‘I was doing a small, British independent film called Archipelago, and it was set on an island off the coast of Cornwall, and all the actors playing the characters in this very suffocating family were staying in the actual house. It was a sort of extreme submersion into the life of the film. Whenever we were filming there, the crew had to switch the boiler off downstairs because the sound of the water heating up would interfere with the microphones. We would routinely forget to turn the boiler back on so we could have a hot shower in the morning. Basically, the first assistant director would always come up to say hello - just to knock on - in the morning, to say “We’re coming in - the crew are coming in”. It was a strange sort of Big Brother scenario sometimes, you’d feel like you didn’t actually have a house to live in, it you were just living on the set.’
kinda links to this fic but can be read as a stand alone!
steve harrington is so loud in bed. he doesn't mean to be, but he's had the biggest crush on you for the longest time, and you feel heavenly, about a billion times better than he imagined, if possible.
however, but he's afraid making too much noise while being inside you would put you off him. he can't believe you've given him the time of day to begin with. sure, he's quite charismatic and handsome and doesn't have trouble getting girls, but you're special. you were in his friend group in high school but you weren't close at all. you were nice to him and took pictures with him at prom and he got to match your dress with his corsage for aesthetics, but the two of you hadn't talked at all privately. until now.
and steve is not fond of the idea of giving you a reason to be grossed out by him.
with that being said, he bites his lip hard enough for it to bleed and makes these puffs of air through his noise and grunting softly while he fills you with his terribly swollen cock, (you'd been teasing him the whole duration of the date he'd taken you on and you'd decided to help him out when you got back to your place) holding back any of those shamefully loud moans he makes when he's fucking his fist to the thought of you.
"haa- steve... y-you okay? t-there's blood on your chin..." you manage out as he fucks into you from above, the mating press he's holding you in having his cock speared into you so deep that's impossible for you to think straight. even talking was a huge difficulty right now.
he winces and wipes at his lower lip, grimacing. "uh- yeah sweetheart... d-didn't even realize, 'm sorry..." you whine at how he's holding his cock in place at your womb and buck your hips to relieve the pressure, and the minute you do and clench down on him, he can't hold back anymore.
"holy fuuuck-" is the last thing you hear before he lets out the most pornographic moans with his head thrown back and his eyes rolling. he nearly cums on the spot when his tip hits that particularly soft, warm part of your hole sucks him in just right. "you feel- ohh - you feel- y-you feel so-"
his words slur off into a long, helpless moan that goes whiny at the end, his hands dragging up your thighs and pulling you down onto his cock hard and fast.
you feel him swell inside you, his rhythm now sloppy and uncoordinated. he is pussydrunk. he folds over you without even thinking, forehead pressing clumsily to yours, his breath hot and shaking against your ear as he fucks you in these deep, unsteady thrusts that force little choked sounds out of you every time he bottoms out. he won't shut up, gasping your name and swearing and going on about how good you feel, but it's quiet and restrained. you can tell he's holding back.
steve's shaking as he fights not to cum and embarrass himself more, but he's failing. he whimpers into your neck when you tighten around him again. "please dont... mmm- don't squeeze me like that, i can't...” his voice cracks, and he sinks even deeper, rutting into you because he physically can't stop himself.
"steve, don't hold it in," you whisper, coaxing in a way that sends shivers right down his spine. "i like hearing you."
and he cums on the spot.
see more in my stranger things masterlist
see more in my main masterlist
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The male siren who works at the same bar as you can only transform through skin-on-skin contact with a human. The bar has become twice as popular ever since he was hired, which is great news for your boss. The task of helping your coworker shift between forms is entirely up to you, and touching his shoulder or arm is usually enough.
Lately the transition time has been taking longer and longer, leaving the siren drained of energy and panting by the time he transitions into his human form. You can tell something is wrong, so you ask. He's visibly embarrassed as he tells you that he needs more contact to shift properly, and all the previous times he's been forcing it.
You let him know you're more than okay with it, and end up hugging him awkwardly over the edge of the blowup bathtub that's been set up for him in the backroom. He's in his human form almost in the blink of an eye, and you share a triumphant laugh. A week passes just fine, but by the eighth day, he's having a hard time once again. It doesn't help that he's supposed to go on stage in ten minutes.
He's stressing out, tugging at his hair and chirping in distress. You've never heard him make that sound before. You decide to clamber into the bathtub with him. Water splashes everywhere as he flails in confusion for a second, but he calms down the moment you wrap your arms around him. A small trill of content escapes him. After a minute he taps you on the shoulder, and you realize it worked. You get out and let him get ready while you squeeze the water out of your clothes as best as you can.
He brushes his cheek against yours affectionately, thanking you before he dashes onto the stage. His voice is particularly enchanting that night.
okay hear me out.. RE6 Leon is female!readers mission partner right… and she trained under him and whenever she would do something wrong he clicks his tongue. ACCIDENTALLY SORT OF CLICKER TRAINING READER and mayhaps it leads to some nsfw stuff during a mission??🫣🫣
I'm so sorry but I could not find a way to sneak the smut in there! But I really hope you like this either way. (Also RE6 is so underrated! I played it with my partner and it was a blast!)
Summary: Leon accidentally clicker trains you. Pavlov would be proud.
One Shot Masterlist
Pavlov was a Dick - Leon Kennedy x Reader
The first time it happens, neither of you notices.
Which is probably why it gets so bad.
Training under Leon Kennedy is, frankly, a nightmare. He’s not particularly cruel or unfair, no. Actually, you couldn’t be trained by anyone better. In a way, that’s the problem. He's annoyingly good at everything he does.
Every stance correction is perfect. Every critique is somehow correct. Every piece of advice immediately solves whatever problem you're having. It's insufferable.
"Your shoulders."
You immediately straighten. Leon nods once. "Better."
You hate how satisfying that approval feels.
You hate it even more when he clicks his tongue. It's never loud. Just a small little sound whenever you do something stupid.
Miss a target?
Click.
Forget to check a corner?
Click.
Nearly trip over your own feet during a drill?
He made the noise twice that time. Click click.
It's not even intentional. Half the time he doesn't seem aware he's doing it. But after months of training together, the sound becomes synonymous with one thing; you've done something wrong.
Unfortunately, your brain decides to take that information and run with it.
.
.
.
It becomes apparent during a mission six months later. Leon is crouched beside you, behind an overturned vehicle, while gunfire erupts across the street.
His hand comes up, holding up three fingers. You understand immediately.
Three hostiles. You nod.
He gestures again, this time waving his hand a little to the left.
Left side is mine. Another nod. With that, you start standing up, readying your weapon-
Click.
You sit back down so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash. Both of you freeze.
Leon blinks.
You blink.
"...Why did you do that?" The words are whispered, barely audible under the noise of the gunfire.
Your mouth opens. Then closes. You sit there a moment, mouthing out unintelligible words. Then, "...I don't know."
Neither of you thinks much about it.
… At first. Then it happens again. And again. And again.
A month later, while sloughing through the underground ruins of a cathedral, his newest tag along finds out.
She’s a nice young woman. A bit younger than him, with chestnut brown hair and kind eyes. Her name is Helena, if you’re recalling correctly.
You’re reaching for something when Leon clicks his tongue. Immediately, without hesitation, you pull back
Her eyebrow raises. "Wait.”
Both you and Leon give her a confused glance.
“Leon…” she takes a breath, “Make that noise again.”
He does. As if on cue, you step a little closer to him, your eyes snapping to his form, as if waiting for a command.
Helena’s eyes widen. "Oh."
You give her a confused look, before starting to walk again. Helena clicks her tongue.
You freeze. The room goes silent.
Then, Helena lets out a laugh. It’s the most genuine reaction you’ve ever heard from her. You can almost see tears forming in her eyes as she doubles over, chuckles falling from her lips.
"You clicker trained your partner!"
Leon’s arms come up in defence. "I did not."
"You absolutely did." The woman gestures towards you both.
"I did not."
"You made her into a golden retriever!"
More laughter. You can feel yourself melting into an embarrassed puddle as Leon just shouts.
"I DID NOT."
.
.
.
The worst part is that once everyone notices, nobody lets it go.
Chris finds out, while you both try to pursue Ada Wong. Then Piers. Then, Sherry and Jake. Suddenly everyone is testing it.
It's humiliating. It's horrible. It's nonstop.
Click.
You stop peeking out from cover.
Click.
You stop running and start listening.
Click.
You skid to a halt mid run.
The last one makes Leon groan loudly enough to be heard from feet behind you. "This is my fault."
"This is absolutely your fault."
He just rolls his eyes. "I didn't mean to do it."
Helena is quick to snort. "You Pavlov'd her."
"That's really not what Pavlov did."
"You know what I mean."
Meanwhile, you're standing still, watching helplessly while this argument happens around you. Honestly, you're still not entirely convinced it's real.
Until after the mission is over.
The two of you are alone in the safehouse. It's late. Everyone's exhausted. You're sitting on the floor cleaning your pistol when Leon walks into the room carrying two coffees.
Without thinking, you reach for yours. You don’t go for the handle. Instead, you reach for the mug itself.
The cup is hot. Very hot. Hot enough to burn. Leon’s brows raise.
Click.
Your hand jerks away before you even register the sound. The movement is instant. Automatic. Reflexive. The room goes quiet. Slowly, you both look down at the coffee. Then at each other. Then, back at the coffee.
"...Oh."
"...Yeah."
For some reason, that's the moment it finally hits him. Not necessarily because it’s funny, or because everyone keeps teasing him, no. It’s because he realizes how much you've trusted him.
For months.
Every correction. Every lesson. Every warning. Every tiny click of his tongue. Somewhere along the way, your brain decided that sound meant safety.
To listen to him. That he's trying to help.
The realization hits Leon right in the chest.
He looks away first, which is unusual. He's never been particularly good at hiding things from you.
"What?" you ask.
His jaw flexes slightly. "Nothing."
"You're being weird."
A pause. "...You listen to me."
Your brow furrows. "Usually? Duh?"
"No, I mean..." He exhales softly. "You really trust me."
The words make you freeze for a moment. He hands you the coffee carefully this time, turning it so that you can grab the handle. His shoulder bumps yours when he sits beside you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. He feels warm beside you.
Then, Click.
Your head immediately turns toward him.
Leon bursts out laughing. It’s the happiest he’s sounded in days.
FREAKY LOHEN! whose unbearable, savage stamina was not content to waste precious hours on bathing himself with the impure blood of the foes he had ruthlessly slaughtered in his typical maniacal fashion, but rather reserved that particular endurance for the personal matters of intimacy. The length of his exhilarating adrenaline will determine the extent of the numerous rounds of sexual activity he can engage in without tiring. The average number of sessions he never counted was up to five or six times in a single night, but when he was rarely feeling particularly mellow, the only merciful limit he imposed on himself was one or two times. He took pleasure in the way your broadened eyes gaped at him with a mixture of surprise and disbelief, your inviting mouth hanging open in a circular O shape whenever he was quick to rush for another round after finishing a toe-curling, creamy climax. His cocky smile mocked your overstimulated state; his empty red eyes were half-lidded with dark satisfaction. "Oh? Fuuuckkk… Clenching me like a dirty little slut… You thought we were done, sweet thing? Ohohoho, I'm not even beyond satisfied yet, hmm? You can take it. FUCK! Grrr…Haaa… You will take it." Those last words of his taunting tone had driven his hardened pinkish tip further into your quivering core, having your shaking hips maintained in his relentless grip, while he giggled enticingly at your helpless state.
FREAKY LOHEN! whose body, carved from sinewy muscle and smooth, is ornamented with various persistent battle scars derived from his many conquests on the battlefield, or rather, in his typical language, his "casual" encounters with unwilling foes for a spectacle of barbaric bloodshed. He carried those old wounds like trophies of his prowess, like a stark reminder that he may be a mortal being, but as long as he doesn't yield to the inevitability of death, the crazier he is to crave the thrill of self-torment. However, ever since you entered his life, he wants nothing more than your pretty hands scratching his battle-scarred back, wanting to feel the firmness of your fingernails digging through his skin until it seeps with small streaks of blood. Or better yet, have your hesitant hand strike his face, leaving a red imprint of your touch on his cheek until it slowly swells into a bruise while he gradually forms a proud smirk, with his tongue thrust on the flesh of his cheek. "Baby, that's it?" he laughed, the sound rumbling in his stomach that delivers a shaking sensation through your vibrating cunt as his cock keeps plugged inside of you. "Barely felt anything, like a kitty scratch," he taunted, cocking his head to the side. This encouraged you to deliver another slap on the other side of his face with more force, watching his face rock to the side and a noticeable string of blood dripping on his nose. He licked the blood off his upper lip, a wicked glint in his eyes as he whispered, "Oh, now we're talking."
FREAKY LOHEN! is a lover whose trust in you is unwavering in several aspects. He had good faith in your capacity to lawfully devote yourself to him, both emotionally and physically. Unfortunately, not when it comes to certain individuals who may pose a threat to seek your hand behind his unsuspecting back. He is aware of the expanding attraction circling around you like unwanted pests daring to be squashed by his foot; none of his threatening gestures or cold stares were sufficient enough to deter them. There was one solution he had in mind to ensure a clear, harrowing message was sent to those individuals who dared to encroach on his territory. At the Favonius Keep, somewhere secluded, was where most of the knights who joined the long-running expedition were stationed, and it was the perfect opportunity for a spectacular show for these weary knights. You hid your face, flushed with embarrassment and arousal, having your hands uselessly find grip on the edge of a wooden crate and facing your arched back to him as Lohen steadied your shaking hips with firm hands while his cock continued to abuse the poor hole in a relentless rhythm that sent you going back and forth in a dizzying haze of pleasure and pain. You attempted to lower your moans, aware of the other knights nearby, but your lover lifted your face from behind and whispered in your ear. "Lower your moans again, and I'll send the knights here to have a little audience for our performance," he threatened playfully, his breath hot against your skin. "You don't want that, do you? Hmm?" he pouted, sending a sharp thrust that made you gasp in surprise and whine in pleasure. "Nooo… No… Haaahh…" Lohen giggled mischievously, his fingers trailing down your spine, watching you squirm under his teasing touch. "That's what I thought," he murmured, his voice low and seductive. "A little preview wouldn't hurt, but if someone had balls to witness you like this, I might have to get a little more creative with my threats," he chuckled, his eyes gleaming with mischief.
𝐶𝑊 : straight haired reader, shy reader, reader's skin is described as turning red, naoya slander ⟶ he's abusive, reader gets hit, i don't know the toji zen'in lore
wc: 1.4k
every morning is the same exact thing. toji wakes to the sound of the shoji door to his room opening up, a pretty girl stepping in to serve him his breakfast while his body still aches from the curse pit the night before. he grunts and grumbles, not wanting to be awake so early in the day; he usually only gets a couple hours sleep every night. but seeing you seems to make up for that, even if he is a grump in the mornings.
"sir… it's time to wake up,"
you whisper, gentle as ever as you tug the thin blanket down his body, already catching glimpses of his injuries. it's not a shock anymore, you're used to this and you come prepared with a little first aid kit. his wounds still bead with blood, it's clear that he didn't have the energy to clean up after last night — he usually doesn't. he grunts, looking down at the tray of food as you expose his upper body, like clockwork, already getting to work on his cuts and bruises. breakfast is usually gruel, something the servants have to eat, but you always bring him sides that you sneak from the kitchen — something only respected members of the zen'in clan get served.
"no soup this morning?"
he grumbles, his hand resting on your thigh as you shift closer, patching up a particularly nasty gash on his shoulder. you look up at him with those big eyes that always leave him weak, apologetic as you bite your lip, almost embarrassed that you couldn't do better for him. that soft pout almost kills him.
"no… 'm sorry, the chef would've caught me…"
toji can't help but smirk, you're far too sweet for your own good — much too good for him. he thumbs at your bottom lip, pushing it back into place, giving your thigh a small squeeze.
"it's alright, princess, you do your best."
you feel your cheeks warm under his gaze so you look away; it's inappropriate to feel these feelings for your superior. toji seems not to think so, in fact, he encourages it. you finish up stitching some of his cuts, wiping away some of the remaining dirt before packing up your small kit. toji watches intently. everything you do is sweet and endearing to him somehow, and he just can't get enough. you pick up the tray of food, pouring his tea for him and stirring his gruel.
"you stayin' this morning?"
he asks, taking a spoonful of the grey goop into his mouth — ah, disgusting as ever. you always sit with him as he eats, waiting so that you can take the tray back swiftly once he finishes, but your company doesn't go unrewarded. toji grabs your chin and you open your mouth instinctively, as if this has happened time and tome before, letting him spoon a mouthful of rice into your awaiting maw.
"mm-mm," you shake your head before swallowing, "i have to go wait on… mr. naoya…"
naoya… toji scowls, finishing off his breakfast quickly while also feeding you a few more bites — he's not letting you go hungry, knowing you tend to skip eating, the gruel is far too disgusting for you to eat. naoya always gives you hell, you're always so tired and unhappy when you bring him his dinner after a long day of serving that cunt. he hates it, he hates naoya, he doesn't deserve your care and patience. you're the sweetest girl in the world, and he just has to watch as you get pushed around by the yellow-haired, big-headed man.
"you tell me if he gives you shit, kay?"
you nod, gathering up toji's dishes. before you can stand, toji stops you, tugging you closer. he's always been touchy with you, though you've never once even thought about complaining. he's good to you, far better than anyone else in this horrific clan, so his more than appropriate touches and his teasing words are a welcome plus one to the experience of serving the man. the edge of his lip tugs up, the scar stretching from the movement. his thumb brushes against the soft skin under your eye as he leans in, his lips barely brushing yours.
"find me tonight and i'll give you a treat…"
⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔
you find toji on the veranda outside, looking out into the zen'in estate as the sun sets, carving a piece of wood with a pocket knife. it looks like an animal, though it's starting to loose its definition as toji mindlessly hacks away at it. you hold the same tray of rice and gruel for toji, this time with a side of fish that you stole from the kitchen. tonight, you sport a much sourer expression, tinged with a side of hurt — barely holding back your emotions.
"hey,"
toji grunts with a nod, shifting so that you can sit next to him. you put his tray down with a little more force than usual, letting out a tiny sniffle — quiet so that he can't hear. but toji notices. he always does.
"what did he do?"
he sighs, rolling his eyes as he looks at you as if this is just any ordinary interaction. though he pauses when he sees the blooming red, hand-shaped mark on your cheek, tears beading at the corners of you eyes. he grabs your chin, forcing you to turn and give him a better look at him. his thumb brushes over the mark, causing you to flinch away just a little. that only fuels the fire that's boiling his blood. how dare naoya put his hands on you, you're the last person who deserves that.
"h—he… he didn't like my outfit today…"
your outfit, that's why he hit you? you wear the same thing every single day, it's a uniform. toji pushes his dinner out the way - that can wait, what matters right now is you. he pulls you to his side, wrapping his arms around you, tucking your head under his chin. toji is not normally so… tenderly affectionate, it's normally teasing squeezes and almost-kisses from him. nothing like this. your cheeks warm up — more than they already were, what with the force of naoya's hands against you. he stays quiet for a while, longer than you've ever heard him be silent for. you almost jump when he breaks his silence.
"fuck— … i'm sorry…"
"s—sorry?"
you try to look up at him, but toji doesn't let you budge. his arms are wound far too tight around you - the force of his embrace is comforting, albeit unexpected. his hand tangles in your neatly styled hair, keeping you close to him as his chest stutters against yours.
"gotta get you outta here, baby,"
the sound of his voice so gravelly and quiet makes you pause, bottom lip wobbling as he finally let's you look up at him, your eyes welling up with tears.
"you—you wanna take… me?"
"yeah… i'm gonna get us out, i promise…"
he rests his forehead against yours, brushing the pouring tears down your cheeks. his lips brush against your temple as he tilts your head up.
"you're my girl, yeah? not gonna let anyone hurt you anymore…"
⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔
it's around 4AM when you're woken from your sleep, a large hand pawing at your shoulder, whispering in your ear. you blink a few times, seeing toji's hulking form crouched over you as you lay in the large room, all the other servants asleep next to you.
"get up, we're leaving,"
"huh?"
you hum, but toji pulls you up before you can really process what's going. you don't have many belongings so toji just packed some extra things for you to keep the two of you going while you'll find your footing once you get out. there's no time for you to gather anything anyways, you can't afford to be caught sneaking out.
"c'mon, i got you."
he grabs your hand, sneaking out the room as you follow behind, quiet as a mouse. your footsteps are light and quiet as you follow behind toji, keeping a tight grasp on his fingers. there's an imperceivable limp in his step as he leads you out of the zen'in compound — the way he's had memorised for the past couple months. once out, he pulls you into a dark alleyway, looking around for any prying eyes before looking down at you, his hands cupping your soft cheeks.
"stick with me, okay? i'm gonna look after you…"
(Lohen x gn!reader, mentions of injuries, slightly suggestive? Masochist!Lohen, crack, reader is just so done, written before Lohen release, I'm spamming Lohen and you can't stop me)
You may as well have been Lohen's personal escort by this point, with how much you have to follow him around to make sure he doesn't die of his bloodlust.
Grandmaster Varka handed you your position with... A grimace on his face and a pat on your back, bidding you good luck on your job with Lohen. You were hired as a medic, not as a field one that runs along with the rest of the knights, but Lohen's personal assistant. You were the one dragging him out of fights with a well placed shout ("Lohen! I swear to the Anemo archon that if you don't come back here right now I'm gonna shove this scalpel right up your-") and a smack to his face if he was particularly restless that day.
Today, in fact, was one of those days.
You harshly pinched Lohen's cheek, digging your nails into his skin as he whined, his whole body covered in blood. You had to forcefully kick away his polearm and use your surgical scissors to cut open his shirt, pressing a clean rag right into his slash wound on his stomach. Then, when the bleeding relatively eased, you cleaned the wound the best you could with the antiseptics you had on hand, before finally moving on to stitching him up.
The stitches, which he was currently struggling to hell on.
You pressed the skin into your gloved fingers as the needle and thread went in, and then out, but kept watching Lohen's expression in the mean time. His face was flushed, pupils dilated and all and those were normal signs. He kept panting, taking shallow breaths in, and you watched as his chest expanded and deflated at an awfully slow pace.
You sighed. "You know Lohen you don't need to bite your tongue when I'm stitching you up. Let loose, I'm not gonna judge for any embarrassing noises of pain or whatever."
His trance of delirium was quickly broken by your voice, and he stared at you with a questioning look, brow raised and all, but still with a deep, flushed face.
"Ya sure?" His voice was shaky at best and you could only nod. Who knew Lohen was one of those that liked to appear tough, to you he was just a lunatic that didn't care much about other's perception of him.
As you pinched at his skin again, his breath hitched for a second, and you stopped to raise your brow. He only gave you a lopsided grin in return, and you shook your head, returning to your work, passing the needle through his skin-
Before he let out a loud moan.
See, moans and groans and whimpers of pain were fairly common in your field, especially when you perform medical emergencies on patients without any anaesthesia. You were fairly expecting a noise, heck with how quiet Lohen was you wanted something, anything to escape his mouth. However, this little noise was different.
It looked as if his whole body was shuddering from something, his face was relieved in a way, but still had that tangible red tint, and his lips were parted the slightest, as if he was experiencing the best pleasure of his life. He kept leaning into the needle rather than turning away, and he looked so awestruck that you had no idea where he was storing all that wonder for.
"C'mon (Name)..." He drawled out, sounding awfully inebriated and pitiful than usual. "Care to be rougher on dear old me?"
You blinked. Leaning into the needle, dragging out his words with half lidded eyes and unusually flushed cheeks. Your eyes darted down to his lap, where he had his legs crossed and partly shaky-
Before realizing the obvious dent in his pants.
"Oh fuck no. No no no, why does this keep happening?! This is so out of my paycheck!" You groaned into your hands, which you had already brought up to cup your face in frustration. Lohen only tilted his head in slight confusion, and you had to constantly remind your stupid, stupid brain to not dart your eyes to the now obvious bulge that he was wearing on display. Thank the Gods that you were far away from the training grounds. Mortification may as well swallow you whole if that were the case.
"Hm? Weren't you the one who said I could "do whatever I want" my dear Mx (Name)?"
Is this guy being intentionally dense?! "That was before I realized that you're horny from being stitched up! Oh gods does that mean I'm an accomplice? Does that mean I've technically been helping you jerk off to yourself?!" Your shout was borderline horrified, and you half a mind to smack him for his snickering.
"Oh come on I've only been jerking off to-"
You smacked a hand to his mouth. In no way were you going to let him finish that sentence.
"Ughh this is so above my pay grade! The Grandmaster should've told me that I'd been dealing with a masochist. But noooo "Lohen is just a bit crazy in the head" instead of specifying how crazy he really is!" You pinched the bridge of your nose with your other hand, uncaring of how it's covered in his gross gross blood.
All he did was keep looking at you curiously, and you had to force yourself to not shiver when he began to lick your gloved hand covered in blood. Pulling away, you threw his jacket on his lap and forced yourself to be methodical, cleaning up your supplies and shoving them into a briefcase. You were practically dead on your feet when you lifted Lohen up and threw his arm over your shoulder, trying to keep blank and not show the grimace etched into your face.
Perhaps moving to another division wouldn't be so bad huh? At least you wouldn't have to deal with this freak of a man following around monsters to kill anymore.
(The next day you found an envelope in your mail stating your rise in a paycheck and a cheeky smiley face drawn in blood right next to the signature stating "Lohen", and you could only sit down on your staircase, your head in hands and groan in absolute frustration.)
Dennis Whitaker is cute. Everybody agrees. He is relatively small, he's got those big sad blues nobody can resist, and he's got that awkwardness to him that, while sometimes puts him in embarrassing situations, more often than not it's just adorable.
The problem is, he is so damn cute that Robby and Jack want to eat him.
It's not even a joke. Robby sees him walk in, with that worn out jacket that is slightly too large on him, his eyes gleaming with amusement at something Santos said, and he just. He needs to bite him. He needs to squeeze him, or shake him, or something.
It's not much better for Jack. This one time, in the morning, during shift change, he caught him standing in front of the broken coffee machine, clearly annoyed. It's nothing, Whitaker told Jack when he asked, I just don't know how I'll survive without it. Jack felt the primal urge to sink his teeth into his cheeks or suffocate him in his arms as if he were a stuffed animal.
What's funny is how they handle it.
Robby can't keep his hands off him. He's always touching him, somehow, be it a hand on his shoulder, a guiding weight on his waist. They are frequent instances, but subtle, not in the way that they aren't noticeable, but in the way that if one wanted to find some kind of rational justification for them, they could.
Jack doesn't touch him as much. This is both because Whitaker doesn't take on as many night shifts and because, while they are fewer, his touches are somewhat bolder. A lingering hand on his cheek. Fingers ruffling his hair. A weirdly firm arm around his shoulder. The kind of thing that immediately raises eyebrows, and, most importantly, that Jack doesn't do with anybody else at all.
(Except for Robby.)
It's fair to note that he is honest with it. Shen asks him, once, what's up with him and the mouse boy. Jack looks him dead in the eyes, eerily serious, and replies, I need to eat him. It doesn't even sound like an innuendo, which somehow only throws everybody off more. Shen glances at Whitaker, says, fair enough, and goes on with his day. Nobody ever tries to investigate again.
One day, during a particularly grueling shift, Robby is trying his best not to scream in somebody's face, when Whitaker appears like an angel from the heavens. He is evidently exhausted, too, but the somber halo isn't enough to suffocate the tender and kind spirit that always seems to surround him.
The moment Robby spots him his hands fly up before he can think better of it, reaching for him, and he ends up cupping both sides of Whitaker's face. Dennis just stands there stunned, and flushes even redder than he already is when Dr. Robby squeezes both his cheeks and huffs, "Your face is just, so adorable. Ugh." And promptly walks away.
Later, once Robby is a bit more himself, he subtly asks Whitaker to talk, and apologizes to him for his... unusual behaviour, and any discomfort that might have caused. Dennis, who is still very much replaying the moment in his head, and who definitely doesn't know what to say, ends up mumbling a rushed "No, it's fine, Dr. Robby, really, it was very cute," which makes Robby almost choke on air and Dennis want to cry from the embarrassment of it all.
Dennis and Robby kind of avoid each other for the rest of the shift (when they can, of course; they are professionals, and patients' care comes first), not because they are upset, but rather because when they do cross paths they both can't help but think about what happened.
When, at the end of the shift, Jack arrives to take over, Robby tells him everything.
And so Dennis is gathering his things, closing his locker, when suddenly Dr. Abbot appears beside him. The man just stares at him mutely for a moment, a second that seems to stretch for longer than its name, and Dennis is about to ask if everything is alright when Dr. Abbot cups his cheek and says, "Y'know, Mikey's right. You really are adorable. I want to bite you."
He brushes Dennis' cheekbone with his thumb, looking strangely satisfied with himself, and then leaves, just like that.
Dennis is going to combust.
(I had this little thing in my mind I had to get it out. Also if anybody wants to send any prompts or ideas, feel free to do it! <3)
