smile,
“Rather do it now before bad blood starts.”
And that’s how you begin to spiral; speechless with a slacked jaw. You stammer before you can begin, your voice sharp,
“I—What? What are—That stupid shit isn’t true—I would…” you trail off with the shake of your head, flicking your tongue across your lip before biting it,
“Yeah, whatever—give it.” You snap, snatching the items from his hands. Dennis furrows his brows,
“Sorry, did that come off—I mean, I just—I know you get competitive, not a bad thing by any means,” he tries to save himself, weakly chuckling,
“I guess what I’m saying is—it’s a joke,” he sighs, while you continue to scribble your signature on the memorabilia,
“Well watch what you say.” You retort, shoving it back into his hands. You turn back into your room,
“Jokes are meant to be funny, by the way,” you murmur, reaching for the handle.
“I’ve been a fan of you.” He blurts out while you face away, though you quickly whip your head around.
The silent tension is at a standstill and a total high.
Still, he starts again—though it’s cautious,
“I don’t want you to think just because we’re competing it means we’re—”
“Enemies? I never said we were.” You snap in, but your voice is flat,
“But I don’t make friends,” you add, turning toward your room again.
“But you do make rivals.” He calls out behind you and of course you can hear is god damn grin, even more when he says,
“See you tomorrow, friend.”
When you turn around to reprimand him, he’s already long gone—thankfully so, because your face is red hot—whether is from embarrassment, anger, or amusement… isn’t something you dwell on.
In the morning, you start your day by staring at the ceiling and waiting for your alarm to sound. At breakfast, Robby’s race notes seem to float around your head—your eyes are fixated on his face, but you only seem to hear bits and pieces.
“Hello? We on earth? What is up?” Robby snaps, waving his hand in front of your face. You shove his hand away with a frustrated expression and a reddening face. You huff, shrugging,
“Dunno, first race of the season jitters,” you murmur, like a child getting reprimanded.
That feeling grows even more when you reach the track, making your way toward your trailer—but you keep looking for Dennis’s—your chrome sunglasses are carrying the cover of your terrible act.
With mechanics shouting, you weaved through the chaos in your usual hoodie up despite the morning heat.
Then you saw it.
Car 73 parked a few trailers down. Dennis’s trailer was easy to spot—smaller than yours, painted a soft cornflower blue with a peeling sticker of Nebraska’s state flower on the side. His number 73 gleamed under morning sun. Dennis’s crew was milling around—one guy adjusting the rear spoiler while another handed him a water bottle. And there he was: blonde hair peeking under his snapback, wearing that same dumb hopeful smile as last night.
He turned—and instantly locked eyes with you across twenty feet of asphalt and tension thicker than oil.
For half a second? Nothing.
Then he lifted his chin slightly and waved once with two fingers.
Your steps slowed without thinking.
Robby called from behind,
“Kid! Gear check!”
And just like that—the moment snapped.
Even when you’re actually at the wheel with the stands full, you can’t get away from Dennis—actually, you’re fighting everything in you to glance to either side, searching for his bright blue—even if just a hint.
But now? He was right there—in third place behind you and 32—and closing in.
Robby cursed under his breath, not enough to hear over the comms.
You bit down so hard on your lip it stung, eyes finally snapping to the left mirror—and there he was. Calm as ever. Focused.
Your blood burned—not with anger... but something worse;
Admiration.
You don’t imagine though is falling behind that blue.
Still with your teeth grinding together—you’re shocked they don’t snap, Robby barking in your ear; yet you only hear one thing—
‘See you later, friend.’
Oh, you’ll be friends by the end of this for sure. Your foot slams down even harder on the pedal, even with the wheel shaking.
The engine screamed—pushing past redline, tires smoking as you ripped through Turn 2. The crowd noise faded into a dull roar, replaced by the thunder of your V8 and Robby’s frantic voice in your earpiece.
“Ease off the throttle—you’re losing grip!”
But you couldn’t care.
All that mattered was him.
Dennis Whitaker—the rookie with Midwest manners and charm, was actually ahead of you. Not just ahead… he’d been climbing since Lap 10 like some quiet storm no one saw coming.
“And that’s the checkered flag!” Announcers call, confetti flies—but you’re still stuck behind Dennis.
Second place.
First race of the season, second place to the god damn rookie.
Your eye was starting to twitch while you exit your car, staring burning holes into Dennis’s cheering crew.
The confetti rained down in glittering bursts and swirled around you. Fans cheered, cameras flashed.
But you?
You stood frozen beside your #16 car, helmet tucked under one arm like a weapon ready to swing.
Dennis’s crew swarmed him instantly—jumping on his shoulders, hugging him tight.
And then—he spotted you.
Through all the noise and movement… those bright blue eyes locked onto yours across the chaos
He smiled—a real one this time—not cocky or teasing—but genuinely surprised you were looking at him.
Before you could react? He lifted a hand and waved. Just... waved. Like normal people do after good races.
Robby slid up beside you,
“Second place ain’t bad.”
You didn’t answer.
Your jaw clenched so hard it hurt almost as much as your ego.
Stood next to Dennis on the podium for photos, your forced smile is starting to falter—you can mentally read the headlines now.
‘#16 is Sent for the Season?’
‘No One Does Rule Forever Shows Recent Race!’
‘Whitaker Wins—Sets Precedent’
The camera flashes were blinding—strobe after strobe, capturing the two of you—Champion Dennis Whitaker, #73 in his crisp white firesuit with a golden smile… and you. Second place.
Dennis stood taller than expected—broad-shouldered under that suit—and he looked so damn happy. Like this wasn't just some win… it was everything he’d ever dreamed since growing up on a farm road where tractors outnumbered cars.
A photographer called out,
“Smile! Get close!”
And before you could react—Dennis turned toward you and slung an arm around your shoulders like old pals at a backyard cookout. His grip was warm through the thin fabric of your jumpsuit.
“C’mon,” he whispered with that stupid friendly voice only he could pull off genuinely,
“You made second—I mean c'mon,”
And for half a second?
You almost smiled back.
You start to peel away despite microphones still being shoved forward like a wall of noise in your direction—you chew your lip as the questions swarm around you.
Reporters shouting over each other like hungry dogs,
“How does it feel to finish second?”
“Was Dennis Whitaker faster than expected?”
“Are you disappointed? Any words for the rookie champion?”
You didn’t answer. Not at first.
Your lip stayed chewed—raw by now—and your eyes darted sideways where Dennis was still glowing under the spotlight, humbly signing a poster for some kid in the front row.
Reporters pressed closer, blocking your escape route. A camera light reflected off your sunglasses as you finally snapped,
“I’m fine.” Flat. Cold.
A reporter pushed back,
“But this is our reigning champ—the unbeatable number 16! Did he surprise you?”
You inhaled sharply through your nose as a familiar voice cut through,
"Hey!"
Robby was actually here to save the day,
“Give the kid some breathin’ room, we’ll catch up at the press junket tomorrow.” He sternly replies, steering your shoulders toward the trailer. He brings his lips down to your ear, whispering,
“It’ll be fine, just breathe, kid.”
Robby’s hand on your shoulder was solid—like an anchor in a storm.
He didn’t yell. Didn’t shove anyone. Just stood there, tall and unshakable as a brick wall.
The reporters hesitated—some even lowered their mics when they saw the look in Robby’s eyes: that calm-but-deadly glare of a veteran crew chief who'd seen every kind of drama this sport could throw.
“Back off,” he said again, quieter this time—but it carried more weight than any shout ever could.
Once inside the quiet metal shell away from flashing lights and shouting fans… he closed the door behind him softly—and pulled out two bottles from his cooler: one water for each.
Handing yours over,
“Breathe.”
You throw yourself onto the couch and groan, scrubbing your face,
“I want to rot in my hotel room.” You start to complain, Robby chuckling,
“Go celebrate, holding yourself to such a standard isn’t going to help—mingle for Christ sake.” He teases before flicking your forehead—hard enough to sting but not actually hurt—you swatted at his hand like an angry cat.
You groaned louder—dramatic, over-the-top—and thrashed like a petulant child.
Robby just smirked. He knew the drill: you didn’t lose. Not even second place sat right with you.
He leaned against the trailer wall,
“You can’t get into your head for second place. You need to keep yourself loose, when you’re tense—“
“Yeah, I know, we get it. Fine.” You huff, pushing up from the couch and toward your shower,
“I’m not going unless the crew is!” You add over your shoulder, Robby quick to reply back,
“You know they always are—a team of trouble.”
While you tear off your sweat stained gear and washed the grit away, your mind wandered to that stupid smile again. Actually, you do a double take in the mirror before you actually leave your trailer. The arena is well and empty, the press long gone, just cleaning crews in the stands.
“Hey! Where’s your go to celebration spot?” The voice hit you like a surprise breeze—soft, warm, and way too cheerful for someone who’d just stolen your win. You to snap your head to the source.
There he was. In dark jeans and a loose gray hoodie, his blonde curls slightly messy from the helmet’s pressure earlier.
You take a deep breath and shrug, trying your hardest to snap with something backhanded.
“I like this one club called The Garage.” You blurt out, tapping your foot,
“That’s probably where I’m going.” You add, twisting your neck and stretching—you were trying a little too hard to be casual, in all honesty.
Dennis’s eyes lit up—like you’d just told him the best news of his life.
“The Garage? Yeah, I’ve heard about that place,” he said, bouncing slightly on his toes.
“Robby mentioned it earlier when they were packing stuff up.”
He didn’t push. Didn’t invite himself along—not yet.
But then… after a beat of silence where only the distant hum of cleaning equipment filled the air…
“I was gonna head there too,” he admitted with a shy half-smile.
“If—y’know—that’s cool?”
His voice dipped at the end—damn those blue eyes and those stupid curls and that hopeful look like this whole night depended on whether you would say yes.
Slowly, you nod, cracking your knuckles,
“I guess. I’m not going to be out long. Not really in the mood.” You reply, keeping everything short and snapped—still an upgrade to the condescending comments the day before.
Dennis didn’t seem to mind your tone—not one bit.
In fact, he just nodded back and fell into step beside you as you started walking toward the exit.
No big talk. No bragging about his win—just… quiet companionship.
He pulled his hoodie strings tight against the evening chill, hands tucked in his pockets. The two of you walked under flickering stadium lights—the only sound being your boots on asphalt and Dennis occasionally clearing his throat like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how.
Then finally—after a full minute of silence,
“Thanks for saying yes,” he murmurs.
You chuckle, shaking your head,
“It’s not like you’re a charity case.” You blurt out, looking over to Dennis—who’s giving the perfect puppy pout to break your heart. You quickly clear your throat,
“I just mean… yeah I’m—I dunno—hard headed, but I’m not a dick.”
Dennis’s pout softened into something warmer—like sunlight breaking through clouds.
He starts laughing. A real, full laugh—bright and unguarded—and it echoed a little under the empty grandstands.
“Hard-headed? Yeah,”
he said, nodding like this was obvious,
“But you’re not a dick. You’re… intense.”
It wasn’t an insult.
Not even close.
If anything, he sounded impressed.
Then quieter—almost to himself:
“Most people who win races as much as you do? They act like they own the world.”
He glanced at you sideways now—the kind of look that actually sees someone instead of just their reputation.
And before either of you could overthink it…
Dennis reached out and gently bumped your shoulder with his—a small nudge.
Friendship level: achieved.
—————————————————————
Sorry I Dieded. I had A LOTTRR going on…….. I don’t even wanna list it, imma sound like a fool. Anyways. I will get cooking again. I miss cooking. 🧑🍳
It became one of your favorite pastimes to bother Dennis Whitaker, your sweet roommate.
wc: 2.2k
cw: smut, dirty talk, pussy pronoun once, oral f! recieving, dennis eats it from the back pass it along. the hoe is NOT proof read, medical stuff that is wrong lol, lmk if I missed any !
Dennis Whitaker has been your roommate for three months now. You met him after your first roommate, Trinity whom you met on instagram while roommate searching and agreed to live together after finding out you both matched to the same hospitals. You were an orthopedic resident, working under Dr. Park mainly, but you made your way down into the ED occasionally, trailing along behind Park humming the jaws theme.
Trinity brought him home after your guy’s shared shift from hell akin to a stray kitten. You missed most of the action while being in surgery while they endured a mass casualty. After she subtly explained that he would be occupying the room you both initially wanted to sublet, you welcomed him with open arms, in your own way. Dennis’s sad eyes and mousey demeanor was just asking to be teased ! He can handle it. You're building character ! To be honest, you thought he liked it.
He always seemed very wide-eyed, looking for someone to tell him what to do and you didn’t necessarily mind, but it did make you assume that he was into that sort of thing. ( not that you wanted to know. Of course not. Obviously).
“So do ya have a pair of cowboy boots for them hay bails?” You said in your best southern accent.
“I’m from Nebraska, not the south. You don’t need to do the whole accent thing.” Dennis said with a confused face.
You just giggled at him. That was your first interaction with him. It soon became your favorite pastime to bother him, just to see the confused and shy look on his face. Sometimes if you were successful, a vein popped out on his neck.
One morning you came into the kitchen after your 5:00am pilates class to see all of your avocado spread and chia seeds were gone. You huffed a sigh and moved to confront Trinity before realising she was still asleep. This meant that there could only be one culprit. Dennis.
Your first instinct was to yell at him, but then you got a more sinister idea. If you were met with silence about eating your food, then silence was what he would get.
You were down in the ED to assist with possible laminectomy when none other than ‘Park the Shark’ joined you in the elevator to sign off on your differential diagnosis and ensure there were no other complications.
“You know, both of my roommates work in the pitt.” you said casually. Dr. Park may seem menacing, but over time you both developed a mutual respect for each other.
“And don’t you know ASL?”
“Yes. and what do your roommates have to do with this?” he cocked an eyebrow looking at you with disdain. You knew that was just how he expresses all his feelings.
“Well, one of my roommates is selectively mute… So I was wondering if you would be willing to sign so that he can be more comfortable.” You said with a thoughtful expression.
“Oh. Which one?”
“Dr. Whitaker.”
The elevator door opened and into the pitt you went. You had to walk behind Dr. Park otherwise you would start laughing.
“Hey shark.” Dr. Robby greeted him, “and his little pup.” he nodded at you as well. You waved with a pep in your step, excited to see how this would unfold.
“This is Dr. Whitaker. This is Park the shark, an orthopedic surgeon, and you know his favorite resident, obviously.” Whitaker nodded. Dr. Robby left the room, leaving just you, Whitaker, and Dr Park.
“What are risks for a laminectomy, Dr ?” Park asked in sign. Dennis was confused, but went along with it. Not wanting to disrespect Dr. Park. He was sure he had seen Dr. Park spoke out loud with other people, and the patient was sedated, so why would Park only speak to him in sign? And how was he meant to correct him? His brain was running a mile a minute, he cursed himself for taking German in high school.
“Definitly watch out for a you made hematoma or a thrombosis.” you responded, in sign. You took a few classes in college, so were you somewhat comfortable, but not fluent. You mainly just wanted to mess with Dennis.
“Present the case Dr.” Park signed to Whitaker. His face turned red and he stuttered out the facts. He was terrified of disrespecting the surgeon, not wanting to offend him by asking for an interpreter. When the consult was finished Dennis scurried out of the trauma room while you held back your laughter.
While in the elevator back up to the ortho floor, Park said,
“What a weird kid.”
‘You have no idea.” you bit back your cackle.
When you got home that evening you burst into laughter when you made eye contact with Dennis on the couch. He was fuming.
“What was that!” He exclaimed
“I told him you were selectively mute.” You said in between giggles. “Because you didn’t tell me you ate all my avocados and chia seeds. And I know it was you because trinity isn't protein maxxing.” you said in an accusatory tone.
“Well how am i supposed to correct dr park!” dennis said desperately, “I’m sorry, I'll let you know next time.”
Your heart softened a little, maybe you were too harsh. But then again, he looked like he was having fun in the situation. He had a small smile, and he looked like he was trying not to laugh at himself. Dennis knew your laughter was contagious. He always thought so, meaning that if making jokes at his expense made you laugh, he was willing to let it happen. Even if he had the urge to put you in your place, to shut you up, or turn your laughter into moans or gasps. He consistently fisted his cock in the shower at such ideas.
One day, while Dennis was taking one of his forty five minute long showers (he doesn't even have that much hair, what is he doing????) you and trinity decided to change his ringtone from his usual funk mix to juno by sabrina carpenter. For other reasons other than your own amusement.
The plan was simple, at shift change, the next morning, train would ensure Dennis's phone was on and you would call him during the morning huddle so that the entire ED would hear
“Have you ever tried this one ?” with a fake moan at the end at full volume.
As soon as Robby finished speaking, but before he dismissed everyone for rounds, you pressed the call button on your phone. The entire ED was filled with Sabrina Carpenter at full volume coming from Dennis’s pocket. There was voluminous laughter, and even a slight smile from Dana as a loud moan also emanated from the phone while he fumbled to shut it off completely rather than just ignoring the call.
You went to the clock upstairs with your stomach hurting from laughter.
When you got home, Trin and Den were on the couch and Trin started singing, “Have you ever tried this oneeeeee!” You giggled as she bid you both goodbye before leaving for Garcia's. Dennis was fuming.
“I know it was you, otherwise you wouldn’t have called me.” He said pointedly.
“Well anonymity wasn’t really the goal here, Denny.” you giggled. His heart squeezed, but he knew he needed to put a stop to this behavior. You need to learn not to embarrass him at work.
“Besides, it’s not like anyone will believe you have. You can just say it was a prank if they ask.” you said plopping down beside him and giving his strong thigh a pat.
“What do you mean?”
“That you’re a virgin? There's nothing wrong with it.”
“I’m not a virgin.”
“Den. You don't have to lie.” He was growing tired of this conversation very fast.
“I’m not lying.”
"Well you never bring anyone over.” You could see he was getting worked up. He looked so good mad, you almost wanted to fuck it out of him. You would have put money that he would let you do whatever to him, you just needed to push a little harder.
“Oh I forgot, you're a hillbilly.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Youre probably saving yourself for your cousin.” You smiled as the vein on his neck popped out.
“Can you just cut the shit? I’m not a virgin. I don’t bring people over because I like them loud.”
“You’re on top? Youre fucking lying.” You giggled just to get a rise out of him. Heat pooling in between your legs as he steps closer to you. Your lips are almost touching, not quite yet. He towers over you, breathing in deep through his nose. You’re about to pull away to call his bluff when his hand that you didn't realize was so large, cupped the back of your head and crashed your lips together in a mean and demanding kiss.
His other hand moved to the back of your thigh and hoisted it up over his hip as he licked into your mouth. Tongue running over yours, drawing it into his mouth to lightly suck. You moaned at the feeling softly, while also feeling the stimulation of his jeans to your scrub pants as you grinded into him.
He pulled away and you whined at the loss of contact. He then picked you up over his shoulder as if you weighed nothing and walked with you back into your bedroom. As he gently set your down unto your bed he simply said,
“I’m so tired of your fucking attitiude.”
“So, do something about it, Denny.” You responded with a sly grin.
Dennis let out a growl and moved to man handle you onto your hands and knees. You gasped at his strength and how sudden it was. He yanked down your scrub pants to your knees and moved you to spread them wide to accommodate his broad shoulders.
“Den! Fuck!” you whined.
He moved to lay a large warm hand in between your shoulder blades and pushed your chest to the mattress, arching you back, giving him access to your panty-clad cunt from behind. He then moved to his knees and placed a gentle kiss to your cunt. You once again gasped at the sensation, the juxtaposition of how he manhandled you versus a sweet, innocent kiss made heat pool between your legs.
“Knew she’d be sweet.” Dennis said before a loud
RIP! invaded the room.
Dennis chuckled lowly at the whimper you made at the sound of your panties being torn off. The cheap and flimsy cotton being discarded onto the floor.
“What’s the matter? You talk all that big talk and once someone looks at this pussy, you’re silent?" He snarked.
You whined again. “Dennis !”
“Dennis !” He mimicked. “What do you want, princess?”
“Just- Just want you to touch me.” you finally responded. That was all it took for Dennis to like a long stripe on your glossy cunt, but still purposely avoiding your clit. He started to essentially make out with your hole, shoving his tongue in and out at a rapid pace. It still wasn’t enough. You whined and shook.
“Touch my clit !”
“Or what?”
“Or- or- I’ll- hmph !” You lost your train of thought as his nose slightly nudged against your clit. Your pussy clenched which didn’t go unnoticed by Dennis.
“You got it, princess. Give it to me.” he urged you along. The heat in your cunt throbbing, his hot breath on your hole, his nose against your clit, and his large hands gripping your thighs. He moved his hands up to paw at your ass, at the same moment moving this gave your clit a harsh suck.
You let out an ungodly moan, thanking your lucky stars trinity was gone.
“Cum for me baby, wanna taste it.” Dennis all but moans out.
The pleasure crested over you, your thighs shaking and your brain is fuzzy. Dennis gently maneuvers you unto your back, where he lets you catch your breath.
“Fuck, Den, didn’t know you had it in you.” You whispered, then started giggling. He joined in, laughing softly as he laid down on the bed beside you. He turned to face you then gently wiped your sweaty hairline with his calloused hands. He moved to kiss your forehead before sitting up.
Your stomach and pussy clenched at the sight of his pants stained with his own release. He caught your eyeline and shrugged nonchalantly. This made you smile more. He left your bedroom to retrieve a towel and a cup of ice water.
When he came back he helped you sit up and held the cup to your mouth to drink. When you finished, he gently wiped down your cunt. You hissed and he winced in apology. He cleaned himself up, then went to grab changes of clothes for the both of you. He brought a cotton shirt of his for you, and riffled through your drawers to find a pair of simple panties. He slipped them on you kissing your knee as he does. He then removed your scrub shirt and put on his instead. Dennis changed into sweats then crawled into bed next to you, pulling you into his chest.
Summary: A code black leaves you trapped inside the Pitt with an unstable explosive and Jack helplessly watching from the other side of the glass. With neither of you knowing how the night will end, the feelings you have both been avoiding become impossible to ignore.
Pairing: Dr Jack Abbott x F!Reader
Warnings: Bomb and explosive threat, blast injuries, blood and medical gore, serious injuries, emergency medical procedures, hospital evacuation, near-death situations, panic and anxiety, emotional distress, trauma and its aftermath, protective Jack, angst and hurt/comfort.
Warnings vary between parts. Please read the individual warnings included at the beginning of each chapter.
thinking about jack abbot and his massive hands……….
MDNI ! 18+
his hands would dwarf everyday objects when he held them, like his phone. it looks TINY. his texts have typos half the time because his thick fingers end up pressing the wrong keys.
he LOVES the way your hand dwarfs in his whenever he holds your hand. he loves how your entire cheek fits nice and snug on his warm palm, or how his hand spans over your thigh.
what he loves the most though, is hearing the whines and moans leaving your lips, as he pushed two fingers deep in n out. little ’jackie…too much!’ now and then has him grinning, cooing at you with mock sympathy.
”oh no, you can take it, sweetheart…” he’d fake pout, free hand brushing your hair out of your face, ”if you can’t even take two of your jackie’s fingers, how’re you gonna take his cock, hmm?”
and oh, he gives it to you. thighs pressed to your chest, hips snapping against you, his thighs meeting the globes of your ass. room filled with the wet noises of you two mixing together, your whines n moans echoing the room. he couldn’t help but laugh, one arm resting on the mattress next to your head to hold him up, the other sliding down your tummy. two thick fingers landing on your clit, swirling around n around, getting you closer. he can feel you squeezing him harder than ever, and his eyes focus on you.
”come on, sweet girl…you can do it…” he groans, head dropping to pepper kisses on your neck, stubble gently scratching at the skin, ”do it for your jackie…c’mon…thaaaaat’s it…”
and if he’s feeling extra mean, he’ll shove his fingers into ur mouth after, keeping u quiet for as long as wants <3
from what we've seen in the show, you can't convince me that jack doesn't live for a good gossip session. and he's so messy with it too. like he does not care who's around, whether they're the victim or just an innocent bystander, he's talking about the latest gossip with you.
you were sitting at your desk, typing up one of your charts, when jack comes rolling in on a chair beside you. "did you hear about the latest girl of robby's?" he asks you, not even bothering to whisper. that catches your attention almost immediately. far more interesting than the information on screen in front of you.
"no, who?"
"do you remember shannon? she's one of the on call psychiatrists here." you nod. "well, apparently, she and robby hooked up last night and he left in the middle of the night. didn't even bother to leave a note. just up and left."
"how do you know all this?"
"because he's my best friend, sweetheart," he says it in that 'duh' like tone. "he told it to me himself. oh and the tension between them when they ran into each other earlier? it was uncomfortable as hell. you should've been there."
you snort, looking back at your charts. "god, i wish. no offense to your best friend, jack, but he's got a terrible track record with women. and she's so nice too! i can't believe he would ever do that to her."
"trust me, i've tried telling him that. but he just won't listen. no matter how many times-" jack's voice gets cut off with a sharp clear of someone's throat. it's almost comical the way you both simultaneously turn around, only to come face to face with gloria.
"are you two working or gossiping?" she asks with a stern look, crossing her arms.
nothing but a squeak comes out of you. jack might be an attending, meaning he's practically invincible to gloria and her punishment. but you were just starting your residency here at ptmc. she could easily write you off and send you away. but the man comes to your rescue without a second thought.
"don't get mad at her, gloria. she was working and i interrupted her. that's on me," jack says smoothly, shooting her his charming smile. it works well enough for her, since she accepts his answer with a soft hum before walking away.
"we'll finish our discussion later, sweetheart," he whispers to you, shooting you a wink.
flash forward a couple months to a year, and you're both dating. over time you had learned that jack was partially deaf due to his time in the army, so he occasionally relied on sign language to communicate. which he obviously taught you. your movements were a little more rusty and slow compared to his, but he was patient whenever you tried to talk to him using your hands. having this silent way of talking made it so much easier to gossip when at work. because now you didn't have to worry about others hearing you.
ellis and shen stand by the charge nurse's station, watching as you two talk by signing accordingly. "are they gossping in... sign language?" shen asks, taking a sip from his seemingly never empty dunkin cup.
"yeah, abbot started teaching it to her shortly after she got here," ellis answers.
"he never taught us sign language after we started working here."
"true, but we didn't start dating or move in with him either."
shen shrugs, taking another sip. "that's fair."
a loud laugh escapes you at something that jack signs, to which a huff of laughter comes from him in return. there's a small smile of admiration on his face, as well.
"i'm kinda jealous," shen speaks up after seeing that display.
"...yeah, me too. maybe she'll teach us so we can all gossip together."
Summary: Jack finds his pregnant wife asleep in the staff room, and a quiet moment together quickly becomes one of his favorite memories <3
Word count: 1k+
Warnings: fluff, pregnancy
A/N:
a cute little blurb to get back into writing xxx
English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.
Happy reading xxx
I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.
Jack realizes you've fallen asleep the second he nudges the staff room door open with his shoulder.
He's balancing two thick chocolate milkshakes in one hand, still cold enough that condensation has started running down the cups, the little peace offering he'd slipped out to grab during the first lull they'd had in hours. He'd remembered you mentioning, somewhere between a trauma activation and a consult, that the baby had decided chocolate milkshakes were the only thing that sounded edible today.
The room is quiet, almost eerily so compared to the constant noise outside.
You're curled sideways in one of the old chairs, knees tucked up as much as your growing belly allows, your cheek resting against your hand. The other hand is spread protectively across the gentle curve beneath your scrub top, like even asleep your body instinctively knows where to keep it. Your stethoscope hangs crookedly around your neck, one shoe is half kicked off, and there's a chart lying forgotten in your lap.
Jack stops in the doorway.
For just a second, he doesn't move.
His chest tightens with something so painfully tender it catches him completely off guard.
The shift has been relentless. Trauma after trauma. Endless consults. A waiting room that never seemed to shrink. Somewhere around nine that evening, the two of you had shared a granola bar because neither of you had managed a proper lunch, and even then you'd insisted he take the bigger half because, "You burn more calories chasing people."
You were carrying a baby, and yet, you'd still refused to slow down. Of course you'd crashed the second your body realized it finally could.
A smile tugs at his mouth before he can stop it.
Carefully, he sets both milkshakes on the table without making a sound. One of them has extra whipped cream because he knows you like it that way.
He shrugs off his jacket, planning to drape it over you before the air conditioning turns the room into a refrigerator.
Just as the fabric hovers above your shoulders, your eyelashes flutter open.
"...Did I fall asleep?" Your voice is thick with sleep, every word soft and slow, and Jack has to bite back another smile.
"Yeah sweeatheart. For..." He glances dramatically at his watch. "Approximately nine minutes."
Your face immediately crumples.
"Oh no."
"What?" He asks.
"I am so fired."
A quiet laugh slips out before he can stop it.
"No one is firing you because you took a nap. Besides, you are literally an attending."
"I'll fire myself."
"You don't have that authority, gorgeous."
Still smiling, he settles the jacket over your shoulders before crouching as much as he can beside your chair. Pregnancy has somehow managed to make one of the smartest, most capable physicians he knows simultaneously brilliant and completely ridiculous. You'd spent almost twelve straight hours on your feet, barely eaten anything beyond half a granola bar, carried a baby through every trauma activation the emergency department had thrown at you, and somehow the thing you were worried about was accidentally falling asleep for nine minutes.
"You've been on your feet all day," he says gently. "You've barely eaten, you've been carrying a human being this entire shift, and you closed your eyes for less than ten minutes. Nobody's judging you."
You blink at him, still unconvinced.
"...Still. It's not convenient."
He opens his mouth to reassure you again, but your expression suddenly shifts into horror.
"I drooled, didn't I? Omg please tell me, did I drool?"
Jack presses his lips together, doing a terrible job of hiding his amusement.
"...Maybe a little."
Your eyes widen dramatically.
"Oh my God. Did anyone see?" You asked.
"I'm kidding, baby, you didn't drool."
"Jack." You said with a stern voice and smacked his arm.
"That's not funny. You swear?"
"I swear."
You continue studying his face like you're trying to diagnose whether he's lying. Finally, you narrow your eyes.
"I don't believe you."
The words leave your mouth automatically, but the annoyance fades almost as quickly as it arrived. Your shoulders relax, and without really thinking about it, you push yourself to your feet. It's become instinct over the past few months, something your body does before your mind even catches up. The moment you're standing, you step into him, your hands finding the front of his scrub top and gently bunching the fabric beneath your fingers. Jack doesn't hesitate. His arms slip around you as naturally as breathing, steadying you before you can even lean your weight against him. You let out one long, weary breath and rest your forehead against the center of his chest, every bit of exhaustion from the day seeming to melt away the second he holds you.
"Love you..." you murmur quietly.
He doesn't answer. He simply wraps one arm around your shoulders while his other hand settles against your lower back, his thumb tracing slow, absent circles through your scrubs. You let out one long, weary breath that seems to carry every ounce of exhaustion from the day with it.
Jack rests his cheek lightly against your hair and closes his eyes, content to stand there for as long as you'll let him. Then something taps gently against his hand.
His fingers freeze.
His head lifts.
"...Was that—"
Another kick answers him, stronger this time, deliberate enough that there's no mistaking it.
Your sleepy smile appears almost instantly.
"Yeah."
The expression on Jack's face changes every single time he feels the baby move, and every single time it's exactly the same.
It's as though the rest of the world simply disappears.
His eyes soften first, then widen ever so slightly, the corners crinkling with quiet disbelief before the smallest, most genuine smile spreads across his face. It isn't the smile he gives patients or coworkers. It isn't the amused grin you get when the two of you are teasing each other. It's something far more vulnerable, something so full of wonder that it almost catches him off guard every time.
He's an emergency physician.
He's watched tiny hearts flicker across ultrasound screens and heard first cries echo through delivery rooms. Those moments never lose their magic.
But this?
This is different.
This is his child.
His hands.
Your stomach.
Your family.
There isn't a medical explanation in the world capable of competing with the feeling of knowing that the tiny life beneath his palms belongs to the two of you. No matter how many kicks he's felt over the past months, every single one still leaves him looking like he's experiencing a miracle for the very first time.
Slowly, almost reverently, he spreads both hands around the gentle curve of your belly, his thumbs stroking absent circles over the fabric of your scrub top.
"Hey, little troublemaker," he murmurs, his voice dropping instinctively, as though your baby can already recognize it. "You keeping your mom awake again?"
Almost as if they've been waiting for him to ask, another determined kick presses firmly into the center of his palm.
You let out a sleepy laugh, shaking your head.
"I think that's a yes."
Jack's grin grows impossibly wider.
"Definitely my kid."
You pull back just enough to look up at him, eyebrows lifting.
"Excuse me?"
"They're already interrupting people."
A laugh escapes you before you roll your eyes.
"Well, can you tell your kid that they need to stop interrupting my bladder?"
He snorts, the sound escaping before he can stop it.
"...I'll make an appointment with them."
"Good," you reply with exaggerated seriousness. "Because I haven't slept through the night in weeks."
Jack nods thoughtfully, pretending to consider it like a genuine consultation.
"Mm. I'll see what I can do, but from what I'm hearing..." He glances down at your stomach with a small smile. "This patient seems pretty stubborn."
"They get that from you."
"I was going to say they inherited your attitude."
"My attitude?" You place a hand over your chest in mock offense. "I'm delightful."
He laughs, leaning down to press a kiss against your forehead before looking back at your stomach.
"I've got my hands full with the two of you already."
Another tiny kick answers him, and his smile only deepens.
a/n: sorry, y’all the brain worms got to me. had a vision of trying to be playful about the whole doctor role play thing and jack being like. no no you started this, and I’m finishing it. i hope you enjoy it!
credits: gif credits to @/frankslangdons and divider by @robinavitchslut <3
The long night was finally giving way to day, the sun just barely peeking its head over the horizon. It was somewhere around 5AM–in that in-between post-3AM insanity, but pre-morning rush lull. The emergency department was precariously balanced on a knife's edge, one minor inconvenience, or trauma, from tipping back into full on chaos. You were almost at the finish line, the end in sight so long as nothing catastrophic happened.
As it stood, the night had been rough enough–mainly due to the sheer volume of patients you'd seen over the past 11 hours. Food poisoning from a family reunion rolled in shortly after the shift began, followed by alcohol poisoning from a bachelorette party, then a drunken bar fight that continued into the ER, where security had to separate two grown men who were arguing over which sports team had the better logo.
Barely an hour ago, three codes simultaneously racked the department, tying up almost every doctor and nurse and leaving the department in a bit of a frenzy. Two of the codes resolved themselves fairly quickly, but the one you were working on, a pediatric cardiac arrest, lasted nearly two hours. All three patients survived, thankfully, but you were still coming down from the adrenaline rush, your heart still ticking a beat too fast.
The supply closet was a welcome reprieve from the endless chatter and beeping of the ED, the mundane task of restocking crash carts a soothing balm to your overworked mind and muscles. You were still catching your breath as you assessed the carts, taking note of what needed to be refilled and what was already well stocked.
Boots scuffed across the linoleum in the hallway beyond, eventually stopping at the open door. A second later the metallic click of the latch rang through the small closet as the door closed.
You were plucking vials of epinephrine off the shelf in front of you when a familiar presence makes itself at home at your back, large hands falling to your hips with a quick squeeze. A fond smile crossed your lips and you eased into your boyfriend's warm embrace, letting your head fall against his shoulder.
"You did good back there," Jack said, pressing a kiss to your temple and smoothing his hands up and down your sides. His hands were warm, even through your scrubs and undershirt, and you could already feel your heart rate slowing, syncing in time with his.
"So did you, that little girl's lucky she had such a good doctor working on her," you said, turning around in his hold and leaning back against the shelving unit. Every time you saw Jack felt like the first, cheeks heating and butterflies erupting at the sight of him. His hazel eyes were tired, but no less beautiful than they always were; the lines around his eyes a little more pronounced than usual, the night taking its toll in the contours of his face.
Your fingers brushed against his warm skin, tracing the sun-worn lines along his neck, the freckles dotted between them creating the most beautiful constellations. It was hard to believe sometimes that you called this man yours, that he looked at you with such reverence and adoration.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, "Which reminds me, we have a serious problem," you said, schooling your face into a serious expression, eyes hard and lips slightly down turned.
"Oh yeah? And what would that be?" he asked with a wry smile, knowing that he was going to be drawn into one of your shenanigans again. Not that he minded, he usually benefited from them. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips, slow and sweet, his nose brushing your cheek as he deepened the kiss.
You relented for a moment, sinking into the kiss. Your nails scratched through the curls at the base of his neck eliciting a purr-like noise from him. You grinned into the kiss then pushed him back slightly before he could get carried away.
Fixing him with a stern glare, you sighed exaggeratedly, "You're too sexy when you're in doctor mode."
He barked out a laugh that echoed loudly in the too quiet closet and shook his head at you, "That's your serious problem?"
"Yes, I'm serious! It's a problem! I can't be ogling my doctor when I'm supposed to be taking care of patients. It's a real liability issue, could be dangerous for patient care," you said, really trying to sell this problem of yours.
And it was true that he was so fucking hot when he was in the zone, calling out orders, laying out treatment plans–hell, even just watching him teach med students, with that patient but firm tone, correcting where necessary and praising when appropriate, had wetness pooling between your thighs.
The sheer competence in bringing a patient back from the brink of death was astounding. The look he got after a patient was stabilized–the pride, the relief, the hint of fear that crossed his face was breathtaking. It took everything in you some days not to drag him out of the trauma bay and have your way with him. The demons won out the one time he came in with his SWAT team, the combination of seeing him in uniform and the terror of knowing he was shot at commingled in your core and you were on your knees in this very closet in a matter of minutes, sucking the life out of his cock.
But it would never really compromise your ability to care for patients–you both knew that. You were one of the best damn nurses in the entire hospital, and Jack would stake his medical license on your ability to work through damn near any condition. You were his right hand for a reason–and it had nothing to do with your romantic relationship. But it was fun to play sometimes, to rile him up in the way only you could.
"Okay, okay," he said, still laughing, "How do you propose we solve this very, very serious problem?"
You tapped your finger on your chin, taking your time in 'thinking' of a solution.
"Mmm, I was thinking maybe the sexy doctor could make a house call. Y'know, give me a little one-on-one time, get it out of my system. I've been aching real bad, too, think maybe he should take a look," you said finally, peeking up at him from beneath your lashes and biting your lip.
His eyes darkened a fraction, and he stepped forward, closing the little distance that was between you and pressing your front flush to his chest. Goosebumps prickled up and down your arms, warmth spreading through your body and radiating down to your core. You whimpered softly as he shifted his weight, his crotch unintentionally brushing against your cunt.
His voice was low and rough when he spoke, "Oh yeah? Well we can't have that, can we? Where're you aching, baby? Show me."
You swallowed, breath coming out ragged, "Well, Dr. Abbot, it started here," you said, grabbing his hand and guiding it to your lips. His thumb rested on your bottom lip, and he brushed over it lightly before tugging it down, your mouth parting with it. He pressed forward, thumb briefly running along the line of your bottom teeth before settling on your tongue, pushing down gently.
You moaned at the salty taste of his skin, mouth widening and saliva pooling in your mouth, dribbling out of the corners of your mouth at the intrusion. Jack's eyes were trained on the sight, the irises of his eyes almost completely obscured by his blown pupils.
"Fuck, honey, you just love having your mouth filled, don't you?" he asked, pushing his thumb in further until he hit the back of your throat, muscles contracting around the digit, "Doesn't matter if it's my cock or my fingers, just need something to keep that pretty little mouth full, huh?"
You nodded and whimpered around him pitifully, unable to do much more.
He kept his thumb there for another minute, just watching the way your tongue twitched, the rivulets of spit drooling from your lips.
When he finally removed it, his thumb and your chin were thoroughly spit-slick. He wiped at the corners of your mouth, gathering the spit there, then brought the digit up to his lips and sucked it clean.
"Y'taste so good, baby, can't help myself," he said with a devious grin, "where else're you achin'?"
Your breath caught in your throat, your words coming out stuttery, "m' a-aching pretty bad here, t-too, Dr. Abbot," you said, dragging his hand down to your neck, where it sat loosely around your throat. Your fingers curled lightly around his, applying the smallest amount of pressure–just enough to make your breath hitch.
He tightened his grip a fraction more, then tilted your neck to the side, exposing the soft skin there. His other hand pulled your scrub top and undershirt to the side, and his lips latched onto the curve of your neck, biting and sucking at the flesh.
You gasped, hand flying up to bury itself in his hair. Your eyes fluttered closed as little whines and whimpers escaped your lips.
"So sensitive," he whispered against your neck, laving his tongue over the mark he made once more before pulling back and giving you an expectant look. What else?
Dazed and little floaty, you continued guiding his hand down until it cupped your breast. His other hand moved to your other breast, and squeezed the flesh between his large hands. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, though they were buried under layers of scrubs, undershirt, and bra. You could feel the barest hint of pressure where he circled them, enough that they hardened into peaks, taut against your bra.
You moaned and arched into his palms, wishing you could feel the roughness of them against your bare skin.
He chuckled at your desperation, pinning you back against the shelves. One hand remained on your breast, while the other grasped your chin, tilting it up to look him in the eye, "Anywhere else?"
You bit your lip and nodded, sliding the hand on your breast down your body and under the waistband of your scrubs and panties, until his hand was cupping your bare mound, "This is where it aches the most."
His eyes didn't leave yours as his fingers parted your folds, sliding through them with ease. A half-feral groan ripped through his chest, his forehead pressing against yours. His fingers just barely brushed over your clit before sliding back down to your entrance.
You whined and bucked your hips against him, searching for something to grind against.
"Oh, baby," he said, "You really are aching, aren't you? Your pussy's soaking wet and I haven't even done anything."
The tips of his fingers breached your entrance and sat there, unmoving–just the tease of his thick fingers filling your cunt.
"Please, Dr. Abbot, need you to take care of me," you whined, rolling your hips forward, trying to force his fingers deeper.
"And maybe if you're lucky, if you alleviate my aches, I'll sit on your cock later," you said, using all the bravado you could muster up–which, admittedly, wasn't much. You were too far gone, too needy for him to act like you didn't want him just as much as he wanted you.
Jack raised his eyebrow, a dark laugh falling from his lips, "If I'm lucky? Baby, I distinctly remember you beggin' for my cock just the other night," he said, pushing his fingers to the second knuckle and curling them, "had you cryin' on the bed, whining for Jackie's big, fat cock to fill your cute little pussy up, didn't I?"
Your cheeks heated at the memory, the sound of your pathetic mewls and gasps echoing in your ears as you did, indeed, beg for his cock. You slapped a hand over your mouth to avoid those same sounds from spilling out now, as Jack's fingers pushed in to the hilt, the heel of his hand settling on your aching, puffy clit.
His fingers hooked against that soft, spongey spot that had sparks exploding through your body. Your thighs trembled around his hand and your hips ground clumsily against his hand.
"Well, I guess the tables have turned," is all you can come up with as he stroked that spot relentlessly. Jack knew your body like the back of his hand, knew just the right pressure and motions to get you to the finish line in no time. He preferred to take his time, but he never turned down the opportunity to make you cum hard and fast.
Your eyes closed, your body on autopilot as it chased release. The waves were cresting, your orgasm within reach. Just a few more thrusts, a few more rolls of your hips and you would be there.
He sighed, shaking his head at you, "You know, I probably shouldn't make you cum before I've done a proper examination. Can never be too careful about your health, baby," he said, removing his fingers from your pussy before your brain could catch up.
Your eyes shot open, chest heaving as your orgasm receded. A high pitched whine escaped you, "no no, please, Jack, pleeease," you said, gripping his wrist and trying to pull it back toward your cunt to no avail.
You looked up at him with wet eyes, frustrated tears pricking the corner of your eyes, "you're mean," you pouted.
"Shh, sweetheart, trust me, I'm a doctor. We'll get you all sorted out at our appointment later, yeah?"
Your brows furrowed at that, your mind still a little hazy. A question sat at the tip of your tongue, but before you can ask it, he's reaching up for something on the shelf above you, body pressing impossibly close to yours in the process. A second later he's pushing a hospital gown into your hands.
You're still confused, the gown doing little to illuminate his meaning.
"What's the look for, sweetheart? You started this game, don't tell me you want to stop now?" he said with an evil gleam in his eye, "Dr. Abbot will see you for a very, very thorough exam after shift."
There was a muffled commotion outside the door, no doubt another trauma rolling through–no doubt requiring Jack's attention.
"Duty calls, baby, see you out there," he said, giving you one last peck on the lips before he's gone.
The end of shift comes quicker than you anticipated, between a new batch of traumas rolling in and your standard caseload of patients taking up your attention.
You were waiting at central, bag slung over your shoulder, when Jack approached, looking apologetic.
"I think I'm gonna be a little longer, I just want to make sure Emily gets up to peds sooner rather than later. Shouldn't be too long," he said, "I'm sorry, baby."
"No worries, I'll hang around. Mr. Hauser's IV needs to be changed in 20 minutes anyway," you said, a yawn sneaking out halfway through.
He shook his head, "Nah, you don't need to wait around for me, and Lena'll bite my head off if I keep working her nurses overtime," he said, laughing a little nervously, recalling the last time he asked a few nurses to stay late, "Day shift's got it covered. Go home and shower, get something to eat."
"Plus," he said, slipping his finger under the chain of your necklace and tugging you closer, "I want you on my bed, in nothing but that gown when I get home."
You nodded and whispered lowly, "Yes, Dr. Abbot."
You took your time in the shower, the hot water easing the persistent ache in your muscles. After drying off and lotioning your body you slipped into a lacy pair of panties–Jack's favorite, the back cut high enough that your cheeks were practically bare, with a little bow in the center.
You dug around for the gown you'd snuck into your bag, pulling it out and holding it out in front of you. You gnawed on your lip as you considered it. Your intention hadn't been to enter into a full-fledge role play scenario, but you couldn't deny the way your tummy swirled in anticipation.
You slipped the gown over your head, the polyester feeling rough and scratchy against your skin. You left the back untied for easy access–you assumed you wouldn't be wearing it for long, anyways–then sat at the edge of the bed, leaning back on your hands and awaiting Jack's arrival.
You didn't have to wait long for him. About 10 minutes after you've settled on the bed, the door to your bedroom opened, and Jack came strolling through. His hair was damp, and he'd changed out of his scrubs, now wearing a tight black shirt and cargo pants. He stopped at the dresser and pulled out a fresh scrub top, pulling it over his head before turning to address you.
"Good morning, miss, I'm Dr. Abbot. I hear you've been having some aches, is that correct?" he asked, dragging the upholstered chair from your vanity over to the bed and sitting down. He folded his hands between his knees, fixing you with an assessing stare as he waited for you to respond–the picture of professionalism.
"Oh, yes, Dr. Abbot, I've been aching really bad," you said, putting on a whiny affect. And it wasn't untrue, your cunt had been aching since your release was denied two hours ago, your clit throbbing for attention.
"Yeah? Well let's try to fix that, huh? I might have to use some… unconventional methods, but I think we can get you right as rain in no time," he said, hooking his stethoscope in his ears, "I'm going to start with listening to your heart, okay?"
You recoiled before he could reach you, "You are not using that on me. God knows what's on it," you said, nose wrinkling at the thought of the dirty hospital germs that probably coated the stethoscope.
He sighed, breaking character for a minute, "This is my backup, the one that's been sitting untouched in it's case for over a year. That okay?"
His voice was low and reassuring, instantly setting you at ease. You relaxed a bit and nodded.
He tugged your sleeves down, the gown falling around your hips and leaving your chest exposed. One hand settled on your ribs, right under your breast, while the other held the chest piece in place on the left side of your chest. You gasped as the chest piece made contact with your skin, the cold metal causing goosebumps prickle up your arms.
Jack murmured a quick apology before focusing on the sound of your heart. The hand not holding the chest piece stroked the underside your your breast, so close to your aching nipple without actually touching it.
"Your heart rate is elevated. You nervous?" he asked, a suppressed smile pulling at the corner of his lips.
"A-a little, I've just never had a doctor be so… hands on," you played along, biting your lip shyly.
He titled your head up, grasping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, "There's no need to be nervous, honey, I'm gonna take real good care of you," he said, brushing your bottom lip softly.
"Okay, I trust you, Dr. Abbot," you whispered, breath catching as his grip tightened on your chin.
"That's it, that's my good girl," he said, his hungry gaze belying his professional demeanor. He was just as affected as you were, but he was committed to this act.
He started moving the chest piece down your chest until it covered your nipple, the pebbled flesh perking up at the coolness of the metal.
"Good, good, you're so responsive," he said, eyes focused on the hardening bud. Then he flipped the chest piece to the smaller side and traced it around your nipple in slow circles. His thumb flicked over your other nipple, then rolled and pinched it between his fingers, going back and forth between those motions until you were letting out a steady stream of whines and whimpers.
"S-sorry, Dr. Abbot, it just feels s-so good," you moaned, arching further into his grasp. Your thighs rubbed together, your clit begging for any sort of relief and finding none–just the slick slide of your arousal spreading across your inner thighs.
"That's okay, it's important that I hear how your body reacts to me," he said before dipping down and wrapping his lips around your other nipple, sucking and swirling his tongue around it. The duality of sensations–cold metal on one side and molten heat on the other–had you feeling dizzy.
"Feeling good? That ache goin' away yet?" he asked, abandoning the stethoscope and switching sides. He devoured your other nipple, giving it the same sinful attention–licking, nipping, and tugging between his teeth.
You shook your head, "Need more, Dr. Abbot," you whined, hips bucking off the bed at a particularly hard suck.
He released you with a wet pop, his chest heaving and pupils blown wide. You glanced down and saw his cock was hard, straining against the confines of his cargos.
"Yeah? Okay, then, lie back and spread your legs for me, sweetheart."
You did as he said, scooting back until you were lying back on your elbows and your feet were propped up on the mattress. You removed the hospital gown where it had pooled at your middle, leaving you in just your skimpy panties.
The snap of latex gloves rang though the bedroom, and a moment later Jack was on his knees between your legs, spreading your thighs open.
He ran his gloved finger over the soaked gusset and tutted, "I'm afraid these are going to have to come off," he said, slipping a finger under the waistband and tugging them down your legs–then pocketed the scrap of lace.
"That's not very professional, Dr. Abbot," you pouted, "You keep every pretty girl's underwear?"
He chuckled, shaking his head lightly at you, "Only the one's that are a major pain in my ass," he said under his breath.
You gasped and sent him a playful glare–which went completely ignored by him, his attention solely focused on your exposed and dripping cunt laid out in front of him.
"Now I'm going to examine your vagina, is that okay?" he asked, running his hands up and down your thighs.
"Yes, Dr. Abbot, please," you breathed out, the anticipation killing you at this point.
He stretched your thighs open wider and ran two fingers through your folds, spreading your abundant arousal around. The feel of the latex against your wet folds was so different, his fingers gliding through your wetness so smoothly, the roughness of his calloused fingertips obscured by the gloves. The clinical feel of it made your tummy twist in a mix of excitement and anxiousness.
"God, you're so, so wet. That's good," he said, the words thick in his mouth. His thumbs parted your lips, revealing your puffy little clit and tight hole. He was entranced by your pussy, the way your slick dripped down your thighs and your hole clenched around nothing. His thumb swiped over your clit briefly, a flash of contact where you needed it most before fading away. Your hips raised up to chase it, but his hold kept to pinned to the bed.
"Everything looks perfect," he said, running his thumb up and down your vulva, circling around your clit on each pass, "Such a perfect, pretty pussy." He was so close that you could feel his hot breath against your cunt, each exhale sending a tingling zap down your spine.
His thumb slid down a little further and circled around the tight ring of muscle there, applying the barest amount of pressure as he rubbed it. You gasped and squirmed at the unfamiliar touch, your cheeks heating up fiercely.
He chuckled lightly at your reaction and removed his thumb, "We'll check that at the follow up exam," he said, then notched two fingers at your entrance and pushed in slowly, "I'm going to do an internal nerve check now."
The intrusion steals the breath from your lungs, his thick fingers stretching you out so deliciously. For the first time since the storage closet, it felt like there was some real relief to the ache you've been carrying around.
A broken moan ripped through you when he hooked his fingers, expertly finding your g-spot and rubbing against it mercilessly with the pressure that made your toes curl and your vision white out. Your walls clenched hard around him, your greedy cunt sucking him in deeper.
"Good girl, let it all out. Let me hear you," he said, curling his fingers harder and rubbing tight circles against your throbbing clit. The rubbery squeak of his gloves mixed with the wet schlick of your wetness as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, the sound so obscene you felt a little embarrassed.
The coil in your core wound tighter and pinpricks radiated through your body, your orgasm approaching with a vengeance, furious at being previously denied.
"Please, Dr. Abbot, please make me cum, I–fuck, pleeeese I need it," you cried, rocking your hips recklessly against his hand, the movements clumsy and uncoordinated.
He alternated between scissoring his fingers and curling them against your g-spot, "Go ahead, sweetheart, cum for me, you're gonna feel so much better when you cum," he said, the want thick in his voice and his professional tone almost completely abandoned.
He deepened the pressure on your clit, rubbing the nub relentlessly, and with a final crook of his fingers, the coil snapped, your orgasm washing over your in violent waves. You thrashed as the waves of pleasure rolled through you, your veins white hot and burning, toes and fists curling into the sheets. Your mouth hung open in a perpetual 'o', a deafening moan, groan, or some other such mixture of sound reverberating through you.
Jack worked you through it, keeping up the steady pressure until you were a whimpering mess and your hips were retreating from the friction rather than chasing it.
His latex-clad palm was soaked with your release when he pulled away, and he wasted no time licking a thick stripe through your mess, "fuck, honey, I could drink you up," he groaned, his eyes wild as he took in your debauched form, panting and boneless on the bed in front of him.
He shucked the gloves off and gripped your hips, pulling you to the edge of the bed. You squealed at the sudden movement, mind still hazy from the earth shattering orgasm you just had.
"Now–fuck–now I just need to check the elasticity of your vagina," he said, shoving down his pants and boxers in one go. His cock stood proud–long and thick, beads of pre-cum dripping down his shaft. The tip was flushed red and begging for attention.
"I don't give a fuck what you call it Jack, but I need your cock inside me now," you whined, pawing at his shirt, pushing it up his chest until he took over and threw it off. Your hands roamed the newly exposed skin, fingers digging into the firm flesh of his pecs and trailing down the planes of his stomach.
"Okay, baby, 'm gonna take such good care of you, gonna fuck this pussy so good," he said, pushing your legs up to your chest and lining his cock up with your entrance, swiping the tip through your messy folds before pushing into you with one deep thrust.
"Please, Dr. Abbot, I've been aching for your cock all night," you cried, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he split you open, the slight burn giving way to mind-numbing pleasure as he dragged his cock back, leaving just the tip before slamming back in. He set a brutal pace, hips snapping forward harshly, his heavy balls smacking your ass with each punishing thrust.
"Fuck, I'm so full, Dr. Abbot, you're so deep," you moaned, trying to meet his thrusts, but failing half of the time. He was fucking you so hard that you were seeing stars, his cock dragging exquisitely across every nerve in your cunt, each thrust lighting a fire across your oversensitive body.
"That's it, my girl, knew you could take it. Pussy's fuckin' made for me, tight little thing stretches right around me, fuck, squeezes me just right," he groaned, his fingers digging into the flesh where he gripped your thighs.
"J-Jack, fuck–"
"No," he growled, his pace slowing, "That's not my name right now, is it?"
"Dr. Abbot," you corrected quickly, breathlessly, "my pussy was made for you, Dr. Abbot."
"That's right, baby. Fuck, you're such a dirty girl, aren't you? Letting your doctor fuck you stupid," he said, picking the pace back up, doubling his efforts now as he felt how close you were–your pussy contracting wildly around him.
The wet slap of skin against skin echoed throughout the room, intermingled with your wanton moans and Jack's deep grunts.
He shifted forward a bit, forearms bracketing your head, and pushed your legs further up, fucking into you even deeper. His cock rubbed up against the depths of your cunt, and the neatly trimmed patch of curls at the base of his cock brushed against your clit, delivering delicious friction to the sensitive bud.
"Right there, Dr. Abbot, don't stop please, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum," you chanted, eyes squeezing shut as the coil snapped, your back bowing off the bed as your orgasm crashed over you. Fire zipped through your veins, radiating from your core to the tips of your toes and the top of your head. Your cunt pulsed rhythmically around his cock, greedily sucking it back in.
"Fuck, you're so beautiful when you cum," he grunted, eyes now trained on the spot where your bodies connected, a creamy ring coating the base of his cock. The remnants of your orgasm and the way your pussy milked his cock sent him over the edge, his hips stuttering as he emptied his load into you.
He stayed buried in you for a moment, pressing soft kisses to whatever heated bits of flesh he could reach. Your legs wrapped loosely around his hips, not pushing him any deeper but keeping him close. You ran your hands through his sweaty curls, scratching lightly at the nape of his neck every once and a while.
"That wasn't too much, was it? I didn't go too far?" he asked hoarsely, brushing your hair out of your face and caressing your cheek.
You shook your head immediately, "not at all. It was so fucking hot," you said honestly, assuring him that you loved every moment of it.
You laid in comfortable silence for a moment before your cheekiness got the better of you, "I'm not sure if you completely alleviated the ache, though. Might need to go a couple more rounds to make sure it's fully gone," you sighed dramatically.
He huffed a laugh at you, "Like I said, pain in my ass," he said, shaking his head.
You ignored that comment, knowing that he was exactly where he wanted to be.
"Ooooh, maybe next time I can play nurse," you mused, a dopey smile on your face as you teased him, "y'know, I could take your vital signs, assess your symptoms–oh! I could even wear one of those slutty little nurse's dresses."
You wrapped your arms around his neck, and continued, "I mean, I could even give you a sponge bath, you are my old man, after all."
You squeaked when he delivered a sharp slap to your thigh, then giggled at the disgruntled look on his face.
"You're just full of it this morning, aren't you?" he asked, eyebrows raised, "Old man, huh?"
taglist: @ficcyyfics @realwhoreforfictionalmen
a/n: thank you for reading!!! likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3333
★ summary: when spider-man comes to yelena for help, he doesn’t expect you to be there. you don’t expect for him to be so hot
★ pairing: spider-man x widow!reader
★ warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, unprotected sex, fingering, public sex, accidental vouyerism, web kink, web play?, enhanced!sperm, cum play, cream pie, mask stays on during sex (but reader is into it)
★ word count: 5.7k words
★ notes: putting myself in horny jail for this one idk i feel like i can’t write anymore this prob sucks
The steam curling on top of the water was thick enough to blur the edges of the room, hot enough that every inhale burned pleasantly at the back of your throat. It clung to your skin in a permanent sheen, damp strands of hair sticking stubbornly to your temples while eucalyptus hung heavy in the air. Next to you, Yelena dissolved into another fit of laughter, the movement of her shoulders sending a wave across the pool that splashed directly into your face and soaked the hair you’d spent the last ten minutes trying to keep dry.
“Сестра,” you hissed through a laugh of your own, swatting uselessly at the water before shoving her shoulder. “I told you to stop doing that.”
“Your hair,” She droned on, eyes rolling dangerously hard. “You look fine, hair will be fine there’s good essential oils in the water.”
“I find that very hard to believe.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re very untrusting?” She raises a brow playfully.
Your eyes narrowed, already preparing another comeback when the heavy grated iron door groaned open from the other side of the room. Years of training settled over you before you even realized it had happened, your gaze snapping toward the entrance before flicking immediately to Yelena.
“Were you expecting company?”
She made an exaggerated show of thinking about it, lips pursed and finger tapping thoughtfully against her chin before her expression broke into an impossibly smug grin.
“Oh. Right.”
A figure in bright red stepped hesitantly through the haze, stopping just inside the doorway as though he wasn’t entirely convinced he’d walked into the correct room. Spider-Man looked between the two of you, then back toward the hallway as if debating on running. As if seeing two naked widows was the biggest threat he’d seen all day.
Yelena didn’t give him the chance. “Take off your clothes.”
“W-what?”
“You don't wear clothes in the banya, ditch the leotard.” She ordered.
“This is not a leotard.” He shuffled awkwardly, his arms moving around his sides aimlessly. “Uh, your tech told me this was your office?”
Yelena’s arms went up, “This is my office. Get in.”
His entire body tenses, “I’m fine thanks-“
“Waa, waa.” Yelena laughs, “My office, my rules.”
He’s not biting, which makes you stifle a laugh. The silence stretched just long enough that you had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing.
Yelena leaned forward conspiratorially, as though she were making him the deal of a lifetime.“You get to enjoy a very nice, relaxing soak..“
You finally took pity on him, and picked up where she intentionally left off. “And we get confirmation you aren’t carrying any weapons. Everybody wins.”
His masked head turned toward you, the eyes on his suit getting animatedly larger.
“…Seriously?”
You smiled sweetly. “Seriously. I’ve learned to stop fighting her on it, it’s very nice in here.”
His shoulders sagged in the unmistakable posture of someone realizing resistance was entirely pointless. With a defeated sigh, he shuffled toward one of the wooden stalls. The stall door clicked shut behind him, and almost immediately the muffled rustle of fabric echoed through the room. At the same time, Yelena lazily stirred the water with one hand, looking altogether too pleased with herself.
“He said it was some small potato problem,” she murmured, effortlessly slipping into Russian. “Figured two Avengers could help him with intel.”
You hum, “Why didn’t you tell me he was coming by?”
“I forgot.”
“I don’t believe you.” You rolled your eyes, earning another satisfied grin from her just as the wooden stall creaked open. Spider-Man stepped out clutching a white towel around his waist with both hands like it was a lifeline. His shoulders were tense enough to rival a man walking into an execution, his face hidden behind the mask he’d somehow insisted on keeping despite surrendering the rest of the suit.
You had expected him to be lean, scrawny almost.
Instead, you found yourself staring for half a second longer than intended.
The suit had done him absolutely no favors. Beneath it were years of relentless training, packed onto a frame that looked carved from stone, broad shoulders tapering into a narrow waist, every muscle defined by years of keeping the city safe. His arms alone looked capable of lifting a car without much effort, his biceps so absurdly large you were fairly certain one of them rivaled the size of his own head.
You caught Yelena watching your expression from the corner of your eye. The smug little smile spreading across her face told you she had noticed your momentary lapse immediately.
Yelena burst into laughter, which stopped abruptly when she realized he was in fact not actually going to take the mask off.
“Wait, you’re serious? You’re not going to take it off?”
He slips into the water, “It would defeat the whole anonymous thing.”
“Even for your girlfriend, or boyfriend, or whatever.” She trails off, “You know there’s fanart-“
You tuned her out almost immediately, letting the words fade into meaningless background noise while she enthusiastically listed the bizarre piece of online fan art she’d stumbled across. You had long ago accepted that Yelena somehow found herself on the strangest corners of the internet imaginable, usually against her own will and yet somehow always with enough curiosity to constantly send links to the group chat. Bucky had blocked her long ago.
The first night she downloaded Twitter, she had run into the common room, her tablet clutched in her hand her eyes searching for Bucky as he very innocently was eating his popcorn. “Barnes, have you ever heard of Sambucky? Or a website called AO3?”
You’re pulled out of the memory when Spider-Man speaks up again.
“- Look, I don’t have anyone. I kinda keep to myself.”
“All by yourself? All the time?” Her voice falls. “No wonder you’re so sad.”
“I’m not so sad.” He lies, his voice rising a pitch.
“A little bit.” She mumbles, then her shoulders straighten as if she just got the idea of a lifetime. “You know, my sister here is very lonely too. She says she is not, but yet every weekend she is with me or eating ice cream pretending we cannot hear her watching those horrible American movies through the walls.”
You turn your head to her, expression blank. “Yelena.”
“Can we talk about what I came here to talk about? The attack on Damage Control. ” Spider-Man buts in, making you nod in agreement.
“Yes, can we?”
“Right,” The shit-eating grin is still wide on her face, “So that is more your area. Like small potato, whereas the New Avengers are focusing on big potato stuff.”
“Right, there’s more to it than that.” He adds. Going on about what he had learned the past day and giving details of the incident that had not been made public yet.
The warmth of the water settled around you as you absentmindedly dragged your fingers across its surface, watching small ripples spread between the three of you while you pieced together everything he was saying. After a long moment, you glanced toward Yelena.
“So you think it’s something like what they used on us?” you asked quietly. “The conditioning. Whatever they did to the other widows.”
“That was my first thought,” Spider-Man admitted, looking toward Yelena.
“It’s not,” She replied without a second’s hesitation.
Spider-Man frowned beneath the mask. “You’re sure?”
”It is more like possession."
You hum, your hands still moving the water around in front of you as they talk, letting Yelena fill the two of you in on what she knew. Unfortunately, every road ended exactly where it had begun. The New Avengers had no additional intelligence, no active investigation, and no plans to divert resources toward Damage Control while larger threats occupied their attention.
Spider-Man didn’t argue, but disappointment settled visibly across his shoulders all the same. The hopeful energy he’d arrived with slowly disappeared beneath the weight of another dead end, and after sitting quietly for a moment, he let out a long sigh before pushing himself up from the water.
“Fine,” he muttered, reaching for the towel he’d left folded on the bench. “I’ll just go ask Damage Control myself.”
You very intentionally kept your eyes fixed somewhere above his shoulder, refusing to acknowledge the beads of water slowly tracing paths over abs that the suit had done an excellent job of concealing. Or the way the veins in his muscles flexed when he pulled himself up. Or the way his boxers clung to his thick thighs.
“You know,” Yelena said with far too much innocence to be trusted, “you’re not completely anonymous anymore.”
Spider-Man paused in the middle of grabbing his clothes. “What?”
“I’ve seen your belly button.”
All you could do was sigh, letting your body sink further into the water until your chin was covered.
“…Uh,” Spider-Man finally managed after several painfully long silent seconds, “okay.”
“Goodbye, Yelena,” he said, already halfway through the doorway before remembering to glance toward you. “And… goodbye, Y/N.”
The heavy iron door barely had time to swing shut behind him before he was gone, leaving a trail of wet footprints stretching down the hallway outside. You waited until the echo of his footsteps disappeared before leaning over and bumping your shoulder against Yelena’s.
”You’ve scared him off.”
“Hmm, something is telling me you’ll see him again.” She smirks.
Before you had the chance to ask what exactly that was supposed to mean, Yelena slipped beneath the surface without another word, disappearing completely beneath the rippling water while you were left staring after her, equal parts amused and unconvinced.
News of the attacks seemed impossible to escape days later. Every television hanging in an airport terminal, every radio crackling through military transports, every phone notification carried another version of the same story, each one somehow more unbelievable than the last.
The majority of your updates came from Yelena, whose texts arrived at all hours of the day with the urgency of someone who had remembered a detail halfway through another conversation. It was a lot of, “Just talked to Spider-Man;)))))) u wish this was u huh?????”
You and Bucky had spent the better part of the week chasing leads that dissolved into nothing before you could ever get close enough to investigate. Reconnaissance, surveillance, more reconnaissance, another anonymous tip that turned into an abandoned warehouse with little more than stale coffee cups and dust to show for it. By the time your transport finally touched back down stateside, you felt like you’d spent more time staring through binoculars than actually accomplishing anything.
“Remind me why people still choose to live in New York,” you muttered as you dropped a thick stack of mission reports onto Val’s desk with enough force to make the folders slide apart. “
“I’ve stopped wondering.” Bucky admitted, “It was nicer in the 40s.”
You sighed, rubbing absentmindedly at the side of your neck where the edge of your Kevlar vest had spent the last several days digging relentlessly into your skin. The movement earned an immediate wince as the irritated patch protested beneath your fingertips.
“You should put ice on that,” Bucky said, noticing before you’d even finished reaching for it. He shrugged off his own tactical vest with considerably more irritation than necessary before tossing it onto the chair beside him. “Couple more days in these things and it’s going to rub you raw. These vests are garbage.”
“They’re definitely not sized correctly.”
“They’re not sized correctly because procurement buys whatever’s cheapest.”
A tired laugh escaped you. “I think Val just hates us.”
“I’ll have her order us different sizes,” he continued, already looking toward her office despite knowing she was deliberately never here. “These are shit.”
You smiled despite yourself, unfastening the last strap before setting your own vest aside. “Thanks, Bucky.”
“So what’s next?”
“I think…” You stretched your shoulders until your back gave a satisfying pop. “I might stop by Yelena’s office.”
He raised an eyebrow knowingly. “Checking on your sister?”
“And Spider-Man.” You said casually, “Heard he got shot, she’d know how he’s doing”
“Oh? That’s it huh?”
“I just want to know how his Damage Control adventure went.” You defended yourself, despite there being no reason to.
Bucky laughed quietly through his nose. “Good luck with that.”
“Yelena?” you called as you nudged the heavy iron door open with your shoulder, expecting to be greeted by either an insult or something thrown in your general direction.
Instead, silence answered you.
The bath sat empty, steam lazily drifting through the room while the familiar scent of cedar, herbs, and eucalyptus lingered in the warm air. The water rippled softly beneath the lantern light, untouched except for the occasional drip falling from the ceiling into the pool below. You still wondered how this building managed to keep up with the humidity.
You frowned, pulling your phone from your pocket.
I’m at your office. Where are you?
The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.
running 2 get food
Another notification popped up before you could even lock your screen.
do u want blini
wait no dumplings
there's an ice cream cart do u want
of course u want why do i ask
Then another.
I'll get them all brb
there's new vodka stashed under the third bench, landlady got a new bottle from home country
You couldn’t help smiling.
thanks. I’ll warm the bath for you. bring me a tea
Her reply came so quickly you wondered if she’d been holding the phone the entire time.
yayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy girly time
Chuckling to yourself, you slipped your phone onto one of the dry benches before slipping your clothes off in an untidy pile until all that remained was the comforting humidity wrapping around your skin.
You eased yourself carefully down the stone steps until the water climbed past your ankles, your knees, your waist, every aching muscle loosening a little more with each inch. The heat seeped deep into your bones, unraveling tension you hadn’t even realized you’d been carrying since boarding the quinjet days earlier.
By the time the water reached your shoulders, the exhaustion finally caught up with you.
A quiet, involuntary moan escaped your lips as you leaned your head back against the smooth stone edge of the bath, your eyes slipping closed while the warmth wrapped around every sore joint and bruised muscle. For the first time in what felt like days, your breathing slowed, your shoulders finally relaxed.
So completely, in fact, that you never heard the heavy iron door slowly creak open behind you.
”Uh, Ms. Y/n?” A timid voice spoke, making the tension rise back in your shoulders as you jumped. The bright red suit made your heart race out of shock and a weird sense of nervousness at being here alone with him.
“G-God, I’m so sorry,” he blurted, spinning around so quickly he nearly lost his footing on the damp stone. His back was to you before you’d even managed to respond, his hands raised awkwardly as if surrendering. “I didn’t mean to walk in on you. Yelena said she’d be here today and I just… I thought…” He groaned quietly to himself.
You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you.
“It’s okay,” you said, your voice softer now as the adrenaline finally ebbed away. “Really. She’s just getting food. She should be back any minute.”
“I’ll just wait here.”
“Spidey,” You pout playfully, splashing the water to beckon him in, “Join me.”
“Are you sure?”
”Yes.”
“I was actually…” He hesitated, sounding almost embarrassed to admit it. “I was kind of looking forward to the soak.”
That pulled a genuine laugh from you. “Right?”
He glanced over his shoulder just enough that you caught the sheepish grin tugging beneath the edge of the mask.
“I wasn’t sure if it was weird that I was, I’ll just change.”
“It took me a while too,” you admitted, as he disappeared into the stall, “The first time Yelena dragged me down here I thought she’d finally lost her mind. Now I’m her after almost every mission.”
”Man,” He says through muffled fabric, equipment dropping on the wood bench, “I’d love to come and soak after a long day.”
“I’m sure Yelena would allow it, as long as you don’t throw a party in here or tell anyone or make a mess.” You drag on, smiling as he came into view. This time with no towel wrapped around him, just his boxers clinging expertly to him as he stepped inside the water.
He leaned back against the stone edge with a contented sigh, finally allowing his shoulders to drop. For the first time since you’d met him, he looked… peaceful.
It was then your eyes caught the scar.
Angry red tissue stretched across his side just beneath his ribs, the wound still fresh despite already being sealed shut. The edges remained inflamed, the skin surrounding it slightly pink from rapid healing that no ordinary body should have been capable of.
He followed your gaze and instinctively looked down at himself. “Oh, that.”
One hand brushed lightly across the mark before he flexed experimentally, watching the skin pull without discomfort.
”I was going to ask, how you were doing. Yelena was giving me updates.”
“Doctor’s said it will leave a nasty scar, but I heal faster than most.” His voice is quieter now, reflective as you stare at him. “I can barely feel it.”
“This was a gunshot that almost killed you, just days ago?”
He nodded, sensing your hesitation. “You can touch it.”
He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d offered. Maybe because it didn’t hurt anymore, or maybe because the concern written so plainly across your pretty face made something warm settle in his chest. There was something strangely comforting about it, enough that he found himself hoping you would say yes before he’d even realized he’d been hoping at all.
You held his gaze through the mask for a brief moment, silently asking if he was certain, and when he gave another small nod you pushed gently through the water until barely a foot separated the two of you. The movement sent soft ripples across the surface, brushing against his shoulders as you lifted your hand. Instead of pressing your palm directly against the wound, the backs of your knuckles grazed lightly across the newly healed skin, careful enough that it almost wasn’t a touch at all.
“I heal faster due to a diluted version of the serum they give us widows, but nothing like this.” Your fingertips traced lightly around the edge of the injury without putting pressure on it, fascinated by how smooth the tissue already felt. “But nothing like this. This shouldn’t even be closed yet.”
“Y-Yeah…”
The word caught somewhere in his throat.
A visible shiver rolled across his shoulders, one that had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature of the water. It was the realization that you were standing impossibly close now, naked underneath the murky water, and close enough that he could count the droplets of water clinging to your shoulders, close enough that every sensible thought he’d had moments earlier evaporated into steam.
His eyes betrayed him.
For only the briefest second, they dipped downward before he caught himself, snapping immediately back to your face with an expression that could only be described as horrified with himself.
“I’ve…” He cleared his throat a little too forcefully. “I’ve been having some issues with my DNA and the spider thing.”
“The spider thing.” You echo, urging him to continue.
He rubbed the back of his neck, grateful for the excuse to look anywhere but directly at you.
“It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud, but my arachnoid DNA started climbing way higher than it’s supposed to. I was acting… not exactly like myself for a while.” He gestured vaguely with one hand, struggling to summarize weeks of bizarre mutations. “I’ve started shooting webs out of my actual wrists instead of using web shooters, and apparently that’s only one of the side effects. Everything is stabilizing now, though. I’m… mostly normal again.”
Your expression shifted from amusement to fascination almost instantly. “Out of your wrists?”
Before he could answer, your hand had already slipped from his side to his forearm. Your fingers wrapped gently around his wrist, turning it over in the warm water until the small opening nestled against his skin came into view.
“I used to make web fluid, but now it’s all homegrown.” He jokes, but goes silent when you don’t laugh instead you’re too fascinated.
“Do you shoot webs from other places?”
“Oh, no. Absolutely not. No, no.” He shook his head so quickly a few damp curls escaped the edge of the mask. “Just… just the wrists. I’m very normal everywhere else.”
A small hum escaped you, thoughtful more than anything else.“That’s a shame.”
“…I’m sorry.”
“I said that’s a shame.”
“No, I heard you. You sound… disappointed.”
“I’m not disappointed,” you corrected with a sheepish smile, finally releasing his wrist. “I just think it would’ve been kind of interesting.”
For a long second he simply stared at you.
“What? I like spiders too, you know?”
Then a laugh escaped him, bright and completely unrestrained, echoing warmly off the cedar walls. He shook his head, still smiling to himself as he looked down at the water between you.
“You widows,” he shook his head, “You guys are something else.”
“Hmm, and what about you, Spidey? What are you?”
He pauses for a moment, his mind going back to the first night he officially met you in this bath, the towel clutched around him while Yelena spoke enough for the both of you.
“I am lonely,” he admitted at last, the confession coming softer than he’d intended. There wasn’t any self-pity in his voice, only a quiet sort of acceptance. “It’s… gotten better lately. A lot better, actually. But your sister was right.” He laughed weakly to himself, shaking his head. “I hate giving her that satisfaction.”
Your smile widened despite yourself. “So do I, but alas she keeps being right.”
He shifts a little closer, either consciously or subconsciously you don’t know. Close enough that you could make out the constellation of freckles scattered across his shoulders. Close enough to hear the steady rhythm of his breathing over the gentle splash of water against the stone. Close enough that every time either of you shifted even slightly, your knees threatened to brush.
For reasons neither of you could explain, the room suddenly felt much warmer than it had a moment before.
“I’m not very good at… this,” Peter admitted with a nervous smile, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “Talking to people, getting close to people. I mean I think you’re the first person to touch me in years. Is that depressing?”
“A little.” You admit with a playful smile. “But I understand. Our lives, it’s impossible to have normal relationships.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” He breathes out, and neither of you move. You both just sit there, relaxing against the concrete wall. The tension between the two of you is electric, it’s like every drop of water is drawing you closer to him.
The silence is only broken when he decides to speak up, “She sure is taking a while.”
“She sure is…” You turn to him, “You really never take the mask off for anyone?”
He shakes his head, “I try not to.”
You watch the fabric strain against his lips, and you yearn to see how plump they are. What shade of pink, how they’d feel against your own. You wanna see his nose, feel it pressed against your skin, to watch his eyes as you touch him.
“Not even a little?” You ask, your palms moving up to cup his cheek.
“It’s easier this way.” He says and he’s not sure if he’s telling you, or trying to convince himself. His body ignites with each rub of your fingers against the fabric.
You sit up, your hands falling to his shoulders.
“Is this okay?”
“More than okay.” He whispers, in awe as you practically tangle yourself in his lap. He holds you gracefully, and respectfully as you straddle him. You can feel his boxers against your inner thigh as his hands hover respectfully on the outside of your ribcage to keep you balanced.
Your fingertips trace the outline of his face, trying to memorize the feel of his cheekbones.
“I’ve spent so long wondering what you look like under there,” you admitted, your voice barely louder than your own breathing.
“Just like anyone else.” He managed to get out, his mouth going dry as he all but melted underneath your touch.
“I find that,” You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his fabric-covered forehead, “Very hard to believe.”
He shivers, fingers digging into your skin as you press long kisses down his cheeks right to where the mask ends and his skin begins.
“Would you,” The warmth of your breath makes the hair on his neck stand up, “Be willing to move the mask up about, an inch or two?”
“I-“
“You don’t have to.” You remind him, leaning back to catch his eyes again. “I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable-“
One hand leaves your skin, pulling the mask up just enough to expose his plump and waiting lips. There’s barely enough time to stare at the new part of him before he's pulling your lips into his. It’s a little clumsy at first, awkward with the bunched-up mask rubbing against your nose, but you make it work. His lips were warm against yours, opening his mouth at the first swipe of your tongue against it.
He pulls away with a gasp, “Can I touch you?”
You’re nodding before he can get it out, letting his head drop down so his mouth could suck and bite at your chest. Your nipples are pebbled by being exposed to the cool air, only warming once he pulls one into his warm and waiting mouth.
One of his hands is already guiding your legs apart, his fingers slipping in between your folds.
“You’re so wet.” He whispered against your tits.
“We’re in water.” Your eyes were closed, relishing the feeling of the gentle circles he was rubbing into your aching clit.
“And I’ve been able to smell you since I walked in, you can’t hide from me.”
Your heart rate picks up, and he no doubt feels that too as he slips a finger inside of you. You’re all but grinding against his fingers, your clit brushing against the raised spot on his wrist.
“F-fuck,” You cry out, “Can feel your wrist throbbing against me.”
“It wants to shoot webs at you, wants to wrap you in them. Keep you all for myself,” He whispers, “You’d like that wouldn’t you? You want me to fuck my webs into you.”
There’s no shame to be had at the fire that licks in your lower belly at his words as you nod frantically.
In a split second you’re being pulled up from the water, and laid down on a towel. Your head propped up by his discarded suit bunched up as he hovers above you.
He leans down and licks a strip of water droplets from your tits, before his hand travels back down to your cunt.
There’s a soft hiss as his webs disperse onto you, they’re warm and sticky and practically dissolve into your wetness as he slides two fingers inside of you. With each brush of your clit against his wrist, he dribbles out fluid that only makes him fuck into you faster. His fingers curl expertly, and the sounds bouncing off the walls of the bath are lewd.
“You’re so dirty,” He growls against your skin, feeling every nerve on his body stand up. The inhibitor did little to quell just how feral he felt pressed against you. His cock was hard in his boxers, rutting against the soft skin of your leg to dull the ache. “You know, this is how spiders mate. They roll their sperm into webs and fuck them into the female.”
Your moan is broken off into confusion as you watch him, a small smile on his lips. “Yeah?”
“Sorry,” He whispered, his fingers still prying the nastiest sounds from your heat. “This is really hot.”
“You know, widows kill their mate after sex.” You manage to stutter out.
“Are you gonna kill me?” He asks, pressing harshly against your clit with another messy ooze of his webs.
“G-god no, I’m gonna cum.” You’re all but gasping as he pries an orgasm out of you
Your legs are shaking, chest heaving by the time you come to. He’s still sitting between your legs, boxers still on as he presses gentle kisses to your thigh.
You try to take him off guard by flipping him over onto his back, as gently as you could. He lands with a huff, and you pretend he didn’t see that coming. The view of you on top of him has him reeling, your tits bouncing as you tug briskly down at his boxers, pressing your lips to his.
“I can’t,” He pulls away from your lips reluctantly, “I can’t take the mask off.”
“I don’t care.” You sigh pressing your lips harshly against his again.
When he pulls away this time, a thread of spit connects your mouths. “I'm sorry, I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable if you can’t see me-“
”I don’t care,” You echo, “I just wanna feel you.”
“The mask stays on.” He asks, once more to confirm.
“The mask stays on.” You agree, digging your nails into his shoulder blades as you reach down to guide his aching cock to your entrance. You slide down on him with a satisfying hiss, gasping at the stretch of him. His cock is so thick, you have to pace yourself before your hips meet his.
“God.” He seethes through his clenched jaw, his eyes rolling back into his head. You wished so badly to see the pathetic, fucked out look on his face. “You feel so good.”
“You’re huge.” You sigh contentedly, rocking your hips lazily against his as his tip presses gently into your sweet spot each time.
You ride him slowly, relishing the moans leaving his glossy lips. Or the way his abs tense every few seconds as you bounce and grind against him. It’s frantic, but intimate as you fall apart above him.
“You’re so beautiful.” He pants, watching your thighs shake as the thick curve of his cock pressed against the deepest parts of you.
“Spidey.” You moaned, your palms heavy on his chest as you tried to keep up your rhythm, failing when the pleasure overtook you.
“Right there, baby. Fuck.” The term of endearment leaves his mouth recklessly as he leans up, the soles of his feet hitting the ground as he fucks up into you. His hands are on your tired hips, picking you up and fucking yourself on his cock as if you weigh nothing. He hit every single spot inside of you, the bulge of him pressing deep against your stomach as you cried out for him.
“I’m gonna- I’m gonna-“
“I got you,” He cooed, “Cum for me, let me feel you.”
He felt every second of it, as you spasmed and came around him. It wasn’t too long before he followed behind you, letting your cunt milk him for every drop of his cum. It was warm, and thick. You’ve never felt this full before, it felt like he was coating your insides, claiming you as his.
“Spidey,” You mumbled, “That was…”
“I know…” He sighed dreamily, rubbing gentle circles into your hips from where he still lazily held you.
You pull off of him with a lewd pop, his release dribbling down your inner thighs.
“It’s so thick.” You stare in amazement, a finger gliding through the thickened cum.
He sits up quickly, head tilting in confusion. “That’s- it’s not webbing.”
“Definitely not normal.” You giggle like a schoolgirl,. “Don't worry. I’m into it. Majorly.”
He shakes his head in disbelief, watching each sway of your hips as you slide into one of the shower stalls. He just lays there, chest still heaving in disbelief that the past twenty minutes have even happened.
“You not gonna clean me up, Spidey?” You speak through the haze of the shower spray and a smirk falls on your face when you hear his feet frantically slapping against the wet concrete.
That’s how Yelena finds the two of you, your back pressed against the metal of the stall door. The water long gone cold as Spider-Man had your eyes shut in pleasure while he fucks up into you harshly, blubbering out pathetic moans of your name.
You’re still sensitive and so full from his last release by the time he slides into you again. He leaves no stone unturned as he urges you to come apart around him again, and again.
“Yes, yes,” He grunted, “Is this okay?”
“Yes.” You cried out, your legs locking around his ass to prevent him from stopping, as if he’d ever dream of it, “Please don’t stop. I’m right there, right fucking there.”
The metal stall was shaking with the ferocity of it, the sound of his hips slapping against yours drowned out by your cries.
“Are you gonna cum?” He panted, his fingers already rubbing at your swollen clit, “I need you to cum for me.”
“I’m gonna cum,” You nod, “Just keep going. Yeah, like that fuck. Fuck, Spidey I’m cumming.”
“M’behind you.” His hips stuttered as your cunt suckled him in and drank in every drop of thick cum he released deep inside of you.
“Fuck.” You laughed lazily, pressing your sweaty temple against his shoulder. He shuddered when he tried to pull out, his cum plopping out of you and clinging to his cock like glue. “Guess you gotta stay inside of me.”
“There’s worse places to be.” He laughed, pressing a gentle kiss to your head.
The blissful afterglow was interrupted by a loud throat clearing, Yelena’s voice carrying through the steam.
soft dom dennis introducing his gf to his friends from the pit and they’re kinda shocked at how different he seems, still caring but firm. maybe they see him gently “choke” the back of her neck and just 😮😮 this cannot be the same dennis they work with
wughh i love how cocky he is. i see dennis as still quite sweet when he’s with you in public and introducing you to people,, but they definitely notice how much more confident he is in your presence. he’s a lot more assertive, too. it’s similar to how he is working in the ed, when he’s in a place where he just fits right in. anyone who’d see the two of you together would say you fit together perfectly.
i rlly like the idea of him being just soo touchy and protective though. like.. him having a firm hand on your waist at all times to guide you through any turns while you walk so that you can focus on your conversation with mel.
him pulling out your chair for you at the restaurant, a hand on your shoulder as he urges you to sit, all while trinity makes exaggerated gagging noises across the table. jeez, huckleberry. keep it in your fuckin’ pants.
him holding up a mirror for you when you fix up your makeup after eating. he tuts and pushes your hand to the side, his own thumb coming up to rub the excess lipgloss off the corner of your lip. you almost open wider and take his thumb into your mouth on instinct, but you resist.
meanwhile victoria is giving the MEANEST side eye to trinity, mouthing what the fuck… and trin mouths back, i know right??
