jack never argues with his girl. on the rare occasion that he does, he never ever raises his voice at her. on the other hand, she'll yell and scream while fighting. from the beginning, he's known about the small temper that she can get when something really sets her off. a bad trait passed down to her from her father. so he lets her get as loud as she needs/wants to. once she finally takes a deep breath and stops, he'll just give her that look that says, "you done?" and maybe he'll let her get her frustrations out even more in bed.
jack abbot loves touching your skin. especially when his name is on it ‧₊˚ ⋅
author's note: i'm obsessed with drabbles atp, this is totally self-indulgent as a tattooed girlie... don't take it seriously.
there’s just something about the fact that the ink covering your skin is meant only for him that makes it a little harder to breathe. to think that he’s the only one with the privilege of seeing you in the darkness of your shared room, witnessing the parts of you that no one else can. the faint marks of his teeth on your hips and belly, your moles, your scars, summer sunburns—every little detail. they are the pieces that make you you, and jack loves being the only soul allowed to look at them. it’s a fierce, almost twisted sense of possession he’s never experienced before; it catches him off guard, feeling entirely foreign, but he craves it. he loves that you save those parts for him. it feeds his ego, grounding him in the absolute certainty that you are his—only his—to love, to yearn for, to possess completely.
sometimes, he catches the younger residents whispering in the hospital hallways about the dark ink at the top of your arm—the one you always hide beneath long sleeves at work. they bet on what kind of secret is buried there, guessing it's some dark, regrettable mistake or a design you're ashamed of. jack always has to force himself to keep his mouth shut. otherwise, he’d blurt out how utterly foolish and ridiculous their little wagers are. he’d tell them that he knows every single contour of your body like the back of his hand, tracing them while he’s buried deep inside you.
but he stays silent. he doesn’t entirely understand the sudden, hot rush of fury that courses through him whenever he hears other guys talking about you, or watching you walk distractedly through the wards. if only they knew how your skin reacts strictly to his touch. behind those sterile white walls, amid the heavy atmosphere of the hospital, your usually reserved gaze always finds him—the one man who places his blind faith in you. you look at him like you love him, and if he’s honest, he sometimes thinks you do it on purpose, completely aware of the chaos it wreaks on his heart.
it’s finally time for your cooking show, so he makes sure to clear everything away just to lie down with you on the couch, waiting for you to inevitably fall asleep on his chest. it’s the perfect saturday night—no work, ellis and shen can manage the department without him for once, and you are finally resting after three consecutive double shifts. despite the heavy exhaustion weighing down your limbs, jack makes sure you’re as comfortable as possible. about fifteen minutes pass, and while he tries to focus on the peach soufflé being prepared on the TV screen, his eyes keep drifting back to you. you’re watching the screen intently, as if you're analyzing every single word, absorbing the ingredients and techniques into your head. He rests your legs over his lap, his hand caressing your skin in absentminded, soothing strokes. he honestly swears he’s losing his mind over you.
you're wearing that old college shirt that once belonged to him, the fabric so worn and thin it's practically falling apart. the sleeves are long gone, leaving only a faded, barely legible logo across the front. his eyes have drifted to your bare arms countless times tonight, completely captivated by the unobstructed view of your tattoos—the ones you meticulously conceal under long sleeves and sweaters at work, now softly illuminated by the dim, warm light of the living room.
“there’s no way he can say it’s easy to do,” you say after a long silence, nodding toward the chef carefully plating the dessert on screen. “it’s a lie. a massive TV lie. do you think if i tried to make that, it would turn out even remotely that pretty?”
jack laughs, his large hands running up and down your legs before pausing at your thighs to give them a gentle, affectionate squeeze.
“honey, the last time you stepped into the kitchen, you almost burned the pot down.”
“hey, my quick thinking is what saved us from a fire.”
“a fire you started,” he points out, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “it’s a one-in-a-million miracle we survived it.”
you snort, still smiling, and place your hand over his where it rests against your thigh. “exactly. that’s why i leave the cooking to you. god only knows what i’m capable of destroying.”
jack can only let his eyes wander over your face, looking at you with a quiet intensity, as if trying to memorize every detail. you curl up and shift closer until you’re practically in his lap. he simply wraps his strong arms around you, listening to your contented murmurs as his hands resume their slow, soothing tracks.
it’s exactly what you love about quiet nights like these. everything else is left at the doorstep—the stress of the hospital, the chaos of the world—and all that remains is an affection so deep that neither of you needs to find the words for it. you love the weight of him holding you, the seamless way he responds to your touch, and the effortless security of his embrace.
when his warm hands slide beneath the hem of your shirt, a soft shiver runs through you. his fingers trail up and down your spine, and the scratch of his stubble tickles your neck as his breath hitches against your skin. wrapping your left arm around his broad shoulders, you feel him plant a sequence of soft kisses along your neck and jaw, making you let out a breathless laugh.
“don't tell me you're getting ticklish now,” he says, a rich, incredulous chuckle vibrating against your skin. “really?”
“i’m only laughing because you’re so warm,” you tease, realizing that the TV hasn't been the most interesting thing in the room for a while now. “and... because i missed you doing that.”
“what, exactly?” he asks, his gaze darkening with genuine curiosity.
instead of answering, you slip from his lap with a soft giggle, leaving jack’s face contorted in a look of pure, mock disbelief. he watches you walk toward the kitchen, his eyes tracking your movement as you rummage through the cabinets for a glass and open the refrigerator. true to form, he follows right on your heels, drawn to you like a magnet. his eyes stay anchored to every single slide of your hips as you pour yourself a glass of water, chuckling to yourself at his undivided attention.
“lately, you've been slipping your hands under my shirt just to feel my tattoo,” you point out, turning to face him. “and since you've been pulling just as many double shifts as i have, we haven't exactly had time to breathe, let alone spend time together.”
you shrug, leaning back against the counter and watching his adam's apple bob as he swallows. he doesn't even try to deny it. he knows it’s completely useless to argue—not only because he’d be lying, but because he knows you can read him like an open book.
honestly, nobody can blame him. it’s an electric thrill that rushes through his veins every single time he remembers the permanent mark he has left on your skin—the fact that the initials J.A. etched into your ribs are entirely real and will never fade. despite everything you went through, you stayed. you are his, and he is yours, clear and simple, without any need for complicated explanations or justifications. it just is. and jack loves to remind himself of that truth every chance he gets. he steals a glimpse whenever you reach for the top shelves just to see his initials peek out from your shirt, and when he’s holding himself over you in bed, a fierce, primal possessiveness takes over. watching your body tremble beneath him while seeing the letters of his name permanently inked into your skin... he absolutely loves it. he loves it so intensely, and it’s so glaringly obvious, that it’s no longer a secret. if it ever even was one.
“well, baby, it's a bit unfair of you to want to deprive me of all that,” he murmurs, shrugging as he closes the distance between you with slow, deliberate steps.
“i’m not depriving you of anything,” you counter softly, holding his gaze. “i’m just stating the facts.”
“and which facts are we talking about?”
“mmm... maybe the fact that you're practically taking my clothes off with your eyes right now.” you press your fingers playfully against his chest, but he catches them instantly, intertwining his long fingers with yours. “metaphorically speaking, of course. or literally. i’m fine with whichever direction you want to take this.”
jack laughs, a low, rumbling sound as he slides his broad, freckled arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. he presses his lips gently to your cheekbone, scattering soft, trailing kisses across your face, holding you close as if you were something incredibly precious.
“you can't blame me, my love,” he whispers against your skin, his fingers brushing your lower back. “don't think for a second i haven't noticed—every single move you make is just to get my attention.”
you catch your breath as a soft moan escapes your lips when you feel his hands move up to your breasts, rising above your bra.
“you’re really rubbing it in, aren't you?”
“tell me i’m lying,” he murmurs, gently tilting your head back to press a kiss along your jawline.
“maybe just a bit.” you can't help but smile at the way his lips linger on your skin, his hands tracing your waist beneath your shirt. “which means it’s about time you got my name tattooed. it’s only fair we’re even, jack. i want it right on your forehead—or your neck, preferably.”
the sound of his laughter is so pure it sets your heart dancing. you don't think he has any idea how much it gets to you.
“i highly doubt a tattoo would suit this skin, baby. nice try, though.”
“please. of course it'll look good,” you scoff playfully. “are you kidding? you'll be the hottest attending in the ER—all tattooed up and strutting around with that cocky confidence of yours. and with my name on you? it’ll leave absolutely no doubt about who you belong to.”
jack nods slowly, that familiar half-smile playing on his lips. his large hands slide down to your waist, anchoring you to him while you wrap your arms around his neck.
“like you want to shout it to the world that i’m yours?”
“well, yeah. i’ve been wanting to do this ever since you first got into my pants.”
“a forehead tattoo is pretty much the least subtle way to mark your territory.”
“who said i wanted to be subtle?”
god, he loves you.
it hadn't been hard for him to admit it, not even a little. he’d whisper it in your ear like a secret pact just between the two of you, and honestly, you had no doubts. actions were always more tangible than words anyway, and jack had done nothing but love you with the most ragged bandages he had. he would wrap you in his arms, hand you your morning coffee—extra sugar and a touch of cinnamon, just the way you liked it—before leaving, and he would listen. he would truly understand.
and right then, you realize that maybe having his initial inked onto your skin wasn't such a bad idea after all. in fact, it might be the best thing you’ve ever done—especially if it means holding onto his love for the rest of your life.
“right now, i don't want you to be subtle.” he tilts his head, whispering low against your wrist. you can feel his smile against your skin—tender and dangerous all at once—while the rough graze of his stubble tickles you deliciously. “i want you to wrap your legs around me and let me take care of you for the rest of the night.”
“may i ask how you plan to do that?” you smile lazily, your hands resting on his biceps, fingers lightly squeezing the soft, freckled skin of his arms. a faint tremble runs through you the moment you feel his nimble fingers unhooking your bra.
”first of all, we’re done watching that show,” he murmurs, slipping the straps off your shoulders and freeing you from your bra, leaving you braless beneath your shirt. the sudden draft sends a delicious shiver straight down your spine, your nipples hardening against the thin fabric as your chest moves in sync with his eager rhythm. “then, i’ll fuck you slow and nice, just how you like it. and if you behave, i’ll fill you up of me until you’re begging for more.”
a shudder runs through you at his words, a ragged gasp escaping your lips the moment he pinches your hardened nipple between his index and middle fingers.
“and?” you manage to ask, fighting for breath as you gravitate toward him.
jack smiles. you know you're lost.
“i’ll show you why that skin belongs to me and why my name is on it.’
summary: in which you forget to tell the lads boys that you love them.
ft. xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus & caleb
notes: suggestive comments so MDNI / NSFW, xavier is pathetic again, zayne is kinda evil (lovingly), rafayel is stupid, sylus is lovely, caleb is strange…no explicit mentions of gender (!!!), a few suggestive comments but that’s it (i think)
p.s. i’m like genuinely knocking tf out whenever i hit post so if something is grammatically incorrect or i accidentally post my entire life on here…look away until i wake up maybe!
a/n: this is kinda bad i’m SORRY…i’m sleep-posting this i’m so tired…ty for reading (- -)(_ _)
notes: in celebration of valko’s reveal, i’m going to dedicate a few thirsty drabble sets solely for him ♡ may be 100% OOC bc we know nothing about him but this is self indulgent af… he’ll be added to all of my future LADS drabble from this point onwards (after a few catch up drabbles; his personality will be more established after july 9)
[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]
how he eats you out
you were burning for him, eyes becoming dilated the moment your wolf settles himself between the fat of your thighs. his golden eyes were hidden beneath a wide expanse of darkness, breathing in your scent while letting out a shudder of your name.
valko inhales your scent, mouth already watering at the sweetness wafting off from your cunt. without skipping a beat, he surges forward, allowing the entirety of his mouth to cover your outer lips.
he was filled with greed, lapping up your slick with a fervor that takes your breath away-
your hands already gripping at the torn sheets settled below you, trembling when his growl was felt vibrating through the entirety of your core, feeling his tail brushing against your inner thigh, the sensation making you arch your back in response.
when you felt his tongue curl around the swollen nub of your clit did you finally lose yourself in such hedonistic sensations, spilling your juices into his awaiting mouth valko groans when he feels the way your pulsating cunt pulls in his tongue-
the sensation only serving to heighten the wolf’s hunger as he keeps you trapped against the bed, not stopping his indulgence for you even as the night turned to dawn.
when you get on your knees for him
valko’s voice was muffled by his metal muzzle, legs spread wide open as you hid yourself beneath his desk while he was on a business call.
the voices on the other line became nothing but white noise to the eoncore chairman the moment you got on your knees for him. you pull down the tightness of his leather pants, cupping his half hard cock before allowing your eyes to flash mischievously. his golden eyes pierce through you, trying to maintain some semblance of control.
but the moment your hand manages to cup at the underside of his cock while giving his balls a gentle squeeze. the sudden friction makes him toss his head back, earning questions of concern from the caller as he growls into the phone.
“the deal’s off… i’ve got something far more interesting between my legs.”
he hangs up the call, tossing his head back against his chair the moment you lean down and take the entirety of his cock within your hot mouth. his clawed hands tore through the leather of his seat, his hips fucking himself with fervor into your mouth as you lost yourself to the sheer taste of him.
when he lets you ride him
your lover was settled back in bed, a cocky expression seen within his liquid gold eyes as he waits with bated breath for your next move.
dressed only in lingerie made from red lace, you slowly placed your soaked cunt over his cock, feeling it pulsate against the silky feel of your inner thighs as you let out a soft moan in response.
with a click of his tongue, valko begins to spread your legs, fingers already curling within your entrance as he began to pump them in and out of your heat.
“c’mon, don’t tell me you’re chickening out now? we were just gettin’ to the good part.”
you began to pant, feeling your arousal dripping down the palm of his hands. he flicks at your clit with a devilish grin, making the ache unbearable when you suddenly moved his hands away from your heat-
coming down on him with a single push of your hips as he remained sheathed within your heat. he throws his head back, voice becoming a low growl as you began your messy pace on top of him.
you bounce up and down his cock with a fervor, allowing the squelching sounds of your heat devouring his length whole as fuel for setting your pace-
never once wishing for this carnal connection to end with your beloved beast.
shower sex with him
you should have known better than to accept valko’s offer to shower together, because very seldom did any actual cleaning get done.
with your breasts pressed firmly against the slick walls of your shower stall, you felt valko’s powerful body settled behind you, his chest rubbing against your back as his calloused hands slowly dipped into your dripping heat.
his deep voice whisper filthy words within the shell of your ear, making you tremble when valko lifts your form before sliding his cock within you from behind.
he groans, whipping his tail around before fucking himself into you. the sensation of the warm waters cascading down your bodies was enough to make you whimper, getting lost in the heat.
his thrusts were deep, almost punishing with how much he displayed his passions for you. as you felt his damp, burgundy locks of hair tickling your skin, his movements became sloppier the moment he bites down at the side of your neck-
making you cry out to him the moment he began marking you, ensuring that the whole world knew just who you belonged to.
morning sex with him
it wasn’t the sensation of the sun beaming against your eyelids that woke you up-
instead, you felt a pair of sharp canines gently scraping at your skin, causing a rather pleasurable sensation to course through your veins.
the moment you open your eyes did you realize that valko had his powerful body pressed against yours. “mmm… finally… you’re awake.”
you felt the faint brush of his erection on your backside, allowing your lover to spread your legs open before placing his hand within the waistband of your panties. “fuck, you always smell so fuckin’ good first thing in the morning. how could i possibly ignore this feast?”
as his fingers worked on its deep descent into your heat, you felt your wolf’s cock rutting into you, earning a soft whimper from you. he buried his face within your hair, his hands moving faster as he pumped them in and out of your cunt.
“c’mon baby… you’ll help me, right? only you can help me feel good…”
valko’s voice was a low whine now, the sound making you clench your knees in response to the sudden ache he had elicited from you. with a single nod, you heard valko let out a triumphant huff-
already tearing your soaked panties apart before shoving down his sweatpants, allowing you to feel the prominent swell of his cock before he thrusts into you. feeling the sweet pleasure already building up from within your abdomen, you cling to the sheets as valko strokes his cock within your heat.
the pleasure that was quickly building reached a boiling point, feeling his cock swell even deeper within your heat as you cried out to him-
spilling your juices down the length of his cock as he buried himself to the hilt-
letting out an almost animalistic growl before locking your cunt in place the moment his cock swells, knotting you completely as he kept his connection to you while pumping the rest of his seed within your heat, his growl turning into a low whimper of your name as he desperately captured your lips in a searing kiss.
a few beats later, you were left reeling from your release, with valko still deeply connected to you. letting out a deep sigh, he gently runs the back of his hand against your cheek, making you meet his gaze.
valko’s expression was sheepish, with his wolf ears now flattened as he spoke in an unexpectedly small voice, “sorry… you’re just… too fuckin’ beautiful that i couldn’t help it.”
you began laughing in response to his confession, earning a wince from him. such a shift in his expression made you panic when you asked, “i’m so sorry! are you hurt?”
yet instead of confirming or denying your question, valko simply gives you a wolfish grin. “why don’t you laugh again and find out for yourself?”
needless to say, you and your beloved wolf never got out of bed that day.
end notes: wowowowowowowwo a wolf daddy (⺣◡⺣)♡ pls enjoy this unedited mess, i just needed to write something in celebration for valko’s reveal (FINALLY!!)
all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!
jack abbot loves touching your skin. especially when his name is on it ‧₊˚ ⋅
author's note: i'm obsessed with drabbles atp, this is totally self-indulgent as a tattooed girlie... don't take it seriously.
there’s just something about the fact that the ink covering your skin is meant only for him that makes it a little harder to breathe. to think that he’s the only one with the privilege of seeing you in the darkness of your shared room, witnessing the parts of you that no one else can. the faint marks of his teeth on your hips and belly, your moles, your scars, summer sunburns—every little detail. they are the pieces that make you you, and jack loves being the only soul allowed to look at them. it’s a fierce, almost twisted sense of possession he’s never experienced before; it catches him off guard, feeling entirely foreign, but he craves it. he loves that you save those parts for him. it feeds his ego, grounding him in the absolute certainty that you are his—only his—to love, to yearn for, to possess completely.
sometimes, he catches the younger residents whispering in the hospital hallways about the dark ink at the top of your arm—the one you always hide beneath long sleeves at work. they bet on what kind of secret is buried there, guessing it's some dark, regrettable mistake or a design you're ashamed of. jack always has to force himself to keep his mouth shut. otherwise, he’d blurt out how utterly foolish and ridiculous their little wagers are. he’d tell them that he knows every single contour of your body like the back of his hand, tracing them while he’s buried deep inside you.
but he stays silent. he doesn’t entirely understand the sudden, hot rush of fury that courses through him whenever he hears other guys talking about you, or watching you walk distractedly through the wards. if only they knew how your skin reacts strictly to his touch. behind those sterile white walls, amid the heavy atmosphere of the hospital, your usually reserved gaze always finds him—the one man who places his blind faith in you. you look at him like you love him, and if he’s honest, he sometimes thinks you do it on purpose, completely aware of the chaos it wreaks on his heart.
it’s finally time for your cooking show, so he makes sure to clear everything away just to lie down with you on the couch, waiting for you to inevitably fall asleep on his chest. it’s the perfect saturday night—no work, ellis and shen can manage the department without him for once, and you are finally resting after three consecutive double shifts. despite the heavy exhaustion weighing down your limbs, jack makes sure you’re as comfortable as possible. about fifteen minutes pass, and while he tries to focus on the peach soufflé being prepared on the TV screen, his eyes keep drifting back to you. you’re watching the screen intently, as if you're analyzing every single word, absorbing the ingredients and techniques into your head. He rests your legs over his lap, his hand caressing your skin in absentminded, soothing strokes. he honestly swears he’s losing his mind over you.
you're wearing that old college shirt that once belonged to him, the fabric so worn and thin it's practically falling apart. the sleeves are long gone, leaving only a faded, barely legible logo across the front. his eyes have drifted to your bare arms countless times tonight, completely captivated by the unobstructed view of your tattoos—the ones you meticulously conceal under long sleeves and sweaters at work, now softly illuminated by the dim, warm light of the living room.
“there’s no way he can say it’s easy to do,” you say after a long silence, nodding toward the chef carefully plating the dessert on screen. “it’s a lie. a massive TV lie. do you think if i tried to make that, it would turn out even remotely that pretty?”
jack laughs, his large hands running up and down your legs before pausing at your thighs to give them a gentle, affectionate squeeze.
“honey, the last time you stepped into the kitchen, you almost burned the pot down.”
“hey, my quick thinking is what saved us from a fire.”
“a fire you started,” he points out, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “it’s a one-in-a-million miracle we survived it.”
you snort, still smiling, and place your hand over his where it rests against your thigh. “exactly. that’s why i leave the cooking to you. god only knows what i’m capable of destroying.”
jack can only let his eyes wander over your face, looking at you with a quiet intensity, as if trying to memorize every detail. you curl up and shift closer until you’re practically in his lap. he simply wraps his strong arms around you, listening to your contented murmurs as his hands resume their slow, soothing tracks.
it’s exactly what you love about quiet nights like these. everything else is left at the doorstep—the stress of the hospital, the chaos of the world—and all that remains is an affection so deep that neither of you needs to find the words for it. you love the weight of him holding you, the seamless way he responds to your touch, and the effortless security of his embrace.
when his warm hands slide beneath the hem of your shirt, a soft shiver runs through you. his fingers trail up and down your spine, and the scratch of his stubble tickles your neck as his breath hitches against your skin. wrapping your left arm around his broad shoulders, you feel him plant a sequence of soft kisses along your neck and jaw, making you let out a breathless laugh.
“don't tell me you're getting ticklish now,” he says, a rich, incredulous chuckle vibrating against your skin. “really?”
“i’m only laughing because you’re so warm,” you tease, realizing that the TV hasn't been the most interesting thing in the room for a while now. “and... because i missed you doing that.”
“what, exactly?” he asks, his gaze darkening with genuine curiosity.
instead of answering, you slip from his lap with a soft giggle, leaving jack’s face contorted in a look of pure, mock disbelief. he watches you walk toward the kitchen, his eyes tracking your movement as you rummage through the cabinets for a glass and open the refrigerator. true to form, he follows right on your heels, drawn to you like a magnet. his eyes stay anchored to every single slide of your hips as you pour yourself a glass of water, chuckling to yourself at his undivided attention.
“lately, you've been slipping your hands under my shirt just to feel my tattoo,” you point out, turning to face him. “and since you've been pulling just as many double shifts as i have, we haven't exactly had time to breathe, let alone spend time together.”
you shrug, leaning back against the counter and watching his adam's apple bob as he swallows. he doesn't even try to deny it. he knows it’s completely useless to argue—not only because he’d be lying, but because he knows you can read him like an open book.
honestly, nobody can blame him. it’s an electric thrill that rushes through his veins every single time he remembers the permanent mark he has left on your skin—the fact that the initials J.A. etched into your ribs are entirely real and will never fade. despite everything you went through, you stayed. you are his, and he is yours, clear and simple, without any need for complicated explanations or justifications. it just is. and jack loves to remind himself of that truth every chance he gets. he steals a glimpse whenever you reach for the top shelves just to see his initials peek out from your shirt, and when he’s holding himself over you in bed, a fierce, primal possessiveness takes over. watching your body tremble beneath him while seeing the letters of his name permanently inked into your skin... he absolutely loves it. he loves it so intensely, and it’s so glaringly obvious, that it’s no longer a secret. if it ever even was one.
“well, baby, it's a bit unfair of you to want to deprive me of all that,” he murmurs, shrugging as he closes the distance between you with slow, deliberate steps.
“i’m not depriving you of anything,” you counter softly, holding his gaze. “i’m just stating the facts.”
“and which facts are we talking about?”
“mmm... maybe the fact that you're practically taking my clothes off with your eyes right now.” you press your fingers playfully against his chest, but he catches them instantly, intertwining his long fingers with yours. “metaphorically speaking, of course. or literally. i’m fine with whichever direction you want to take this.”
jack laughs, a low, rumbling sound as he slides his broad, freckled arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. he presses his lips gently to your cheekbone, scattering soft, trailing kisses across your face, holding you close as if you were something incredibly precious.
“you can't blame me, my love,” he whispers against your skin, his fingers brushing your lower back. “don't think for a second i haven't noticed—every single move you make is just to get my attention.”
you catch your breath as a soft moan escapes your lips when you feel his hands move up to your breasts, rising above your bra.
“you’re really rubbing it in, aren't you?”
“tell me i’m lying,” he murmurs, gently tilting your head back to press a kiss along your jawline.
“maybe just a bit.” you can't help but smile at the way his lips linger on your skin, his hands tracing your waist beneath your shirt. “which means it’s about time you got my name tattooed. it’s only fair we’re even, jack. i want it right on your forehead—or your neck, preferably.”
the sound of his laughter is so pure it sets your heart dancing. you don't think he has any idea how much it gets to you.
“i highly doubt a tattoo would suit this skin, baby. nice try, though.”
“please. of course it'll look good,” you scoff playfully. “are you kidding? you'll be the hottest attending in the ER—all tattooed up and strutting around with that cocky confidence of yours. and with my name on you? it’ll leave absolutely no doubt about who you belong to.”
jack nods slowly, that familiar half-smile playing on his lips. his large hands slide down to your waist, anchoring you to him while you wrap your arms around his neck.
“like you want to shout it to the world that i’m yours?”
“well, yeah. i’ve been wanting to do this ever since you first got into my pants.”
“a forehead tattoo is pretty much the least subtle way to mark your territory.”
“who said i wanted to be subtle?”
god, he loves you.
it hadn't been hard for him to admit it, not even a little. he’d whisper it in your ear like a secret pact just between the two of you, and honestly, you had no doubts. actions were always more tangible than words anyway, and jack had done nothing but love you with the most ragged bandages he had. he would wrap you in his arms, hand you your morning coffee—extra sugar and a touch of cinnamon, just the way you liked it—before leaving, and he would listen. he would truly understand.
and right then, you realize that maybe having his initial inked onto your skin wasn't such a bad idea after all. in fact, it might be the best thing you’ve ever done—especially if it means holding onto his love for the rest of your life.
“right now, i don't want you to be subtle.” he tilts his head, whispering low against your wrist. you can feel his smile against your skin—tender and dangerous all at once—while the rough graze of his stubble tickles you deliciously. “i want you to wrap your legs around me and let me take care of you for the rest of the night.”
“may i ask how you plan to do that?” you smile lazily, your hands resting on his biceps, fingers lightly squeezing the soft, freckled skin of his arms. a faint tremble runs through you the moment you feel his nimble fingers unhooking your bra.
”first of all, we’re done watching that show,” he murmurs, slipping the straps off your shoulders and freeing you from your bra, leaving you braless beneath your shirt. the sudden draft sends a delicious shiver straight down your spine, your nipples hardening against the thin fabric as your chest moves in sync with his eager rhythm. “then, i’ll fuck you slow and nice, just how you like it. and if you behave, i’ll fill you up of me until you’re begging for more.”
a shudder runs through you at his words, a ragged gasp escaping your lips the moment he pinches your hardened nipple between his index and middle fingers.
“and?” you manage to ask, fighting for breath as you gravitate toward him.
jack smiles. you know you're lost.
“i’ll show you why that skin belongs to me and why my name is on it.’
jack abbot loves touching your skin. especially when his name is on it ‧₊˚ ⋅
author's note: i'm obsessed with drabbles atp, this is totally self-indulgent as a tattooed girlie... don't take it seriously.
there’s just something about the fact that the ink covering your skin is meant only for him that makes it a little harder to breathe. to think that he’s the only one with the privilege of seeing you in the darkness of your shared room, witnessing the parts of you that no one else can. the faint marks of his teeth on your hips and belly, your moles, your scars, summer sunburns—every little detail. they are the pieces that make you you, and jack loves being the only soul allowed to look at them. it’s a fierce, almost twisted sense of possession he’s never experienced before; it catches him off guard, feeling entirely foreign, but he craves it. he loves that you save those parts for him. it feeds his ego, grounding him in the absolute certainty that you are his—only his—to love, to yearn for, to possess completely.
sometimes, he catches the younger residents whispering in the hospital hallways about the dark ink at the top of your arm—the one you always hide beneath long sleeves at work. they bet on what kind of secret is buried there, guessing it's some dark, regrettable mistake or a design you're ashamed of. jack always has to force himself to keep his mouth shut. otherwise, he’d blurt out how utterly foolish and ridiculous their little wagers are. he’d tell them that he knows every single contour of your body like the back of his hand, tracing them while he’s buried deep inside you.
but he stays silent. he doesn’t entirely understand the sudden, hot rush of fury that courses through him whenever he hears other guys talking about you, or watching you walk distractedly through the wards. if only they knew how your skin reacts strictly to his touch. behind those sterile white walls, amid the heavy atmosphere of the hospital, your usually reserved gaze always finds him—the one man who places his blind faith in you. you look at him like you love him, and if he’s honest, he sometimes thinks you do it on purpose, completely aware of the chaos it wreaks on his heart.
it’s finally time for your cooking show, so he makes sure to clear everything away just to lie down with you on the couch, waiting for you to inevitably fall asleep on his chest. it’s the perfect saturday night—no work, ellis and shen can manage the department without him for once, and you are finally resting after three consecutive double shifts. despite the heavy exhaustion weighing down your limbs, jack makes sure you’re as comfortable as possible. about fifteen minutes pass, and while he tries to focus on the peach soufflé being prepared on the TV screen, his eyes keep drifting back to you. you’re watching the screen intently, as if you're analyzing every single word, absorbing the ingredients and techniques into your head. He rests your legs over his lap, his hand caressing your skin in absentminded, soothing strokes. he honestly swears he’s losing his mind over you.
you're wearing that old college shirt that once belonged to him, the fabric so worn and thin it's practically falling apart. the sleeves are long gone, leaving only a faded, barely legible logo across the front. his eyes have drifted to your bare arms countless times tonight, completely captivated by the unobstructed view of your tattoos—the ones you meticulously conceal under long sleeves and sweaters at work, now softly illuminated by the dim, warm light of the living room.
“there’s no way he can say it’s easy to do,” you say after a long silence, nodding toward the chef carefully plating the dessert on screen. “it’s a lie. a massive TV lie. do you think if i tried to make that, it would turn out even remotely that pretty?”
jack laughs, his large hands running up and down your legs before pausing at your thighs to give them a gentle, affectionate squeeze.
“honey, the last time you stepped into the kitchen, you almost burned the pot down.”
“hey, my quick thinking is what saved us from a fire.”
“a fire you started,” he points out, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “it’s a one-in-a-million miracle we survived it.”
you snort, still smiling, and place your hand over his where it rests against your thigh. “exactly. that’s why i leave the cooking to you. god only knows what i’m capable of destroying.”
jack can only let his eyes wander over your face, looking at you with a quiet intensity, as if trying to memorize every detail. you curl up and shift closer until you’re practically in his lap. he simply wraps his strong arms around you, listening to your contented murmurs as his hands resume their slow, soothing tracks.
it’s exactly what you love about quiet nights like these. everything else is left at the doorstep—the stress of the hospital, the chaos of the world—and all that remains is an affection so deep that neither of you needs to find the words for it. you love the weight of him holding you, the seamless way he responds to your touch, and the effortless security of his embrace.
when his warm hands slide beneath the hem of your shirt, a soft shiver runs through you. his fingers trail up and down your spine, and the scratch of his stubble tickles your neck as his breath hitches against your skin. wrapping your left arm around his broad shoulders, you feel him plant a sequence of soft kisses along your neck and jaw, making you let out a breathless laugh.
“don't tell me you're getting ticklish now,” he says, a rich, incredulous chuckle vibrating against your skin. “really?”
“i’m only laughing because you’re so warm,” you tease, realizing that the TV hasn't been the most interesting thing in the room for a while now. “and... because i missed you doing that.”
“what, exactly?” he asks, his gaze darkening with genuine curiosity.
instead of answering, you slip from his lap with a soft giggle, leaving jack’s face contorted in a look of pure, mock disbelief. he watches you walk toward the kitchen, his eyes tracking your movement as you rummage through the cabinets for a glass and open the refrigerator. true to form, he follows right on your heels, drawn to you like a magnet. his eyes stay anchored to every single slide of your hips as you pour yourself a glass of water, chuckling to yourself at his undivided attention.
“lately, you've been slipping your hands under my shirt just to feel my tattoo,” you point out, turning to face him. “and since you've been pulling just as many double shifts as i have, we haven't exactly had time to breathe, let alone spend time together.”
you shrug, leaning back against the counter and watching his adam's apple bob as he swallows. he doesn't even try to deny it. he knows it’s completely useless to argue—not only because he’d be lying, but because he knows you can read him like an open book.
honestly, nobody can blame him. it’s an electric thrill that rushes through his veins every single time he remembers the permanent mark he has left on your skin—the fact that the initials J.A. etched into your ribs are entirely real and will never fade. despite everything you went through, you stayed. you are his, and he is yours, clear and simple, without any need for complicated explanations or justifications. it just is. and jack loves to remind himself of that truth every chance he gets. he steals a glimpse whenever you reach for the top shelves just to see his initials peek out from your shirt, and when he’s holding himself over you in bed, a fierce, primal possessiveness takes over. watching your body tremble beneath him while seeing the letters of his name permanently inked into your skin... he absolutely loves it. he loves it so intensely, and it’s so glaringly obvious, that it’s no longer a secret. if it ever even was one.
“well, baby, it's a bit unfair of you to want to deprive me of all that,” he murmurs, shrugging as he closes the distance between you with slow, deliberate steps.
“i’m not depriving you of anything,” you counter softly, holding his gaze. “i’m just stating the facts.”
“and which facts are we talking about?”
“mmm... maybe the fact that you're practically taking my clothes off with your eyes right now.” you press your fingers playfully against his chest, but he catches them instantly, intertwining his long fingers with yours. “metaphorically speaking, of course. or literally. i’m fine with whichever direction you want to take this.”
jack laughs, a low, rumbling sound as he slides his broad, freckled arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. he presses his lips gently to your cheekbone, scattering soft, trailing kisses across your face, holding you close as if you were something incredibly precious.
“you can't blame me, my love,” he whispers against your skin, his fingers brushing your lower back. “don't think for a second i haven't noticed—every single move you make is just to get my attention.”
you catch your breath as a soft moan escapes your lips when you feel his hands move up to your breasts, rising above your bra.
“you’re really rubbing it in, aren't you?”
“tell me i’m lying,” he murmurs, gently tilting your head back to press a kiss along your jawline.
“maybe just a bit.” you can't help but smile at the way his lips linger on your skin, his hands tracing your waist beneath your shirt. “which means it’s about time you got my name tattooed. it’s only fair we’re even, jack. i want it right on your forehead—or your neck, preferably.”
the sound of his laughter is so pure it sets your heart dancing. you don't think he has any idea how much it gets to you.
“i highly doubt a tattoo would suit this skin, baby. nice try, though.”
“please. of course it'll look good,” you scoff playfully. “are you kidding? you'll be the hottest attending in the ER—all tattooed up and strutting around with that cocky confidence of yours. and with my name on you? it’ll leave absolutely no doubt about who you belong to.”
jack nods slowly, that familiar half-smile playing on his lips. his large hands slide down to your waist, anchoring you to him while you wrap your arms around his neck.
“like you want to shout it to the world that i’m yours?”
“well, yeah. i’ve been wanting to do this ever since you first got into my pants.”
“a forehead tattoo is pretty much the least subtle way to mark your territory.”
“who said i wanted to be subtle?”
god, he loves you.
it hadn't been hard for him to admit it, not even a little. he’d whisper it in your ear like a secret pact just between the two of you, and honestly, you had no doubts. actions were always more tangible than words anyway, and jack had done nothing but love you with the most ragged bandages he had. he would wrap you in his arms, hand you your morning coffee—extra sugar and a touch of cinnamon, just the way you liked it—before leaving, and he would listen. he would truly understand.
and right then, you realize that maybe having his initial inked onto your skin wasn't such a bad idea after all. in fact, it might be the best thing you’ve ever done—especially if it means holding onto his love for the rest of your life.
“right now, i don't want you to be subtle.” he tilts his head, whispering low against your wrist. you can feel his smile against your skin—tender and dangerous all at once—while the rough graze of his stubble tickles you deliciously. “i want you to wrap your legs around me and let me take care of you for the rest of the night.”
“may i ask how you plan to do that?” you smile lazily, your hands resting on his biceps, fingers lightly squeezing the soft, freckled skin of his arms. a faint tremble runs through you the moment you feel his nimble fingers unhooking your bra.
”first of all, we’re done watching that show,” he murmurs, slipping the straps off your shoulders and freeing you from your bra, leaving you braless beneath your shirt. the sudden draft sends a delicious shiver straight down your spine, your nipples hardening against the thin fabric as your chest moves in sync with his eager rhythm. “then, i’ll fuck you slow and nice, just how you like it. and if you behave, i’ll fill you up of me until you’re begging for more.”
a shudder runs through you at his words, a ragged gasp escaping your lips the moment he pinches your hardened nipple between his index and middle fingers.
“and?” you manage to ask, fighting for breath as you gravitate toward him.
jack smiles. you know you're lost.
“i’ll show you why that skin belongs to me and why my name is on it.’
synopsis: valko is in deep heat with the supermoon occurring, and he wants a solution that requires restraints, a collar, and you.
warnings: valko is in heat, sub!valko, good boy!valko, collar use, bondage, riding, overstimulation, biting, licking, scent marking, edging, knots, rutting, monsterfucking.
wc: 2,3k
a/n: i love him already, he's such a cutie. he deserves endless cuddles, BE NICE TO HIM! i want to devour him. I NEED HIM TO EAT ME OU– enjoy a pre-release celebration of our handsome wolf, valko!
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
He must be in heat. that’s the only way Valko can describe this feeling. The moon has been full for less than an hour, and he’s already twitching. Usually he can handle himself. But that’s not gonna work out well for him if all he can think about is you.
Your scent is delicious, beyond the scented lotions and perfume, he’s talking about your natural aroma, amplified by sweat and other smells your body emits. It draws him in. He can’t help but sniff the air every time you walk past him. His cock won’t stop twitching in his pants, tenting at the sight of you catching his gaze.
Valko wants to bite you. Valko wants to slather you with his saliva until you smell like him. He wants to rut his cock so deep inside you, cuddle you so close and keep you so warm with his hot body that you just have to call him a good boy.
“…ko,” He must be imagining you saying his name so nice and breathless.
“…alko.” There it is again, louder, your nails could drag down his back until he bleeds and he’d thank you.
“Valko!” He blinks, the mirage of a heated embrace disappearing from his perception to be replaced by your fingers snapping very close to his face. Such pretty fingers, he wants to lick—
“Yeah?” His voice is gruff and hoarse, almost like he’s keeping a whimper tight in his throat. His leg bounces as fast as his heart pounds his chest. You’re so pretty, with your pretty parted lips, and how your saliva keeps it just wet enough to shine in the warm lamp light. So plump for him to kiss and bite—
“As I was saying,” You pull your hand away, not hearing the small whine that leaves him from the lack of contact. “We need to make sure you’re comfortable for the next few hours. You said you can get agitated when there’s full moons, right?”
“Mmh.” Better a grunt than a moan. You brush it off assuming the effects of the celestial event are starting to mess with him internally.
Of course, you’re well aware that he’s got an extra pair of fluffy scratchable ears on the top of his head, an even fluffier tail protruding from the base of his spine, and sharper canines. You’re not ignorant.
What you don’t know is that he’s much more prone to getting heated in these hours. Especially in the presence of someone who his body, mind, and soul are attuned to completely. It’s you. You're that someone.
But he has to behave for your sake. He can’t be bad, he can’t be too rash and aggressive or he might scare you off. You might not like it. But he wants you so damn bad, he can’t even hide it anymore.
You’re rattling about restraints, something to tie him to incase he goes berserk.
Restraints. Belts. Muzzle. Chair. Tie him to a chair. He wants you to tie him to a chair.
He wants you to restrain him. He wants you to sit on his lap and feel how hard his cock is for you, feel it throb just below your cunt, grind his hips up to you still so retrained and held back that he has to beg you to ride him. He might as well ask for it.
“…unless that’s too extreme.” You mutter, expecting a response. Nothing. Did he zone out again? What’s going on with Valko to be so distracted? He wasn’t like this last month. “Look, I know the full moon can be a messy time for you, and now that it’s a supermoon it could be worse, but I’d prefer you to actually respond— oh.”
Valko is drooling. Valko’s eyes are glazed over. Valko is blushing beyond relief. And Valko is sporting a rock hard boner.
The silence that stretches between you would have been uncomfortable, it should have been. But you seem to enjoy the rough pants that escape his lips, how his hands are balled into fists to keep himself at bay. How the veins on his neck are far more prominent now.
You sink your teeth into your lower lip, hoping you won’t say anything foolish.
“Don’t laugh.” Valko grits, his fluffy ears drooping a little.
“I wasn’t going to.” You say, trying to ignore the fact that your lips are twitching into a smile.
You glance down from his agitated golden eyes to his neck, to his large muscular chest covered by the black tank you always find so attractive on him, to the taper of his waist, to the pulsing print of his cock bulging against his pants.
Now that you think of it, you two haven’t shared the bed recently. You’ve both been so busy with work that neither of you have had time for each other. And you’ve been very wound up these last few days.
“I think we should figure out what restraints will be good for you.” A purr follows your words as you rest your hands on his chest. Muscular, warm, huge chest that you love to sleep on. You’re making this much, much worse and you know it. You can hear it in the groan that rumbles in his chest.
“Oh, is it getting worse?” You play an aloof demeanour, reaching to caress the soft ears on his head, making sure to rub on that sensitive spot where his hair is its softest. A soft moan escapes Valko’s lips as his golden eyes flutter closed.
“Please…”
“What do you need me to do, my love?” Your lips ghost the shell of his fleshy ear, tongue peeking out to trace the shell. He shudders, head lowering to give you more access, hips rocking towards you so you can feel just what you need to do.
You don’t want that, though. He has to say it.
“I can’t help if you don’t tell me.”
A pained moan rushes right into your ear as he drops a part of his weight on you. Valko doesn’t want to say it but he also wants to say it. It doesn’t make sense. This heated state is driving him insane, and you’re giving him such a clear path to relief. But what he wants is different from what you usually do… will you agree?
With a shaky breath, Valko nuzzles the side of your neck, mustering the will to confess his desire. “You have to tell me no if you can’t do it.”
“I will.” You reassure him, stroking his soft hair. His arms wrap tight around you, grounding himself in your presence as the words unknot themselves to flow out.
“If you’re grossed out—“
“I won’t be grossed out, Val.” You softly say, rubbing circles into his lower back. “Nothing about you grosses me out. I trust you, so you need to trust that I’ll handle whatever you need and that I’ll tell you if I can’t. Outside of cannibalism, I'm not doing that.”
That makes him chuckle. “You’ll tell me the second you’re uncomfortable?”
“The millisecond.”
His next request comes out more sheepishly. “You’ll tell me I’m doing good?”
“I’ll put a poet to shame.”
“Pull my hair?”
“Put a collar on you too if you’re feeling feisty.”
A sigh of relief escapes Valko’s lips. Oh, he loves you. Finally, he pulls his face away from your neck to level your gaze with fresh determination on his face. “I want you to tie me to the chair, and ride the shit outta me.”
Ask and ye shall receive, as you hear them say.
It was easy to put Valko on a chair especially when he's drunk on your kisses, hungrily biting marks into your bare chest and stomach, gripping your hips so tight you’d think he’s terrified that you’ll run. It was easier to get soaked just from watching him strip for you— that, and having his fingers curl so good inside your cunt as he slurped and lapped at your clit.
The only ‘difficult’ part was restraining him to the chair, legs, arms, and torso roped tight, and that’s just because he’s antsy whenever the full moon happens.
But something about this supermoon has got him more riled up than usual. Why, you ask?
You’ve been bouncing on the man’s cock for two hours.
You’re not complaining, you love every second of this. Your walls are fluttering around him as he slides in and out of you so easily, caught by you keeping his fat tip inside leaking all that sticky, hot precum before you drop into his lap again and again and again.
“Val— ooh, fuck!” Your praise has otherwise become mush, slurred moans of his name and whatever adulation could come to mind. Valko doesn’t mind since he isn't doing any better. If anything, he’s lost the need to think.
“S-So good,” His throat is torn from how loud he’s been, his hips jutting into you even with his thick, corded thighs roped down to the chair. His tail is slapping the floor, his fluffy ears are twitching. He can barely move, limbs strapped down and a collar wrapped around his neck at his own request. And he loves it.
He wants to cum so bad. But then he’d end up swelling so much that he’d be stuck for hours, just grinding and grinding and plugging his seed inside instead of feeling you slap down on him with each rise and fall of your full hips. He wouldn’t have your soft breasts bouncing in his face, or feel your hands scratch his undercut and pull his hair, or hear the hiccups in your voice or the ragged moans in his own.
Why make this pleasure so short-lived when he can prolong it?
His cock is leaking like a faucet, keeping him smooth and wet for you to use him as you please, pulsing with the desire to just release. His sacks are drawn up tight, literally clenching with enough cum to repopulate a country, and yet he still won’t give in.
Valko drags his tongue up your jaw all the way to your cheekbone. “ ‘m I fuckin’ you good?”
“Hah— mhm. Such a good boy.” You ramble into his lips as you kiss him, slipping your tongue inside to taste him as if he isn’t all that you can sense. “So big and thick and hot… so— Valko— so full ‘f you, want you deeper, you’re so good!”
You’re on orgasm number five by now, gripping onto Valko’s strong shoulders for dear life, back arched, tugging his hair like you want to rip his red locks off. It’s the supermoon, you tell yourself, it must be shooting his stamina through the roof.
It fucking has to be if he’s been rutting into you like a bullet train without cumming even once. His girth twitches with every rock of your plush hips, it leaks and weeps inside you every time you squeeze him hard enough to cut off his blood flow. It has to hurt, prolonging his climax for this long.
Valko likes it that way. He likes the hurt. He likes the way his body just responds to you so well, like you’re made for each other. You have to be.
Your knees are starting to ache. Your thighs are burning from the constant bouncing up and down his thick length but the feeling of him dragging through your walls with each vein pressing against your walls is too good. The overwhelming bump of his cockhead kissing your cervix may just tip you over the edge again. The fucking curve of his cock and the angle just lets him reach the sensitive nerves of your g-spot so good every damn time!
You love these fucking supermoons.
“Valko,” You hum, licking his lips then his chin and jaw, your breath heavy as you maintain your pace. Just a few more and you’ll be in pure bliss. But you need him there with you. “I’m close. I’m so close. Hnn, need you— cum with me.”
“You— oh, you sure?” He whimpers, nuzzling you as you lick the tears off his cheeks. “I’ll—“
“Knot me, mhm.” You nod, rubbing your nose into his cheek, inhaling his scent. This man’s frenzied behaviour has been rubbing off on you too much, not that there’s reason to complain. “You’re gonna swell up so fuckin’ thick, yeah?”
He nods. “Gonna plug all that cum in me, keep it warm inside while you grind ’n rut into me?”
“Yeah,” He affirms, his arms pulling against the restraints. Is this what you want? You want him to bond with you to that much of an intimate extent? You must truly love him. “ ’m gonna stay in you the whole night, snug inside. But I like when you ride me.” You can feel him pouting as he pecks your skin. So cute.
“Then you’ll be a good boy, right?” You coo, your hands cupping his face as you press your thumbs on his lower lip. “Cum with me, and stay inside all night.” You fight every urge to give in to the pleasure when he bites your fingers.
You suck his upper lip, letting your moans vibrate into his. “Can you do that for me?”
Valko’s a simple man. You ask for something and he’ll give it to you with a smile. Like he is now, canines bared, tongue lapping at your fingers before he attacks your lips with a bruising, hot kiss. He pulls away just for a second to mutter against your mouth, “I love you.”
“I know, baby.” You huff, smiling into the kiss as you scratch his fluffy ears. Valko’s hips rut up faster and you can feel his cock swell at the base, almost ready to be plugged into you. Oh, he is so going to eat his cum out of you once he’s soft. “Now be good and cum with me.”
I have a fic idea. It’s one where you’re cuddling RE9 Leon in bed, and you’re telling him how much you love him, with some kisses here and there. The poor man is so hard on himself, he needs someone to tell him how lovable and sweet he is since he clearly can’t see it.
A/N: Thank you so much for this wonderful request! And at the same time, please forgive me for taking so long, but unfortunately, there just haven't been enough hours in the day lately >_>
Summary: When Leon comes back from a rough mission stuck in his own head, you remind him exactly how much he means to you with a little help from a forgotten treat hidden under the pillow.
Not on My Watch
You stood in the middle of the bedroom, staring at the perfectly made bed and the equally meticulously arranged pillows. Behind the wall, the hum of water – which had been ringing regularly in your ears for the past good hour – finally ceased. Leon had recently returned from a mission and insisted on showering alone, claiming he had been swimming in "substances of unknown origin." You knew, however, that it was just an excuse. You knew this pattern by heart. You had only made sure he wasn't seriously injured before letting him off to the bathroom.
Returns from missions varied; sometimes Leon came back incredibly homesick, never leaving your side, sometimes he returned so turned on that you couldn't even make it to the bedroom, other times he could barely stand on his feet from exhaustion or from the wounds he had sustained. This time – Leon was simply sad.
You walked over to the bed and adjusted the pillows that didn't need any adjusting, then sat cross-legged on the mattress and took a few deep breaths. You tried not to look worried, knowing that Leon would only pick up on your state. You didn't want to pry more than necessary, but you were ready to find out what was on his mind. After all, that's what he had you for.
Finally, the bedroom door creaked and Leon slipped inside, wearing black boxers and a grey t-shirt. As he sat on the edge of the bed on your side, the scent of body wash washed over you, along with a note you could never mistake for anything else – simply Leon.
You looked at him closely. His shirt was damp in places, meaning he hadn't dried himself thoroughly; his hair confirmed it too, damp and disheveled, with a droplet of water preparing to leap from the tip of his bangs. Leon reached out and placed his hand on your knee, squeezing it. But he didn't look at you. He was slouching incredibly, staring blankly at the rug.
You placed your hand over his – large, warm, and heavy – noting:
"Leon, you broke the rule," you said softly, forcing your tone to sound gentle and neutral despite everything.
Leon flinched minimally, then slowly turned his head toward you, his exhausted gaze piercing right through you instantly. Only a quiet grunt escaped his throat.
"Didn't break it."
In response, you expressively folded your arms over your chest and tilted your chin up.
"The shirt. Just like we agreed. Take it off," you replied possessively, in a tone that brooked no argument.
This was part of your routine whenever Leon insisted on "solitary showers" – he wasn't supposed to put on shirts until you had looked him over carefully, as he had tried to hide some nasty gashes before. Not on your watch.
Leon sighed and – knowing he wouldn't win – pulled his shirt off with a slightly heavy movement, while you expressively patted the spot next to you, letting him know to sit further back on the bed, which he did, scrambling over and sitting with his back to you.
"I'm telling you, I'm fine, sweetheart."
You moved right behind him to take a look with your own eyes. His broad back, still slightly damp, was covered in the scars you knew so well, and between them, various bruises and scrapes were beginning to form, along with a few minor cuts, but luckily nothing serious.
The only thing that worried you was a massive, purple-and-yellow bruise just beneath his ribs. Carefully, you pressed your warm palms against his sides, checking if he’d hiss in pain under tighter pressure. Fortunately, he only winced, reacting solely to your touch.
So you got up and settled yourself in front, right in his lap. Your hands landed on his well-defined abs, then gently slid higher up to his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his skin flex instantly as he let out a breath through his nose. His hands instinctively found your hips and squeezed you lightly.
"I missed you so much," you said at last, reassured that you didn't see anything serious on the front of his body either.
"Me too, honey." Leon smiled at those words, sweeping his gaze across your face, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Oh, yeah?" you began playfully. "Usually, when you miss me, you hold me a little tighter," you teased, tipping up the corner of your mouth meaningfully.
In response, however, Leon's gaze only dimmed further, then drifted to the side. He couldn't have made it clearer that something was weighing on him.
You gently caught his chin and turned his face toward you, before brushing his lips in a light kiss.
"Leon, I know I have great taste, but you don't need to study the pattern on the duvet quite so intensely," you smiled at him warmly and brushed a strand of hair out of his eye. "Tell me what's going on, or I'll tickle the information out of you by force."
"I'm not ticklish," he grumbled, clearly caught off guard.
"I guarantee you I'll find a spot," you countered resiliently, raising your hands to poke them under his armpits, but Leon intercepted them with a quick movement, catching them in his own, then pressed two kisses to the palms of your hands, one on each. And then he closed his eyes for a few long seconds; when he opened them again, he was slouching even more.
"It's just," he began, and you held your breath, "sometimes when I look in the mirror, I wonder why you even bother waiting for this. For me. Instead of having a normal evening, you have to check if I'm missing any limbs."
The tone in which he said it squeezed your heart. This wasn't the first time you had heard these words, and likely not the last. You knew that despite your sincere and frequent assurances, doubts crossed his mind regularly, most often laced with guilt and a sense of inadequacy.
You slipped your hands from his grip and placed them gently on his cheeks, caressing him with your thumbs.
"I'm waiting for the most handsome man I've ever met, who moves heaven and earth for me every single time he's around. I don't need anything more, it's worth everything, and I wouldn't trade it for anything else in the world, Leon."
The beautiful blue of his eyes, previously dull and tired, now grew slightly glassy. His face involuntarily yielded to your touch. He needed this.
"I wish I could be around more often and give you even more," his voice was just as quiet and raspy, a note of guilt sounding in every syllable.
"I get everything I need from you." your hands now moved to his shoulders, pressing your thumbs into the skin by his neck; the sheer amount of knotted muscle you felt beneath your fingers genuinely startled you.
"It's just that..."
"I need you exactly like this." You cut him off unceremoniously. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be my Leon, the one I love so much." to reinforce your words, you kissed him hard on his right cheek.
Leon stared at you in silence for a few long moments, and then, to your inner delight, you noticed the corners of his mouth twitch.
He leaned toward you and kissed your bottom lip, then pulled back to an almost imperceptible distance.
"Can't outtalk you, can I?" he murmured against your lips.
"Learning from the master," you shot back innocently, nudging his chin away with your finger so you could look him in the eyes.
And just like that, you had him; your touch and your voice were enough to – at least for a moment – distract Leon from his intrusive thoughts. You noticed him release the last of the air from his lungs, his entire body visibly going slack.
"Okay, you can put your clothes on," you finally decreed.
"Can I?" he mumbled, a half-smile blossoming on his face.
Before you could even reply, though, Leon grabbed you firmly by the waist and went down on his back, pulling you with him. He landed right on your pillow, but the moment he hit the soft fabric, a strange, crinkling rustle reached your ears.
Leon froze completely, then slowly arched an eyebrow. As you pushed yourself up, propping your hands against his chest, you could see genuine bewilderment written all over his face.
"I really hope that wasn't my spine," he grumbled, not moving an inch.
Heat rushed to your face as you remembered what you had hidden there. Instinctively, you reached under the pillow to track down the evidence, but Leon, seeing your reaction, was quicker. He anticipated your move and dove beneath the fabric, fishing out a slightly crumpled, colorful bag of gummies a moment later.
"It's just... for a rainy day," you began, blushing even deeper as Leon watched you with pure amusement.
"So these are the kind of wicked deeds going on here while I'm away..." he clicked his tongue in mock disapproval, then he rolled you to the side and propped himself up on an elbow, tearing the bag open and rummaging through its contents.
"Leon, you literally just brushed your teeth!" you pointed out, trying to deflect from what you had hoarded in the bed.
Leon merely shrugged and popped two gummies into his mouth at once. Before he even had time to chew them properly, his face contorted into a hideous grimace, he squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing the sour treats with difficulty.
"And they're sour, too?"
You laughed quietly at the sight. "My beloved agent, the bane of the most terrifying creatures, just got defeated by a fake lemon."
In response, Leon only looked at you from beneath half-lidded eyes and shoved another two into his mouth.
"They don't stand a chance against me."
"I thought you didn't like them."
"I have to make sure I don't like all of them," he grumbled, giving you a faint smirk. You joined in on the brief feast, trying to snag some for yourself as you watched the bag's contents dwindle surprisingly fast.
When you finished the "meal," you sat astride Leon's hips, mindlessly tracing patterns on his stomach with your hand. He watched you in silence for a moment before blurting out:
"Next time, I'm requesting a different flavor."
"It can be a different flavor, honey, but they're still going to be sour," you replied in an innocent little voice.
"And why is that?" Leon's gaze, though questioning at first, very quickly began to sweep over your figure.
"Because I already get enough sweetness just by looking at you, Leon."
Leon's face went completely blank with surprise in a split second.
"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked at last, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Well... that you're sweet. Cute." you mumbled shyly, unable to suppress a genuine half-smile.
Leon watched you in silence for a moment, his expression unreadable.
"Not true. I'm fierce. And dangerous," he mumbled with feigned seriousness, his eyebrows almost meeting.
"Of course you are, teddy bear. If you say so," you replied, unable to stop yourself from laughing.
"Talking back, too..."
Before you could even realize what was happening, Leon bucked his hips, causing you to lose your balance and fall forward onto him in surprise. He caught you with his hands just before his face and, locking you in a strong, tight embrace, kissed you hungrily.
Leon slammed his lips against yours so hard it knocked the wind right out of your lungs. For a fleeting second, you tasted the sour tang of the gummies again, but it quickly dissolved into the steady warmth of his breath. You could barely keep up with returning the kiss – Leon kissed you heavily and possessively, every single inch of your mouth belonged to him in that moment, and the slightest parting of your lips was enough to feel his wet tongue inviting you to dance.
His large hand gripped the nape of your neck in a powerful hold, while the other roamed from your hip to your backside, as if he needed to re-memorize every piece of your body after being away for a week. He pressed you against him so tightly that you could clearly feel the thudding of his heart.
Every time you tried to catch your breath, Leon deepened the kiss, a low hum rumbling against your lips, his vibrations instantly sending shivers through your body. You knew that in this desperation and in every movement of his mouth was everything he couldn't put into words, everything he couldn't name. You felt gratitude in it, a reassurance that you were truly here, and a promise. He sucked on your bottom lip and nipped at it gently, only to soothe the bite a moment later with a swipe of his tongue, completely taking control of the rhythm of your mouths. You surrendered to him, knowing that in this moment you didn't need anything else, that everything you needed was right there in your arms.
When Leon finally pulled his face away for a second, you were both panting heavily. You rested your forehead against his, seeing that his eyes were still closed. His fingers against your neck were trembling slightly.
Once your breathing evened out, Leon let his head fall limply back onto the pillow and looked at you from beneath half-lidded eyes.
"I missed this," he murmured softly, his voice slightly hoarse.
You leaned down and gently kissed one eyelid, then the other, forcing him to close his eyes. "Time for bed. You need to rest." With those words, you tried to untangle yourself from him to reach for the lamp and turn off the light. Leon only looked at you, opening one eye in a suspicious gesture, before reluctantly loosening his grip on you.
As soon as darkness flooded the bedroom, you immediately slid right back to Leon, pressing into his arm and the crook between his neck and collarbone. He smelled almost entirely like home now – soap, Leon, and your fresh bedding. He wrapped his arm around you instantly, pulling you to his side so tightly that you couldn't have slipped a single finger between you. You wedged your leg between his thighs and planted a kiss on his neck.
"Is my fierce chosen one comfortable?" you asked with a hint of amusement in your voice.
Leon laughed quietly under his breath and kissed the crown of your head.
"Not complaining."
You lay there in silence for a couple of minutes at most.
"Leon?" you started again.
"Yeah, sweetheart?" his voice was already incredibly low from the oncoming sleep.
"You know I love you?"
There was a moment of meaningful silence during which you actually wondered if he had fallen asleep along the way.
"Yeah, I think you mentioned something."
You couldn't help it – you cracked him in the ribs with your elbow.
"I didn't know you were already having memory issues..." you teased.
Leon only laughed throatily and turned his head to kiss you hard on the cheek, returning the gesture you had graced him with not long ago.
"I know. But unfortunately, I love you more." to confirm those words, he squeezed you even tighter, if that was even possible.
"No, you don't."
"Yes, I do."
"And are you going to argue with me about this now?" you asked, beginning to run your fingers through his rough stubble along his jawline, slowly and unhurriedly.
"Always," though you heard resolve in his voice, it was clearly growing weaker and weaker.
So you continued, running your fingertips over his cheek this time and scratching him gently. With every passing moment, you felt the tension vanish from his face, his body relaxing further. His jaw was already slack, his eyes closed, and his breathing steadier.
"You are the most important person to me, Leon. You're my lottery win," you said softly, to which you received only a quiet grunt. Leon buried his face deeper into your hair, and though his breathing was growing heavier by the second, his hold on you never wavered.
You merely reached down for the duvet you had – contrary to all logistics – overruled by lying on top of it, pulling it over your legs as much as you possibly could. You knew that in the sleep that came so quickly, Leon had surrendered himself to you, along with his nightmares and his doubts. That even though he sometimes battled his own thoughts, subconsciously he gravitated toward you, ready to give you everything with absolute trust.
And you, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your hand and his steady, slow breathing, knew that you had managed to banish his demons. And though you knew they would return one day – you would always be ready to fight them.
zayne loves being your certified walking a/c whenever summer rolls around. You were already regularly affectionate with him, but now that the heat had fully settled in, you’d started clinging to him without even thinking about it.
Wherever he moves, you move.
Right now, you’re curled up against his side on the couch, one arm loosely looped around his while he reads through a stack of medical files. The steady rustle of paper and the faint scent of antiseptic from earlier in his shift should’ve been enough to keep him focused—but you’ve basically turned yourself into a very warm, very determined attachment.
Zayne doesn’t seem to mind.
At least, not until he shifts to stand.
“I need to grab something, I'll be back in a second.” he says quietly, already setting the files aside. The second his weight leaves the couch, you immediately latch onto his arm.
“Nooo.”
You tug again, firmer this time, face pressed into his sleeve like you’re trying to physically anchor him in place. Zayne glances down at you, a small smile playing on his lips as amusement dances in his eyes.
“…You won’t melt in the few minutes I’ll be away,” he says, voice calm, almost teasing.
You look up at him with full seriousness. “It's worse. I’ll boil.”
That earns a quiet exhale of amusement from him, the corner of his mouth lifting as he studies you like you’re a particularly dramatic patient. “Mm,” he murmurs. “Then I suppose I’ll have to properly diagnose you.”
You blink. “Diagnose me with what?”
Zayne shifts his grip under your arms before you can protest further, lifting you with effortless ease against his chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Acute separation sensitivity,” he says simply. Your protest dies immediately into a small, satisfied noise as he adjusts you against him, one arm securely around your back while the other gathers what he needs from the nearby table.
“Is that even real?” you mumble, already relaxing again.
“No,” he replies softly. “But your symptoms are consistent.”
You huff a laugh, looping your arms properly around his shoulders as he starts walking. Your lashes quickly flutter shut as you listen to the steady sound of his heartbeat beneath his shirt, the coolness around him easing the heat that had been clinging to your skin all afternoon.
It’s unfair, really.
How easy it is to melt like this in his arms.
The way his steps stay steady even while carrying you like you weigh nothing at all. The way the faint chill of his evol lingers just enough to keep you comfortable without ever becoming too much. The way his presence alone feels like relief.
You shift slightly, tucking your face closer into his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
“Then you’d agree with twenty-four hour care?” you murmur sleepily, voice muffled as you nuzzle into him. “Since my condition is so severe.”
There’s a pause.
“…Severe, hm?”
You nod against him, completely unbothered, already half-drifting.
His hold tightens just slightly, instinctive and careful as he adjusts you more securely against his chest. When he speaks again, his voice is sweeter than before. “I suppose I wouldn’t have much of a choice,” he says, a faint smile in his tone.
“If it’s that serious.” Warmth blooms in your chest at that, even through the cool air around him. You relax fully then, letting your weight settle completely into him, your breathing slowing as the rhythm of his heartbeat lulls you further under.
“…Good,” you mumble, eyes finally slipping shut for good this time. “Because I like you as my doctor.”
That earns a low chuckle from him.
And a moment later, you feel it—his lips pressing gently to your cheek, lingering just long enough to make your heart stir even as sleep pulls at you.
“I know,” he murmurs. “And I’m afraid I’m already committed to your case.”
♡ princessxmin please do not alter, copy or translate my work !
zayne dry humping you when you're ovulating.
cw. MDNI! explicit content
"ngh just the tip zayneee."
"no."
you whine, thighs quivering in need. still, his thrusts don't stop. his cock glides over your slippery folds, teasing your throbbing clit
"one of us has to stay sane to avoid the consequences." he retorts, rubbing his tip to your sopping entrance but never quite slipping in.
"asshole." you groan in frustration. he lets out a small laugh.
"forgive me." his lips find your nipple, closing around it in apology. the moan you let out is borderline pornographic, earning you a deep suckle and a hum of approval from him. your back arches, grinding involuntarily against his insanely thick cock.
"how is this fair?" you yank him up by his hair. he lets go of your nipple with a soft whimper.
"i wish it were, darling." he tilts his head to kiss the inside of your wrist, making you ease your grip. "but you do keep pulling every condom off me."
you bite the inside of your cheek. "...true."
he angles his cock to nestle between your syrupy lips, hips moving again to rub deliciously against your clit. your cunt pathetically pulses around emptiness, oozing out sweet honey.
"you'll give it to me next week." you demand.
"understood." he murmurs, tongue sticking out to circle your nipple before pulling it back in his mouth.
"raw."
"...raw." he repeats, ears turning red. the words vibrate around your nub.
"and you'll come inside me." another drag of his cock between your folds.
his teeth scrape over your nipple. "i won't leave you wanting."
You haven't said a word in 3 hours, and Zayne has begun to grow concerned. Very rarely does he see you like this, curled up in bed and unmoving, even though he knows you should be starving because you haven't eaten in hours.
"Are you alright?" He broaches the subject carefully. At first you don't answer. But then, almost reluctantly, likely because you know he won't let it go, you mumble a response.
"I'm fine."
A lie, of course. A bad one too. You don't sound like yourself at all, usually much more upbeat and eager. You also won't meet his eyes, and you remain unmoving. He shifts closer, resting a hand on your shoulder and gently squeezing.
"It's okay if you're not. You can talk to me, if you want."
It's not what he intends, but apparently he hits the nail on the head. You meet his gaze, eyes wide and filled with tears. Zayne is quick to action, pulling you into him as the tears run down your face and soak his shirt.
"It-it's stupid. I'm just...I'm being sensitive. It's not like there's anything really wrong I-I just can't stop feeling like this..." You tug him in, as if trying to get even closer than physically possible. Zayne rubs your back, squeezing you tight to him.
"I know, I know. It's alright. It will pass, and then you'll feel better. Everything is going to be okay."
You don't move from his embrace, preferring instead to sink into him and allow sobs to wrack your body. Each one is a knife to Zayne's heart, but he grits his teeth and bears it. He knows what you need right now. He's happy to be there for you, really, just to offer some semblance of comfort.
After about an hour, you seem to tire, going almost limp from exhaustion. He should get you some food, for the sake of energy, but he knows that above all, you need some rest.
Like not only are you waking up to Sylus with bed head, morning voice, and bleary eyes. But you're waking up to him fully naked, with the lingering memories of all the physical activities you two had just partook in some odd hours prior...
The evidence is not only present on your bodies - through bruises, bites, scratches, and the occasional carefully placed hickey. But your environment carries the memories too.
Clothes still lying on the floor, decorative pillows still tossed hazardously to the bottom of the bed. Sheets still in a disarray except for where they're dragged over your bare bodies.
You find yourself staring at him, your head still resting on his outstretched arm, eyes lingering on the rise and fall of his bare chest. You want to bury your face in the crook of his neck, much like you had a few hours ago. You want to devour him just as you had last night...
john logan has a clingy, overdramatic girlfriend . ♡
“hi baby,” logan mutters softly when he enters his room, two steaming mugs of tea in hand. his hair is a little messy from the nap you two just took, but he looks so warm, his upper body the perfect balance between soft and protective. “you’re awake.”
“hm.” is all you let out, turning on your side, away from logan. you’re perfectly comfortable under the sheets, your head dipping into the soft feathers of your boyfriend’s pillow.
you were sleeping so soundly, but the absence of your boyfriend’s warm arms around you stirred you awake. why the hell would he leave you alone? you felt so relaxed with his hands lightly caressing your stomach as you slept.
however, being a brat to logan has no effect on him at all. he’s got inexplicable amounts of love for you, beyond understanding. he wouldn’t be able to take your brattiness to heart.
“got us some tea,” he places both mugs on his nightstand before slipping under the duvet. “your favourite.”
he notices the cute scowl on your face when he bows over your head to kiss your forehead. you have a tendency for dramatics when you just woke up from a nap. “what’s wrong, baby?”
you turn your face toward logan, the little dip in your forehead, the corners of your mouth slightly turned down. he knows exactly that a little softness and sweetness can turn your frown upside down.
“why did you leave me alone?” you grumble out while pressing your face into his side, the fresh laundry-smell wafting off of his hoodie and filling your nostrils. “don’t like it when you leave.”
your soft face glued to him makes logan melt. “d’awhh,” he laughs, soothingly carding his fingers through your hair. “i’m sorry, my baby. didn’t mean to upset you.”
“i mean— do you even love me?”
logan freezes. “oh honey, don’t say those things,” he says, pulling your body in his hold as he readjusts the duvet over your bodies. “don’t break my heart.”
you cast your eyes down. partly out of embarrassment, partly because you get jittery with logan so close to you. “you know i love you, baby.” logan says softly.
he kisses your lips once. he waits patiently until you're able to look at him, cheek resting in the column of his neck as you make yourself comfortable in his warm embrace.
“now, will you drink your tea with me?”
you do. you two end up watching your tv series in bed with burning fingertips. you lean against logan’s bicep as you sip your hot drink, sleep ready to take you under again.
