#implied age gap

[impurefawn]

“you’d make a good soldier, doll.” price murmurs as he caresses your back.

“s’that supposed to be a compliment?” you ask, brow raised when you tilt your head to look at him. he’s got that half-smirk on his lips and the sleepiness is evident in his eyes. it makes your heart skip a beat.

“yeah.” he confirms with a kiss on your forehead. “you’re quiet, obedient, reliable… a damn good soldier, you’d be. don’t you dare go in the military and leave your old man behind, though.” he smiles when you laugh, kissing your nose this time.

he certainly doesn’t want you to leave him. he’s finally found peace after years of destruction. but more than anything, he’d never want you to be a part of that world. to witness the things he had, to be tainted by war, to be hurt or even…

“i don’t think military is for me.” you say, nudging his nose with yours. there’s a lot of hidden truths behind the statement, things john already knows. there’s no need to reiterate. “military men on the other hand…”

john smiles wide and wraps his arms around you, relishing in the sound of your squeal when he brings you closer to his chest until your faces are centimetres apart. “what about them, sweetheart?”

you mirror his smile, eyes bright and filled with a love that’s all for him. “well, they can be quite attractive.” you muse and he hums. “tall, muscular, strong. very sexy. you know, like those comrades of yours.”

he immediately takes the bait, a frown taking over his features. he furrows his brows, exaggerating his wrinkles, and he pulls you so close that his beard tickles you. “my comrades? you find my comrades sexy?”

you bite your bottom lip, stifling a laugh, and nod before speaking with faux innocence. “well, they are, aren’t they? kyle is such a pretty boy and johnny is so charming. simon… his broodiness is attractive, don’t ya think?”

john looks at you with pursed lips. “ya really think that, doll? you want to leave me for them, s’ that it?” he asks, his voice quieter than usual.

you immediately drop your teasing facade, brows furrowing with worry. “no! no, baby, of course not.” you cup his cheeks, apologetic and so guilty. “never. i was just joking, i swear. no one compares to you.

he thinks about keeping up his hurt front a little longer but he can’t help but coo at your teary eyes. “don’t cry, kid. i know you were joking. i was playing along.”

you only sniffle and look at him like a kicked puppy. “they’re not even sexy, seriously.” you hiccup and wipe your tears. “not attractive at all. you- you’re the only attractive man ever. everyone else sucks.”

john lets out a booming laugh and kisses you deeply, tasting your tears against his lips. “is that right, dove?” he asks, grinning when you nod. “yer adorable.”

[sepisbabe]

Rubber Band

Baran snaps at reader after getting assaulted by a patient on her dayshift.

—

tw: kind of mean baran, baran uses looks to get her way 😭, yelling (kind of), i dont know how to tw this, angsty, hurt and comfort, good ending :)

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meow, this was so rushed and not proofread i just got off of my nine hour shift. can u tell? im also not the best at angst… thinking of just sticking with smut and very short blurbs of angst :( sorry for the long note chicas. hope u enjoy!!! <3

Soft music plays in the dim of your apartment, your pasta sits beautifully in the pot and you’re stirring at the orangey-tinted sauce that you spent hours perfecting. Humming along to the song playing. One that you and Baranam sway to in the morning while you make breakfast for her and your son. 

The door clicks open, and then clicks shut. You look over your shoulder and look at the entry way mirror to see Baran toeing off her shoes. She’s awfully quiet. You set the stove heat to a warm simmer and leave your station.

Making your way over, your mouth opens to spew sweetness and instead you croak—left in shock at her bruised nose and cheek.

 “Baran, what the fuck?” You curse, hands trembling as they hover over her face—not wanting to touch her. “What happened, baby?” 

You watch her face tighten, watch her flinch back in pain—she was assaulted at work, doing a diagnosis on a particularly aggravated patient. The purple bruise coating the caramel skin of her cheek. 

Your chest tightens in worry. “Baran, what hap—“ Apparently the worrying was enough for her to snap.

“Azizam, enough! Just stop for a second.” She’s staring at you, breathing deeply—her sharp jaw is clenched. “Just… I need a second without feeling like I’m being bombarded by you.” The way she says it sounds like she’s been thinking about it for a while, and god if it doesn’t hurt.

You stare back, eyes glossier than before—your chest tightening with something other than worry. Hurt, confusion even because where did this all come from?

Sure, you’ve been a teensy bit more protective of her since her first day as an attending at the PTMC. You didn’t think you’d been bombarding her though. Not really.

You take a deep, shaky breath in—nodding. “Yeah, okay. Sorry.” And you back away from her slowly, swallowing. 

Baran looks at you with the smallest hint of regret. She doesn’t snap at anybody, not usually—and especially not you. Her sweet girl, her sweet perfect wife who does nothing but the most for her. 

She also didn’t mean to imply you were burdening and bombarding her. Baran knows you just trying to look out for her, see what you could do like you always do, her perfect baby. 

For the rest of the night, you’re quiet. Working on dinner, holding back tears of quiet frustration (at Baran, and yourself) while staring down at over-cooked pasta. Straining it and mixing in Baran’s family sauce—one that you’d made for her prior because you know how hard she’s been working these past couple of weeks.

You eat quietly at the table, you clean up quietly, you don’t speak one word to Baran and her heart shatters. She tries to talk to you, tries to coax your sweet laughter out of your throat—but you’re stiff, and you’re silent. Not once does she apologize though.

You wrap an icepack in a rag, and drop it in her lap. That’s when she realizes your sadness has shifted into anger, not that you’d blow up in her face and throw things at her. Baran notices your anger in the quiet, little things… like dropping something so roughly in her lap rather than handing it to her gently.

“Thank you, darling.” And she watches your eyes roll. Her heart clenches, painfully. 

—

You’re both getting ready for bed, Baran getting into her lilac silk night dress—something sexy, like she’s attempting to appease you. Win you over again. Everything she does gets ignored. 

“I could be masturbating and you wouldn’t even care, hm?” Her lips pressing to your bare shoulder, sucking a soft mark—her version of an apology. A really shitty apology and usually Baran is incredibly good at them. “Aziz…” She sighs into your skin.

“Don’t.” Baran freezes, it’s the first word you’ve spoken to her since the argument. “Stop acting like everything is okay, Baran. Enough acting like you did nothing wrong.” You choke out, eyes watering—and you hate yourself for crying over something so silly.

“Sweet girl…” She spins you around, her hands sliding from your waist to frame your face. “I’m sorry.”

You groan, loudly—wiping your tears with balled up fists. “No, you aren’t.” Your sniffle is wet, loud. “You’re not fucking sorry, Baran. If you were sorry we wouldn’t be doing this in the first place.” 

“I am sorry,” She grabs your wrists, pulling them down. “I’ve had a rough day, baby. Am I not allowed to be upset?” 

Another groan, another eye roll, another huff at how cruel she’s being. “Of course you’re allowed to be upset. You got assaulted, dude!” You see her jaw clench at the ‘dude’, you know she hates when you call her that. “It doesn’t mean you have the right to treat me like I’m less than, when all I’m trying to do is make everything a little bit easier for you. Okay?” 

Baran sighs, “okay.” it’s all she says. You see the regret in her eyes, the genuine apology—but she doesn’t outright say it to you, doesn’t coddle you or beg for forgiveness.

“I’m tired.” You see her eyes widen at that, and you are quick to calm her nerves. “I’m not divorcing you, Baranam. But I am telling you that if you want to continue loving me and receiving the same affection—you have to fix your bullshit. I’m done being the silly doormat, because I’m everything but that. I am your wife.” Voice still shaky, unsteady. Your fists still balled up, not to punch or attack, but to ground.

“You’re right,” She’s sitting upright now, standing in front of you—bruised face to one sad, tired face. “You’re right. My darling,” her lips pressing to yours, not to appease but apologize. “I’m sorry. Truly, aziz. I’ve… taken advantage of you. You’re not a doormat, you are my wife and I’m sorry I haven’t been treating you as such, my darling girl.” 

“It’s not an excuse, but the pressure of the Pitt… it’s weighing on my shoulders and I’m struggling to keep my head above the thick water, hm?” She pushes a strand of hair behind your ear, wiping away a sliding tear. “I never meant to make you feel like a burden, like you bombarded me. You didn’t, darling. I know your intentions.” 

“I’ll back off next time—“ She immediately cuts you off.

“I’m not asking for that. Look, my darling, I’ve worked in the medical field for… quite some time, I’ve been through shit your precious eyes should never see.” She brushes her nose against yours. “I’m asking you to… understand where I’m coming from. That I’m a big girl, and I can handle myself. Punched or not.” Another sweet kiss to your lips.

“Okay, big girl.” You kiss back, and she has to forcefully pull her lips off of yours. You just stare at each other for a while, breathing each other in because you haven’t all day. Lingering guilt remains in Baran’s eyes and yours too. 

“You’re my princess. I will take care of you, not the other way around.”

“But sometimes even the frog needs help.” And Baran barks out a loud and especially hearty laugh—eyebrows shot up in a ‘oh yeah?’ gesture. Tugging you onto the bed with her till you’re on her lap. 

She mumbles a soft insult in her Persian-tongue that makes you laugh in confusion. “So… we… are okay? We are better, I mean.”

“As long as you don’t snap at me like that again, we are.”

[iridreams]

Captain's girl Smut 18+, threesome, implied age gap

A little angel sitting at the bar. Gorgeous eyes, pouty cheeks and silky smooth hair that loosely framed your face, reflecting the dim lights like a nimbus, a halo. Untouched, or it seems like until the sapphire eyes of his captain meet his. There is something about how it wasn’t his, but Price’s arm loosely draped around your back, how his superior leaned down to talk to you, how you rested yourself against his chest. Your lush skin against rough, hardened muscle under the layer of fabric. There was something about that, something about the solidified oxymoron, that held him in a chokehold, finger tightening around the crystal encasing his golden liquor. You looked so soft, so enthralling with how you lick your lips, make them shine with your own saliva. And Simon couldn’t look away, calves tensed to a point of discomfort, lips bloody as he tries to keep himself together, acting like seeing Price shooting him a look before indulging you into a dirty open-mouth kiss wasn’t giving him a hard on. Lines blur, as the cerulean waves crash onto the amber beach. Price knew. Simon knew that Price knew. And all he manages is to swallow, hard, as his captain doesn’t break eye contact even once with his tongue against yours.

The nightly air, cold and biting leaves him wondering if it was you or Price. Would he be equally turned on if you were a different girl? Or if some other man would be in the stead of Price? Both ideas leave a bitter aftertaste and the whiskeys he had left him with too much of an headache to think about it.

It’s like you slip right through his hands, like sand escaping from between the scarred skin of his fingers, rinsing down his bone as every little speck of golden dust scratches, itches. A faint smile, sweet laughter echoing in his head as your touch, ghastly, unreal, traces over his thick shoulders from when you had introduced yourself, called him your lieutenant. It sends a shiver down his spine, one that lingers and blooms into heat. It had him palming himself through the fabric of his grey sweats, head against the cold, smooth wall, thin lips slightly agape, panting into the silence of an empty apartment. And the daydreams don’t stop. John surely was the type to eat you out before every round of sex, right? Would he just spread your legs, spit against your puffy pussy lips and dig in? Or would he sweetly coax you into opening your pretty thighs for him, kissing every patch of skin as you cutely mewled out his name? You must be so tight on his captain’s thick fingers, fingers that had been so distracting when they dug into Simon’s own bicep as John told him to stand down with that commanding voice of his. You loved John’s voice, too, right? John probably ruins you, makes your brain all mushy as it leaked out your skull and your clit was all swollen, painfully hard until his relentless strokes softened our bud into a twitching mess. With a stuttered ‘fuck’ he cums, right in his pants. His free hand grips into the couch, leaving imprints that would even themselves out in a few minutes, knuckles turn white. Lust and fascination mix, fuse into desire.

John isn’t cruel. He knows Simon is listening through the wall when he plays the video of your pretty cunt getting wrecked by him, turns up the volume so your sweet moans reach to his second in command. The obscene squelching noises, your cries of pleasure – only a taste of what Price was looking at; a pink, juicy hole clenching around his battering ram of a cock, fluttering, shaking from a previous orgasm. Your legs trembled, too weak to hold themselves up, your sobbing muffled through the concrete wall as they reach Simon. It’s purely divine for Price, having you back at home being his sweet girl and having Simon on base, always looking at him with a glance of guilt and want. Two pretty pets and all he needed to do was get the two of you acclimated at the right time.

Post mission. Some hostage rescue near the border of Siberia. A long week of freezing their asses off and biting through the cold before they returned home, to safety and warmth. Price knows Simon is too drained, too weak to say no, so he gently nudges him into a car, takes advantage of how exhausted, pent up Simon was. So quiet with shame, looking out the window as his captain drove him to the home you shared.

The look in your eyes when there stands a giant of muscle in front of you, filling out the doorframe, was adorable. Grazing on the edge to fear until you spot John still standing by the car, unloading. Simon, you remember, smiling at him to come in. So he follows you like a puppy catching a whiff of the tastiest meal he’s ever had. Settled on the couch with a cup of steaming hot tea he shoots badly hidden glances when John corners you against the kitchen counter, presses hot kisses against your skin. And while you are mumbling that there was a guest over, John shushes you with a slap to your clothed cunt. Suddenly Simon’s clothes were too tight, tea too hot.

“C’mere, Simon. ‘ve been eyeing my little angel so much, she’s getting impatient about you fucking her. Gonna give her what you can offer?”

Excitement runs scorching, all rationality melts away. His wide strides take him right to where you sat, his shoulders pushing against you, caging you while your rightful owner stepped back a little. Your hands meet his firm chest, your soft lips his scarred cheeks and he’s a goner.

Sloppy, wild trusts that pulled salacious noises from your drooling pussy meet your cervix, tip pressing up against each and every bump as your body curls up in pleasure, low, throaty cry silenced into Simon’s neck. Your back was pressed against the once cold marble, legs crossed around the thickness of another man’s waist – one even thicker, stronger, one who was opening you up further than you thought you ever could. His chest rubs against you, bare, his pelvis rolling against your skin, until its stained with glossy slick. The pleasure burns, makes your walls helplessly spasm against a force too strong until it gives up and lets his cock slide in even further while another orgasm is ripped from your body.

“She’s- she’s tight…you’re so fuckin’ perfect, luv.”

“Mhm…you hear him, sweetheart? Told ya he liked you, just needed to show him you were just as desperate to get a taste of him.”

You try to answer though in the stead of words, gargled moans were forced from your chest, echoes of your cunt getting wrecked. Deep, intense strokes knock the air from your lungs, a hand loosely around your neck. Your eyelids flutter, body tensing as you try to escape the pleasure that has become too grand. But no matter how you try to buck away your hips, make him slip out so your sore, gummy walls would get a well-deserved break, he wouldn’t let go, crammed into you with no intention of letting go. John enjoys the show, revels in Simon’s unsure looks, yearning for approval as well as your writhing body trapped under a man twice your size that could pummel you and anytime he wanted. Soft and rough clash, the stronger consuming the weaker and still Simon was careful not to break you, to add some sweet praise between the lines, giving you a minute to recover when you need it.

Your toes don’t touch the ground, your tummy pressed into the sturdy surface of the counter. Every tensing of your muscle shows in your desperate attempt to find some halt under your feet. You cry, thrash around, whimper Price’s name when your body starts shaking yet again. But you’re his good angel, so listen to him to take it, to relieve Simon and to put on a show he could thoroughly enjoy. And if the view of your pink pussy lips getting stretched around a monstrous cock wasn’t enough, he wouldn’t mind joining, getting you off again and again until you were reduced to a mindless mess. Simon had started groaning, back flush, cock twitching as yet another load fills you, kisses against the entrance of your womb.

His two playthings satisfying each other – a man like him couldn’t wish for more.

[crimsoncoatedscalpel]

Aftercare - 1: Transgress

click for chapter & character trope index ^

pairing: jack abbot x fem!reader

wc: 2.8k

synopsis: getting sexually involved with an attending wasn't a big deal, it was all in good fun-good fun that was contained to a very specific place, and that place wasn't the hospital. when working, you two were simply individuals who worked at the same place. but, should you cross that line, what would happen? (characters included/mentioned: j.shen, m.diaz, & p.ellis)

cw/s: explicit content w/plot (18+), implied age gap (but nothing creepy. reader is an adult. both parties consent), implied & descriptions of vulvar/vaginal anatomy, implied consent, slight manhandling/possessiveness, jealousy play, condescension, subtle brat taming, fingering (reader receiving, no described physical barriers), injuries (patients), care of injuries (patients), allergic reaction (patient), descriptions of blood draw (tourniquet, needles), potential medical inaccuracies.

a/n: set during s2 (2026), just not the same day (july 4th). no use of y/n, y/l/n, y/n/n, but terms like 'vampire' and "bloodsucker' are used. absolutely zero use of ai to write/edit. searching the pitt set floor plan is recommended if you'd like (extremely helpful with visualizing paths characters take and the layout of the rooms). reblogs are always welcome and appreciated! very nervous yet excited to be publishing a new type of fic. this is my first time writing and introducing smut into my writing, i hope you enjoy;) and as always, thank you. indulge.

"Lay down."

Jack was a playful man at heart, but when it came to sex? That could fade away real quick.

"You pissed me off tonight. Why should I lay down?" You retorted. If you didn't know the sun was beginning to rise on the way to his place after your shift, you would've thought it was night right now.

Jack's blackout curtains made the room nice and dark. Intimate.

He smirked at your argument, smug as ever and you wanted to slap and kiss it off of him all at once. "You need a reminder on how I can make you feel?"

You held your breath as his hands snaked down your waist, rounding your back before gripping your ass. Everything about him was firm, solid. He leaned in, ghosting his lips over yours before he spoke.

"Because I'll oblige. Lay down."

You held his eyes, unwavering in your fight. One that you didn't want to win in the first place.

"Oh." He cooed, cocking his head. "We're playing that game now, are we?"

"I'm not playing a game. That's all you, Jack."

He grinned, almost in awe at your attempts to throw him off. He wasn't buying what you were selling, not one bit. “Lay down."

You shook your head and his hands moved to cup your face, gentle yet firm. Not rough but not exactly coddling, either.

"Lay down."

"I'm not a dog."

He hummed in amusement, hiking your legs around his hips as he laid you down on his bed. The second your back hit the mattress, you began to giggle.

Giggles turned into breathy moans as Jack kissed and nipped at your neck.

"Don't be like that." His voice was nearly a purr.

"Like what?" Your eyes fluttered shut as you spoke.

"I don't know, you tell me."

You smirked. "I'm not being bad."

He spoke against your neck. "Mm, maybe not bad, but not good, either. You're being a brat."

"In the name of the game." Your smirk widened.

"Thought we weren't playing a game?"

"We aren't, you are. I'm just pushing your buttons. You're an easy man to rile up, Abbot-"

Your playful insult was cut short as his hand slid beneath your pants, settling over your underwear.

At your silence, he tutted. "I didn't tell you to stop."

You let out a breath.

"Go on, keep telling me about myself." He kissed your neck, fingers simply resting where you wanted him most. "You can do that, right? I think you can.”

Swallowing, you did as he said. "You're easy to antagonize, to get going-"

Yet again, you were cut off by him. This time, his fingers no longer hovered. They made teasing circles over you. You moaned.

"What was that?"

"Fuck you."

"Now or later?" He huffed out a small laugh. "Keep talking, or I stop."

"Jack, come on-"

"Ah-ah, don't start complaining now. You accused me of playing a game, now I actually am. What's your move tonight, hm? Continue being defiant or...?"

"Touch me."

He lifted his head, meeting your eyes. "Giving up so soon?"

You shook your head, lazily. "This little game you're playing calls for you to touch me when I talk about you. So, get to it, because I have a lot to say."

He almost looked proud, but he tried to hide it. He took his lower lip between his teeth as you began.

"You doubting my ability to find the veins of that patient earlier really pissed me off," You sucked in a breath as you spoke, Jack meeting your clit with more force this time.

"Yeah? Why's that?" He began to kiss at your neck again between words.

"Because you doubted me. I am best at finding the tricky veins, everyone knows it. They call for me specifically anytime other phlebs can't do it, and if you guys had it your way? I'd be the only one working."

"I know, I'm so sorry, baby." His voice was full of tantalizing mockery.

"Oh, fuck off. You doubted me in front of Shen-"

"Quit it." He interrupted, hand stopping its movements as his head rose from the crook of your neck to meet your eyes.

"What? Don't like the truth?"

"No, I can handle that. But I don't want to hear another man's name come out of your mouth when you're soaked because of me, do you understand?"

His little fit of possessiveness just handed you a perfect card to play.

"Hm, but his name is so relevant. He hasn't doubted me, he actually told me he knew I had it in me—that handling blood is in my blood."

Jack said your name with warning.

"And any time he had something to say about my performance? He told me in private. Such a gentleman."

"We're both gonna be pissed off now, stop."

You sat up, supporting the movement with your forearms behind you against the mattress. "Give me something else to talk about then."

He shook his head in disbelief, hand retreating as he rose to his knees in a manner that was mindful of his prosthetic. Moving off the bed, he rounded to the end, standing as he took your calves into his hands—which nearly disappeared into his grip. He began slowly pulling your lower half towards him and the second you were close enough, his hot hands found your hips, beginning to play with the waistband of your pants.

"Is this supposed to work? Because so far, I'm not impressed." You feigned indifference.

He didn't speak, working them down, then snaking them off.

His eyes focused on your clothed cunt, a hunger slicing through his gaze. Tonguing his cheek, he moved his eyes to meet yours as he looked down upon you, one of his hands atop your abdomen applying the faintest amount of pressure while the other traced your thighs. You played an unfair card, one that wasn't allowed, so now the weight of the situation was all yours to carry. He made sure of it.

"Uh-oh, looks like someone's bothered." You challenged him, hoping he would take your brattiness and turn it into his domineering solution.

"You're mean tonight." His voice was low as he spoke, cocking his head. "Are you asking for me to be mean back?"

"I told you, you pissed me off tonight-"

Your words ceased, courtesy of the gasp that escaped your lips. His fingers didn't dance over you anymore, they slipped past your underwear and inside of you. Two thick, hooked fingers that were glued to your most sensitive and reactive internal part.

"Keep talking about him."

Your brows etched together, suddenly breathy.

"What?"

"Talk about Shen." He ordered, free hand applying more pressure on your lower abdomen.

Through breathy moans, you did just that. "He's laidback, calm and collected. He trusts my abilities, apparently more than you do, and- fuck, Jack."

"That ended fast, didn't it?" He leaned forward, fingers not leaving you as his other hand dragged up your torso and to your face, covering the majority of your lower jaw as his grip sank into the plush of your cheeks. Again, not rough but firm. He wanted to ensure you were looking right at him. "See whose name comes out when you feel good?"

You nodded the best you could, given both his internal and external grips distracted you.

"Remember that."

The following night, you entered the ER with an increased air of confidence, ready for whatever the night would throw your way. Biting back a smirk as you saw Jack and John talking amongst themselves, you brushed right between them.

"Well, hello to you too." John spoke nonchalantly as he bit at the straw of his coffee.

"Nothing personal, Shen, I'm just ready to start."

"Okay Dracula, eagerness looks good on you. Hoping for some chaos?"

"Safe chaos, of course. Wouldn't wish any ailment or injury on anyone for a hit of adrenaline." You got enough from playing cat and mouse with Jack, anyways.

John raised a hand and you gave him a high-five. "Alright, let's get this party started, then. Got a mandible fracture coming in, ETA's five minutes but that was three ago." He informed as he walked off.

"Alright, heard. You know the drill, call me if you need me." You replied.

Not once since the second you walked in here have you looked Jack in the eyes or spoke to him, and that's because you often didn't speak much beyond anything to do with patients or the ED. You'd only been messing around with one another here and there for almost a month now, and in that month you learned how rule-oriented Jack could be, when he wanted to be. The moment you two kissed for the first time, he began to lay down the laws of the arrangement, a new variable every time he stripped a new piece of clothing from you. Maybe it's the veteran in him, but you didn't mind.

When you walked into PTMC, anything you two did together was left outside. You were no longer people who had sex together, you were colleagues. Not friends, colleagues.

Same applied for when you left work and walked into his house, anything you two did at work was left in the hospital. Last night, you broke the second part of that rule for the first time. It was bound to happen at some point. Did you have minor anxieties about what that meant for your casual escapades? Certainly, but, the first part remained intact. You brought work to bed, not bed to work, and you wouldn't start now. So, no thinking about it. Not here. All that would be on your mind was patients, patients, patients. That conversation would have to happen later, once your shifts were over.

Turning to leave, you were met with Jack's eyes on you. So intent, so obvious. Clearing your throat, you walked past him, stride faltering as you felt his hand brush against yours. You were always focused on keeping a safe distance between the two of you when at work, only close when vital like during an intense moment in a trauma room when you worked at an emergency blood draw was while he relentlessly worked to keep the patient stable. So, you knew for a fact he had to have reached out slightly to touch you.

Resuming your stride, you glanced back at him over your shoulder. His lips had the faintest grin on them, a grin that showed itself more in the creases around his eyes than the ones around his lips.

What was the point of that? Not that you didn’t like it, because you did, but you were curious.

John, Mateo, and Parker enter a trauma room with a seven year old girl. Mateo immediately began performing CPR while Parker bagged her.

"Can't you just shock her?"

"Unfortunately, not when a patient doesn't have a pulse. That's only in the movies." Mateo informed the mother, not wavering in his performance.

"So then what can you do?"

"On top of him doing CPR, we administer three-hundred micrograms of epinephrine, given her age." John answered, doing just that.

"I-I would've done that at home, but we can't afford it." The mother continued to cry.

Mateo looked at her. "What's your name, ma'am?"

"Marilyn. Marilyn Yacavone. And that's my girl, Briar."

"Okay, Miss Yacavone, we will send you home with some EpiPens, alright?" Parker reassured her and the woman nods, grateful.

"Hold compressions." John instructed, eyes glued to the monitor for stats. No improvement. "Resume compressions."

"Oh, my God, my poor girl."

"We're doing the best we can, I assure you." John did some reassurance of his own before checking the patient's airway, clicking his pen light on and peering down as Parker backed away, taking the BVM with her. The girl was still continuing to swell up, which wasn't good. Putting his pen away, Parker stepped in and resumed bagging her.

Jack passed by, having just finished up with the mandible fracture patient. He quickly began retracing his steps and entered the room. "What do we have here?"

Parker looked up from the BVM. "Anaphylaxis caused by eating a Reese's cup. Peanut allergy."

"No response to first dose of epinephrine, airway still swelling." John added.

"When and how much was the first dose?" Jack asked, snapping on gloves.

"About a minute or two ago, three hundred micrograms." John answered.

"Move that, let me see."

Parker moved away, taking the BVM with her yet again. Jack clicked on his own pen light, looking into the patient's mouth.

"Hand me a sixty mm OPA, please."

John moved fast, retrieving one and handing it to him. Jack immediately began inserting it into the girl's mouth, stopping once it advanced properly before turning his attention to Mateo, whose head began to bob with exhaustion. "Okay, swap with Ellis and call for her."

"Alright." Mateo responded, only moving once Parker was ready to replace him.

Sighing in relief, he exited the room, intent set on you. Jack didn't need to get specific, nobody ever really had to. Nine times out of ten, they meant you.

"She's on her way." Mateo announced as he reentered the room a couple minutes later.

Nodding in acknowledgment of Mateo's words, Jack continued to communicate with Parker and John.

"I'm going to hold compressions in exactly one minute, and if she's still asystole, we're administering another three hundred of epi."

"Aye, aye, Captain." John interjected as he grabbed the second EpiPen in preparation, should it be necessary.

Marilyn had gone quiet at this point, tucked away in a corner with a tissue help up to her mouth as she watched in subtle horror. Moving away from the gurney as Mateo took over bagging, Parker walked over to her.

"We're doing our best, we still have the second dose to administer and we may not even have to do that. We're not out of options, okay?" She gave Marilyn a small smile of reassurance before meeting the bedside again, just in time.

Jack held compressions, and there was still no pulse. He looked to John, giving him the go ahead.

"Second round of epi going in now." He poked the pen into her thigh.

Everyone's gaze went to the monitor, and after thirty seconds that felt like forever, there it was. Her pulse. Weak, but present.

Parker put her stethoscope on, checking the girl's breath sounds. "Still a minor wheeze, but otherwise good. Should we remove the airway now so she's not uncomfortable or?"

As she asked, you entered the room, walking to the patients bedside with a tiny bin of supplies in hand.

"I see we got a pulse back, that's great." You said, eyes fluttering up to Jack.

He swallowed, throat bobbing as he took you in. You and those damn wine-red scrubs, a sight for sore eyes. And the fact that you were looking up at him just then reminded him of other...circumstances.

Parker shifted, peering at Jack. If nobody was going to answer her about the airway, she wasn't going to sit and wait in a room full of people who were capable of removing it as well. "You still need me here?"

"No, we're all good here. Good work."

"About that airway, I vote removal, but what do I know." John interjected.

"Knock yourself out." Jack patted him on the shoulders. glancing over at you just as you began to speak.

"Hey, can we wait until after I draw her blood to remove the OPA, please? I don't want her waking up already afraid, the needle won't help." You plea, palpating both of the girl's arms for vein visibility.

"Fine by me, won't hurt to wait a minute more." John shrugged. "But then it's on you, too busy out there to wait."

Jack waved him off. "I got it."

"Can we steal Mateo, too? It's hectic out there."

"Yes, Ellis, you can steal Mateo. Things are...taken care of in here."

At Jack's words, the three excused themselves.

"Thanks for the confidence." You mumble to him, eyes finding the woman in the corner. "Is this mom?"

Marilyn nodded, coming over.

"Hi," you introduced yourself. "I'm a phlebotomist, solely here to draw your daughter's blood for confirmation on the trigger of the allergic reaction and basic labs to ensure everything else is good. Do I have your consent?"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever helps."

"Perfect. Does she have any allergies to latex, alcohol, or any kind of adhesives that you know of?"

"No, she doesn't. Just peanuts."

Once she finished answering, you began to respond to her as you turned to face the little girl. "If you'd like to stand by, I can walk you through the process.”

She nodded and you moved to the girls right arm, bumping into Jack. His hands moved to your waist, stabilizing you before quickly removing them as if you were hot to the touch.

"Shit, sorry."

"Watch your mouth." He joked, backing up. "I was in your way, actually, so don't be sorry."

Feeling your cheeks heat up at his playful demand, you returned your focus to the mom, trying to ignore the way his words went right down to your core.

"She has better visibility on this side, just at first glance, which is good. I'm going to start by applying a tourniquet to help those veins become more visible and raised so I can perform the draw."

She moved closer, nose in the air as she peered over your shoulder where Jack once was.

"And as you can see, we got some volunteers." You joked as her veins began to rise. "Now, I'm cleansing the site with an alcohol wipe, letting it dry before I begin the draw."

As it dried, you put the wipe away and grabbed the needle, working at opening the packaging and putting it together once out.

"I'm going to take three tubes, first one being a waste tube to ensure no air, second one red and third one gold. Both for the purposes I told you about, so no need to worry." Beginning to insert the needle, blood began to return as you stabilized it. At the sight, you grabbed the waste tube and popped it on the bottom, setting it on the bed and allowing it to fill as you released the tourniquet with your free hand.

"Now, I'm taking the gold one." you added, removing the waste tube and replacing it with the gold before repeating the same process with the red. Once finished, you hovered gauze over the needle but made sure not to press down on it during removal. The second the needle was free, you popped the safety on it with one hand while the other held pressure on the draw site.

"Doctor Abbot, would you mind throwing this in sharps? Or hold pressure on her arm while I do it, either works for me."

He'd been so enamored by watching you work that you addressing him caused the slightest flinch as he was brought back to reality. "Yeah, of course."

He took the needle and tubing attachment from you, disposing of it. You bit back a smirk, something so gentle in the way he moved.

Moving back to the job at hand, you turned to the mom. "Okay, she's stopped bleeding so now I'm going to leave the gauze and use this Coban wrap as an adhesive to keep the site protected."

He stood by the sharps bin, watching you wrap her arm as you told her mother about what to expect, offering to get a snack in for the girl for when she woke.

"That'd be nice, thank you."

"No problem at all." You smiled, keeping in mind to communicate the request with one of the nurses.

Grabbing your bin, you exited, but not without a small glance at Jack.

Snapping his gloves off as he exited the trauma room, having finished up with the anaphylactic patient, he looked up and saw you exiting six. You were constantly bouncing from room to room, performing draws with the grace of a swan. It was cute.

"Hey, bloodsucker."

Your eyes immediately worked to find his voice, and there he was, walking over to the hub. As you approached, meeting him in the middle, he glanced at you for a brief moment and then you were at his side, neck craned up to look at the trackboard.

"You're acting different." you spoke quietly.

He bit back a grin. "Me? No way."

"I'm not saying it in a bad way, it's just...different.

Not typical."

He pursed his lips, showing indifference. "After our little conversation this morning, I got some things to consider."

You looked at him, but he quickly corrected it.

"Eyes on the trackboard, don't be obvious."

Averting your gaze, you felt yet another jolt shoot down to your core.

"Work and home life? Separate."

"Yes, I know." You agree, "Blurring the lines could compromise focus."

"A talk here and there wouldn't hurt. Won't be anything obvious, just subliminal, if that. I'm a doctor before anything when I'm here, I wouldn't suggest anything interactive. Just maybe less zombie-like. Y'know, friends. And if we find it does compromise focus, we'll just go back to our usual scheduled programming."

"You make it sound like the morning news."

He shrugged, lazily. "Happens around the same time."

"Dick." you muttered, beginning to walk off. "Seems like you're the one who struggles with behaving. I'm off to do 'bloodsucker' things, bye."

"Yeah, bye." He said. "See you later." He added in a mumble to himself.

"See who later?" Parker entered the hub, meeting his side.

"My sanity, hopefully. Need me in six?" He gestured to the room.

"How'd you know?" She grinned, voice thick with sarcasm.

"It's almost like that's what I'm here for."

🏷️ taglist: @444-ngel

[milkteahood]

priest!male x atheist!fem reader

Note: just a smutty situation I wrote while trying to get back into writing lol

MDNI

Part 2

Dominic Callahan was a man of God. At least, that’s what he liked to tell himself. He dedicated his life to religion and now, at 35, he was a priest. That doesn’t mean he didn’t have friends. Father Callahan had all sorts of acquaintances and that is how he met Y/N. He first saw her at a get together, dressed in all black and very beautiful. Although he quickly pushed that thought from his head. He was a man of God after all, he could not have himself think such things. How she looked didn’t matter. The night went on, and as conversations go, it comes out Y/N is an atheist.

Dominic’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. But he was calm, composed, smiling. He wanted to help her. He wanted her to find salvation as he did too. He tried to open the subject.

What he did not expect was Y/N to be so versed in this. She was not an atheist for the giggles. She was an atheist because she read it all and it sounded like bull crap.

“God loves you so much, come back to Him” he tried when all his other arguments failed.

“If he loves me so much why did he create hell? Just in case I don’t love him back?” she snorted at him.

***

Later that night he was praying for her. “Please Lord. Please help her. She doesn’t understand you. Be so kind to her as you were to me”. Father Callahan was on his knees, praying to something that even he, in the depths of his heart, questioned at times.

***

Over the next weeks, Dominic kept inviting Y/N to get coffee together. He knew that if he were to invite her to church, she would’ve refused. So he settled. At least that’s what he told himself. It was just coffee. Just him trying to save a soul.

He didn’t expect her to come with a highlighted bible. And questions. Questions about morality, about the sheer favoritism of God, jokes about “oh, so genocide is ok if god does it?”. He tried to answer the best he could, but there were no good answers. He heard it too, all his life “you just have to have faith”. So what happens when you don’t have faith? Because Y/N had none. She wanted answers. And he could not provide them. Which angered him.

***

Their next meeting happened after she was the one that asked him out. She claimed she had some more questions.

“I was reading this part in the bible and I don’t understand. Let’s go for a walk while you ramble?” her texts read on his screen.

Of course he accepted, coated wanting to see her in this nobility of soul salvation.

***

They met in the park behind his church. Y/N specifically had questions about Lot’s story. Dominic thought it would be about morality, but no.

“So does god hate kink? Like there are probably buildings more depraved than that city, so why doesn’t he turn everything to salt?”

Dominic blinked. Once. Twice.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asked.

She just snorted “relax Father Conflicted. Don’t tell me you never thought about these things”. She laughed.

“This conversation is over” he stood, walked away. But she could see how flustered he was, which only made her smirk to herself.

***

Later that night he prayed again. But his prayers here rooted in anger this time. Anger at her attitude towards faith and worse… anger at how she made him feel.

“Lord, please” he started “she mocks you. Please help her and please… please help me”. But this time there was no answer. It made him wonder if there were truly ever any answers. No, he shut that thought quickly. He continued “please, please Lord” but he could feel it. The tightness in his pants. Dominic started grinding his teeth. When he got in bed, he rolled on his stomach and screamed in his pillow. Because he was not thinking about faith, he was thinking about Y/N. Her voice, her eyes, her lips, her face, her hair.

He didn’t want to do it. He knew he shouldn’t. He was biting his pillow.

“Forgive me Lord” he said, but his hand dipped lower. He unbuttoned his pants and wrapped his hand around his cock. Dominic sucked in the moan, and started stroking so slow, almost as if he was punishing himself. Like maybe if he did it slow, it wasn’t actually happening. But before he knew it, he picked up the pace, moaning and drooling on his pillow. His cock was drenched in precum and all he could think about was Y/N. He rubbed his thumb over the tip, wondering how it would feel to have Y/N lips around it. He hated himself for every depraved thought he had, but he couldn’t stop.

“Fuck.. f-fuck.. ahh~” he was biting the pillow now. He was crying in his pillow too, from the guilt, shame, stimulation, the thought of her under him and worst of all, how he didn’t want to stop. After a few more pathetic strokes, he came all over his fingers.

“You’re disgusting” he said to himself while his own cum was sticking to his fingers. He said that, but couldn’t help but wonder how that same cum would look like on Y/N’s lips.

And then, just like divine punishment, his phone buzzed. A message from her. A silly meme of a T-Rex boarding Noah’s Arc.

He stared at the screen and didn’t answer, couldn’t. What could he even say?

“That’s not very nice of you, also I came thinking about you?” No, that was pathetic. He felt pathetic. So he didn’t answer. He just laid in his bed, chest heaving, cum drying on his fingers. And then he got hard again, and started stroking himself again.

[snorinqfawnn]

John was… perplexed, to say the least. It was his first time at your apartment. After a long day of paperwork and faxes he insisted you go for a drink, but you denied and instead invited him over here.

Obviously, John was never the kind to be rude and deny an invitation, especially since you both had gotten closer. So, he spent the hour before coming over getting spruced up and ready. He changed into a nicer shirt, paired it with jeans he saved for special occasions, and even sprayed cologne.

When he finally arrived at your place, you welcomed him in with open arms. You showed him around your flat, and of course he expected a small tour, but what he didn’t expect, was the mass of Calico Critters.

The shelf in your living room was filled to the brim with miniature, fuzzy animals. He couldn’t think of a single species not there, all kinds of creatures being displayed. Displayed with them were houses, shops, cars, even a little doctor’s office, all meticulously arranged for viewing pleasure.

“Oh right— that,” you started, “That’s my trinket shelf. It’s mainly just the critters on there though.”

He couldn’t hide his shock, obviously you were paid well for the work you did but, really? This is how you spent the paychecks? Your smile was sweet when you turned to look at him, stifling a laugh as you patted his shoulder.

“Not used to seeing super cool collections like mine, huh cap?”

He returned the smile, with his own sarcastic look to it.

“Uh-huh, super cool, kid.”

[salted-snailz]

MDNI • 18+ • cw: needles, mildly suggestive, age gap

Imagine Jack Abbot doing your testosterone injection…

It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been on testosterone, you’ve always procrastinated doing your shot because stabbing yourself with a needle every week is just straight up annoying. Luckily for you, your boyfriend is a doctor. Who’s more qualified to do your shot than a doctor?

“Jack…” you whine out, looking towards the older man from your cozy spot on the couch.

He doesn’t even bother looking up from his book, simply responding with a “Hm?”

You nudge his outer thigh with your foot, getting him to look at you with a raised eyebrow, “Can you do my t shot for me?”

That certainly grabbed his attention. A cheeky smile creeps across his face as he closes his book, “I thought you’d never ask.”

It didn’t take very long for Jack to grab your shot kit from the bathroom and make his way back to where you were sitting. He sat before you atop the coffee table, putting on a pair of blue nitrile gloves. The snap against his wrist causing an unexpected flutter in your chest.

“Alrighty then,” Jack begins, vial in one hand as the other draws the oily substance into a syringe, “I’m gonna need you to either remove your shirt or lift it above your naval.”

You were quick to comply, raising the hem of your pajama shirt a few inches above your bellybutton. Jack nudged your legs open with his knee so he could get closer to you. He leans in, gently gripping your thigh as he swabs a small section of your stomach with an alcohol pad.

He looked so focused, so professional, it made your face feel hot. He pinched a fatty portion of your stomach between his fingers, easily and quickly penetrating the layers of skin with the thin needle.

Though you’d been on testosterone for a while, the intrusion still caused a small flinch. Jack looked up at you as he slowly pushed down on the plunger.

“Atta boy. Good job, sweetheart,” he praised with a low voice, “taking it so well for me.”

You nearly swatted him, he knew exactly what he was doing saying things like that, “Knock it off, asshole.”

He let out a soft chuckle as he retracted the needle, quickly placing a bandage over the injection site, “Wow, calling me an asshole after I did something so nice for you? How ungrateful.” He tutted with a small shake of his head.

After safely disposing of the needle in your sharps container, Jack pushes the rest of the kit to the side and plops back next to you on the couch. He places a still gloved hand on the injection site, gently massaging it.

“With an attitude like that, you better not expect me to be so helpful when you start getting all needy later,” he teases, using his free hand to pat your inner thigh, “we both know how worked up you get on shot day.”

This is probably really bad and/or boring sorry. I just had thoughts I wanted to share. Wanted to make this smutty but Jesus fuck I don’t have the creativity for that right now. Rip.

Anyways happy pride month to my Jack Abbot fanboys 💕🏳️‍⚧️

[starlitspiders]

a homelander fic where reader has invisibility powers and poses as a obsessed fan at a meet and greet but has been stalking him the whole time and he knows that but they get freak nasty anyway because he loves how devoted reader is to him 😵‍💫😵‍💫

totally wasn’t listening to starstuck by lady gaga while writing this 🫣🫣