do people who watch the pitt know that princess and perlah have different accents when they speak in tagalog? and these accents are indicative of how and where they grew up...
because princess speaks tagalog without an accent, but she has the basic american english accent which tells me she was probably born and raised in the philippines before immigrating to the us at a young age. meanwhile, perlah does have an accent when she speaks in tagalog, the same accent a lot of americans have when they speak it, which tells me she was probably born and raised in the us.
i find it interesting. that's all. and i thought i'd share my thoughts to the non-filipino viewers.
i'm finally getting caught up on cr4 e31 and man. the clear influences of the player's real life culture in their characters (and in the worldbuilding in brennan's case) is amazing and adds such a richness. like thaisha is so clearly influenced by like. black american folk culture Especially with the orcish revolutionaries. idk if liam is irish but he's at least running with a lot of the irish american working class stuff brennan injected into the world in terms of the hal and the culture of the round. and azune's whole bit about not having anyone to speak his native language to and his disconnect to his own identity (diaspora narrative). i Love when real world cultures are reflected in fiction it's so good.
Hi, these bees are babies! Theyâre not clumsy at all, this is what is called orientation flights. After birth and before beginning their careers as foragers (as all Honey bees cycle through all the jobs in the Hive throughout their lifespan), Honey bees take short flights back and forth, to and from the Hive, to orient themselves with their wings and their home so they can learn its location and how to get back home after foraging! Everyone has to learn, these are just smol little baby turkeys. Bees use the angle of the sun for location so adults have a better and more direct sense of location than any human
I always thought Reddit was a place where people could share things they created.A few days ago I posted one of my original paintings. People loved it. We had wonderful conversations about art, emotions, and how everyone saw something different in the same sunset.
About two hours later I was permanently banned from r/MadeMeSmile for âself-promotion.â
I accepted that different communities have different rules.But then something even stranger happened.Soon afterward, a moderator from r/pics started going through my account. Not just the new postâmany of my older painting posts disappeared as well. One after another. Then I was permanently banned there too.
Maybe it was the same moderator. Maybe it wasnât. I honestly donât know.
What surprised me wasnât even the ban itself. It was realizing how much power individual moderators have over what millions of people are allowed to see. One decision can erase years of posts from a community and instantly cut off your ability to participate, even if those posts had been happily sitting there for months or years.Iâm not saying moderators shouldnât have rules. Communities need moderation.But it does make you wonder where the line is between protecting a community and allowing a single interpretation of the rules to completely reshape what people can share.
The funny part?
I wasnât advertising anything in those posts. I wasnât posting prices or asking anyone to buy anything. I was simply sharing my original paintings because I enjoy discussing art with strangers from around the world.
AnywayâŠ
Hereâs the painting that apparently caused all the trouble. đš
Summary: After an unfortunate mixup of pain medication and your friend's party substances at Pitt Fest, you're rushed to the Pitt and placed in the care of Jack Abbot. As he oversees your care, you get a little too touchy, and a little too honest.Â
Word Count: 6.6k
Content: accidental drug use (MDMA), mention of alcohol consumption, age gap (reader is mid 20s), fluff, comfort, a hint of smut (18+ MDNI) - literally like two seconds of thigh riding, mention of ovulation
A/N: listen⊠Iâve never done MDMA. I did a lot of research, but I had to fudge some stuff for plot. donât do drugs kids
Pitt Fest was not your idea. When your friend Beth offered you her spare ticket, you waffled at first. You're not really a crowds person, or a partying person. Beth was always the partier in college. But you do like live music, and she pointed out that your top Spotify artist from last year is in the concert lineup.
So youâd caved.
That decision is coming back to bite you in the ass, and bite hard.
Itâs hot as balls outside. Youâre covered in sweat, which mingles in a sticky and unpleasant mix with the sunscreen youâve been dutifully applying since the afternoon to avoid frying like an egg. When the sun finally set, you no longer had to worry about the burgeoning threat of skin cancer, but the heat doesnât break. In fact, it almost seems to get worse, because more and more people arrive to crowd you as night descends and the bigger names with larger fanbases grace the stage.
Youâre waiting for Beth outside of the bathroom facilities. She's been ingesting a steady stream of margaritas since sundown, so she leaves you holding the bag, literally. At least it's a nice excuse to separate yourself from the throng of jumping, sweaty bodies gathered by the stage.
Itâs nearly two in the morning. Youâre hungry. Your feet are killing you. You have a headache from the festivalâs sugary cocktails. Youâre sweating through the top Beth lent you. And on top of everything else, your ovulation cramps are kicking in like a motherfucker.
Growing desperate, you dig through Beth's bag, searching for the little Altoid tin that she always keeps her pain meds in. At long last, your hands make contact with the metal tin at the bottom of her tote. Nearly crying with relief, you pop an aspirin in your mouth and wash it down with the tepid bottled water youâve been clutching for the last hour.
Beth's voice rings out from behind you, talking over the din of the nearby DJ set. âWhat are you doing?â
You turn towards her, and see Beth staring at the tin in your hand. âI have cramps,â you explain, and just as youâre about to shove the tin back in her bag and hand it to her, she grabs your wrist.
ââŠplease tell me you didnât just take one of those,â she says urgently.
You raise an eyebrow. âWhy?â
âBecause those are not aspirin, babe.â
Your blood runs cold. Your brain quickly does the math â Beth had told you how much sheâs looking forward to meeting up with her rave friends tomorrow for the second night of Pitt Fest. Beth has always been quite the partier. And she often partied with her good friend Molly.
Your eyes widen in horror. âOh no.â
Pitt Fest, as always, is a huge pain in the ass for the night shift.
Handoff gets messy. There's a shit ton of substance cases, even more of heatstroke. Robby stays longer than he should and snaps at everyone, clearly in his feelings remembering last yearâs Pitt Fest. Understandable, yes, but it also makes everyoneâs life that much harder when theyâre within sniping distance of him.
Needless to say, Jack is already over this shift, and itâs not even halfway done. It doesn't help that his favorite resident happens to have the night off, which deposits his mood firmly in the hospital basement. Which, coincidentally, happens to be the location of the morgue.
Now that Robby has been politely ordered to go the fuck home, Jack feels like he can finally focus on his job instead of doing damage control with the med students. As he walks down the hall, Lena catches his attention from the hub desk.
âWe have an ambulance two minutes out with a mid-20s female, collapsed at Pitt Fest,â she informs him. âProbable dehydration, likely drug-related, because, well⊠Pitt Fest.â
This festival truly is the gift that keeps on giving. Jack cracks his knuckles and eyes the ambulance bay doors. âAll right. Let's get ready to receive the party girl.â
A few minutes later, the gurney is wheeled in by two paramedics and received by Lena and Parker. Parker shoots an alarmed and confused look over her shoulder at Jack, who steps forward to supervise.
âDr. Abbot!"
Of all the things Jack expected to see tonight, this is at the bottom of the list. You're strapped to the gurney, scantily clad and gleaming with sweat, a goofy smile on your face and your pupils blown so wide they nearly swallow your irises.
Jack scrubs a hand through his hair. âYou're shitting me.â
This is quite the surprising turn of events.
After Lena sets you up in South 16, Jack discreetly shoos away Parker so he can handle your examination himself. He doubts you would be comfortable with one of your fellow residents seeing you like this, considering your condition and your current state of dress.
Jack closes the door behind him and saunters over to you. His eyes snag on your tight, strappy top, and the strategically placed cutouts baring sections of your midriff and chest. Heâs holding onto his professionalism by a thread, especially with the way youâre shifting around on the exam table, causing the hem of your miniskirt to ride up.
He has no choice but to focus up. You need medical attention, not the kind of attention his brain and body really want to give you right now. First, Lena takes your temperature and shows him the number on the display. 100.2 degrees F. It's coming down from what the paramedics recorded in the ambulance, and not so high that heâs still worried about heat stroke. But youâll need cooling down regardless.
âThatâs quite the outfit you got on,â he mutters as he gently raises your chin and shines his penlight into your pupils.
âDo you like it?â you ask, beaming up at him even as you squint. âI borrowed it from my friend. Sheâs so nice.â
Your pupils are so dilated that your eyes are almost completely black.
âYup.â Jack clicks off the light and sighs, turning to Lena. âSheâs rolling, all right. Letâs get a tox to make sure thereâs nothing else to be worried about.â
You donât seem to even register the pain of the needle prick, but you let out a delighted little hum when Lena smooths a bandage over your arm and adds gentle pressure over top of it.
âThat feels good,â you murmur with a lazy smile.
âI bet.â Jack crosses his arms and tries to give you a stern look. âCan I ask what my best resident is doing taking ecstasy at a music festival?â
âI didnât take it on purpose, I swear,â you protest, your eyes widening in a brief panic. âIt was my friendâs. I thought it was aspirin, for my cramps.â
âYouâre menstruating?â he asks, picking up his tablet and sitting in the edge of the exam table next to you to amend your chart.
You shake your head and say matter-of-factly, âOvulation cramps.â
His eyebrows shoot up towards the ceiling in surprise.Â
You continue babbling, unaware of the grenade you just lobbed at Jack. âShe tried to get me to throw it up, but I couldnât because I donât really have a gag reflex.â
Jack takes a deep breath to prevent his brain from completely short-circuiting.Â
Your face breaks into a sheepish smile, and you giggle, âOops. Sorry, that was probably too much information.â Leaning forward on the exam table, you bring your face inches away from his and observe with a sigh, âYour eyes are really pretty.â
From behind him, Jack hears Lena snickering under her breath. He clears his throat and straightens up to standing.
Avoiding Lena's eyes, he instructs her, âLetâs, uh, get her some fluids and cooling packs, huh? Maybe a Saf-T-Pop, too. Keep her mouth occupied, so she wonât say any more nonsense sheâll regret in the morning.â
Lena just shoots him an amused look and heads off to gather supplies. Nurses, he thinks ruefully to himself. They see everything.
Movement and sound draw his attention back to you. You're laid back on the exam table, eyes fluttering closed. And youâre running your hands through your hair, letting out a pleased little noise like the sensation is better than sex.Â
Jack breathes carefully through his nose. He needs out of this room with you, before this becomes mortifying for everyone involved. His phone buzzes in his pocket, giving him the perfect excuse for escape.
His voice is thin when he speaks, and for a moment, heâs glad youâre too high to notice. âYou sit tight, sunshine.âÂ
As he turns to leave the room, your hand catches the edge of his scrubs.
âYouâre leaving?â your mouth turns down into a pout, those huge eyes shining up at him. He very nearly gives in, very nearly reaches out a hand to stroke a thumb across your cheek just to hear the kind of sound it would pull from you. But his phone buzzes insistently, so he briefly pats your knee instead.
âI have other patients to see. But I'll be back before you know it,â he assures you, pulling open the door and diving headfirst back into the glorious chaos.
At least itâll be a convenient distraction from the thought of you, eagerly waiting in south fifteen for him to return.
He shakes his head in disbelief. Ovulation cramps. Youâre gonna be the death of him.
An MVA, a ketamine overdose, and a cardiac event later, the Pitt finally slows down enough for Jack to breathe. Enough to check your tox screen and sigh with relief that the MDMA you mistakenly took wasnât cut with anything. Alcohol is the only other thing in your system, in levels not high enough to be concerning. Although, combined with the ecstasy, it means you probably wonât remember much of this exciting little escapade.
At long last, he manages to find some time to check on you.Â
In his absence, Lena had set you up with a gown to preserve a little more of your modesty. Youâre laying on the exam table amongst the cooling packs, an IV attached to your arm and a Saf-T-Pop in your mouth thatâs turning your tongue red.Â
A smile breaks like sunrise over your face as soon as you see him.
âHey there, sunshine,â he greets you, approaching you with a little more warmth now that Lena's sharp eyes arenât here to observe.
âHi. I missed you,â you sigh.
Jack smirks. âDid you now?â
You nod happily. âMm-hmm.â
âHow are you feeling?â he asks, his gaze attentive, checking you over.
âCold,â you answer, wrapping your arms around yourself.
He reaches up a hand to feel your forehead. Still warm, but still steadily coming down over time. Heâs satisfied enough with your progress. You'll be out of here in no time.
The prospect disappoints him just a little.
âYeah, your body is having trouble regulating its temperature,â he explains, his thumb stroking delicately along your hairline. âWeâll need to keep these cool packs on you a little while longer.â
Just as his hand retreats, your hand catches his wrist. You press his palm to your cheek, almost nuzzling into it like an affectionate kitten.
âYour hands are so warm,â you murmur, eyelids slipping shut as you revel in the sensation.
The gesture catches him off guard, but he doesnât pull away. He couldnât even if he wanted to, and he certainly doesnât want to.
âEasy there, gorgeous,â he chuckles softly. âI need that hand for doctoring.â
Your eyelids flutter halfway open, and you look up at him with a lazy grin, clearly pleased as punch. âYou think I'm gorgeous?â
Jack freezes for a moment. The word had slipped out without him even registering it, familiar and endeared and entirely too revealing.Â
âI plead the fifth,â he replies, warmth creeping up his neck.
You giggle again. God, that sound does things to his heart that are medically concerning.
âI think youâre gorgeous,â you mumble dreamily.
Jack blinks in surprise.
Heâs been a little too fond of you for a while now, been staring a little too long when you brush past him in the halls. And heâs suspected before that it might not be completely one-sided. He sees how you receive his attention and praise differently than the other attendings, how you look at him with more than just the admiration of a mentor. But suspecting it and having it be confirmed are two different things. Especially since you wouldnât be saying any of this if you were sober.
He tries to laugh it off before his ego can run away with the compliment. âI think youâre high.â
You shrug. âMaybe. But I always think youâre gorgeous.â
Removing his palm from your cheek, you examine it with fascination, running a finger along the deep set lines. âI think about these,â you say thoughtfully. âAll the time.â
Jack is a little ashamed at how quickly that comment goes straight to his cock. His favorite resident, fantasizing about his hands, maybe even touching yourself to the thought of them, wishing your own fingers were hisâ
He drags his free hand over his face and mutters, "Jesus Christ."
âCan I tell you a secret?â You peer up at him again, that goofy, starstruck smile returning. âIâve got, like, the biggest crush on you.â
Unfortunately for Jack, there is very little time to process this very interesting information before his phone buzzes again. Just beyond the doors, he can hear the familiar sound of what is likely a high-priority trauma heading into the bay. Voices overlapping in urgent tones, gurney wheels on tile floor, grunts and yelps of pain from a patient.
Jack crosses to the door in two steps, and speaks over his shoulder to you. âHey, baby, I gotta handle something. Stay out of trouble, okay?â
As the door swings shut behind him, he just manages to catch the sound of you happily mumbling to yourself, âHe called me baby.â
Which is how he heads into Trauma 1 with a smile on his face, entirely too cheerful for a man facing down a compound femur fracture.Â
The shift that would never fucking end is almost fucking over. And all Jack can think about is you. You and your moony, lovey-dovey eyes and your wide, childlike smile. You gazing up at him and crooning I have the biggest crush on you. You giggling and telling him point-blank that youâre ovulating.
As he rolls out of yet another demanding trauma, Lena updates him on your condition. Youâre rehydrated and back to a normal temperature, pretty much ready for discharge if you can be released to someone who will take care of you. He returns to your room, finding you unhooked from your IV and cold-pack-free, happily set up with another lollipop.
âJack, youâre back!â you exclaim, and then laugh at your accidental rhyme.
Still rolling, he thinks. He checks his watch. According to your best guess of when you took the âaspirinâ in your friendâs purse, itâs been about four hours. You'll be due to start coming down anytime in the next two hours or so. He's due to head out, but he canât bring himself to go home until he knows youâre leaving in capable hands.
âHey, sunshine.â He offers you a tired but warm smile. âSeems like youâre in pretty good shape here, and you should be tapering off pretty soon. You got anybody to take you home, keep an eye on you?â
A little crease forms between your brows as you think hard. âI donât know where my friend went when the ambulance came. And I think my phone died,â you add pathetically, gesturing to the device in your lap and its terminally black screen.
Jack pinches the bridge of his nose. He canât in good conscience leave you to your own devices, especially when youâve never taken ecstasy before. At worst, thereâs still a chance you could have some kind of reaction. At best, the comedown is sure to knock you on your ass.Â
He can only think of one thing to do. It's not the best idea. It might not even be a good idea. But his brain is too addled from the long shift to come up with anything better. And you need someone to take care of you.
âJesus. Okay,â he mutters to himself, then sits on the edge of the exam table, bringing his face level to yours. âListen up, sunshine.â
You gaze at him intently, attention vacillating occasionally between his eyes and his mouth. Jack has a feeling that what heâs about to say will go in one ear and right out the other. But thereâs a chance youâll retain it, so he says it anyway.
âYou're gonna have a pretty serious crash when you come down. All those happy little chemicals that are making you feel good right now?â He gives you a soft little tap against your temple, and you giggle softly. He continues, âTheyâre gonna go on vacation for a day or two. I don't want you dealing with that on your own. So I'm gonna take you to my place, just to watch out for you until youâre feeling a little more like yourself.â
Youâre quiet for a minute, your brain catching up and computing the meaning of what he just said. When it finishes, the lightbulb goes off behind your eyes, and you ask excitedly, âWeâre having a sleepover?â
Of course that would be your takeaway.Â
He chuckles as he helps you to your feet. âThat's right. You got it.â
When Jack drapes his hoodie over your shoulders and guides you out of the Pitt to his car, heâs reminded of all the reasons that this is probably a terrible idea.
He sees the watchful eyes and the knowing smirks of the nurses. He sees Parker and Crus snickering behind their hands. He sees Shen counting up his winnings from the betting pool, because he wrote down molly and tripsitter Abbot.
And he feels your hand clinging to his bicep, sees how you gaze up at him with a dreamy expression as he walks you out to his car. Heâs knows heâs really going to need to behave himself for a few hours, because thereâs a very good chance that you wonât, and Jack doesnât want to accidentally take advantage of your⊠impaired judgement.
You spend most of the ride with your face by the cracked car window, feeling the wind on your face, eyes blissfully closed. Jack thanks his lucky stars that he thought to give the apartment a once-over before shift, so he isnât bringing you into a total mess.
He walks you into his bedroom and gestures to the en-suite. âBathroomâs there, if you want to take a shower. I'll find you something a little more⊠comfortable to wear,â he adds, peeling his eyes away from your tiny little shirt and how youâre already fussing with the straps.
As he turns to his bureau to find you a t-shirt, he feels arms wrapping around his middle, your body molding to his back as you embrace him with a sigh. âThank you for being so nice to me.â
Jack swallows and delicately removes your hands, stepping out of your embrace and ushering you in the direction of the bathroom.
âGo on, then,â he instructs you. âWhile youâre still upright.â
You barely even register it as rejection, heading towards the shower and wiggling out of your top before Jack even has the chance to close the door behind you. Which he does, quickly and with his eyes glued to the floor.
His instincts were right. He will very much need to behave himself while youâre here.
He busies himself while you shower by changing out of his scrubs and assembling a meal. It's a humble offering â just a couple of sandwiches and frozen french fries heated up in the oven, but itâs better than nothing.Â
After about twenty minutes, you emerge from the bedroom with damp hair and your face scrubbed clean, clad in one of his t-shirts and a pair of his boxers, smelling like his soap. You lean on his kitchen island with a contented little sigh.Â
Jack repeats it to himself like a mantra â behave yourself.
âTime to eat something,â he says, sliding one of the plates toward you.
âIâm not hungry.â
âI know. But I'm trying to set you up for success here, so you donât feel as awful when this is out of your system. When's the last time you ate?â he asks.
You rest your chin on your hand as you think back. âI had⊠lunch.â
âThought so.â He puts the plate into your hands and steers you in the direction of the couch with a hand on your lower back. âYou and I are gonna eat these sandwiches, drink some water, and watch Planet Earth.â
You gasp in delight and plop down onto the couch. âI love Planet Earth!â
He knows you do. You'd gushed about it being your favorite docuseries at work, and heâd bragged about owning the box set. It had been the first day you and he had really started to bond.
Once the tv is on, it thankfully keeps you occupied. You chew your food slowly, enraptured with the beautiful imagery on the screen. Managing a decent effort with the meal, you eat half the sandwich and most of the fries before you start to lose a little steam.
You abandon your plate on the coffee table, then take Jack completely by surprise as you lean over to lay your head in his lap.
He goes still for a moment, unsure if he should be allowing this. But he doesnât have the heart to push you away, so he puts his plate aside and lets a hand come to rest on your shoulder.
You sigh happily and snuggle closer.
It's been so long since Jack has taken care of someone like this that heâd almost forgotten what it feels like. How good it feels to be needed. The easy intimacy of sharing a space, sharing a meal, of letting someone melt against you after a long night.
Affectionately, he brushes a stray lock of hair out of your face, and you practically purr in response, leaning into his hand. So Jack keeps doing it, keeps gently stroking his fingers through your hair, preferring to watch your relaxing form instead of the polar bears on screen.
The two of you spend nearly an hour like that, until your breath starts to take on that even, drowsy quality and Jackâs own brain starts calling for rest. He gently eases you off his lap to sit up, takes you by the hand and leads you to bed, already resigning himself to the aching back that a couch nap is going to earn him.
Jack sets you up with a glass of water and the best blankets in the linen closet. As he turns to head back to the living room, your hand grabs his arm, pulling him back.
âStay.â
Your voice is low and warm. You're sitting up in his bed, his sheets pooled around your knees. Your eyes are dark, tempting, pleading.
Jack knows dangerous territory when he sees it.
Still, your serotonin is due to start dropping any time now, and hurt feelings are only going to be worsened once it does. Jack sits carefully on the edge of the bed, maintaining a few inches of distance, his other hand gently cradling your cheek.
âSorry, sunshine. Not a good idea.â
You move closer, your gaze fixed firmly on his mouth. âWhy?â
Best behavior, Jack.Â
âBecause youâre still tapering off. Plus, I just worked a long shift and I need to sleep.â He takes in a deep breath as he feels your hand slide across his shoulders. âAnd I've got a feeling I won't be getting much rest next to you.â
In a move so surprising that Jack is momentarily powerless to stop it, you rise up onto your knees and shift to straddle one of his thighs.
âWhat if I promise to be really, really good?â you murmur sweetly.
Jack knows he should stop you, and he almost does. But then you rock your hips on his thigh, the tiniest little life-ruining movement, and you let out the softest, neediest little sound. Suddenly, Jack is hanging onto his sanity and self control-by a thread. And that thread is fraying rapidly.
âBaby,â he whispers, half warning and half plea. His hands come to your hips, torn between stopping you and spurring you on.
Your hips rock again, more purposeful this time. âPlease,â you beg quietly, so close now that your lips just barely brush against his.
For a few shameful moments, Jack forgets about his fatigue and the ache in his leg and he wonders⊠how morally reprehensible would it really be to just let you get off on his thigh? Youâd said yourself that youâre ovulating, probably making you even needier. Fuck, he can feel how badly you want it, wetness soaking through the boxers youâre wearing and Jackâs sweatpants. Would it really be so awful of him to sit passively as you hump his leg to get the relief youâre clearly so desperate for? To take pity on you and let you use him for your pleasure?Â
But he knows it would be wrong, because heâd be getting off on it even if you didnât touch him. You're not in your right mind, and he doesnât want to make you come for the first time when youâre whacked out on MDMA.
Summoning the will from deep inside himself, he stills your hips and eases you off of his thigh, ignoring your whines as he nudges you back onto the pillows.
âIt wouldnât be right. I'm not touching you until youâre sober,â he says firmly.
Jack gets to his feet and tucks the blankets around you. âIâll see you in a few hours. Wake me if you need anything.â He laughs softly at the pointed pouting look you shoot his way. âOther than that.â
âYouâre no fun,â you call after him as he retreats into the living room.
Once the bedroom door is shut behind him, he collapses on the couch and wrestles off his prosthetic, punching a throw pillow a few times to soften it before going horizontal. Even after what felt like the longest shift heâs had in months, heâs unsure how much sleep heâll actually manage to get knowing youâre in the next room. Probably snuggling one of his pillows as if itâs him, probably squeezing your thighs together until the last of the drugs leave your system.
He groans and rolls over, willing his body and his still half-hard cock to go to sleep.
You wake feeling like death warmed over.
Youâre in a bed that doesnât belong to you, but smells familiar and comforting. Same with your clothes. A few memories make it through the fog, blurry and out of order. Planet Earth. Jackâs hand, warm and pleasant on your cheek. An ambulance ride. Lena ruffling your hair and handing you a lollipop. A shower with a chair and a grab bar and soap that smells like Jack.
Youâre at Jack's apartment, you realize with a start.
Checking the time groggily, you observe that you've slept from the early morning until late afternoon. Thank god youâd asked for tonight off as well, anticipating youâd need recovery time after Pitt Fest.Â
You can vaguely recall the warm, fuzzy feelings youâd experienced last night. In the abstract, at least. Now, you feel mostly guilt and shame and embarrassment and anxiety. How could you have been so stupid?
Sounds of life echo from the kitchen, which means Jack has woken up ahead of you. Your guilt sharpens. Jack is spending his hard-earned downtime taking care of you, because of your own carelessness.
Fatigue clings to your bones as you shuffle to the bathroom. The reflection in the mirror is less than kind. Dark shadows frame your eyes, worse than the usual bags worn by the night shift crew. Your hair is a mess, and you sigh as you comb your fingers through to tame it.
Time to face the music.
You trudge out into the kitchen, where Jack is wearing an apron over a t-shirt and sweats and cooking an omelette, looking awfully chipper for having slept seven hours on the couch. He looks so good that it briefly makes you angry. Fuck him for looking so good, while you look and feel like utter dogshit.
Of course, that annoyance turns to guilt again when he looks up and smiles.
âHey, lover girl,â he greets you warmly as you lean on the kitchen island. âHow are you feeling?â
You rub your eyes and groan, âLike I got hit by a Mack truck.â
He squeezes your shoulder fondly and grabs a plate from an overhead cabinet. âLetâs get some food and water in you.â
âThank you,â you mutter sheepishly. âIâm sorry about⊠all this.â
âDon't even worry about it, sunshine.âÂ
Jack hands you a glass of water and starts making you a plate. You accept it with a grimace. âI'm not feeling very sunshine-y right about now. I can't remember half of what happened after I went down at the concert.â
âI hope weâve learned not to go digging for meds in that particular friendâs purse.â He smirks and sets a plate in front of you. A vegetable omelette and buttered toast. Your appetite hasnât yet returned to its normal levels, but your doctor brain knows that you really need to eat, so you reach for the toast first.
âNever again,â you vow as you take a bite.
In the light of day and out from under the influence of Beth's âaspirin,â you get a good look at Jack's apartment for the first time as he assembles his own plate. It's not spotless, but itâs generally tidy, and itâs a very nice place. Good furniture, great windows with better blackout shades, a nice floor plan. Its niceness only makes you feel smaller.
You poke at your omelette, stewing. âJack?â
âYes?â
âDon't take this the wrong way, butâŠwhy am I here?â
He plates his own omelette and leans a hip against the kitchen island. âYouâd never taken MDMA before, and I knew youâd be in for a hell of a drop. I didn't want you to be on your own.â
You resist the urge to frown. This whole saga is doing nothing to remedy your tragic crush on him. Did he have to be so nice and caring on top of everything else? It feels a little unfair at the moment.
âThatâs⊠very considerate,â you mumble.
âWhat can I say? I'm a considerate guy.â He pops a bite of omelette into his mouth with a wink.
A thought occurs to you that briefly makes your stomach turn. âDoes the whole Pitt know?â
Jack's expression tells you everything you need to know before he even speaks. âThere⊠might have been a betting pool on the subject. Shen cleaned up.â
You drop your face into your hands. âAwesome. That's really awesome.â
Every single one of your coworkers knows that you spent the night rolling. Tears prick at your eyes beneath your palms, which only worsens your humiliation. The last thing you need right now is to cry in front of Jack Abbot. Even if itâs just because the chemicals in your brain are out of whack, it doesn't make it any less embarrassing.
âHey.â Jack's hand finds your shoulder again. âDonât worry about it. They're good people, no one is judging you.â
Despite your best efforts, a mortifying little sniffle slips out at the kindness in his voice.Â
 âOh, sweetheart,â he murmurs. âCome here.â
You canât bear to look up, but your breath hitches in surprise when Jack pulls you into his arms. Instantly, your brain begins to quiet, focusing on the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the reassuring weight of his arms around you, the slow arc of his thumb rhythmically stroking your shoulder blade.
It's medicine. Oxytocin and dopamine, feel-good chemicals produced by physical touch, bolstering your brain against the sapped well of serotonin the ecstasy left in its wake. It also makes your heart flutter pathetically in your chest.
He holds you for a long moment, his grip tightening when you finally loop your arms around his waist and return the embrace.
âThank you for taking care of me,â you whisper, allowing the comfort to sink into your skin and fill your lungs.Â
âOf course.â
Jack only pulls away when you do, gently swiping a calloused thumb underneath your eye to banish the straggling tear that managed to escape.Â
âLetâs get comfortable on the couch,â he says, a hand settling on your back to guide you. âYouâre still on the comedown.â
You worry you might be overstaying your welcome. But Jack seems to be in no rush to get you out of his apartment, content to let you rot on his couch as long as you need to. Surely he must have better things to do on his night off than take care of you, but he sits sentry at your side without complaint.
After some consideration, Planet Earth is tabled for the time being â even if youâve seen it before, animal death is sure to bring back the waterworks in your current state. Flipping through channels, you settle on a cheesy mid-2000s rom-com that youâve seen before and snuggle back into the couch cushions.Â
Through it all, you feel the comfort of his steady presence, his hand rubbing idle circles on your back, like an IV drip of Vitamin Jack straight to your brain. You give into the feeling, too worn out to fight it, curling into his side. Eventually, you feel a gentle graze at your scalp as he idly plays with your hair. It surprises you for a moment, but youâre not complaining in the slightest. You melt into it, eyes fluttering closed until youâre slipping in and out of a light doze.
Afternoon fades to evening, to dinnertime, to nighttime, to bedtime. Even after your intermittent sleep, your fatigue is still bone deep, and Jack insists you can stay the night. You really try to convince him to let you take the couch, but he refuses, insisting that your body needs proper rest to return to baseline. At the end of the night, he sends you off to bed with a smirk.
When you wake up in Jack's bed for the second time, itâs much less disorienting. It helps that youâre much clearer than you were seventeen hours ago. The clock reads 9:05 am â you have the whole day ahead of you to shower, change, and steel yourself for the humiliation ritual that is bound to be your shift tonight.
You stumble into the living room, bleary-eyed. Jack is reclined on the couch with a laptop and readers perched on the end of his nose. Ugh, fuck him again for looking so good.
His eyes find yours over the edge of the screen. âHey there. You sleep good?â
âMm-hmm,â you reply, stretching. âI'm feeling much better, I think.â
His mouth curves at the corner. âGood.â
Leaning on the edge of the couch, you sigh and glance at the clock on the wall. âI should probably head home soon, get my life together before shift tonight. Would you be able to drive me home?â
âSure thing, sunshine.âÂ
After you eat breakfast and shower off the cast of bedrotting from the day before, you change back into the clothes you arrived in, which Jack took the liberty of washing for you. As much as you appreciate the gesture, you blanch at the idea of Jack handling your underwear, and try very hard not to think about that mental image.
As the quiet car ride progresses, you ponder your looming fate, mentally preparing yourself for the teasing youâll get from the nurses and other residents. It's disorienting to not know what youâre walking into, to have been mentally absent for most of it.
You canât resist the urge to ask anymore. âWas I a total mess?â
He nods, amused. âYes. But a very cute mess.â
âGod, this is so embarrassing,â you groan. âWhat did I say?â
âAre you sure you wanna know?â he asks with a raised eyebrow.
That makes you pause, glancing at him warily. ââŠwas it bad?âÂ
âYou got a little fixated on hands for a while.â Jack pauses, like he isnât sure how much to reveal, if youâre ready to handle it. âSaid you think about mine all the time.â
Suddenly, you feel a bit sick, even though the car is headed in a straight line down the road. If that's just where it starts⊠if thatâs not the worst of it, then what is?
âOh god,â you whisper in horror.Â
âYou said you think I'm gorgeous,â he continues, voice thick with amusement. âAnd that you have a big olâ crush on me. And⊠you mightâve tried to seduce me a little at bedtime.â
Your cheeks flare hot. This is quite possibly the worst outcome of the situation aside from death. At the moment, death feels preferable.
You stare straight ahead, sinking in your seat and pressing your hands to your forehead to try and keep your brain from exploding. âExcuse me, I'm just gonna open the door and go lay down in traffic.â
He laughs, the sound warm and fond and doing absolutely nothing to temper your embarrassment. âIt's okay.â
âIt is completely not okay, Jack,â you protest, turning your body away from him and towards the passenger side door, like that will save you from this conversation.
Jack places a hand on your thigh.
All the systems in your brain go down simultaneously.
His palm rests just above your knee, not high enough to be too inappropriate, but itâs intimate. Especially because your choice of garment for Pitt Fest leaves your leg bare and exposed to his touch. Never once does he take his eyes off the road.
âIt was flattering,â he says coolly, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your knee. âAnd extremely cute.â
He lets the assertion hang in the silence, and he doesnât move his hand, letting it rest warm and comfortable against the soft skin of your thigh.
After some considerable effort, you remember how to breathe. Once the oxygen makes it to your brain, you manage to peel your hands away from your face and peek sideways at him.Â
ââŠreally?â you ask, because you need the confirmation. Does Jack Abbot â your mentor, the object of all your desires, and the man who just babysat you through an unwitting MDMA trip â really think youâre cute?
He gives your thigh a gentle squeeze. âReally.â
There isnât much else to say for the rest of the car ride. Jack keeps his hand on your thigh until he turns down your street and throws the car in park. You try and fail to suppress a smile the whole way, and allow him to walk you up to your buildingâs front step, palms tingling with anticipation.
âIâd like to do this again sometime,â he says as you unlock the main entrance. âMinus the party drugs.â
You grin up at him, slightly emboldened by the revelations that occurred in the car. âYou wanna have another sleepover?â
âVery much.â His eyes crinkle at the edges when he smiles back. âSee you tonight?â
âSee you tonight.â
You turn to head inside, but Jack catches your elbow. âHey. One last thing.â
Before you have time to register his closeness, a hand slides along your waist, another cupping your jaw, and Jack is kissing you.
A warm, pleasant feeling floods you from top to toe, a high rivalling the chemical one youâd experienced twenty-eight hours ago. He kisses you like heâs been thinking about it that entire twenty-eight hours. It's tender and hungry at the same time. By the time he pulls away, your lips follow after his and you almost stumble forward into his arms.
You open your eyes and blink up at him, feeling a little dazed and starstruck again.
âHad to wait until you were level,â Jack murmurs. He gives you a lingering peck at the corner of your mouth and descends down the front steps to his car.
summary: you sleep with jack for the first time and discover what it means to be loved gently
cw: smut (mdni, 18+), gentle sex, oral (f rec), referenced p in v, reader uses sex as a coping mechanism and has low self-esteem, light intoxication
wc: 3k
a/n: listen, I do not think that rough sex is necessarily a bad thing, but it can be. I donât feel like expanding on thisÂ
now playing:Â Nothingâs Gonna Hurt You Baby â Cigarettes After Sex
Jack canât take his eyes off you. Not when you look the way you do right now: skin glowing, eyes sparkling, and a truly sincere smile on your face.Â
The wine bottle shared between the two of you stands at your feet as his hands snake around your waist, pulling you closer. He tastes the grapes on your tongue when his own slips between your parted lips, mapping out the inside of your mouth slowly. His palm wanders from your side to the small of your back, pressing you flush against him.Â
You only pull away when you start to get lightheadedâtoo little oxygen, too much love.Â
Love.Â
Neither one of you has said it yet. Itâs much too early for that four-letter word, but the idea of it hangs over you as he kisses your cheek instead of your mouth to let you catch your breath.Â
Jack tilts his head to meet your gaze and smiles softly. His eyes drift over your face like heâs memorizing every inch. Heâs close enough that he could count each individual lash if he wanted to.Â
When he lifts his hands to cup your face between his palms, you melt into his touch.Â
âYouâre so beautiful,â he whispers.Â
Your skin heats under his hands, blood rushing to your face. The timid smile on your face tugs at Jackâs heartstrings.
âSo beautiful,â he repeats tenderly.Â
He means it.Â
You misinterpret it.Â
When you stand on your tiptoes to kiss him again, thereâs more heat to itâthe kind that leads to places you havenât been to with him yet.Â
He keeps you steady, your face still held by him.Â
His lips fit against yours like two puzzle pieces.
The weight of him leads you towards the couch naturally. He doesnât guide or force but simply leans in until you sink onto the cushions, him braced above you.Â
Your hand drifts down from his chest to his stomach. Through his shirt, you still feel the way his muscles flex under your touch.Â
He breaks the kiss to look at you, an almost dopey curve to his mouth.Â
âYouâre ticklinâ me,â he mumbles.Â
âThatâs on purpose,â you reply.Â
He grins, then catches your hands in his own.Â
âIs that so?â he whispers. âAnything else you want to confess?â
You let a few seconds pass, just for dramatic effect, before you nod.Â
âYeah,â you mumble, âIâm also trying to take your shirt off right now.â
Jack chuckles softly.Â
âYou donât say,â he teases. âAny reason for that?â
You roll your eyes fondly.Â
âTake a guess.â
A gentle laugh spills from him, originating deep from his chest. You feel the vibration travel through him until it reaches your hand, too.Â
âI think I can help out with that.â
He grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it up, then over his head. Your eyes are glued to every inch of sun-kissed skin thatâs slowly exposed. For a moment, you hesitate before you reach out to rest your hand on his chest, feeling the heat radiating from him.Â
When youâve had your fill of touching himâthough youâre not sure youâll ever get enough of himâyou take off your own shirt. You had planned in advance and worn a black lace bralette, but you hadnât told Jack, so you could trick him into thinking that youâre always this put together.Â
The matching panties waited for him under the skirt, which you were eager for him to pull off of you.Â
Jack canât look awayâand doesnât want to. Youâre surprised that for once, it doesnât feel like youâre being ogled.Â
No, Jack admires.Â
His fingers drift over your breasts up to your neck, then rest on your face.Â
âLike I said,â he whispers. âBeautiful.â
Instead of answering, you lean in to kiss him again. As your lips press against his, you reach for his belt buckle and open it. Jack hums into your mouth, a small roll of his hips encouraging you.Â
He helps you take off his jeans. Jack talked to you about not wearing his prosthetic at home around you a few days ago, but right now, he still has it on. He seems a little nervous as his pants fall away, and you get a full glance at it for the first time.
You donât mind at all.Â
The next barrier that falls is your skirt. Jack undoes the zipper at the side carefully, then slides the fabric down your legs. He makes a sound you canât quite categorize when he sees the thin lace panties you picked out for tonight.
âFuck,â he whispers, âHow are you this perfect?â
Again, you forgo an answer with another kiss.Â
Jack notices. He cups your face, then pulls away a little just to look at you. His brows knit together slightly.Â
âHey,â he mumbles.
You havenât been together that long yet, but he knows you well enough to see that you donât feel like talking about this right now.Â
Still, for a moment, he chews on his bottom lip in contemplation before he asks, âWouldnât you rather take this to the bedroom?â
You shrug softly.
âI donât mind the couch. Whatever you want.â
The divot between his brows deepens.Â
âBut Iâm asking you what you want,â he counters. âIf⊠if weâre doing this right now, I want you to be comfortable.â
âI am comfortable,â you reply.Â
He nods reluctantly.Â
âAlright,â he mumbles.
The next kiss feels a little differentânot in a bad way, just more careful. Jack waits, lets you chase him instead of taking the lead. So you do.Â
You reach behind you to unfasten the clasps of your bra. As the lace falls away, Jack watches with amazement. He almost manages to throw in another compliment for you, but you donât give him the chance.
You stand up from the couch and hook your fingers into your panties, then slowly slip them off.Â
Jackâs breath hitches. He leans into the back of the couch to watch as you step out of the fabric that fell to your ankles. This time, he truly stares.Â
When you step closer, he pulls you in by your hips until youâre seated on his lap. Your bare cunt brushes over the bulge in his boxers, causing both of you to moan.Â
You roll against him once, then twice, then kiss him again. The heat between the two of you is unbearable. You donât understand why he hasnât taken off his underpants yet and wonder if he maybe just needs a little bit more encouragement, so you grind down against him again.Â
Jack hisses at the contact, his fingers tightening on your sides.Â
âFuck, baby,â he mutters. âYouâre gonna give me a heart attack.â
âThen let me help you,â you chuckle and reach for the waistband of his boxers.
He lifts his hips to help you slip them offâand you swallow hard when you see what youâre working with. The grey happy trail youâve been eyeing since his shirt came off leads down to his thick cock. The size of the bulge makes more sense now. Heâs veiny and flushed a dark red, almost a little purple at the tip.Â
âJesus,â you whisper.
Jack chuckles, maybe even a little self-consciously so.Â
âYeah, itâs um⊠itâs been a while for me,â he admits.Â
Your mouth falls openâyou hadnât expected that. A man with his looks, a doctor at that, too?
âReally?â you ask. âI mean⊠thatâs okay. I donât mind. Just⊠tell me what you like.â
He shrugs softly.Â
âI like you.âÂ
His answer is so sappy that it makes you grin.Â
âShut up. No, really, tell me what you like.â
Jack looks at you and pulls you closer again.Â
âIâm serious,â he mumbles. âI just want you, however you want. Why? What kinda stuff do the kids like these days?â
Your face warms a little.
âI donât know,â you mumble. A total lie.Â
âWe can try some stuff, you know?â
âLike what?â he asks. âYou want me to tie you up?âÂ
He chuckles like the idea is absurd to him.Â
âWould you want to tie me up?â you counter.Â
Jackâs brows furrow again.Â
âI donât think thatâs my thing,â he says quietly.Â
You nod slowly.Â
âWhat aboutâŠâ
Saying it out loud feels, for lack of a better word, cringe, so you take his hand and place it on the base of your throat.Â
Jack doesnât pull away immediately, but his fingers donât wrap around your neck either. He looks up at you, his jaw set tightly.Â
Then he shakes his head and cups your face instead.Â
âI donât think so,â he says softly. âHow about⊠we just take things slow and figure it out as we go?â
When you nod, Jack kisses you, and it tastes like relief.Â
He surprises you when he switches positions with youâyouâd have thought he would want you to stay on top. Â
Jack braces his weight on his forearms as he hovers above you, his face just inches away from you. Then he lowers his head, but his lips donât meet yoursâthey trail down over your chest. His tongue swirls around your nipple, making you gasp as the sensation tingles through you.Â
He cups your other breast, squeezing and kneading the flesh gently, then places a kiss on the valley between your breasts before he descends further.Â
To your ribs⊠then your navel⊠then your hipbone.Â
Your breath stills completely when his fingers come to rest on your thighs. He doesnât push them open yet.
âMay I?â he asks.Â
âYeah,â you whisper.Â
He parts your legs gently, his eyes still focused on you until he lowers his head andâ
Your world tilts a little.Â
When his tongue drags through your drenched slit, and Jack moans out loud, you arch towards him. He holds your hips in place, fingers digging into the fleshânot hard enough to bruise, but enough to make you feel him.Â
âFuck,â he gasps, âYou taste so fucking good, baby.â
He flattens his tongue against your clit, licking upwards until you see stars.
âJack-â you moan, trying⊠you donât know what youâre trying to say. Your fingers find purchase in his hair, tugging slightly at the grey curls.Â
He sucks your clit into his mouth, causing you to cry out in pleasure.Â
He laps at your cunt like a starved dog, and you canât believe that âitâs been a whileâ for him, not when heâs eating you out like that.
âIâoh God,â you sigh dreamily.
Your legs quiver, your hips twitchâyour entire body is shaking with pleasure.Â
âThatâs it, baby,â Jack murmurs, his words muffled. âFuckâplease, just let me make you feel good.â
The sounds of your arousal mixing with his saliva are unholyâa wet overflow of moisture between your thighs. Jack seems to be right where he wants to be. He moans into your flesh, his hips bucking and pressing into the couch below like he is trying to alleviate the ache, the buildup of his own need.Â
When you come apart, he guides you through it, not stopping until your brain is overflowing with oxytocin and your thighs wonât stop shaking.Â
Both of you are panting when he comes up.Â
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and smiles devilishly.Â
âGod⊠weâre so doing this again,â he declares softly.Â
Youâre at a loss for words. You havenât come like that ever. All you can do is nod and reach for him.Â
Jack plants his arms on either side of your head and kisses you deeply. You taste yourself on his tongue, the sweet, tangy flavor erupting in your mouth.Â
His leaking cock presses against your tummy as his lips graze yours.
You reach between you and stroke him, making him groan into your mouth.Â
âJesus,â he mutters when he pulls away to look at you. âYouââ
He thrusts into your hand instinctively, and you realize just how pent up he is.Â
âYour turn,â you whisper.Â
Jack tsks softly, half amused, half⊠something else.Â
He cups your face and kisses your jaw tenderly.Â
âBelieve me, that was my turn,â he says lowly. âBut if you want to keep going, Iâm sure as hell not saying no.â
--
The bliss afterwards is indescribable. But itâs also foreign.
You still sense every press of his hands on your body without feeling tender, every brush of his lips without a single mark on your skin, and every thrust of his hips without that residual feeling of having been used.Â
Jack was nothing but gentle.Â
And god, it was incredible.Â
The sheets underneath you are crumpled and slightly damp with sweat and sex, but you donât mind. Not when Jackâs arm is wrapped around you, your back pressing against his chest. He kisses the side of your neck where your pulse still flutters with excitement.Â
âYou were incredible,â he whispers.
It must be so obvious that his words fluster you because he smirks when you hide your face in the sheets.Â
âBarely even did anything,â you mumble.Â
Jack makes a sound you canât quite discern.Â
âRight,â he chuckles. âExcept that thing where you got really tight when you were about to come again orââ
You whip around and press your hand over his mouth, your eyes wide and embarrassed.
âJack,â you complain, half-serious, half-playful.Â
He kisses your palm and smiles.Â
âHey, Iâm just teasinâ,â he retorts. âBut I really meant it. It was really great for me.â
âYeah, for me, too,â you mumble.Â
Youâre not used to any kind of pillow talk, so the words feel thick, like they donât quite want to leave your mouth.Â
Jack doesnât seem to mind. He just pulls you closer against his chest and rests his chin on the top of your head.Â
As the minutes pass, he tells you to go pee and promises more cuddles later on.Â
In the bathroom, you look at yourself in the mirror. The haphazardly buttoned-up shirt youâre wearing belongs to Jack and falls to your mid-thigh. Your hair is a mess from how often he ran his hands through it. A few hickeys begin to gain color and paint your neck a soft purple.
You canât help but smile.Â
âHey, sweetheart?â Jack calls out. âYour phone keeps vibrating. I think someone really wants to talk to you!â
âYeah, just a sec,â you reply.Â
When you return to his bedroom, Jack is sitting up, his brows drawn together slightly. Your phone is in his hand, the screen facing up.Â
âSorry,â he says as he passes it to you. âI didnât mean to spy on you or anything, just wanted to bring it to you.â
You take your phone and glance at the messagesâand feel your face heat up.
âOh.â Your laugh comes out stiff as you quickly shut off your phone. âSorry, umâtheyâre joking, of course. Like, uhâŠâ
Jack looks at you quietly, watching as you fumble nervously with the edge of your phone case. There was a light flush to his cheeks now, too.Â
âNo, no, donât worry, I shouldnât have read it anyway, I just looked at it âcause it kept⊠vibrating,â he explains.Â
The awkward silence that follows feels detrimental.Â
You wonder if you should explain more, or if maybe stammering another apology would make it worse, but then Jack breaks the quiet first.Â
âNot to sound my age, but⊠I assume cracking means⊠uh⊠hooking up?â
You press your lips together uncomfortably.
âYeah,â you mumble. âLike, um⊠yes.â
He nods once. Then he tilts his head to catch your eyes.Â
âItâs not the⊠nicest word, is it?â he asks.Â
âItâs just, like, a TikTok thing,â you answer.Â
âHm,â is all he replies.Â
Then he takes your hand and guides you back onto the mattress. You meet his gaze hesitantly. The lines around his eyes are a little deeper, just like the furrow between his brows. He doesnât seem angry, just serious.
âI⊠I kind of would prefer it if you didnât think of what we just did as⊠âcrackingâ. Itâs not the word I would use,â he says slowly.
âItâs just a word,â you mutter.Â
âNot to me,â he argues softly. âItâs⊠words have meanings. And cracking sounds like⊠like Iâm doing something to you, not with you. I donât mean to be⊠all old man and, like, police your language. But⊠I donât want you to think of sex with me that way. Or⊠with anyone else for that matter, even though, ideally, I would like this to be a long-term thing.â
His hazel eyes donât leave your face for even a single moment, and itâs almost overwhelmingâif it werenât for the sincerity in them.Â
âIâm sorryâ" you begin, but Jack shushes you.
âNo, sweetheart, I donât- I donât want you to apologize. I just want you to be comfortable with me. I wanna make sure you⊠you feel respected by me,â he explains.Â
âI do,â you reply quickly. âReally. Like, no one else has ever⊠been this kind to me.â
Jackâs face falls.Â
âOh, no, I mean, like⊠youâre a gentleman,â you elaborate.
He shakes his head softly.Â
âNo, baby, Iâm⊠this is⊠this is the bare minimum. Christ.â
Jackâs hands find yours, and he leans in to kiss your forehead. Then he wraps his arms around you.Â
âAt the risk of sounding like your father, I think you kids need to put down your phones and go out in the real world.â
â€ïž just a quick reminder that the best way to support authors on here is to comment and reblog â€ïž â find my masterlist here â
there is a very long, very nuanced conversation about the fine line between sexual liberation for women and brainrot porn (that honestly i doubt people on the internet could have in a mature way) and can i just say that i LOVE the approach you took with it????? i love soft, loving jack and how he doesn't judge reader but still draws his limits and they still find common ground and they both enjoy themselves thoroughly and i think it's so important for women (especially young women) to ask themselves if they enjoy the fast rough kinky sex because that's genuinely what they like or if it's because it's been imposed and indoctrinated that they need that to "be cool" or "be good in bed" or "be better" than the women who don't like it and urghhhhh please i could read a thousand more fics like this!!!!!!!!!!!!
Namaygoosisagagun First Nation/Collins has burned to the ground. The entire community is nothing but ashes after being quickly consumed by wildfires. They did not have any support from emergency services, and no one offered aid. The community saved themselves by escaping into boats because no one came.
Mishkeegogamang and Cat Lake have lost power. Families are ending up in shelters with nothing. Armstrong, Lac La Croix, Whitesand, Gull Bay, Lac des Mille Lacs are currently in the fires path and all members are being evacuated.
All this loss, all this devastation, and it was entirely preventable.
After steadily underfunding wildland firefighting and purposefully excluding Indigenous wildland firefighters and Indigenous wildfire organizations from wildfire operations, firefighter training, decisionmaking, and resource exchanges, in 2025, Doug Ford slashed the forest firefighting budget.
It's hard to ignore his decision to cut funding and leave us out of adequate fire training (even though we've lived with forest fires for thousands of yearsâfar longer than settlers have been in Canadaâand made sure fires like the ones we're all seeing today were prevented through kinisitotÄn) when, despite making up less than 5% of the population, we account for 42% percent of all wildfire evacuations in Canada.
And when we are successfully evacuated, we face discrimination and racismâlike Kashechewanâbecause it's always been easier to blame us than it is to blame the true culprit: denialism, corportate greed, and colonization.
The people of Collins and every other impacted community deserve better.
Right now, the AFN is currently accepting donations to help Collins First Nation. If you're able to, please consider donating.
ONWA (Ontario Native Women's Association) is another great place to donate to. They have outreach vans going to motels and inns and offering food, water, resources, and cultural support to those impacted by the wildfires.
Other places to consider donating to are Mikinakoos Emergency Fund, Red Cross, True North Aid, Indigenous Climate Action. You can also send donations directly to Whitesand First Nation via e-transfer ([email protected]) and they request that you add your full name in the e-transfer comment section to receive a tax receipt.
*Before sending money, verify that the appeal appears on an official First Nation, Tribal Council or registered charity channel.
If you can't offer financial support, please consider donating items of need. Moontime Connections is currently accepting drop-off donations. If you live in the Thunder Bay area, Namaygoosisagagun Health Office is also taking in donations! They can also bemailed to Superior Inn Hotel & Conference Centre at 555 West Arthur Street, Thunder Bay, ON, P7E 5P8.
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