#I DIDNT PROOFREAD

[kaisentine]

imagine rin snitching on you to sae about your little crush on him.

“…that was 11 years ago, sae.”

“you wanna watch big bro again?” the black-haired boy groans out in annoyance. “uh-huh!” you gleam out while smiling—flashing him with your braced teeth. you’ve been asking rin that question a lot recently and it’s starting to irk him a little bit. he isn’t stupid, he can put two and two together to compose a theory about you having something a little more than friendly feelings for his sibling. however, he can’t deny the fact that he does want to see his brother play too. that’s what brings you to the neighborhood’s field to watch the muddy-red-head kick around some stupid ball. it looks like sae didn’t seem to care about the two pairs of eyes watching him—it makes you question whether he even remembers rin shouting to him 30 minutes prior. “girl, you don’t even like soccer.” he deadpans next to you with this hands shoved into his jacket’s pockets—that is a very true statement—and the fact you don’t know anything about the sport other than playing against other people to shoot a ball into a goal. you stay silent to contemplate the answer (you’re lowkey just distracted by the way sae moves are so languid). “hey, i watch you play too!” you retort, suppressing the urge to punch his shoulder. “that’s because i ask you to,” so he’s doubling down and admitting he actually forces you to watch him play? “but last time i checked, i don’t see big bro asking you.” he finishes before sticking his popsicle back into his mouth. there’s no arguing with that so you don’t respond any further.

rin is very observant—he can tell your body stiffens whenever sae comes onto your radar even just for a second. the way you stop mid-conversation to hold your breath when he asks rin (and you but you do nawt speak) what you guys want for dinner when you stay over. rin can’t contain his laughter when his brother leaves the room. “what are you laughing about?” you sound annoyed and flattened after holding your breath—he has to hold his hand up to signal you to just wait until he’s done laughing. “what the heck was that?” he says in between chuckles. you catch onto what he means by that… you aren’t as sneaky as you think you are, are you? “it wasn’t that funny!” you finally get to punch his shoulder in embarrassment after he makes it very apparent that you are quite obvious. despite the fact you haven’t ever actually vocalized to him that you like sae yet, you basically already have. but he’s like an ongoing court case—everybody is innocent until proven guilty.

it’s the way you refuse to go anywhere in the itoshi house unless you’re with rin. he thinks you’re insufferable when you have to insist there’s a ghost who doesn’t allow you to go to the kitchen to get a glass of water—good thing rin is an exorcist! he begrudgingly leads you downstairs only to lean against the wall to wait for you to finish getting your water. oh but if sae is also there? you crawl your way back up the stairs with rin following close behind you, whispering displeased questions. “you just said you were dying of thirst!” he whisper-shouts the moment he closes his bedroom door—he’s getting real annoyed of your antics. “not anymore…” you’re pathetic, making him do a lot just to become a scaredy-cat? “i’d rather not drag a dead body out of my room.” he alludes as if you were actually going to die of dehydration.

you can’t just (basically) live at the itoshi household without interacting with sae at least once. panic begins to set in your stomach when you hear shuffling from behind rin’s bedroom door—is it a robber? is it a murderer? oh no, it is much worse—it’s sae! you hear the doorknob twist and it’s too late for you to hide under the bed or maybe the closet… aw shit—he’s already standing there in all his glory with rin’s training bag. “oh, it’s you.” he says in sight of seeing a familiar figure on his younger brother’s bed. “where’s rin?” he asks and cocks an eyebrow when you don’t respond immediately. why did he have to go looking for him at the worst time? (which is all the time) “h-he’s in the bathroom…” bruh wtf goes through your head which you mentally slap in absolute cringe at your stutter. “oh okay, i’ll leave his bag here. bye.” he drops the bag on the floor before taking his leave—without closing the door! you’re too flushed to care about the gesture. when rin eventually does return to his bedroom, he’s met with the sight of an open door and his friend looking traumatized on his bed.

or that one time where you accidentally clung onto sae after getting an adrenaline rush from a horror movie rin really wanted to watch. you didn’t understand why sae insisted on sitting next to you on the couch when there was a perfectly open spot beside rin. “…and i’ll blow your house in!” a crazed man wielding an axe says before hacking the white door in-front of him the scene was the equivalent to actually being chased and you subconsciously gripped anything beside you which turned into full on hugging. “uhm…” there’s a voice beside you that brings you back to reality. you look at the direction of the voice then hesitantly look up to whatever you’re hugging. oh. my. word. you are clinging onto sae’s arm. safe to say rin was in the middle for the rest of the movie viewings.

“can you just admit it?” rin grumbled after a match with another school. “no idea what y’er talkin’ ‘bout!” you sing-song happily while extending your hand to give him the water-bottle he asked for. his movements halted, the towel on top of his head being left there to rot. he looks at you like he hates you for saying that, he snatches his water-bottle like it’s a crime for you to even be holding it. the man in-front of you is absolutely tired of your bullshit that he has tolerated for at least 3 years. “admit it right now.” he’s a lot more serious and anticipating an answer—more than any other situation he’s asked you in. “legit, no idea what you’re talking about.” there’s a lot of things you do need to admit, like how you still need to admit that you’re the one who added the vinegar in his soy sauce… “you like big bro, don’t you?” he bluntly states. “w-what makes you think that?” you stutter like the one time sae directly spoke to you. “everything.” it’s disturbing how much rin means to you that you actually finally admit your feelings.

it’s like you’re the 3rd child of the itoshi family, being at the airport to watch (the love of your life) sae depart for another country. there were tearful goodbyes which you wanted to relate to but you couldn’t because then it would out you for liking him because you never really talked to him anyway. he was exchanging goodbyes with each of his family members—his dad, then his mom, lastly rin. okay… why’s he looking over to you… “it’s okay to cry over this, i know you’ll miss me.” he winks, his stupid bangs actually looking good for once—it feels like every blood cell in your body is rushing to your cheeks and ears. “why’d he say that…” you turn to rin who is beside you after sae turned his back towards everybody for who knows how long. “i told him.” he blurts out. “RIN!!!!”

your feelings were definitely not resolved that day. you still have silent beef with rin for him outing you, you didn’t even know he snitched until he told you! the last time sae was in the country other than for u-20, he had a really bad comeback with rin—making you ice over your affections (not an effective way for getting over somebody btw).

“so?” he’s condescending. the absence of his bangs make you realize how much more grown he looks now. however, the thing that you really take note of is his eyes. sure, he’s grown more into his face but the way his eyes are half-lidded and no longer the bright annoyed ones make you really question everything.

gosh—literally every time he speaks to you, you just can’t make up the words. that ‘that was 11 years ago, sae’ was probably all your confidence for the next 11 years to come. “a lot can happen during a decade.” you push through to retort, clutching the bag that hung lazily over your shoulder. out of anywhere, he chooses to confront you like this—after a game?

“i didn’t even say it myself, that was rin!” you defend yourself, not letting yourself give into his advancements. he steps forward and you know he’s shorter than rin but fucking hell… “i changed a lot, didn’t i?” it’s a rhetorical question—he knows you can tell. it’s like he was testing the waters because when you don’t respond but you don’t react violently either, he continues, “i’m not stupid either. you don’t think i couldn’t tell?”

which event was he referring to? what if he was referring to when… oh not now. “okay, so what if it was true? that doesn’t mean i like you anymore.” you scramble around your thoughts to find words. “too bad, i still like you.”

ugh, i waited this long.

ALSO I JUST WANNA THANK EVERYONE 🙁🙁🙁 thank you guys for 100 followers :)

[fuckzachariah]

xvii. i'd have to think about it ; @aleburton

Zach, on the ride to the airport, was channeling concerted effort into ignoring Kylie’s hand and its slow, painful creep up his thigh, her mouth on the soft crevice behind his diamond ear, as he argued with Amanda on the phone. “I already told you, this ain’t about me,” he huffed, half-breathless. She was of the opinion that his following Kylie to New York this time around was the perfect opportunity to broach the subject of signing with the Label and meet professionally with Andrew Dupree beyond their occasional correspondence. Touching base, they say, and the formal language makes Zach’s gut twist with discomfort like trying to force his form into a slot too tight to fit. “It doesn’t have to be at the damn dinner, Zach, I’m not asking you to rock the boat with Kylie.” He subtly pressed the reduce volume button on the side of his phone, but Kylie had heard. She giggled softly against his skin, the vibrations rippling like a skipping stone to a lake face. His chest puffed out, dousing out his bodily response to the sensation. “Uh-oh,” Kylie whispered, rolling his earlobe between her teeth. “What if your scary girlfriend heard that?” He laughed, pulling the phone away from his mouth as he shoved her away. “Fuck off,” he chided. Amanda yelled into the air. He brought the phone back to his ear. “I’m sending him this presentation deck tonight. If you won’t ask him to sit down with you, I’m gonna tempt him until he’s knocking your door down begging. I’ve waited two years for you, Winthrop, but your time’s up.” He was hardly listening; Kylie’s tongue ebbed like a threat on his throat. “Right, right. See you, Amanda.”

He hadn’t been on a plane in almost two years, aside from a two-week vacation to The Bahamas on his birthday. Nothing since the end of Kylie’s tour. He had lived, as close as he possibly could, a pretty regular life in his time off. It was evident in the way he now operated, after twenty-four months of outpatient therapy and ridding his life triggers or particular stressors; he was not the man the world knew him to be anymore. Even traveling domestically now was an interesting sensation; he used to take planes like anyone else would climb into their cars to work, but he was finding his legs again. Surrounded by a flank of security, phone cameras and DSLR paparazzi cameras pointed and flashing in their direction, sneakers squeaking to keep up with the couple that’d held Hollywood by the neck during his entire hiatus. He spoke nothing of his flitting anxieties, however. He swallowed them down as passing upsets. Bowing his head to the flashes, he waved with one hand and held Kylie’s with the other, allowing her to pull him through the crowds to their destination. He remained silent, shutting out the calls of fans around him, thinking only of putting one foot in front of the other until they were safe inside their VIP lounge.

Kylie held her phone to her ear now, muttering frustratedly in a way that was classically her; such that, if confronted with her own bad mood, she had plausible deniability. “Okay, well, just text me as soon as you’re on the way to the airport - I’m not freaking out - and I’ll try delay the meeting if I need to. Okay. No, I’m fine. Okay, bye.” Zach eyed her, nerves settled and usual confidence weighting his veins. “All good?” She shook her head, swilling a glass straw around a sparkling ice water, lemon and mint. “Something about Lenny’s husband having an accident. I guess he fell down the stairs, I don’t know.” Zach tilted his head, watching her carefully. Once upon a time, he knew the girl who would’ve canceled her trip just to check he was okay. “I get it, it’s just. Ugh. It’s so frustrating. I need him there.” Zach rubbed her shoulder and culled her into his chest. “He’ll be there,” he muttered into her hair, a waft of vanilla warming in his chest. “And if he isn’t, we’ll figure it out. Don’t worry.” He smiled. “He’s only a multi-millionaire CEO with your entire future in his fat back pocket. Nothing to worry about.” She scoffed, slapping him on the hard hilt of his chest. “You are incorrigible,” she chastised, the corner of her mouth giving her away. “Can’t be reformed if I’m never punished,” he grinned.

But the closer the hour crept, the less and less likely it became that Lenny would make it on time. “You can always reschedule, if you’re freaking out that much about it.” Kylie paced their hotel room, a grand archway framing her frantic movements. “I’m not freaking out,” she protested, pointing at him where he sprawled wide on the chesterfield. He snorted, pounding out a pillow to rest on. “And I just got promoted to General Manager at Wendy’s. Hey,” he posited sarcastically, now kicking another pillow into place to balance his crossed ankles. “Is this improv?” She let out a frustrated groan and pounced on him, straddling his hips and rocking her little fists into his chest as she scolded him; “Shut. The fuck. Up. Please. Do something. Helpful.” Zach laughed hysterically, arresting her wrists in mid-air as she struggled against him, shaking his head. “Like what? You want me to come hold your hand at dinner tonight?”

Kylie stopped suddenly, arms going limp in his hands as she stared out the floor-to-ceiling window dressed in draping curtains behind him. “Wait. Yes.” She looked down at him, hopeful. “Would you?” Zach thought about this for a moment, weighing his options. He didn’t want a repeat of their first meeting; but then again, this wasn’t supposed to be a meeting, was it? It was supposed to be a classic schmooze; a celebratory dinner in Kylie’s honor. And she was asking him. He’d had other plans to meet some friends he hadn’t seen in a while, but her eyes sweltered diamond blue, and he relented. “If you want me to.”  She beamed, leaping from him to find her phone in the upheaval of belongings at the foot of the California king bed. “Thank you, thank you! This will be fun,” she insisted, locating the device and tapping incessantly on the screen to text Andrew. “I’m gonna tell him. Oh, and see if he can grab any non-alcoholic champagne.”

[fandomfantasyy]

Oh okay I'm screaming finally someone who writes for Cookie Run Kingdom

Could you do a Alchemist Cookie x Reader (gender neutral) oneshot where they go out on a date? To me she's severely underrated

𝜗୧ ,, alchemist cookie x gn!reader !!

꒰꒰ type ;; oneshot ,, ꒰꒰ pov ;; 2nd person ,, ꒰꒰ cw ;; n/a ,, ꒰꒰ characters ;; gn!reader, alchemist cookie, unnamed waitress ,, ꒰꒰ fandom ;; cookie run kingdom ,, ꒰꒰ note ;; happy to have you as my first requester, anon!! i completely forgot to specify in my rules that i also ask for pov, which is completely on me, so i hope 2nd person is okay!! pls lmk if not and ill repost with the pov of your choosing <3 (i also went with grammatically correct typing so i rlly hope thats okay, it bugs me when its all lowercase 😭) ,,

⌒ 𓈒 fanfic under the cut !! ꒱

ㅤIt took awhile to convince Alchemist to break away from her, well, alchemy, but you convinced her in the end. The smell of the café hit you as soon as you walked in the door, scents of coffee and oddly enough cinnamon, not a usual smell for this café, filling your sensors.

ㅤWas a café cliché? Well, yeah. But it was the only place you thought that would fit her restless behavior while also bringing her to an easy date. (Listen, elaborate dates are hard to plan and surprise her with due to how quick she thinks of… well, everything.)

ㅤYou and Alchemist sat down after taking your orders- including the new cinnamon themed desserts- and you smiled as you listened to her latest little ideas for new experiments, inventions, and formulas. You wanted to stop her, tell her she shouldn't be paying attention to work, but… honestly, seeing her get all excited over it was sweet. If it wasn't a stressful thing for her and she enjoyed it, that was all that mattered.

ㅤYour food was delivered shortly, with a quiet, "I hope you enjoy your food" from the waitress. You nodded and paid early, sipping your drink of choice as you stared and listened to Alchemist speak.

ㅤEncouraging her to continue, you answered quickly with a small, "What are you working on right now?" Her eyes lit up.

ㅤ"Oh! Well, uh, right now, I'm working on a new experiment! If I do it right, it could be revolutionary! Basically, it starts with…" She just continued on, stammering through her idea here and there when she had to stop and remember where in her experiment she was. She even doodled a few quick sketches to better help you understand.

ㅤAll you could think of was how sweet it was seeing her light up in excitement anytime someone cued her to talk about her theories or experiments or, well, anything. Even when experiments failed, you loved talking to her about them, or better yet, helping her with them so you could see her excitedly watch as anything she did slowly came together.

ㅤJust going to a café for a date, no matter how cliché someone could make it out to be, was the perfect day with her as the sun set on the other side of the glass windows. ♡

[erwinsvow]

𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠

summary: jack abbot really needs to stop overhearing conversations that he's not a part of.

author's note: here it is!! my first ever jack abbot fic ♡ thank you to everyone who has been reading the little paragraphs so far! hope you all like it!

word count: 9.7k

warnings/tags: virgin, fourth year med student reader and attending jack. age gap relationship. loss of virginity, oral sex, lots and lots of praise kink <3 normal hospital lingo and descriptions of procedures.

jack abbot knows better than to listen to the nurses gossiping. he does—because listening to them never leads to anything good. if he’s caught eavesdropping, he gets dragged in. loses money that was never meant to be spent on the bets—and seriously, the employees of this hospital have a gambling problem. 

other times he hears things he really wish he hadn’t heard. it’s just not relevant to him, he doesn’t want to know things about people that he’s not meant to know. maybe it’s a military thing, but he can’t really explain it. maybe jack is just used to keeping secrets and minding his own business. 

and the last thing that jack really doesn’t like about overhearing gossip is that sometimes, rarely and reserved only for special information, it gets trapped in his brain and becomes the only thing he thinks about for the rest of the shift. 

this is one of those times. 

he knows better—that’s what keeps coursing through his mind when he stands on the opposite side of the nurse’s station at central. keep his ears shut, eyes down, because the last time he was standing here unarmed, he learned about a pregnant technician upstairs and the married surgeon who was the father. information that he did not, does not, want to know. nor did he want to learn about the surgeon’s wife who was a nurse in the pediatric ward, or the technician’s boyfriend who is on a work trip in florida.

he thinks that was child’s play compared to this conversation. 

when jack glances up, he sees you on the other side of the desk, leaning forward on your elbows, smiling and laughing with the nurses. 

you’re a fourth year—he should let you smile and laugh while you can. you’re in that perfect, peaceful transition period between your audition rotations ending and finding out where you’re going for residency. it’s supposed to be an enjoyable time—there’s no exam prep waiting for you at home, no stressful surgery rotation coming up next week. 

jack didn’t know too much about you—you’d mostly been on the day shift for the duration of your rotation. that was normal, keeping all the students together when the majority of the doctors were there too. made it a little easier to manage.

you were a little different though. just a little. you’d specially asked to try out the night shift for the rest of the time you’d be at the hospital. it’s not the weirdest request they’d ever heard, but just unusual. fourth years cherish sleeping and spending time with family and boyfriends and organizing their life before being thrown head-first into intern year. 

(at least, that’s what jack thinks you’d cherish. the little he knows about you has been transferred from robby and a comment from the residents every now and then. all good things, and when he’d told you the night shift was your chance to prove all the good things he’d heard about you, you had beamed at him.

a smile so bright he had lost his train of thought and had to walk back to what he’d even said to begin with. he tries not to think about it when he sees you smiling like that to your patients or the nurses, like you are now. but it’s not the same one, he can tell. the one you smiled at him had been a little different, something in your eyes had lit up too, you had stood up straighter, like a current had made its way through you at the compliment. or something like that.)

and you had definitely been proving yourself. jack had learned maybe last week that you had applied emergency medicine. it made sense then, why you wanted to try out night shift, since first year interns eventually do night float. it was just practice for the future. which was great, and very exciting for you, but just not what he had expected. 

you were just so… happy. patient. you had seemed disappointed on your first day to learn that most of the emergency docs only wore black scrubs. you made up for it in other ways—a pink stethoscope, colored pens, a badge reel with a little cartoon on it. 

even looking at you now, fiddling with the pulley on your badge, listening intently to whatever the nurse was telling you, and then smiling in that reassuring way that he’s seen you do, you look like you shouldn’t be here. he briefly considers finding that surgeon’s wife, the pediatric nurse, to take you up there for a couple of hours. jack doesn’t think you would want to come back down, but, well, what does he know about you?

certainly not much. even if he had noticed the way you are with your patients—filled with an abundance of caring, a melodic tune to your voice, trying your hardest to comfort, repair, heal. he had seen you fetch cups of water and sandwiches yourself, not wanting to bother nurses. every sentence had a please and thank you attached. it didn’t take long for you to win over the patients. then the nurses. then the residents, and the attendings.

it seemed that your goal was to win over all the attendings. 

jack is still staring at you. but you’re so focused on your conversation with the nurse that you don’t even notice. and he has to stop before someone else notices, forcing himself to look down at the chart in front of him, trying to remember why he’d even come over here in the first place.

and that’s when he hears it. 

“-but i would have never guessed. you’re so pretty!” the nurse says, and he knows she is talking about you, because, well, who else would she be talking about? 

you are pretty, as unprofessional as the thought feels even entering his head. you’re very pretty, and the way you talk to everyone like they’re the most important person in the world to you only makes you prettier. 

jack almost clears his throat, before realizing that he is, in fact, eavesdropping. he can’t interrupt a conversation he’s not even a part of. and much to his chagrin, realizing that he is terrible at this, he tunes back into your conversation. 

“yeah, but it’s not about that,” you say, and you sound a little different. like you’re flushed. the words come out hesitantly, quietly. “it’s about... finding the right guy, right? i didn’t want to rush it and then regret it.” 

he hears the nurse laugh, and you laugh a little too, followed by a little groan. “i guess it is embarrassing,” you continue, before stopping, interrupted by the nurse. jack looks up briefly—you’ve got your head resting on your forearms, leaning down against the counter. he keeps looking until you bring it back up.

“no, it’s a good thing. especially in hospitals. keep your legs closed otherwise you’ll end up like that pregnant tech upstairs-”

“but that’s so horrible. his poor wife works here. and she has a boyfriend, how do you do that-” 

he keeps listening, his own face a little flushed. he both wants to and absolutely does not want to hear the rest of your conversation, but even through the fog, he thinks about how your only reaction to that bit of circulating gossip was how bad you feel for the wife. his heart beats a little faster.

“well don’t worry about that, you won’t have to deal with it as long as you stay a virgin-” you and the nurse laugh, and the phone starts ringing, and the charge nurse answers. 

she calls out, yelling for dr. abbot, and so lost in his thoughts—in your thoughts—he doesn’t even hear his own name being called for a couple of car accidents that were incoming. when he turns back to look, you’re already gone.

he needs to shake off whatever you’ve just done to him. his feet automatically take him to the trauma bay, gearing up for whatever is coming, but when he gets there, you’re standing there, waiting. a yellow gown already on you, gloves pulled. and in your hands, another gown and set of gloves—extra large, he can tell from the color. the ones that he wears. 

“dr. abbot,” you say, handing both items to him. “i heard from bridget, is it okay if i assist?” 

“yeah, sure, kid-” he thinks for a moment that he hasn’t felt this way in a long time. and how the hell is one tiny piece of gossip enough to have his head spinning like he’s some teenage boy? how does that work, when he’s never cared about workplace rumors or any of the other hundreds of medical students he’s worked with before? 

you beam up at him again, saying thank you. eager to prove your worth like always. you disappear behind him, and jack is confused for half a second before he feels your fingers on the skin of his neck—briefly, just another half of a second. you’re tying the gown for him.

how is that you’re this kind, this pretty, and you’ve never had someone to take care of you the way you take care of everyone else? that can’t be right. that can’t be fair. 

oh god.

jack wants to tie the back of yours, thinks that maybe twenty years ago he’d be a lot quicker on his feet to do what he wants with the information he’s just learned. but instead he hears the ambulance sirens pull up, and he sees the back of your head while you rush out to meet them, and he actually, for the first time in years, has to force his feet to move. 

you were so close behind him, he could smell it. not perfume, that would wear off quickly with how much they run around. it was your soap and your shampoo. clean and sweet and something like strawberries lingering in the air after you’ve taken off.

but he’s stood next to you before—how is it that this is the first time he’s noticed?

half way outside, you turn around, realizing jack’s not right behind you.

“dr. abbot?” you question, taking half a step towards him, the opposite direction. 

“yeah, coming,” jack answers and he follows you outside.

-

the mvc’s weren’t in the worst shape jack’s ever seen, but still bad enough that he needed to snap out of it. he doesn’t even want to think about how bad the rumor mill would be if word got out that he lost a patient because he couldn’t stop staring at the twenty-something medical student. (though it is hard to stop staring. how the hell did robby ever work with collins? how did he get anything done?) 

it’s not like jack is going to find out. you are strictly off limits. 

he tries to do what he always does—asks you questions. how many milligrams should you give the patient? what are the three things you should be the most worried about? the patient’s got a broken wrist from trying to brace for the impact but that’s the least of your worries, so how do you deal with it for now? 

the first one gets stable pretty quickly. the second one is where there’s more concern. he comes in, ellis saying something about the patient’s crashing and there’s a big piece of debris jammed in his chest. 

jack goes in there and he spares a glance at you. the intensity of the situation is enough to make you a little flushed, even though you’ve done an emergency rotation during third year and two auditions already this year. but it’s a good thing—you take every case as seriously as though it’s your first. worry about each patient like they’re your own family, like each step is your responsibility. 

he calls you over, asks you what medications you would give if you had to intubate. 

“uh, etomidate a-and rocuronium?” it comes out like a question, like you’re still a little uncertain, even though you’re right, like you don’t believe in yourself enough to say confidently.

he’ll have to change that. help you work on that. he can think of it now—maybe you would learn best if you had some kind of a reward system. you seem like the kind of girl who would benefit from that. maybe if he asked the questions from between your thighs and your reward was—

“dr. abbot?” the sound of your voice snaps him out of it.

“yeah. good. very good,” jack says, and he turns his head just slightly, just so he can see you beam again. “you heard the doctor. let’s get prepped for the intubation.” you move out of the way for ellis to come in, when he stops you. “no, you’re going to be doing it.” 

you pause, uncertain eyes staring up at your attending.

“a-are you sure? don’t you think you should-”

“i think you’re perfectly competent to intubate.” “you guys got this,” ellis says, taking her stethoscope around her neck and heading out. the nurse tells you that they’re all set up. you hear the blare of the heart monitor, another nurse reading off the vitals, all the way to the pulse-ox that’s too low. 

“i’ll be here the whole time,” jack says, and you really, really wish he hadn’t said that. he’s close to you, handing you the laryngoscope. 

in moments like these, you realize why you were always meant to do this. you pick up the scope, carefully lowering it into the mouth and the top of the patient’s throat.

“don’t make any sudden movements. you don’t want to break his teeth,” jack instructs, his voice a gentle guide. you do know how to intubate, you must have done it a hundred times on the dummy in the skills lab. but you’ll never get over how different it is when it’s a real patient, how scared you get even when you shouldn’t be, because the doctor should never be scared like that.

but then you hear dr. abbot’s voice again. quiet, maybe even quiet enough that the other people in the room can’t hear. 

“i-i don’t see the cords-”

“take a breath. use your hand to extend the neck, get it straighter.” you listen to his instructions, hands moving by themselves to comply. “try again.” you’re looking down, and the nurses are looking at the video, and jack is looking at you. “past the epiglottis.” you push the tube a little further. “past the larynx.” a little further. “and cords.” 

you take a breath like you’ve never taken one before. the capnometer turns yellow and you finish out the steps, the rest feeling like muscle memory before handing it over to the nurse. the patient’s going up to surgery, but you make it outside the trauma room taking deep breaths to ground yourself.

“you okay?” dr. abbot asks from somewhere behind you. 

you turn to see him taking off the gown and gloves, the ones you had handed him. maybe you’d never noticed it before, but he’s got freckles over his forearms. maybe he spent a lot of time in the sun as a kid. when you don’t reply, thoughts trapped in your head and words not forming, he speaks again.

“come here,” and he guides you to the empty corner between the trauma room and the hallway. his hand hovers over the small of your back as he leads you there.

you’re going crazy—there’s no way you could feel his body heat through your scrubs. and yet the sensation lingers. he faces you, and you look up, blinking quickly. you don’t think you’ve ever been close enough to dr. abbot to see the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, or how the hair along his temples is more salt than pepper. his eyes bore into yours, and you stare up, forgetting the reason that you had even needed to speak to him. 

“are you sure you’re okay, kid?” he asks again, and you nod quickly.

“yes. yes, i’m sorry, dr. abbot.” you turn to look at the trauma room, looking at the nurses hovering over the patient you had just intubated. when you turn back to look at your attending, you realize he’s staring, just like how you were staring. 

“what are you apologizing for?”

“i-i forgot the steps. you-you had to talk me through it. i should have known,” you try to explain, though words and sentences become harder to form with each passing moment. 

“you’ve done how many of those, now? a handful? less than ten?” you nod. “you don’t have to be perfect here. you just have to try. and keep going, which you did.” you release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. “good job, doctor. you saved the patient.” 

“thank you dr. abbot.” you smile, beaming again, just not in the way you usually do. you’re still not that proud of yourself, jack can tell. 

the voice in the back of your head tells you that you should have been better, faster, more confident. you can’t imagine that ellis or shen or even your attending had been this hesitant as a medical student. 

“it’ll come with time, you know. no one’s perfect when they start out.” 

“did i say that out loud?” you question seriously, confusion spread all over your pretty features.

“no.” 

you’re so stupid—but maybe being so close to your serious, yet growing kinder by the millisecond attending was getting to you. the attending that you really want to impress, for reasons still unbeknownst to you. you want him to like you, to take you seriously, to think that you’d be a great candidate for their intern class starting in july. 

and then you lose your train of thought, staring at his eyes. it’s been too long, people are going to wonder where the two of you went.

but his eyes aren’t actually brown, like you thought. they’re hazel. 

“yeah,” he says, with a laugh. “they are.” 

your own eyes go wide like coins, and then you run straight to central to find a patient to preoccupy you from the embarrassment that is seeping out of you, leaving jack abbot laughing to himself in the empty corner between the trauma room and the hallway. 

the rest of your night shift is surprisingly uneventful. you had heard it was a bit calmer, but you didn’t expect such a drastic difference. but maybe it was just one of those nights. ellis wouldn’t let shen say the actual word, but you were all thinking it. it was kind of quiet tonight.

and normally, jack appreciates a quiet night. it’s like a little peace offering from god, akin to a slap on the back and a ‘thanks for your service’. he needs one every now and then, it’s the way only way to make sure for certain that he doesn’t end up on the roof a step closer than the last time.

though, staring at you from across the emergency room, watching you drink from your colorful water bottle and smile at shen and ellis, thanking them for their help while you work on notes, is certainly another way to make sure that jack abbot doesn’t think about that roof.

it’s only three in the morning though. there’s always time for the night to get worse. they’ve got four hours left, and he knows you’re off tomorrow.

well, he knows that he’s off. and then he took a peak at the schedule in one of his many free minutes tonight to see where you’ll be. he hopes the answer is at home, sleeping and eating and letting your body recover from the damage night shift does to your circadian rhythm. 

(he needs to cut it out. attendings have no business wondering what their bright eyed and bushy tailed fourth years are doing on their days off.)

but god if it doesn’t plague him—the fact that unlike what he thought, there’s no boyfriend waiting for you at home. no one to hear about your stressful day at work, the intubation that you did—perfectly, just with a little help from your overbearing attending, all the patients that you helped, and the great impression you made on the night shift. how he sees you answer every nurse carrying a question from patient with all your energy, even in the middle of the night. how you fill up a cup of ice chips for the patient waiting to go up to surgery, comforting them while knowing it’ll be sunlight outside when they’re finally taken up. 

and then he sees you sit down, taking a breath like you need to remind yourself to breathe sometimes. 

it’s just a little bit wrong. whatever he’s thinking, before he’s even thought it, it’s wrong. but how is it that you have all these things to be proud of, and no one at home to be proud of you? jack can sense it in the way that your smile grows every time you find out someone has something kind to say about you. every good job and well done is catalogued somewhere in your mind, and you wait ceaselessly for the next one, like an addiction. 

jack would spoil you, he thinks, for other people. for other men. he would praise you. he would tell you how perfect you are so many times that you wouldn’t be able to forget, that you would never doubt yourself again. that’s what you need waiting for you at home—the thing that can make it all better. 

and as wrong as it is, he knows he could do it for you. 

you look around the room and find hazel eyes staring right at you. your heart thuds in your chest. 

you smile at dr. abbot, and then look back down your notes. a minute later, you look up again, and he’s still looking. smiling. and now you can’t look away either. you had heard about the eye contact thing from other residents, it’s just a habit, they had said. you try not to flatter yourself that your attending is looking at you like he knows everything about you, including the things you don’t say out loud.

why does he have to be so nice to you? why does he have to laugh and smile even when you’re making an idiot of yourself? you should go up and apologize for that bit about the hazel eyes, though you think you might collapse into a puddle and melt into the ground if you have to bring it up again.

but you’re on for six more night shifts before the audition ends, and you ranked ptmc pretty high on your list—which may have been a mistake if you can’t stand in the presence of one of your attendings without turning into a flustered mess.

he hasn’t even done anything besides be nice to you. of course it’s that easy to unnerve you. you keep looking, watching the nurse who stopped to ask dr. abbot a question, how jack turns to talk to him, making eye contact that you were just at the receiving end of.

when the nurse walks away, jack turns back, looks right at you again. you can feel your face heat up like you just ran a mile. is this one of those things that’ll go away when you’re not a virgin anymore? that’s a heavy question for three-thirty in the morning.

here’s another one—how is every person in this hospital not in love with him?

you fluster and turn, breaking eye contact and keeping your head firmly staring at the computer screen. he laughs to himself again, walking off to check on a patient from earlier. the next time your eyes look up, they automatically go to the counter where jack was. you turn back and finish your notes.

“hey,” shen says, sliding into the empty seat next to you a while later. he opens the drawer under the desk, lifting up papers and pulling out a packet of goldfish from underneath. “forget what all these other people told you. your first rule is eat when you can.” you smile at that.

“noted. that’s a good hiding spot. inconspicuous.”

“that’s the goal. don’t tell the day shifters. it’ll be empty in an hour.” 

“i won’t. promise.”

“is your mvc still waiting for surgery?” 

“i think so, yeah,” you sit up a little straighter. you have this fear that you’ve done something wrong, that it’ll all be revealed in time.

“don’t worry, that’s normal this time of the night. i’d go check on him like once an hour and report to abbot. just because it’s-well, i’m not gonna say it.”

“right. got it. will do.” you get up, feet stumbling a little. it is pretty late. your watch says four-thirty, but you’re not tired. you’re just anxious.

you make your way to the patient’s room, the nurse filling you in on the updates in the last hour. there’s not many, thank god. you stare at the pulse-ox on the monitor for way too long, going over and checking to see that he is, in fact, still breathing. it’s silly. you know it is.

the nurse says she’ll be right back, and you look at the chart for another minute or so, trying to formulate the words you’re going to say to dr. abbot now so you don’t have to form them on the spot—god only knows how that might go.

you turn to head out, looking at the notes on the tablet in your hand, when you run into a brick wall.

“oh my god-” you almost drop the ipad, clutching onto it while it nearly tumbles out of your grip. jesus, how tired were you? walking into walls? but then the wall brings a hand to your shoulder, and that voice that’s been haunting your thoughts all night speaks.

and for what can only be the hundredth time that night, dr. abbot asks you if you’re okay.

you stare up at him. 

“you okay, kid?” 

“yes. i’m so sorry, dr. abbot. i was coming to find you.” 

“i figured. how’s your patient?”

“stable. waiting for surgery. i-i… nevermind.”

“you what?” he asks, gently taking the ipad from your hand and reading. he uses one hand to wipe his eyes, like he can take away the tiredness that way, and then runs a hand through his hair. you put your trembling fingers to your sides. he brings his eyes up from the screen to look at you. you really wish he wouldn’t.

“i was just making sure he was still breathing.” 

dr. abbot smiles at you. you smile back, but it’s half-hearted. your chest is thudding so loudly you can hear it in your ears. but his smile fades when he catches a glimpse of your shaking fingers.

“have you eaten today?”

“i had some coffee. and some water.” 

“the patient looks great. he’ll be fine. let’s get you something to eat.” 

you shut your eyes tightly, but your brain is so tired you don’t even know what you’re thinking. you’ll have to get better at this if you want to keep working here someday.

mindlessly, you follow dr. abbot. 

“between five and seven is the hardest part of the shift,” he says, opening up another drawer, different from shen’s. he hands you a protein bar. “and too much coffee is a bad thing. we don’t want your hands shaking if you need to put in a chest tube or thirty sutures at six am, do we?”

you shake your head, taking the protein bar from his hand. your fingers brush for all of two seconds. jack feels like he just touched a live wire.

“eat,” he says, and you listen. “you’re doing good, you know. it’s not supposed to be easy.”

“thank you,” you say, though your mouth is full. you lift your hand to cover, because even though it’s five am, you cannot embarrass yourself any further. “sorry about the hazel eyes thing.”

jack laughs and you smile. he has a really nice laugh, the kind that can make you calm down and forget what was bothering you all night. it really is a wonder that everyone here isn’t in love with him. you don’t even know how much longer you’ll be able to last.

“that’s okay. you’re tired.”

“everyone’s tired,” you clear your throat, sitting up straighter. “i think i’m just going crazy.”

“yeah, why’s that?”

“because i can’t stop thinking about you.”

well. looks like that’s about how long you were able to last.

you put the protein bar down on the counter. hands trembling again, mouth dropped open.

“dr. abbot, i am so sorry-” the words come out in a shaky breath, but when you look at him, when he finally moves his gaze back to your eyes, like he’s been doing all night, you see that he’s not mad. he’s not even upset.

“that’s okay-”

“no, no that is so not okay,” you blubber, words and sentences becoming harder to find by the second. “i am so sorry. that is so unprofessional.”

“well, i-”

“b-but it’s not like it’s just my fault, you’re being so nice-” 

“it’s not anyone’s fault, kid, it doesn’t work like that-” “if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s yours,” you say, unsure of where you’re finding these words. “you keep staring at me. what am i supposed to do?”

“have you tried looking away?” he quips, and you laugh at that. jack thinks for a moment that it’s a really beautiful sound. he doesn’t get to hear it often enough. maybe he can change that.

“am i?” you ask, after a small silence. “going crazy?”

“no. you’re not,” he replies. 

“oh. that’s good, at least.”

the two of you stay like that for a moment, shoulder to shoulder against the counter, your protein bar long forgotten. jack’s looking at you and you’re looking anywhere but him.

“dr. abbot?” you say, but before he can answer, there’s a phone going off. he hears it in the distance—mvc, truck driver, incoming, five minutes out. 

“come on,” he says, doing that thing again, guiding you but not really. even if anyone noticed through the haze of five am, he finds that he doesn’t really care right now. you wear the same flustered, confused, guilty expression until he ties the gown behind you this time, which makes you a smile.

a real one this time.

“what do you think about breakfast?” jack asks, snapping on his gloves and heading outside to meet the ambulance.

“i like breakfast,” you answer, not nearly as hesitantly as you thought you would.

“great. i’m of the belief you should always eat breakfast after night shift. there’s a place down the street.”

“do they have french toast?”

“i’m sure they do. you like sweet things?” and you can’t believe the conversation is still going, the paramedics are opening up the doors in front of you. you turn to jack, nodding to answer his question. “makes sense. alright, what’d we have?”

mouth still open, you follow him out to the bay. 

-

an hour later, both of the drivers from the accident are stable. you’re yawning at central, saying goodbye to the nurse you were chatting with earlier, and without even looking, you know jack is looking at you.

you’re too tired to be anxious. all you want is to go to breakfast with him and figure out what the hell happens after breakfast post night-shift with your attending who knows that you can’t stop thinking about him. 

he brings over a cup of coffee for you. you look up quizzically. 

“i thought you said no more coffee?”

“it’s decaf. but you need something to get you to breakfast, right?”

“shouldn’t i have a coffee at breakfast?”

“no, because then you won’t be able to sleep after.” the way he talks, you believe everything he says. you smile at him. someone from the other side of the room calls him over. 

“i’ll, uh, be right back.”

“dr. abbot?” you say, right before he leaves.

“yeah?” “thank you for the coffee.”

the last hour drags. particularly, six to six-thirty. the second half of the hour, the day crew rolls in slowly, one by one. the day shift counterparts take over patients and beds, get their debriefs. you follow around behind the residents, inform the other medical student about what you had done throughout the evening.

and around seven-fifteen, you pull on your jacket, grab your backpack, and wait for jack. you don’t know who else has left yet, who else might see you two together, but you don’t really care.

you walk to the breakfast place together, your eyes stuck anywhere but on your attending, and now it feels weird, because you can’t get his name to come out of your mouth. the idea of saying jack rather than dr. abbot feels inherently wrong.

the place he takes you to is quaint. it smells of espresso and bacon, and you smile brightly at the waitress when you order a latte, not decaf. 

“what did i tell you, huh?” jack asks, and you bring yourself to finally look back at the hazel eyes that started this whole thing.

“i never said i was sleeping after this.” 

in hindsight, the coffee was a great idea. the food would have made you sleepy, and you would have missed out going back home with jack. he lives in a nice brownstone, much nicer than your tiny apartment.

it also gave you just enough nerve to ask jack if he wanted to try your french toast. to hold his hand on the walk back. to lean against his chest while he opens the door. 

“i can still walk you home, y’know,” he says, but you shake your head, watching him get his keys out. 

“unless you want to meet my roommate, i don’t think that’s a good idea.” and inside jack abbot’s apartment is everything you had been imagining for the last twelve hours. shelves filled with records, big windows, a couch that looks tantalizingly comfortable. but you have ulterior motives today. 

you keep looking around, perusing through his records while he takes a seat on the couch. you inspect with a tilted head, warmth spreading through your chest and radiating out at his music taste. such an old man, you think briefly, looking back at him sitting on the couch in his civilian clothes. your old man.

you pick one out, the first album that’s familiar to you, and bring it over jack on the couch. you sit next to him, thighs touching, resting your head on his shoulder.

“are you gonna put on music?” he laughs, and you can feel his chest vibrate with the noise. this close, you can feel his heartbeat if you place your head just right. every word that he says, you can hear the rumble first. it’s so soothing, you’d fall asleep if you weren’t so wound up.

“how are you not tired?” he questions, and you look up at him.

“i had a latte, remember. you had coffee too. how are you still tired?” you go silent for a moment, trying and failing to conceal a laugh.

“don’t even say it,” jack says, and he’s laughing too.

“i didn’t say anything.”

“you’re thinking it.”

“i’m not tired enough anymore to believe that you can actually read my thoughts.”

“i can’t read your thoughts.”

“that’s a lie-”

“no, promise. i can’t. i can just tell.”

“how is that possible?”

“you want me to teach you?” you prop yourself up, leaning against his forearm while you do it. his skin is warm, and somehow despite everything you two went through the last twelve hours, he still smells good.

“if you’re not too tired, old man.” jack shuts his eyes, groaning. you laugh again, biting your cheek, wondering what he’ll say when—

he opens his eyes.

“i was gonna go easy on you, kid. but you’re in for it now.” 

“yeah?”

“yeah.” 

“promise?”

jack makes another noise—something in between a groan and a sigh. and then before you can think about it again, he takes your face in between both hands and kisses you.

and you’ve been kissed before. not well, but you know what it’s supposed to be like. after a date once you think, a date that had been pretty mediocre. you felt a spark a hundred times stronger in the last couple hours with jack than any date you’ve been on in your life.

at least—you thought you knew what being kissed was supposed to be like. as it turns out, while kissing jack, you realize that you didn’t know shit.

the way he kisses you leaves your lungs void of any air. he doesn’t pull away, not once, and you don’t either. you don’t want him to pull away, you think you might die if he does. he moves his hands slightly, one on your cheek and the other on the back of your head, holding you in place, firmly, gently. and he kisses you like he wants you to forget what being kissed is like, as though you should have no memory besides this one. 

your hands rope themselves on his arms, hard muscles tense under your touch. you move them up and down, brain so empty after the night you’ve had that you don’t know how to signal to him that you want him to take his shirt off. so you pull on his short sleeves and feel his bicep strain against your palm until you give up. you’d rather go at his pace than make any decisions at all, and somehow, you know that jack abbot won’t let you make a single decision, not if you don’t want to. he’ll decide everything, he’ll know what’s right for you, just like he has all night.

your hands finally leave his arm and wander to his hair, fingers working their way through the salt and pepper that you’ve been admiring for so many hours. his curls are messy, and you’ve ruined them, you’re sure, but you can’t stop. 

you don’t know how long it’s been since either of you came up for air, but then you hear the record drop to the ground and you pull away quickly, turning your head to see where it went.

jack doesn’t stop kissing you. his mouth is hot and his touch is lava, moving to your cheek and your jaw and then down the column of your neck. 

the moans you’ve been singing into his mouth are now out in the air, noises sweet like honey coming back to his ears.

“y-your record, i-i dropped it,” you get the sentence out in gasps. jack has his mouth over the place where your carotid pulses. he sucks hard on the skin there and your eyes shut instantly, the record leaving your mind as quickly as it had come in. he makes his way back through your cheek, back to your mouth. 

and you could almost die at the sight—jack abbot, lips red and swollen, darkened eyes looking at you like he’s going to make you pay for that ‘old man’ comment, though you can hardly remember what you had even said.

this time you lean back in to kiss him again, and he lets you control the pace for all of thirty seconds. you kiss him until your lips hurt, until your tongue is tired—but then again, so is every part of your body. but it doesn’t matter, not when you’re so close to getting what it is that you want. 

you don’t actually know how you got to his bedroom. you would have been content on that couch, or on the rug on the floor. against the door or on the countertop in the kitchen, but you guess you’ll have time for all of those things one day. 

there’s black out curtains in jack’s bedroom. they’re not shut all the way, so you look around while he stands in front of you, pulling off his shirt in one motion. your eyes are big, heart thudding while you take it in. his room is simple, just like you had imagined. the sheets are soft under your skin and everything smells good, like linen and sandalwood. you bring your gaze back, bringing a hand up to touch his chest, like you need to make sure that he’s really in front of you. 

jack takes his hand and puts it on top of the one you’re touching him with, pinning it above your head while he hovers over you. you bring the other one up voluntarily, letting him clasp it down, while he leans in to kiss you again. you keep moaning, not sure of how loud you’re being and not entirely sure if you care anymore. 

and then he stops. pulls away from the kiss, unpins your hands. you whine in frustration, shut eyes opening quickly to meet his.

“you sure about this, hm?” he asks, bringing his lips to your jaw again. he hovers there too, not pressing down enough for it to be a real kiss. you can feel his stubble rubbing against you. 

“i’m sure,” you whisper back, eyes shutting again. jack’s hands roam down, wandering over your waistband.

“there’s no going back,” he says, just as quietly as you had.

“jack, please—” and for the first time that morning, you hear dr. abbot break.

“oh fuck. say my name again, angel,” and you comply, repeating the syllable once, and then twice. it tastes weird on your tongue—like you’d get in trouble for saying it.

the thought makes you laugh. you keep giggling, unable to stop. you hear jack breathe into your neck, laughing with you.

“what’s so funny, hm?” he brings himself back over you, noses almost touching. you look straight into hazel eyes, bringing your hand to his cheek, running your fingers over the short hairs there.

“a couple hours ago i was calling you doctor abbot. now i’m in your bed.”

“you want me to stop, baby? i can. we can just go to sleep,” and you shake your head quickly. 

“no, please don’t stop.”

“well, since you asked so politely.” he starts again, kisses up and down your neck, hands pulling off your bottoms. his fingers tease over the hem of your shirt and you raise your arms so he can pull that off too. his eyes rake over your entire body and unlike what you’d imagined, you don’t feel the need to hide. you don’t want to cover yourself up, or feel embarrassed, or anything else. you want jack abbot to keep looking at you like he’s looking now, like he can’t believe what’s in front of him. you can’t believe it either.

and somehow, this is even funnier. now you’re naked in front of your attending, the very one who has been making your heart race since you met him during your third year rotation. you laugh again, before clasping a hand over your mouth.

“i think you might be a little too tired for this,” he says, and you regret your laughter right now.

“no, no, i want this. i’ve been waiting so long for this,” the last part comes out as a whisper. you tilt your head up, pressing in for another kiss. jack’s hands—hot like every other part of him—roam the bare skin of your hips and waist, all the way up to your ribcage and then back down. 

“yeah? how long?” he asks. his kisses go lower now, down your neck, onto your collarbone. he goes down to the smooth skin above your breasts, between them. everywhere except where you need him. you can feel the anticipation thrumming under your skin. “i asked you a question.” he pulls away, waiting for his answer.

“s-since i met you.” 

“i think it’s been longer than that, hasn’t it?” 

you look at him confused, but then the bastard actually smirks at you. and suddenly you’re back to ten o’clock last night, when the nurse was telling you to keep you legs closed—sorry, couldn’t help myself—and you saw someone in the corner of your eye but you didn’t want to be rude and look away, but when you left for the incoming trauma, you had seen—

“you dick-” you yell, sitting up in jack’s soft sheets. “you heard that whole conversation?” jack’s laughing and you start laughing too, taking one of his pillows and smacking it across his chest. 

“not-” you get him with the pillow again and he grabs it, wrestling it out of your hands. you realize how much stronger he is than you for a split second in that moment. “not the entire thing. just the important bits.”

“well at least now i don’t have to figure out how to tell you,” you reply sheepishly, feeling particularly vulnerable. you bring your knees in to your chest, watching jack in front of you with big eyes. “do you feel weird about it?”

“weird about what, sweetheart?” he asks quietly, placing one of his warm hands on your knee and rubbing the skin there.

“the virgin thing. do you not-”

“hey,” he says, and with so much caring behind his voice that you feel whatever’s left—if there even was any—of your resolve break. “we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. we can shower and go to sleep. i can take you home. whatever you want. and we can pick up where we left off when you’re ready.” 

“yeah?” you ask. 

“yeah.” 

you move back towards him, shutting your eyes and leaning in for another kiss. this time you crawl into his lap, feeling his hands roaming all over your body again. you can feel him under you—rock hard, pulsing, incredibly hot even through his pants. your hips move on their own while your hands fiddle with the tie before he takes over, undoing it for you. you hear jack groaning in your ear, and you’re positive that you’re wet enough to leave a wet mark on him. the noise is so exhilarating to you that you have to stop yourself from doing whatever it takes to get more out of him.

jack keeps one huge hand on your back, keeping you steady while he kisses you. you lock your arms around his neck, not letting go incase he tries to pull away. he flips you over in one motion—you on your back, and him hovering over you.

you don’t like this nearly as much—you want it back, the insanely rough pleasure of grinding yourself down on him. you whine again, but he murmurs one word in your ear over and over again—patience.

you’ve waited this long. you think you can be patient a little while longer.

jack goes back to whatever was on his long list of things he wants to do to you. he starts with pinning your hands down, locking you in place so you don’t flail around too much. he starts at your chest, his hot mouth working down to your nipple. he takes one in his mouth and you arch up off the bed, making saccharine noises that no one besides him has ever gotten to hear. that no one besides him will ever get to hear. 

“jack, jack,” you say his name over and over again, like you’re worried he’ll disappear if you don’t. your body reacts just like he thought you would, only taking what you’re giving, waiting patiently for more. 

“you’re being so good, sweetheart,” and he thinks the words alone are enough to make you come. he switches over to your other nipple, and he hears you curse, the swear ripping from your mouth.

and he hasn’t even touched your cunt yet. but he knows already that he’s going to drag this out, that he’s going to make sure you can never forget it. that he’ll spent the rest of his life trying to top this moment, give you something to compare to forever.

hot kisses down your stomach while your chest heaves. he watches from his position between your thighs, hands reaching out to play with your tits while he finally does what he’s been thinking about since that trauma yesterday night. 

he moves your hands for you, putting them to work, making you tease your nipples while he spreads open your legs further. 

he stares up again, watching you comply with his instructions wordlessly, being such a good girl without even needing to be told. he needs to tell you, but he doesn’t want you to come until you’re coming on his tongue.

without waiting, jack licks the length of your pussy and makes your entire body tense up, back rising off the bed again. he uses one hand on your stomach to keep you pinned down, to make sure you keep taking whatever he gives you. he can’t talk like this, but he’ll talk you through it when he makes you come all over his dick. 

that’s what he’s thinking about while he starts to stretch you out. one finger, then two. your cunt is soaking wet, leaking down and making a mess of your thighs and his sheets and his face. he teases your clit more than he should, but how can he not? when you thrash so hard that you’d fall if he wasn’t holding you down? when you have no choice but to take it, to lay back and feel jack’s tongue on the most sensitive part of your body, the part that no one but him has ever gotten to touch? 

two fingers become three, stretching you out for him while he sucks on your clit hard, finally giving you what you’ve been begging for. 

one of your hands makes its way down to his hair, pulling on it while the other stays on your breast—you want to have both in jack’s hair but you can’t just ignore what he told you to do. 

you don’t know what the punishment would be, even though you’re sure you’d enjoy it. but that’s going to be saved for another day.

right now, you were so close to cumming, so close that you could feel yourself hurtling over the edge, and then you pull on jack’s hair harder than you meant to and he moans around you.

it’s something entirely different—the vibration from his mouth and the fact that he’s moaning while he does this to you, and whatever the combination is, you feel it split you apart. the electric current that you felt earlier when you brushed hands with jack is nothing compared to this, lightening coursing through every part of your body, head to toe, inside and out. the white hot tension in your stomach snapping makes you cry out against jack’s pillows, toes curling while he keeps going all the way through it. you can hear him, and it only makes you cum harder, encouraging you, telling you how good you’re doing, how good you’ve been all this time. the only thing you can hear after it stops is your own heart inside your ribcage, bursting like it’s going to come out.

you let go of jack’s hair, bringing your exhausted hand to his shoulder instead. he comes up to where you are, meeting your eyes and leaning in for a kiss that leaves you breathless and thoughtless all over again. 

“thank you, jack,” you whisper, too tired to say it any louder. jack laughs against your skin.

“you tired, sweetheart?” the answer is yes and no at the time, but you shake your head. you move closer to him, bringing your hand to his boxers, palming him. you can tell he’s big—big in the way that’s going to hurt, big in the way that his fingers can’t compare. big like you’re going to have trouble walking tomorrow.

“please, jack?” you say, and honest to god, how is he supposed to say no to that? even in your post-orgasmic state, tired as you can be, every muscle probably screaming at you to let you sleep, you’re so sweet in your request, so polite. just like always. he can’t say no to you even if he wanted to.

jack positions himself on top of you. this is it—what you’ve been waiting for. the result of one harmless conversation half a day ago. 

jack brings your knees to your chest, and you loop your arms around them, holding yourself in place. his arms cage you in, and you look up, meeting hazel eyes. and even though you should probably be nervous, you’re not, not at all. because you know jack will take care of you. 

he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, making your eyes shut.

“you ready, kid?” the nickname makes your heart flutter. you open your eyes, nodding again. “take a deep breath for me,” jack says, and you comply. and when he pushes inside of you, you swear everything in your body stops working for a second. 

every thought leaves your head, every muscle goes lax. your eyes rolls back, mouth dropping open. there is nothing left to think about, nothing to feel except jack abbot inside of you. 

“breathe for me,” he instructs, and you have to remind yourself to listen to him, that he knows what you need in this moment. jack abbot knows everything about you—even the things you don’t know.

you hear him—groaning and whispering things that you’re sure would make you pass out if you were in a state of mind that could understand him, but you’re not. so you wait for his kiss, take another breath, and feel him push inside of you all the way.

“jack,” you cry out, toes curling and head spinning. “jack, jack, jack-”

“i know, i know,” he says, and gives you another kiss. “you’re doing—fuck, you’re doing perfect.” he pulls out and thrusts back in, and the stretch is enough to make you cry out again. he’s going slowly for you but you don’t know how to tell him that you need more, that you might die if you don’t get more. but then again, you don’t have to tell him anything. 

he picks up the pace, eyes stuck to where he’s filling you up. he can’t stop watching, seeing inch after inch disappear inside you, like you were made for him, because fuck, you were. your hands claw at his back and you pull on his neck to kiss you again, and when he does, you moan into his mouth. but he can’t just let you take it like this, he needs to tell you, all the things he’s been wanting to say.

he pulls away from your mouth and you make another noise, upset. he smooths down your hair and kisses your forehead, working down to your temple and then your cheek and to your ear. 

“you’re being so good for me,” those six words that you love hearing so much make your entire body tighten up, including your cunt. you pulse around him as he pauses for a minute, taking in how you react to it. you moan against his skin, crying out when he resumes. 

“so perfect for me. you’re taking me so well, baby. like you were made for it.” another moan, more crying. but he knows—knows there’s something else still.

you had once thought your first time might be gentle, candles and flowers. you don’t think you would trade jack abbot and his bedroom and his half-pulled black out curtains for anything in this world.

he keeps fucking you, brutally and deliberately, each thrust telling you something different. you squeal out his name like it’s the only word you know. but it’s when he starts speaking again, when you clench down against him, pulsing so tightly, that he knows he’s figured it out.

“good girl,” jack says, and you have to press your mouth against his arm to stop from screaming out loud. “you’re doing so good, so perfect. my good girl, aren’t you?” 

“j-jack, jack, jack, i’m gonna-” 

“come on, angel. come for me. i want you to come around me. can you do that for me?” you can’t answer, though it’s on the tip of your tongue, and then it happens again—the lightening, white hot, running through you. even stronger than the first one—it rips through you. jack’s in your ear  and you can understand him this time—good girl. so perfect. you did amazing. 

you don’t think you can feel your legs. your eyes want to flutter shut but you still feel the aftershocks each time jack thrusts inside of you—and when you open your eyes to stare up at him, you lean up, silently asking for a kiss. 

he complies, pressing his lips against you. you don’t let go, keeping it going, until you whisper against his lips. 

“thank you doctor abbot,” and that seems to be the last straw for him. you wish you could engrain it into your brain forever, how jack sounds when he cums. you’ve been listening to him all morning but this, this was different. a real moan, wrangled from the back of his throat, from his chest. as good as he’s made you feel, now you get to help him, your cunt clenching around him while he finishes. you press back for another kiss, and jack deepens it, until he pulls out.

you suddenly feel so empty.

he collapses next to you, ushering you onto his sweaty skin. you’re sure that you’re drenched too, and you can feel the back of your head where hairs have stuck to your neck. 

you find jack’s hand, holding onto it like letting go might make all of this disappear. he presses a kiss to your forehead, fingers rubbing the skin of the dorsum of your hand.

“you okay?” he asks again, and you nod against his chest. glancing up for a moment, you catch hazel eyes looking at you already.

“are you okay?” he gives you another kiss to your forehead.

“you need to get some sleep.” 

“i’m not tired,” you lie.

“yes you are. why do you keep thinking you can lie to me?” he asks, still staring into your eyes. you want to look away but you don’t think you can. you lay down against him, so you don’t have to look away.

“i’m not lying.” you take a pause, take a breath. “do i still have to call you dr. abbot at work tomorrow?” jack laughs. you can feel the vibration on his chest. it makes you smile.

“close your eyes, kid. i promise we’ll talk about everything in the morning.”

“jack?” 

“yes?”

“you wanna go again?”

♡

[iridescentrays]

warning: possible spoilers from manga

masterlist ꩜ next chap

Now this was weird.

You were a diligent student at the JCC. You never tried pulling attention to yourself, and only the teachers really knew who you were. Being aware of your surroundings especially helped in lowering your profile to others. It gives you the high ground to know who was plotting, where they were, etc etc…

So why the hell was Nagumo staring at you?

He was one of the most popular guys at school (along with Akao and Sakamoto of course). Mostly infamous screwing off with his friends’ shenanigans, he was at the center of attention.

Something you would like to avoid.

It didn’t help that you somehow keep running into him everyday. His pretty face was too overbearing, and trying to avoid the spotlight was getting near to impossible.

Especially during this class, Nagumo’s eyes bore into the side of your head, oblivious to the fact you can tell he’s staring.

It was like you were a prick, an eyesore, a stain on a brand new t-shirt…you couldn’t tell!!! His poise revealed nothing besides the fact he was attentively staring at you instead of the teacher’s review for the final.

It was not like you could call him out, without letting everyone in the room know you existed.

“Uhh… you in the back”

The teacher called out you for the question on the board. ‘Something about poisons…’

The only redeemable factor of this class was that it was easy.

Ignoring all the weirdos in the room, and yes thats including Nagumo and his gang, the subject was straightforward and you just plug the missing factors into the formula (which flew over the heads of some).

Getting up and writing the answer on the board, the teacher praised you, using you as an example on what he expects in a star student.

In the corner of your eye, Rion who sat to Nagumo kept nudging him. She whispered something into his ear, which he glared and looked away, returning his focus on you.

‘How long does he plan to stare…’

The way Rion was snickering in your direction, Sakamoto covering his face in shame, and of course the way Nagumo’s eyes never left you, made you anxious.

‘What happens if they’re plotting for a way to kill me??!!’

They definitely seem like the bully type. Maybe it’ll be those high school cliches where they would stuff the nerd into the trashcan if they didn’t give them the answers! But it’s not that’s gonna happen right? right!!?

Suppressing your worries flopped the minute you felt the whole group stare at you and whispered. It didn’t help that Sakamoto pointed at you with Rion joining in…and the fact the Nagumo was getting out of his seat right now…walking towards you?

oh hell no

“Hey! I was wonde—“

The bell rang, signaling the time for the next class. You used the momentarily shock of Nagumo to rush out of the classroom and probably plan for safety gear for tomorrow.

Thanks to your great perception, you escaped being a victim of bullying!

However, what you failed to notice was the faint blush on Nagumo’s cheeks every time he looked at you.

“HAHAHAH SHE TOTALLY LEFT YOUR ASS”

Nagumo groaned in frustration, “Its because you kept distracting me…”

“Maybe she just doesn’t like you”. Rion laughed and slung her arm around Sakamoto’s neck. “YUP! looks like you won’t be getting your study girlfriend anytime soon!!”

“I hate you guys”

MISSION STATUS: UNSUCCESSFUL

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

your boyfriend has a little habit of being sort of..spacey. or at least he looks like he is.

despite his..ditzy and aloof appearance. shouto is very acutely aware of his surroundings.

especially when you’re in said surroundings.

he’s walking along the hallways with his friends, they’re chatting about everything and nothing, school and about the results of their last test. shouto doesn’t feel the need to interject, happy to simply listen and respond when he’s spoken to. except his mind is also kind of elsewhere at the moment because even in there he’s looking for you.

no matter what he’s doing, shouto todoroki has a piece of you in his mind. if his friends are worrying about their test results he’s perfectly fine, cus he studied with you. the letters he sends to his mom talk about his daily life, with little details about you sprinkled in. his father is trying to coerce him into coming to his agency again, shouto thinks it’d be a lot more enjoyable if you were with him.

you’re not with them right now, because mr. aizawa had asked you to send in some papers to the teacher’s lounge. you said you’d catch up with your friends as soon as possible and shouto’s listening, he really is. but he’s also scanning the crowd hoping to catch a little glimpse of you.

“what about you, todoroki ?”

shouto blinks, hearing his name come out of his freckled friend’s lips as he blinks at him expectantly with a smile. ochaco and iida also seem to be awaiting a response.

okay, so maybe he hadn’t been listening as well as he claimed..

“i’m sorry. i didn’t catch that last part, what were you saying ?” he asks bluntly, midoriya doesn’t mind and he repeats “i was asking you how you think your test went.” he chirps, shouto hums thinking about the question.

“i studied well for it, so i think it went well,” his friends hum, iida congratulates him for staying focused on his academics, waving his hand around in chopping motions.

and of course, shouto is always looking for you, so nobody’s surprised when he adds “yn also helped me study, so i think i’ll be..”

everyone is surprised though when he suddenly trails off. and without another word shouto walks ahead of his friends further down the crowded hallway. the lack of “oh, give me a second.” or “ i’ll be right back.”, the lack of anything stuns the three students so hard they freeze into place. they wonder what could’ve made him speed off in such a hurry, until ochaco gets a good look and points towards the dual haired boy.

ah, shouto’s found you.

you’re surprised to see him, your eyes widen “oh, hey sho !” he returns your greeting, his face hasn’t really changed from an outsiders point of view, but he leans in towards you the moment the words leave your lips and his whole face has gone soft, almost pudgy when you smile at him.

“i didn’t except to see you, you scared me !”

he blinks at that, shock settles onto his face as he bows his head in shame “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to..” simple, but earnest and it makes you melt.

“oh no, no ! you just popped up outta nowhere and it surprised me is all, got nothing to be sorry about.” you reassured, shouto’s expression changes and he returns, nodding happily.

“i missed you.”

you snort “i was gone for at most 10 minutes, shouto.”

“it was 11 minutes. and i missed you during that one extra minute, too.” if he had a tail, it’d be wagging at the speed of sound the way his face brightens when you laugh. you call him unbelievable and a small smile grows on his face

he’s just about to ask if you need help with your bag when you suddenly wave behind him. at your friends, who all share a sort of teasing, but also absolutely not surprised look.

oh, woops..

[clourey]

synopsis : realizing he likes you!

featuring : itoshi sae, michael kaiser

ITOSHI SAE ;

- you were a challenge to his indifferent mien. always testing the limits of his apathy, and you had no idea of the effect you had on him. he didn’t know what it meant either.

- what he did know was that he did his hair every morning, but extra effort into his appearance, all to get a compliment from you.

- he savoured your praises, they remedied his otherwise mundane daily routine. the flush — however noticeable — that adorned his cheeks when your accolades were followed with a smile brought excitement and warmth that he wouldn’t normally feel.

- and strangely, despite the signs, he only realized he liked you when he was forced to be away from you (courtesy of being an international footballer).

- he sulked his entire flight after you had failed to show up to bid him farewell at the airport. and when he landed, the air felt lonely.

(y/n) : i’m so sorry i couldn’t come to say bye :( i was really busy

- he had already forgiven you, but if there was someone he didn’t forgive, it would be himself for not having realized sooner what the ache in his heart meant.

- and after a war between hesitance and hopefulness, the latter emerged victorious as he answered your text.

sae : i’ll miss you

- he also made sure to have flowers sent to your door till the day of his return (to your arms, he wishes). he needed you to know flowers weren’t the end of his affection.

MICHAEL KAISER ;

- kaiser was sick, he was sure of it.

- it wasn’t normal how his face felt hot and how his heart raced whenever you were near.

- he hated the fevered butterflies in his stomach when you cheered for him. he hated that your stupid utterances seemed to block out every other sound — your mellow, damned voice was the only one he could hear.

- every instance of you exchanging words with another person — who wasn’t kaiser — irritated him. moreover, he felt insecurity if he wasn’t the first person you approached. how ridiculous is that?

- mentally or otherwise, there had to be some form of disturbance in his body that you had introduced to him. there was no other explanation.

- it wasn’t until ness made it clear to kaiser (albeit unknowingly) that he finally realises he has a crush on you.

- “you know, i think (y/n) likes you too,”

- kaiser promptly turns to ness, perplexed and unable to process the revelation that had just been made to him.

- “what do you mean too?”

- ness tilts his head, mirroring the blonde’s confusion, “don’t you like them? ‘tis been pretty obvious to me.”

- needless to say, kaiser has only been more of a mess around you since then.

[reidphobic]

there’s no such thing as bad thoughts (only your actions talk) - s. r.

in which you need to ruin your pretty boyfriend, and you know just the toys to do it with. 3988 words. part of the neighbor!au

inexperienced!sub!spencer x dom!fem reader, mommy kink, oral (f and m receiving), sex toys, ass play (m receiving) (please don’t look at me), praise, very very mild degradation

You can tell Spencer has something on his mind, distracted even as you trail siren-red lipstick marks down his neck. You’re only kissing him for kissing’s sake, both of you unwinding and content to simply be in the other’s presence. Still, though, when you bring your lips back up to his, you pout down at him. “What is it, honey?” you say tenderly, trailing your fingers down his cheek.

“It’s nothing,” Spencer says, but he flushes crimson, so it’s not classified. Which means you’ll get it out of him one way or another.

“Spencer,” you chide gently. “You know you’re going to tell me. I know you’re going to tell me. So why don’t we skip this little song and dance, and you can just tell me, hm?” You gaze up into his pretty, sparkling eyes, smile slyly as you dip your head to kiss at the hollow of his throat. “Or I can take you right to the edge, over and over again, and I won’t let you cum until you tell me,” you say with a saccharine smile. “Both ways are fun for me.”

Spencer shudders, swallows. You start to work your way down his body, trace your fingers over his chest until you’re lying between his legs. “Please,” he murmurs.

You press a kiss against his tip through his pants. “Go on, honey. Don’t be shy. Tell Mommy, baby,” you coo. Spencer gnaws on his lip, looking for all the world like the picture of innocence, but you know him better by now; know the exact shine in his eyes, the precise shade of red he flushes when he’s thinking about something dirty.

He hisses as you pull his cock free, lick along the vein at his underside. You keep teasing, gently encourage him with gentle whispers and soft praise. He’s whimpering, putty in your hands, when the confession spills free. “I can’t stop thinking about your… about the…” He trails off, but his eyes flicker towards your bedside table, and you smirk wickedly.

“My toys? S’that what you’re trying to say, honey?” you purr, gazing up at him. “What are you thinking about? Watching me use them? Using them on me?” You pause, smirk. “Or do you want Mommy to use them on you?”

He goes stiff, flushes a deeper red, nods shakily. You raise an eyebrow, and Spencer gently nudges you up. Obligingly, you crawl back up his body, drape yourself on the pillow next to him. “I, uh… I had… I thought about it, and then I couldn’t stop, and I…” He clears his throat. “I watched some… pornography.” Your lips stretch wide in a smile. Oh, this is getting interesting. “Of, um. A girl— a woman— using a… a vibrator on…” He whispers the word vibrator like it’s something dirty, and you just have to do something about that.

“And that’s what you want, sweetheart? You want Mommy to take a vibrator and press it right here?” You swipe your thumb over the tip of his cock, drooling with precum. Spencer nods, writhing pathetically under your touch, but his eyes keep drifting warily. “What’s bothering you, sweet?” you murmur, tracing circles into his thigh. And then it clicks. “I promise it’s all sanitised, never been used on anyone but me. But we don’t have to do anything you’re not up to, alright, pretty?” You smile up at him. “We can go shopping, get whatever you want nice and new for you, yeah?”

Spencer smiles sheepishly. “How do you always..?”

You giggle, kiss his inner thigh. “I know you, honey. And I know sex. So I’m sort of a genius here,” you tease. “Now, why don’t you tell Mommy everything you want me to do to you while I get you all stupid for me, huh?” Spencer nods frantically, pleads softly, as you wrap your lips around his tip. His quiet fantasies tangle with breathy moans, stumbling haltingly from bitten-red lips. Every word sends a fresh pulse of heat between your thighs, and you moan happily as you lose yourself, lose everything but the point where your body meets his.

“Thank you,” Spencer mumbles when he’s regained his sanity. You’ve stopped telling him not to thank you, because it doesn’t work. Climbing back up his body, you tuck your head into his neck, kiss at the soft skin there. You trade slow, lazy kisses until he’s relaxed, soft and pliant under your hands.

Falling asleep in Spencer’s arms is the simplest and greatest pleasure of your life, contented and comforted just from existing in his presence. The steady thump of his heartbeat soothes you as you stir awake, blinking blearily and finding his gaze already on you. “G’morning, honey,” you murmur, voice thick with sleep.

“Hi, baby,” he says softly, skimming a hand across your back as you smile peacefully up at him.

Your eyes flicker to your alarm clock, and you gasp. “Shit, Spencer, it’s, like, eleven o’clock! What are you still doing here?”

Spencer only smiles. “I took a couple days off. I’m flying out to meet the team on Thursday, and they’ll call if they need me before then. I wanted to spend some time with you in the daylight,” he adds with a soft little laugh, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You can’t help but feel a little guilty, not in the least because of the rush of joy that runs through you. People out there need him, and you’re here playing the clingy girlfriend. “You’re sweet,” you say, curling into his chest. Slowly, you wander out of bed, pour coffee and trade lazy kisses over cereal — neither of you are particularly proficient cooks — simply content to exist in each other’s presence. “Still wanna go shopping, baby?” you tease.

To your surprise, Spencer nods. He’s still too shy to give any voice to it, and his cheeks tint pink, but he nods nonetheless.

Grinning, you get to your feet. “We better go take a shower, then. C’mon, Reid, day’s a-wasting,” you tease, pulling him by the hand.

You swear you’ll never get over the sight of him naked and dripping wet, soft and delicate under the shower spray. You kiss him indulgently, sloppy and messy and passionate, until you’re in danger of the water running cold. Spencer does a pathetically poor job of hiding his fixation with your panties, so you let him pick out what to put on under your clothes.

“It’s your color,” he says simply, holding up a pair of delicate red lace panties. You gasp softly when he goes to his knees in front of you, shudder as he drags them up your legs. His slack-jawed gaze is fixed on the lace against your skin, and you go hot all over as he leans in, presses a delicate kiss to your waistband.

“Spencer, honey,” you say, a gentle warning. “If you wanna get out of this house at all today, you’re gonna have to stop that,” you murmur, sliding a hand into his hair as your thighs clench.

Pouting, he gets to his feet. “But you’re so pretty,” he says, eyes soft and pleading.

You giggle. “Mmm, I know. But think about how much fun we’re gonna have later, yeah?” You brush a loose piece of hair behind his ear. “You’re pretty too,” you add, kissing the tip of his nose as his cheeks dust pink.

It takes several attempts and minutes of long, needy kisses to pull him out of the door and into your car. Spencer rests his hand distractingly on your thigh as you drive, looking innocently out of the window every time you turn to face him. But you get your revenge as you lead him into the shop, decorated in tasteful gold lettering and tucked away down a side street.

Spencer’s jaw hangs open as he gazes around, eyes shifty and sliding like he doesn’t know where to look. He looks as though he’s been caught somewhere he shouldn’t, and you giggle, take his hand. “Where d’you wanna start, honey?”

He opens his mouth and closes it several times before any words come out. “I— I don’t…” he murmurs, burying his face in his hands.

You press a kiss to his cheek, heart fluttering in your chest. “It’s alright, beautiful. Don’t get caught up in that pretty little head, okay? We can start nice and slow,” you promise. “What do you think of these?” you ask, holding up a pair of semi-realistic handcuffs.

You can see his thoughts whirring, pointing out every inconsistency with the real thing, but when he speaks, it’s timid. “What would you… use them for?”

A salacious grin spreads across your lips. “We can use them for whatever you want, sweetness. But I can’t say I never dreamt about Agent Reid putting me on the ground and cuffing me,” you tease, and Spencer shudders. “You like the sound of that, gorgeous?” You drop the cuffs into your basket when he nods, the thought of it washing deliciously over you. And, who knows? Maybe he’ll come around to your restraining him… Your thighs clench as you imagine it.

You wander around the shop, delicately explaining every toy and its purpose as Spencer’s cheeks burn deeper crimson with every word. You stack your basket with every toy he shows so much as a passing interest in, and a few more that you don’t dare bring up to him yet. But Spencer’s eyes keep sliding back to the lingerie in the back corner and then darting away like he’s been burned. 

Delicately, you pluck up a white, lacy pair adorned with a soft, pink bow. “Pretty, huh?” you say, careful but with a hard enough edge that Spencer swallows. “I think so too. You’d look gorgeous in them, honey.” You grab his jaw when he tries to look away. “Baby. Don’t try to deny it. I’ve “lost” at least a dozen pairs of panties since we started dating. And I’ll bet I know where to find them,” you sing-song, poking him playfully in the chest.

“An underwear fetish doesn’t automatically prelude crossdressing, actually. It’s got more to do with—” You press a finger to his lips.

“Sweetheart, do you wanna wear them or not?”

Spencer sucks his bottom lip into his mouth tantalisingly. “Yeah… Yeah, I do.”

“Good boy,” you coo, stretching up to kiss his cheek. Getting Spencer to express his desires outwardly is always an uphill battle, so you lavish him with praise whenever he voices them. “Gonna look so beautiful, baby,” you promise, tucking a few more pairs into your basket and dragging Spencer to check out. The associate throws you a knowing smirk at the way he tries to hide behind your considerably shorter frame, slouching his shoulders and pulling at his sleeves, and you toss her a grin back. Spencer gulps as he spots the handful of toys you picked out without showing him.

You tuck your hand into his as you leave the store. “Don’t worry, honey. I’m just future-proofing a little. I won’t ask you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, alright?” He nods. “That being said…” you add, a grin creeping across your face. “You’ve got such a pretty ass, honey. I hope you’ll let me, one day.”

Spencer chews on his bottom lip, looks at the floor, but blushes in a way that suggests he’s not totally opposed. You drag him in for a kiss that borders on public indecency, just because you can, giggling into his mouth when you break apart. Deliberately, you fluster him, get him worked up all the way to your apartment until he’s clad in nothing but his boxers on your bedroom floor, hands grasping needily at your hips.

“So cute, honey,” you murmur, cupping his cheek. “C’mere, sweetness.” You lead him to the bed, sit cross-legged against the pillows. “You’re spoilt for choice, pretty.”

“But I don’t… I’m…”

You pout mockingly at him. “We can sit here as long as you like, honey, but nothing’s gonna happen until you tell Mommy what you want, huh?” One day, you’ll get him to dom you, and he’ll be the sweetest pleasure dom you’ve ever had your hands on. You can see it glimmering under his nervous, awkward exterior, sometimes so close to the surface you could reach out and touch it. And every time you get him to tell you what he wants instead of asking, you get a step closer to letting it free.

“I want…” Spencer trails off, breathing ragged. He picks up the fleshlight, inspects it, trails his fingers over the silicone. “But I want you to teach me how to use it,” he adds, a soft little smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah?” you murmur, slowly crawling towards him. “You wanna learn from your Mommy? Such a good boy, Spencer, doin’ so good for me.” One of his hands slides along the back of your neck as you trail yours down his chest, squeeze his cock through his boxers. You press your thumb against the patch of wet fabric, bring the digit up to his lips.

Obediently, he wraps his lips around your thumb, sucks softly. “Please,” he whines as you hook your fingers into his boxers, drag them down so he’s naked under your touch. You sit up, reach over for a bottle of lube, drench the toy with it.

Shuffling down the bed until you’re resting on your elbows between Spencer’s legs, you lean down. “S’gonna get a little messy, honey. That okay?” Spencer nods frantically, legs trembling. You drip spit down his length, and, unable to resist, you kiss his tip. His cock jumps against your lips, and you giggle softly. “You ready, beautiful? Words, please,” you add when he nods.

“Uh-huh. Yeah. M’ready. I want it, Mommy, please!” he whimpers, eyes glossy and trembling with desperation.

“That’s my good boy,” you murmur, pumping his cock once before you slowly bring the toy down. Spencer gasps, his eyes fluttering closed as a keening moan slips from his lips. “Feels good, huh?” Nodding, Spencer squirms, resists the urge to fuck into the toy as you slowly drag it up and down his cock. God, he’s so well-trained.

Arousal coils between your legs, your skin flushed with heat. You stare unabashedly, drool pooling in your mouth at the sight of Spencer disappearing into the toy. “Fuck, ohmygod, so good,” he slurs out. Slick, wet noises fill your room, mingling deliciously with Spencer’s soft whimpers and your helpless moans.

Groaning, you reach for his hand, cover yours with his. “You can move, honey. Make yourself feel good, okay?” With your permission granted, Spencer jerks his hips frantically up, fucking wildly into the toy. After a minute, he settles into a familiar rhythm, moaning at the slick slide against his cock. “Does this feel good, baby? You like fucking a plastic pussy?” Spencer shudders at your lurid, filthy words, nodding after a beat and whining your name. “Does it feel as good as my pussy, sweetheart?”

“N-no,” he gasps. “Nothin’s as good as you, Mommy.”

“Good answer,” you grin, taking your hand off the toy and letting him pick up his own rhythm. “Are you close, pretty?” you ask, slowly sitting up until you’re eye level with him.

“Mhmm,” he says, drawing the words out into a broken moan.

You lick your lips, cunt clenching at the sound. “Where d’you wanna cum, honey?”

Spencer’s jaw is clenched tight, body jerking with every movement of the toy, and it seems to take him a moment to find the words. “In your… in your mouth, Mommy, please,” he whimpers, and you’re only too happy to oblige.

Whining, he pulls the toy off himself, discards it on your sheets as you lean down and coat your fingers in the slick mixture of lube, spit and precum coating his cock. “So pretty for me, sweetness. Such a good boy,” you murmur, licking a slow stripe along the vein at his underside. Spencer thrusts up into your mouth as you sink lower, and you swallow your gag with practised ease. Slowly, you trace your wet fingers up his thigh, along the curve of his ass until you meet his hole. He hisses, tenses up, but relaxes again after a second. “This okay, baby?”

“Yeah, it’s okay. I trust you.”

You fucking melt against him, nuzzling your cheek into his thigh affectionately. “Such a sweet boy for Mommy, baby. I…” You pause, bite your tongue. Oh, Jesus fucking Christ. You love him. What a crass fucking moment for that realisation, with his dick in your mouth and your fingers pressed against his asshole. You swallow around the words, shove them down to think about later. “Can I give you a little more, sweetheart?”

Spencer nods eagerly, faintly murmurs “Please.” You take him to the root in one motion, swallow around him until he’s dangling helplessly at the edge. Then, oh-so gently, you push just the very tip of your finger inside. Spencer cries out, clamps down on you like a vice, gives a strangled little cry of your name. You press just slightly deeper, flick your tongue across his head, hollow your cheeks. “Oh, my God, I’m gonna— fuck, fuck, fuck!” he chokes out, cum spilling down your throat as he twitches and whines.

You swallow, rock back on your heels. “Hi, honey,” you say when Spencer blinks blearily up at you. “How do you feel?”

“Like, um…” You watch the muscles in his throat contract as he swallows. “Like I want more,” he whispers. “Is that okay?”

Pressing a kiss to his thigh, you sigh softly against his skin. “Sweetness, I wanna give you everything you want. My fingers feel good like this?” you coo. “Have you ever been touched like this before?”

You know the answer. You just want to hear him say it. “No. Never. Feels really good, Mommy, I need—“ Spencer cuts himself off with a choked gasp as you press your finger in deeper.

“Yeah, honey, I know. Mommy knows what you need, baby.” Gently, you pick up a rhythm, slowly kissing your way up his body to soothe him as he twitches and writhes under your attention.

Greedily, you swallow every breathy little whimper and needy little moan from his lips, feeling his cock twitch valiantly between his thighs. “Faster,” he whines, meeting your lips in a kiss that’s mostly spit and teeth, so lust-drunk he can barely control his body.

“Can you take one more, pretty?” you murmur, and he pleads for it, and you’re all too happy to oblige. Cautiously, you press a second finger into him, pump them faster, until he’s so hot under you that you swear he’ll melt in your hands and his cock is hard and leaking.

You crook your fingers a little, and Spencer’s entire body jolts. “That— Oh, God! Again, do that again, please, God, don’t stop, baby, oh, fuck!” And, God, who are you to deny him when he begs so prettily?

You brush your fingers against that spot over and over again, until he can barely form words and tears are leaking from his eyes. “So pretty, honey. I’ve ruined you, huh? Never gonna get off without thinking of me again. ‘Cause you’re mine, got it? Mommy’s good, sweet, slutty boy.”

He doesn’t even manage to pull together a warning, just a garbled sound that might be Mommy as he comes. His face contorts in pleasure, legs trembling and eyes rolling back. The sight of him so lost in pure ecstasy is endlessly erotic, your neglected cunt pulsing with need as you watch.

It takes Spencer a little longer to come back to himself this time, but the dazed, blissed-out look on his face is well worth the wait. “Oh, sweet boy,” you murmur. “This is gonna feel a little weird, sweetness, just breathe, okay? I’ll take care of you,” you promise, cautiously slipping your fingers free. He whines at the loss, body jerking involuntarily. “God, you’re so pretty like that. You gonna be okay if I go wash my hands, honey?”

Spencer nods feebly and you race to the bathroom and back in record time, scrambling back into bed before the chill in your apartment sets in. “Your hands are cold,” Spencer pouts, and you laugh.

“Then I guess I’d better stop touching you, huh?” you tease, but make no move to lift your palm from his chest.

His hand skims down your back. “Can I make you come?” he murmurs, quiet and soft. “I want to.”

Your chest clenches. God, he’s so sweet. “‘Course you can, honey. Such a good boy. You wanna let Mommy sit on your face?”

Spencer moans, head thudding back against the pillow as he grasps greedily at your hips. “Please.”

“Won’t take long, sweetness,” you promise, climbing up his body and kneeling with your thighs on either side of his jaw. “You got me all worked up, how pretty you look, how gorgeous you sound. Such a sweet boy, baby.” Spencer flickers his tongue over your soaked cunt and you gasp, fists clenching in your sheets.

You shove your hips down against his mouth, grind on his tongue as he buries it deep inside you. Pleasure throbs in the deepest corners of your body and Spencer moans into you, whimpers out a plea. The sound vibrates through your body, toes curling and eyes screwing shut. “Just like that, baby, c’mon, I— fuck!” you cry, collapsing forward on your elbows when Spencer wraps his lips around your clit, sucks softly.

He eats you like he’s been starved, switching between fucking you with his tongue and licking over your clit so fast it makes you dizzy. You clench around his tongue, rock your hips against his mouth, whine incoherently as pleasure pulls deep in your belly.

“God, honey, doing so good, so good for Mommy, don’t stop,” you moan, writhing and trembling on top of him. Spencer tongue-fucks you with renewed fervour, trying every trick you’ve taught him to pull you over the edge. You cum with a whimpering little scream, cunt pulsing against his mouth and hands scrambling for purchase in the sheets. Pure bliss wipes you clean, your muscles going limp and your body slumping against his.

You feel Spencer smile against your thigh, press a soft kiss there before you climb off him. “Thank you,” he murmurs, the words softly familiar.

“I should be thanking you, gorgeous,” you say, tracing your fingers across his lips and gathering up your arousal. “This is all you, honey,” you add, slipping your wet fingers into his open mouth and smiling softly as he sucks them clean. “You were such a good boy tonight, you know? I know trying something new can be stressful for you, but you took it so well, sweetheart.”

Spencer sighs. “But it wasn’t, though. I… I trust you. I know you wouldn’t let anything happen to me. I like trying new things with you. You make me feel safe.” His cheeks are burning red, but he sounds so earnest that you can’t hold it back anymore.

“I love you, honey,” you say, quiet but firm. “You don’t have to say it back, I just… I do, and I want you to know.”

Lips parted and brow scrunched in disbelief, Spencer turns to you. “Are you kidding? Angel, I love you so much. I didn’t want to say it too soon and freak you out, but… I love you.” Your lips curve into a smile, and you kiss him frantically, pouring frenzied passion against his lips.

Spencer laughs breathlessly when you break apart for air, practically glowing as you gaze at him. “Hi,” you giggle, stretching out your stiff legs. “Think we need a shower, honey.”

He nods, but makes no move to get up, pulling you closer and hooking one of your legs over his. “In a minute.”

[thegothicchangeling]

Babydoll

Alpha Sevika x Omega Reader drabble

Summary: Sevika makes a bad call and upsets you while you're in pre heat. You're pissed at her.

You looked at the barebones nest you'd assembled. It was made up of pillows, clothes, and throw blankets you'd stolen from around the apartment, because Sevika had insisted on washing everything in preparation for your heat.

It wasn't like Sevika had forced you to give up the bedding, or gone behind your back. No, she was a good alpha. She talked you into it with good old fashioned logic.

"It's time to wash the bedding anyway," she had said calmly. "And I think it's more important now than ever. Come on, you know how filthy this stuff is gonna get."

You couldn't argue with that reasoning, but that didn't mean you were happy about it. Already you were in pre heat, and every instinct was screaming at you to fix this mess. Because what was this? Not a nest.

Tears welled in your eyes. You didn't want to disappoint Sevika.

That was when she walked in with the sheets and comforter. Her scent was relaxed and she clearly had no idea how upset you were. "The laundry's dry," she announced.

"It doesn't smell like you!" You rebuked her angrily.

"You're right," Sevika said calmly. "I'll get right on that." And she started rubbing her scent glands against the bedding. She tried to sit down with you, but you growled.

That was when she realized how upset you were. You could see her nose move as she sniffed nearby you. Her face fell. "You're mad about the laundry, aren't you? And you smell like you're hours away from heat, at most."

"Yes, so hurry up and scent that shit!" You snapped.

Sevika's eyes widened. "Okay, okay." She worked faster. "I'm sorry I upset you, babydoll."

You huffed and didn't answer. All you did was work on your nest. It had to be perfect within the next few hours, and you didn't work well under stress.

Sevika took your giving her the silent treatment in stride. She brought you more things from other rooms and talked to you from time to time, attempting to win you over again.

"I was thinking I'd make your favorite tonight. How does that sound?"

"My pretty omega's gonna look so good spread out naked on that blanket."

You steadfastly ignored her, and your growing arousal, unless it was to ask her for something.

"The nest looks soft. You did such a good job making it. You're such a good omega, making this for us."

You softened. Sevika saw her chance and dove for it. "Is it okay if I come in now?"

"No!" You snarled. You turned away from her and lay on your side, staring at the wall.

Sevika paused, then spoke softly. "You're really upset, aren't you babydoll?"

"I'm not your babydoll."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pressured you into letting me change the bedding," she said sincerely. "If I'd realized how deep into pre heat you were, I would never have done it."

"How could you not realize?" You asked angrily. "Couldn't you smell me?" You were honestly hurt, and you knew your alpha could hear it in your voice.

"I was preoccupied with making sure everything was ready for you," she sighed, and you could imagine how she was probably running her hands through her hair. "Cleaning, meal prepping, and then I realized I forgot to submit my PTO, so I had to do that, and the bedding was just one more thing to check off my to-do list."

Knowing she was trying to help you made you feel guilty for being angry at her. In her own way, Sevika was nesting, too. You rolled over and looked at her.

She unfastened your poncho. "Hey. It's okay. It's alright." She handed it to you. "I bet this will be great for the nest."

Your eyes widened. She wore that thing almost every day, and now Sevika was handing it over to you. You took it from her and brought it up to your nose. It smelled more strongly of her than any other item of clothing. Cologne. Incense. Sevika. Perfection. "Thank you, 'Vika," you sniffled, feeling like you were about to cry.

"Well, I gotta keep my omega happy, right?"

You placed it on the pillow at the headboard, so you could lay your head on it later. Then you turned and looked back at your mate. "Will you get in and hold me?"

Sevika's face lit up. "Of course, baby," she purred, and she crawled into the nest with you. Then she pulled you into her chest and kissed the crown of your head.

"I'm sorry I was so mean," you admitted. You knew she was just trying to take care of you.

"Oh, it's okay, precious," she rumbled happily. Then her demeanor changed to something more dominant. She tipped your chin upwards and made you look at her. "Are you my babydoll?" She asked.

What could you say except yes?

[goomyloid]

Can you tell me about your dt player. Since from the way you portray them they aren’t meant to be you. Kinda your oc in a way huh. It’s a cool depiction so that’s why I’m curious.

well today is your lucky day because i literally just filled out this chart right before answering this:

basically my version of them is thoroughly mentally disconnected from all consequences, because everything is just a game to them.

apathetic with only the desire to see what happens, and what becomes of kris and noelle (in the weird route). They always just barely have the upper hand; if things don't proceed down a certain path (i.e. aborted weird route or something) it's only because they allowed for it to happen. kris is very smart, but 'our' knowledge just objectively surpasses theirs in every way. for the most part.

i guess if i had to describe them as a real-life player, it would be the kind of person that plays all the routes without feeling bad about it, someone that somehow doesnt feel as though they're entirely to blame for the story going this way. (they taunt kris over this, maybe just to pick at their brain to get a look of how they're feeling about all of this.)

after all, deltarune is a game. it's meant to be played, it's only natural that people will want to pick it apart inside and out with its level of popularity. nothing should make a player feel bad about playing the game that they bought and spent time on.

regardless of one's investment in the characters, the world is simply not real to us. but in terms of vessel specifically talking to kris or something, it's not like THEY'RE the one saying "kris you're not real lol" or anything like that, it's more so their existence as a 'watcher' of sorts outside the bounds of comprehensible reality renders them in a similar position as us, someone in control and free from any consequences (presumably), letting kris and co. take the brunt of all your wrongdoings.

there's all of that, but i also like to portray them as being more on the extreme side, going as far as to treat characters fictional even when said character is standing right in front of them.

the 'commodification' of noelle plays into this a lot i think. we haven't seen it much in game so far, but we get the implied player attachment to her via treating kris as a self-insert of sorts just so you can get weirdly, creepily close to and controlling over noelle. it comes off more as vessel only wanting to be close to noelle and kind of discarding kris, just like they once were (lol).

the player's funny little fixation on noelle definitely throws a wrench in things kris-and-noelle-relationship wise, because this Thing is masquerading as kris, and noelle (and maybe toriel to a degree) is the only person able to tell something's wrong. it's almost like Hikaru Ga Shinda Natsu in a way -- your friend has been replaced, and you're the only person to notice just because you know them so well. it comes down to noelle's heart and ability to see through whatever vessel throws at her, if she'll be able to reach her hand out and save kris from sinking away before it's too late.

ummm. im getting off track. got too krisellepilled for a sec. VESSEL. i'm definitely not immune to portraying them more lightheartedly sometimes, but when I do that, it's usually in game, more so showing up as the soul instead lol

they're still sarcastic and blunt and weird, but at least they're not crazy destructive and sociopathic. gotta tone it down for the sillies

anyway i think thats all i can think of to say at the moment, if i think of something else big i might add it in a reblog, idk lol. thank you for asking, sorry about the long post!

[abbysbasement]

#RUNONS

Kittygirl!Reader x Mommy!Abby

The one thing Abby loved was that you always kept yourself soft, warm, and pliant for her. When she was wound up too tight, you'd pad across the couch to roll out on her lap, and she'd lay a thick, heavy palm on your back, petting down your shoulderblades to the base of your spine, fingering between your cheeks to grab a handful of soft, supple ass.

Your head would perk up, lips all soft, drooly and parted, eyes pearl-round gone, in the special place, just how she liked it. She made quick work of your boyshorts, unceremoniously tugging them around your knees before slicking up a finger through your juices.  Her hands were calloused, thick fingers pushing through the gummy ring of your cunt and exploring you deeper, as your hungry lips grabbed on for dear life. Her other hand fumbled with the buckle of her belt, pulling it from the loop. You winced instinctively, yet she dropped it chattering to the ground as she released her belt loop. From it, the blue of Abby's thick cock sprang forward, catching you in the chin. You whined, and she used her free thumb to part your lips, craning your head to the tip.

"Gotta glaze it up for me kitty, else 's gonna hurt goin' in."

Puppygirl!Reader x Owner!Ellie

Ellie loves being high around you, calls you her little stress ball. Plops you down in the center of her thighs, just boxers and a bra separating skin from skin, and draws in gently as her fingers pad around your body. Soon, you're toppled over onto the bed, Ellie squatting down to drag your panties to the side and deposit a spit slick finger into the warm, tight, and wet between your legs.

"Fuckin' like that baby? Know you do."

Her tattoed knuckles grazing down your lips, your neck and momentarily caressing the globe of a breast before hooking into your collar and pulling you forward, ghosting trails of ivory smoke into your little mouth.

"Good girl... pretty baby."

Her eyes were low and dark, taking you in in the dim light like a vulture taking in a freshly lain corpse. The shutters of her teeth bruising your neck and thighs, taking in the pieces of you greedily. Plunging your finger into your mouth to hastily, lovingly suck, cleaning off the spend with your soft tongue. Whatever she wanted, you let her have, and that's why she needed you, that's why this worked.

[fairysongs]

౨ৎ coming home too late﹕spencer reid .ᐟ

summary: based entirely on the song, coming home by beabadoobee. pure fluff.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

includes: soooo much fluff, spencer’s pov, spencer is in love with reader, reader is just as in love with him, very small mention of depression, reader uses she/her pronouns, reader loves to clean, established relationship, derek morgan is spencer and reader's #1 fan, did i mention spencer is in love?

word count: 1.7k

a/n: eeeek my second fic!! i got so happy writing this. maybe the most sickening sweet thing i ever did do. i love beabadoobee's music so much i kinda wanna write a million different things based on her songs. Anyways..!!! as always likes/reblogs/feedback appreciated :3

spencer reid had never felt more relieved to be sitting inside this jet than he was right now.

sure, he’s happy every single time his team is able to wrap up a case. he’s happy every single time they catch the bad guy. he’s happy every single time justice is brought to victims and their families. he’s happy every single time he gets to come home and see you. he’s happy every single time he notices the way your eyes light up when you see him walk through the door. he’s happy every single time you throw your arms around his neck and he gets to pick you up, inhaling your sweet scent as if he’d never be able to embrace you again.

but this time it was a little different. it was currently 6:54pm in california where the latest case was. meaning it was 9:54pm back home. it would take approximately five hours to fly home and another thirty minutes to drive to his apartment. meaning he wouldn’t step through his door until way after three in the morning and he knew you’d be sound asleep by then. and it was saturday, a day that never held much weight to him until he started living with you.

he found out that you grew up with a rather strict routine in your home. your parents deemed every saturday ‘cleaning day’. every saturday you did your weekly chores and that habit stuck with you as you moved on to live with college roommates, on your own and eventually with spencer.

he remembers when he first asked you to move in with him. you’d been dating for about a year and a half at that point. he brought it up in a rather nonchalant way and he was so thankful you were not a profiler and couldn’t tell how hard his heart was beating inside his chest as he started to ask.

“you know… you sleepover here a lot. i mean, you have your own drawer in my dresser, your own space in my closet…” he started one morning, sipping from his mug of sugary sweet coffee. “your skincare stuff in my bathroom, your special shampoos in my shower… your little treats stocked in my fridge…” his lips started twitching, trying to fight the stupid large smile that wanted to show on his face.

you hummed in response, your fingers tapping against your own mug that was full of tea. you hated coffee. when he learned that he bought a box of your favorite tea and kept it stocked in his kitchen. “are you… complaining?” you asked, voice sort of quiet with uncertainty.

he shook his head immediately, realizing he wasn’t being as straightforward as he assumed. “no!” his voice squeaked slightly, causing you to raise your eyebrows. “no… no, i was just… i mean, you spend so much time here and i really love it. i love you being here with me and i… if you wanted to move in i would… i mean, i want you to move in. if you want to. please.”

thankfully your heart was just as pretty as you were and you didn’t let him nervously ramble for too long. instead you walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. you stood on your tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “relax. i’d love to, spencer. but i have to warn you, i’m quite a lot to deal with twenty-four seven…” he would just stare back at you, with nothing but love and admiration pouring from brown hues. he always thought you were so silly when you’d say things like that and he’d spend the rest of the morning telling you that while peppering sweet kisses to every inch of your skin.

he did learn very quickly just how serious you were about your routine. you woke up at six in the morning every saturday. you’d start in the bathroom, then make your way to the kitchen, then collect the dirty laundry from the week, then focus on organizing every little desk and shelf he had in his home. at first you wouldn’t let him help you, explaining that you didn’t want him to feel obligated in helping you with your own crazy little habit. he’d shake his head and just ask you what kind of laundry detergent you liked as he piled clothes into a basket.

“if you keep up with it weekly, then it won’t get out of hand and too big to fix.” you mumbled one time while scrubbing the dishes. “sometimes when the scaries got really bad, i used to forget to keep up with my cleaning. all the mess just made things more unbearable. keeping on top of it makes me feel more in control. even if the ‘cleaning’ one week is just refilling the toilet paper and doing one single load of laundry.”

he nodded his head in response, emptying the trash beneath the sink. spencer was nothing but soft with you, but even more so whenever you mentioned your struggles with depression or ‘the scaries’ as you called it. the two of you quickly fell into a habit every single saturday. you split the work load. you’d do the dishes, he’d carry the trash out, you’d fold the laundry, he’d vacuum the rug. he didn’t have to say it, you’d already know, but he enjoyed the structure of routine just as much as you did. the rest of your saturdays were spent on the sofa, your head in his lap while you forced him to watch your favorite childhood show. takeout food spread across the coffee table in front of you. there was so much comfort the two of you found in the domesticity of it all.

so, yes, he was a little bit upset he missed this saturday and was so ready to get home and pull you into his arms and never let go. he hadn’t noticed him spacing out, eyes focused on the same page of a book he was reading for five minutes, until he heard derek morgan’s voice.

“hey, loverboy!” spencer’s head snapped up, brows furrowing at the man giving him a cheeky smile. “you’ve been staring at that page for an eternity. what’s on your mind, huh?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.

you met the whole team ages ago and every one of them adored you but derek especially admired the way you loved spencer. he’d never say it out loud, unless it was in a teasing way to get spencer to blush, but he genuinely believed you were an angel sent to the boy genius. derek noticed how blissful you made him, how gentle you were and how safe he felt with you. how could his heart not swell in appreciation for the love you gave to his brother?

“i missed cleaning day…” spencer spoke, brows pulling together slightly. there was a soft sigh that fell from his lips as he pulled his phone from his pocket. your last text saying you were gonna stay up and wait for him even though you both knew that you’d fall asleep the moment you got comfortable.

“okay… and is that a bad thing?” derek responded, leaning back into his seat with a slightly confused expression.

“well, yeah. she likes cleaning every saturday and we normally split the work between us. that way we have more time to spend together.” spencer huffed and tucked his phone away again. he closed the book he was reading. “it’s more than just the cleaning, derek. i hate being away from her, you know? we never know when we’re gonna get called away on a case like this and i like spending as much time as i can with her. and i hate coming home late. it makes me feel like i’ve missed so much.”

derek breathed out a laugh but nodded, understanding all too well what he meant. emily prentiss came around the corner, one hand holding a cup of coffee and the other resting gently on spencer’s shoulder. “spencer reid, you have become the most smitten, lovestruck man since you met that girl. and it’s the most adorable thing in the world.” everyone on the jet chuckled softly at that, even aaron hotchner, while he blushed and adverted his eye contact towards the shaded window. he knew they weren’t laughing at him, more so showing an expression of how happy they were that he was happy.

he stepped into the dimly lit living room of his apartment at exactly 3:26am. the tv glowed over your sleeping body on the sofa, arms wrapped tightly around a stuffed red panda he gifted you a few birthdays ago. the netflix screen asking ‘are you still watching avatar: the last airbender?’ shined in his face as he leaned in to shut the machine off. he walked over to your sleepy state, a tiny smile growing on his lips as he leaned in to brush some of your hair from your face. he tucked one arm beneath your knees and held the other one to your arm as he carried you to the bedroom.

you stirred, humming softly as he quietly shushed you. “shh, hi baby. i’m home now. go back to bed, yeah?”

“how was the flight?” you asked in a soft whisper, ignoring his requests. he chuckled, shaking his head and he set you gently on the cushion of his mattress.

“it was fine. too long. i’m sorry i’m home late.” he was just as quiet as you, pulling the duvet over your body and tucking it at your shoulders. he picked up the stuffed animal that had fallen beside the bed and tucked it next to you as well.

“it’s okay. we always have tomorrow.” with your eyes still closed, you smiled as he kissed your forehead.

“yes, my love. we do, don’t we? i’m gonna get changed okay? go back to bed.”

“i’ll wait for you.”

when he was changed out of his work clothes and into his pajamas, he turned back and found you soundly asleep again. he let out a quiet laugh, got into bed and pulled you right to his chest. he played with your hair until he fell asleep too, no longer upset about the day he missed with you because you were right.

he always had tomorrow.

[aroaceleovaldez]

reminder that the only reason the "ADHD is actually demigod BATTLE STRATEGIES" and "dyslexia is DEMIGOD BRAINS HARDWIRED FOR ANCIENT GREEK" things exist in the PJO universe is because it's a very direct reference to early 2000s teaching/parenting techniques for neurodiverse and disabled children, which aimed to frame childrens' disabilities and hardships as a "superpower" or strength so that the children would feel more positively about their disabilities or situations. This technique has fallen out of favor since then for the most part since more often than not it just results in kids feeling as though their struggles are not being seen or taken seriously.

Yes, demigods are adhd/dyslexic (and sometimes autistic-coded) in the series. This is extremely important and trying to remove it or not acknowledge it makes the entire series fall apart because it is such a core concept. Yes, canon claims that their adhd/dyslexia is tied to some innate abilities, which is based on an outdated methodology. It's important to acknowledge that and understand where it comes from! But please stop trying to apply it to other pantheons in the series like "oh, the romans have dyscalculia because of roman numerals!" or "the norse demigods have dysgraphia for reasons!" - it's distasteful at best.

A better option is to acknowledge the meta inspiration for why that exists in the series, such as explaining potentially that Chiron was utilizing that same teaching methodology to try and help demigods feel more comfortable with their disabilities and they aren't literal powers. In fact, especially given Frank, there's implication that being adhd/dyslexic isn't a guaranteed demigod trait, which means it's more likely to be normally inherited from their godly parent/divine ancestor as a general trait, not a power, and further supports the whole "ADHD is battle strategy" thing being non-literal. It also implies the entire greco-roman pantheon in their universe is canonically adhd/dyslexic - and that actually fits very well with the themes of the first series. The entire central conflict of the first series fits perfectly as an allegory about neurodiverse/disabled children and their relationships with their undiagnosed neurodiverse/disabled parents and trying to find solutions together with their shared disability/disabilities that the kid inherited instead of becoming distant from each other (and this makes claiming equivalent to getting a diagnosis which is a fascinating allegory! not to mention the symbolism of demigods inheriting legacies and legends and powers from their parents and everything that comes with that being equivalent to inheriting traits, neurodiversity, and disabilities from your parents).

anyways neurodiversity and disability and the contexts in which the series utilizes representation of those experiences particularly during the 2000s symbolically within the narrative is incredibly important to the first series and the understanding of what themes it means to represent. also if i see one more "the romans have dyscalculia instead of dyslexia" post in 2023 i'm gonna walk into the ocean.

[venusflytrapm]

600 words, aizawa x reader, tw christmas and pet name (babe)

He hates it. You can tell from Shouta’s face that he hates the watch you got him for Christmas.

It was an antique you found at a pawnshop, costing a pretty penny, and you genuinely thought he would like it. He likes the old things you buy him! The first antique you bought him, he made a joke about how you thought he was old, but he loved it…or you thought he did. 

But now he’s sitting on the loveseat across from the recliner you’re sitting on in your shared home. And there’s this look on his face you can’t quite decipher; it's something you’ve never seen before. His jaw ticks, like he wants to say something, but his brows are furrowed like he’s thinking. 

There’s a heavy silence in the air, him staring at the watch and you staring at him, then the telltale sound of cats pitter-pattering can be heard coming from the kitchen. They’re probably playing with the gifts Shouta bought them, and any other time you would get up to watch, but you're a little preoccupied. 

Shouta lets out a tiny sigh, a small smile forming on his face after what feels like forever. “It’s... I love it.”

“You do? It took you a long time to respond." You breathe out a sigh of relief. “I thought you hated it.” 

“No, it's,” He chuckles, looking up at you. “I couldn’t hate it. I couldn’t hate a single thing you got me.” He is smiling wider, and it's something you only see once in a blue moon. The uncontrollable smile he does when he just can’t contain his feelings. 

“I saw it in the case, and I thought, ‘This is something Sho would wear,’ so I bought it.” You admit bashfully. God, you feel like a teenager when he looks at you like that.

You’re both staring at each other now; the watch is still in its box, but you both are too intertwined in eye contact. Any outsider would see this and think it was weird how you both were staring into each other's souls, but it's warm and not awkward at all. It feels like the sun is beaming extra hard inside of the walls of your house, despite the temperature being set at a cool 65 degrees. 

“This is my watch.” He speaks up.

“Yeah, babe, I bought it for you.” Now you’re the one chuckling. 

“No,” He rolls his eyes, but he isn’t annoyed with you; he’s smiling. “This was my watch when I was in school. I sold it because I needed the money.” His hands are moving now, taking the watch out of its box and looking at the bottom, where the part that holds the battery can be seen. 

“You didn’t notice the S.A. engraved in the back?” He asks incredulously.

You lean over; an inch more and you’d fall, and it seems more reasonable to just sit next to him, but you still lean. And you can see it clearly in the natural light of your living room, his initials perfectly aligned on the back of the case. You hadn’t noticed when you were in the pawnshop. No wonder you thought it was perfect for him. 

“So I got you a watch that you already had? No wonder I thought you’d like it.” You laugh, and before you know it, you’re both laughing and embracing. 

A few light kisses are shared for no more than a minute before he’s pulling away. 

“I have to call Mic, he’s not going to believe this.” He stands and walks to the phone. And you’re giggling on the couch.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

this is loosely based off of @emmyrosee 's messing with sukuna post bc i just love the idea of messing with your whiny baby dramatic boyfriend and i immediately thought about katsuki ! if you want this taken down lmk !

katsuki is hilarious to mess with.

you've only been staring at him for about 5 seconds when he turns to you.

"whaddya want ?" he asks with a raised brow. you're still all smiles, resting your head into your palm

"nothing." you hum, he grumbles a bit but doesn't pay it any mind. until you keep staring. he's trying to focus on his phone but you can tell he's about to snap when he starts squinting at the device.

"what ?" he grumbles, red eyes narrow at your smile widening.

"nothing !"

"yn. don't fuck with me."

"i'm not !" you giggle " i'm just looking at you, am i not allowed to ?"

you know exactly what to say to fluster him without fail every time, it's something you're most proud of when you see the tips of his ears turn a light shade of pink.

"..no."

you snort "no ?"

"shaddup." he says through gritted teeth "so what, you're just lookin' at me ?"

"yeah." you shrug "i like lookin' at my pretty boyfriend." you prop your head against the couch and sigh dreamingly to sell the lovesick act. katsuki inhales through his nose, chest puffing like he's upset and he tsks, ears and cheeks beet red.

"weirdo." he scoffs, then grabs the back of your head to pull you in and press his lips to yours roughly.

you're both breathing heavy when you pull away. he looks at you, mouth slightly agape as he heaves lightly, eyeing you from your eyes to your lips. and then he huffs through his nose like a bull and roughly pulls you into in chest, causing you to release an 'oomph !' at the force when he flops down onto the couch, pulling you with him.

"m'not pretty." he mocks your voice and you huff a laugh into his collarbone. you wiggle around and your boyfriend loosens his hold a bit so you can look up at him.

"you so are !" you argue, he won't look at you but narrows his eyes at the tv he'd turned to to distract himself from your gaze.

"nah, that's you, babe." he switches through the channels "thought you said i was handsome last week."

"you can be pretty and handsome at the same time, the proof is right in front of me." you flirt, he looks at your from the corner of his eye and his mouth curls up like he smelled something nasty when you wink at him.

"gross."

"you're blushing~" you sing, closing your eyes and laying your head onto his chest, you sigh happily when he starts rubbing up and down your back instinctively.

"go to sleep. m'tired of listening to you." he pushes your head down into his chest jokingly and you giggle. you can't see the smirk growing on his face from where your being shoved into.

you wrestle out of his hold to look at him to see he's already staring at you, half smirk on his face and he scoffs at your expression, you huff through your nose and your smile widens.

"you love me." you whisper knowingly, katsuki takes the hand off of your back to pinch at your side and he snorts when you squeal.

"unfortunately."

you yelp when he wets his lips and he captures yours in a sloppy wet kiss.

[dipperscavern]

Need more vampire!cregan thoughts pls🙏 doesn't have to be dirty but imo I need to know about how he bites his wife (while railing her)- 📑 anon

okay ive just had a premonition about this (my eyes rolled into the back of my head and i satrted floating)

i think even after its well established that cregan's free to bite you - especially during sex - he never does it without warning. its the same routine every time, no matter if he's actually feeding or just biting, or while cuddled in bed with or sheathed inside of you.

he trails his lips up to the place he plans to sink his teeth, kissing your skin and slowing down any other ministrations of his in the process. its intentional; he wants you to feel him coming - always giving you enough time to pull away if you wanted. you never do, of course.

once he comes to the place he plans to break your pretty skin at, he starts with pressing a final kiss to the area. except this time, his lips don't come back up.

usually, by now, the excitement and anticipation of it has sped your heart considerably. he can hear its quick-paced rhythm - can hear the rushing sound of flowing blood, too. and although he can (and does) appreciate such a thing as the racing of sweet crimson, his unoccupied hand always does something to calm you; to remind you that cregan is still here. a caress of skin, a cup of your cheek - you respond all the same, pursuing the comfort he offers by favoring into him.

it doesn't seem nearly as long of a process when it actually happens, because as cregan cups your cheek, you feel the graze of teeth on your skin.

he's quite gentle in this routine. always a first graze of dull teeth before the sharp sting of fangs. the seconds that pass between the two feelings are another opportunity to change your mind and pull away. you always have that option - whenever, wherever.

the intrusion of fangs always make you gasp, whether it be the shock of pain or your nerves in disbelief their worrying of half-expected pain is a sentiment that's come to a crest. they catch up quickly, however. action absorbs anxiety.

if ever asked to describe it, you're not sure you'd have the words.

pain, like all things, is a spectrum. quite almost everybody understands this, yet somehow it always remains unspoken. the kind that comes with feeding isn't the same as the kind experienced when stabbed or shocked, no. those are the kinds whose hold you always, whether on purpose or not, try and yank away from.

cregan's teeth bring the same amount of discomfort found only in picking skin, or walking with a small leg wound. it hurts, surely, but you don't try to pull free from its grasp. this the pain that has carved an empty space next to you, that from the time of your birth to your fleshly departure you spend countless hours learning to sit beside when filled.

and, truthfully, the pain is dull. a slow throb as blood does its job without second thought, rushing to fill the wound, no matter how inflicted. but there is - undoubtedly - a certain pleasure that's found, too. it aches, but it also clouds. if the feeling of steady fog filling the silent earth, so much so that you cannot see your hand outstretched in front of you, could be not only captured, but embodied, it would be this. it would be how your lashes flutter shut as your body fills with static, feeling like, if not careful, you could follow your redness - right into the mouth of your greedy husband. and, gods, is it exhilarating. it is an exhilarating feeling - to give.

and the feeling of taking even more so.

but cregan is careful to not succumb to that feeling entirely, lest he get too carried away. it doesn't require much effort, thoughts of you are more than enough to override even the taste of blood in his mouth.

and that dance - of push and pull - of take and give, is one inexplicable thing. is such that is inexplainable using the limitations provided by the mere common tongue. and so it remains incomprehensible.