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robinavich · 22 days ago

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hey, siri | jack abbot

synopsis: you become privy to some abbot-sponsored healthcare fraud

w.c: 3k

ao3

an: this literally isnt even the fic ive been working on for weeks. I assume this is in the godlight storyline? not sure if I'm gonna do anything with this. is there anything here. might delete it. it's unclear. i'll delete it at a later date. this will never get finished. you are nothing to me

You’re half-slouched over the counter—on-call, because apparently that’s a thing that wasn’t in the job description on Indeed—glasses perched on the tip of your nose.

Pinned to the desk, the EMTALA medical screening exam form struggles under your elbow, lines crinkling with every movement like it’s physically trying to escape from your abuse. The corners curl upward, creased and folding, preparing to leap off the desk and report your treatment directly to the Bar Association.

It’s the kind of betrayal only paperwork is capable of—narc-like, obvious, and absolutely not HIPAA compliant.

Your lips lift in a soundless sneer, glaring down at the paperwork.

…manifesting itself by acute symptoms of sufficient severity such that the absence of immediate medical attention could reasonably blah blah blah…

One little insurance checkbox tells you to go kill yourself.

An Emergency Medical Condition IS present.

Below it, the same answer negated.

An Emergency Medical Condition is NOT present.

At the bottom, Jack Abbot, M.D. is signed, the form ready for submission with one stroke of your pen.

A small mhm escapes you as you clear your throat and shuffle the papers in front of you, fingers busy carding through the snitching form, smoothing out the crumpled pages before tucking it behind the next, restoring them to numerical order like that will make your choice easier. It’s a god-awful hand. Even you can recognize that.

Fingers interlace and fold neatly before you.

Your leg starts to bounce anxiously, eyes cutting to the doctor next to you.

And then back.

One small hand reaches out and clicks your pen, loading a round in the chamber.

It hovers over is NOT present.

You set it back down. It’s finally becoming clear why Robby fucking hates admin. Because truly this is fucking stupid. Why does this stupid piece of paper get to just decide that someone doesn’t have the right to life.

As the seconds creep past, your poor neck muscles rebel against the effort of holding your head up, letting gravity tug it down incrementally from where it’s slumped in your hand.

“It would be so easy to just…materially misrepresent the record right now,” you murmur, mainly to yourself, but your target audience is just anyone who will listen.

Abbot’s neck creaks as the fatigue-burdened bones slowly turn his head in your direction, eyes pleading.

“Sweetheart, it’s three in the morning,” he begs softly. “What the fuck does that mean, honey?”

“Like,” you shrug, not knowing how to will out words not snug in a cocoon of mitigation. “You ever think how easy it would be to just check off the wrong thing?”

Jaw flexing rhythmically while he digests your words, the doctor looks back at where his own charting is holding him hostage. He almost scoffs. “You ever think about how fast they’d disbar you?”

Your hand lolls sideways against your palm as you muster a crooked grin.

“You make enough money for the both of us, it’s fine.”

“What, and bank roll your little,” his hand flicks, as if he could materialize and itemize your bank statement midair, “designer matcha habit?”

Tired eyes squint at him sideways, the form before you momentarily forgotten. “Oh, please. You’ll grunt, and then hand me your little card, and then smuggle me into the building with some half-assed consulting badge you printed in the breakroom.”

His eyes cut to you, glinting.

Considering.

“No,” the words drop to a promise, scraping down your spine. “I’ll make you work for it, kid. Properly.”

From where your hand dangerously keeps you upright, your head slips and nearly hits the table. Catching yourself just in time, palm pressed hard against your forehead, you pray there’s a shadow dark enough in this world to hide how wide your eyes have gone.

But you’ve never heard a better incentive to destroy your career.

You could work for it.

You could be a housewife. Take a Pilates class. Breakfast ready for him every morning. Wake up before he comes home. Look pretty and be ready for him to fuck you. Anything you say, Jack.

That’s obviously so fundamentally who you are as a human being.

Rational brain presents an argument to the court. How long have you been working for this career? What was the outstanding balance on your loan this morning?

Both tremendously great points.

Lizard brain—smelling suspiciously of gasoline—presents a counter argument. It shrugs, tosses a lit match into the courthouse, and coos, yeah, but imagine how hard he’d fuck you in all the shiny jewellery he bought.

You clear your throat.

Actually, fuck this little checkbox.

“Okay, how bad could the fine be? Like three dollars?”

“That’s not my area—that’s supposed to be yours, actually, sweetheart,” soft, like he’s reminding you. Bastard. Rougher, “But I think it’s more than a damn Baja Blast.”

“Good on you for knowing the price of a Baja Blast, old man.”

His eyes slide shut and when they reopen they’re looking at the ceiling as if trying to find some patience God hid in the tiles. The man is really just trying to make it through the night.

Obediently perched on the edge of your chair, you patiently wait for his laugh.

Silence settles softly.

“So, do you, like, hate me or…?”

“No, honey, but you are currently the only thing standing between me and my job.”

As if that’s your fault. You weren’t the one who wrote into incomprehensible law, hey, let’s make sure companies can dictate who is sick enough to receive medicine. yes they stand to make a profit. no I don’t care.

“Okay, I’m sitting, but whatever.” You grab your phone, and flick it open, the confidence of your motions like you have God on speed dial. “Let’s ask the real expert, huh?”

Already knowing you’re not serious, he looks back at his chart.

“Hey Siri,” you ask, pitching your voice all fake-curious, eyebrows up like you’re genuinely about to learn something. “What’s the vibe with falsifying medical data so patients get care they don’t qualify for?”

Jack doesn’t even glance up from the chart he’s pretending to update, head sliding forward to squint at the computer screen. Tired exasperation threads his words.

“We did it a couple months ago and it was fine, so please be my guest.”

Your smile freezes halfway through its mocking curve. The words land between your eyes, gently rocking your head backwards.

Siri quietly reports her findings in your hand.

“You did what?” you ask, because surely that didn't mean what those words meant.

Jack doesn’t even turn to you. He just shrugs, all nonchalant and been there done that, as though what he just confessed wasn’t a felony charge.

“Our jobs,” he says simply.

Simply.

Like our jobs covers the live ethical grenade he’s just tossed at your feet.

You’re not even sure why you feel surprised.

You look at him, and then back down to your glowing phone where Siri very unhelpfully displays medical malpractice attorneys near you, and then back up to Jack.

In fact, you’re sure you’ve seen Jack Abbot’s handwriting neatly printed in the bottom right hand corner of more flagged-for-legal-review, suspect paperwork on your desk than you’ve seen the scrawl of the actual chief attending on any paperwork that you didn't force him to sign at gunpoint.

All things that slip under the radar if you’re not looking for them. Supplies routed through different departments. Procedures using medical devices that cannot be accounted for in inventory. Repeated requisition forms requests with supplies that never officially get used.

If you wanted to be a villain—if you wanted to ensure that those barriers to care stay reinforced with steel—you could. You could dig in and report every instance where something doesn’t add up. But you sign off and forward to insurance. You haven’t taken a real math class since high school, so whatever.

It’s one thing when you’re not expected to know the numbers and the facts. It’s easy to turn a blind eye. It’s another thing when you do know the facts.

And, unfortunately, you’re fluent in words.

“You lied?” you repeat slowly, peeling the syllables apart in an attempt to reveal the sin wrapped in bureaucratic red tape. You swear you can hear the backfire of your brain short-circuiting.

“Not lied,” Jack corrects, finally looking at you again. Two large hands spread like life leaves no alternative other than mild felony. “We rephrased reality.”

Then, softer, earnest, “We helped someone. It’s fine, sweetheart.”

Your lips move of their own accord, absently mouthing we rephrased reality, the sentence unfamiliar and clunky on your tongue. You know you knew all of those words individually, but put together and presented like this, it’s just not clicking. Is it a new language? Is Jack into ConLang?

Rephrased reality?

Who is this fucking guy?

The vision fires like a bullet through your brain—a brief, crystal-clear image, of a man wearing safety goggles and an I have an idea demeanor.

Ginger guy? From MythBusters?

You’re fucking dating ginger guy from MythBusters?

You push gently off the floor, the wheels of your rolly-stool shouting their dire need for WD-40 with every pass.

However, physics was also not a prerequisite for law school, so naturally, you miscalculate both force and distance, your not as gentle as you thought push sending you haphazardly knocking into his frame. You ricochet backwards several inches and hands fly up to scramble for hold on his shirt. His palm lands on your thigh, warm and steady, anchoring you exactly where he wants you.

“Careful,” he mutters. “Wouldn’t want to make anyone here do their job.”

And that felt suspiciously like a jab. Bitch.

“Jack, if you’re serious,” your voice—straightforward and devoid of all humor that typically resides there—lowers to a whisper that he shifts closer to hear. “This is malfeasance. You’re talking about fraud.”

Conspiratorially matching your low volume, he huffs out a laugh—half disbelieving, half impressed by your ability to effortlessly move from his light-hearted girl to someone who uses malfeasance in conversation. “Minor infraction. Good fraud.”

“While I don’t doubt it was,” your mouth hangs open as you pause, inhaling a stuttering breath to keep your composure, “good fraud, you’ll notice it still has the word fraud after it.”

“Kid, it’s fine. It’s not that deep.” A corner of his mouth twitches, too amused for your liking.

You scoff, frustration mounting. “With a brain as shallow as yours, nothing is.”

Where did he even learn not that deep?

Your head snaps up to his, brows furrowed. “And why are you talking like that? Who taught you that? Stop that,” you order in rapid succession. “Stop distracting me with your— your,” fingers wiggle in the air, face disgusted, “newfound child lexicon.”

He catches your hand mid-flail and folds it into his own. His other hand stays heavy on your thigh, thumb brushing idle circles that say stay put.

“I’m not doing that.” He was. “I have a weathered man lexicon.” He does not.

Jack’s tongue peaks out and swipes at his bottom lip.

“She was a kid,” he says earnestly. “She was pregnant.”

“Are we talking, like, how you call me kid, or, like, a kid kid?”

“Fourteen.”

It’s your turn to blink—slow, like maybe if you close your eyes long enough, the sight of him lounging there, genuine and morally flexible, will vanish and take his small confession with it.

But it doesn’t. He’s still there when your lashes lift again—calm, infuriatingly calm, watching you unravel with the same patience he probably uses to falsify half the fucking paperwork in this godforsaken department.

Slowly, it escapes you, taut and under your breath, dwindling composure fraying edges of the sound waves, “Oh my God, you’re using the past tense.”

“She didn’t die.”

“Well, how am I supposed to know that?” you snap out between gritted teeth.

He’s just out there running circles around red tape with a perfectly straight face.

Like some sort of superhero.

A superhero who knows that you can only bend the rules where you know they’re weakest.

You breathe in, exhale every ounce of composure you have left, and narrow your eyes—zeroing in on the word that’s still rattling around like a loose screw.

“You said we?”

His shoulders move a fraction and you jab your finger into his chest.

“Shrug again and I’ll bury you under whatever version of reality you want, Abbot,” you warn.

His mouth opens like he’s going to explain, closes, then opens again.

Finally, he just says, “Robby.”

You blink.

Yeah. That checks out, actually.

But, like, in theory, though—you didn’t think he would actually ever do it. Yet, a stubborn, ridiculous part of you swells with pride. That’s your freaking day shift attending.

And now you’re actually kind of pissed at the night shift attending.

“He what?” The words slowly slip out of you, voice soft with incredulity. “You what? Y’all what?”

“You know,” he muses, ignoring your questions altogether. “I’m starting to think you were joking with that Hey, Siri thing.”

“Of course, I was joking,” you hiss out. “Why would I not be joking about that? Do you know what my role is here? What I get paid to do?”

You jab a finger at your own chest for emphasis next—your badge, heavy with Hospital Counsel, rattling the bars in its cage pinned to your ribs. Your entire job was to make sure this doesn’t happen.

Your eyes narrow.

Slightly leaning forward, you pin the doctor with your stare.

“You two keep this shit to yourselves. You take that and you— you bottle that up. You die with it,” you command, your voice low but firm. “Not even God should know, that’s how fucking good you should be at keeping this to yourselves.”

The last word snaps out sharper than you mean it to. It echoes a little in the too-quiet room. Jack doesn’t flinch, just sits there on that stupid rolling stool, eyebrows lifted slightly like he knows you’re not done yet.

You shift your weight, jaw still tight, eyes flicking off to the side—anywhere but his face. There’s a pulse of silence where your mind scrambles to stick to your training: Report. Reprimand. Get the compliance team.

Wash your hands.

But it doesn’t. It stalls.

You shift your weight marginally, eyes darting to the side.

If you don’t report this, you’re technically involved. So, really, now, you're implicated and you don’t even know what for.

Your spine, held stiff by principle and policy, loosens under the thought. Curiosity edges in, dragging your kicking-and-screaming legal training by the ear, shushing it with a sly little hey, girl, at least hear the man out.

It floods through you, itching under your skin.

You really want to know what that whole story is.

Man, part of you wants to see where it goes so bad, you can practically taste the disciplinary action on your tongue. False binary is a fallacy, sure, but, like, you’re already in it now. Might as well be all in.

And, like, come on—this is Jack. You’re not gonna throw him under the bus. You love Jack. The man came over on his only day off and built you an Ikea bookshelf because you asked him what do I do with that little metal L? Which, for the record, you knew what to do with that metal L.

And also, he can’t just drop that information on you and not finish that explanation. You’ll fucking kill yourself if you don’t get the rest of it. And you’ll do right when it coincides with his shift, just so he can deal with the trauma and the paperwork.

And also also, like, why do Abbot and Robby get to have a cute little secret? You wanna be in Secret Club. You can keep secrets. You’re so fucking good at keeping secrets.

You deflate a little, resignation further unwinding your spine.

Tongue pressing against your molars, your head dips down and your eyes flick side to side, scanning the corridor for any wandering admin or first-year resident who might overhear and rat you out.

You should report this. You should walk away.

But you don’t.

Because you know him. You know him the way you know your own heartbeat—constant, wildly inconsistent in what it wants to eat, sometimes too loud in your ears when things get overwhelming. But always there. You know the crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he’s trying not to laugh at you. You know the weight of his silence and the difference between the kind that means leave me alone and the kind that means please sit next to me until it passes. You’re not married, but he’s it.

And he knows you too. He doesn’t flinch when you’re difficult. Doesn’t waver when you’re tired or sharp-edged or messy. He just stays.

And because under all the ethics and the contracts and the squeaky-clean policy talk, you live for this. The forbidden little confessions no one else gets.

The volume of your voice lowers under the hum of the department.

Someone coughs down the hallway.

“But, uh…You know, God gets off at, like, eight-thirty this morning, so, like…if, maybe, you wanted to tell God without, like, potential legal repercussions,” you tap your fingers together, steepled in front of you. “I think she would really like to know what— uh, what you’re talking about.”

Jack’s eyebrows climb on his head. “Would she, now?”

“Yeah,” you say, sucking your teeth. “Yeah, that’s why, um, they do confession.”

“Confession, huh?” The man across from you narrows his eyes, lips twitching. “That’s part of the job, though, right? So wouldn’t she be working?”

You think for a second.

That’s a good point, God would have to be on the clock to hear confessions. He could do pro-bono work, you suppose. There’s a lot of paperwork involved in that, though, and you’re sure he has, like, mass suffering to preside over.

“Yeah, well,” you wave your hand in the air, dismissing your inner-monologue. Maybe Abbot should be the lawyer. You’re obviously fucked. “Overtime.”

“Oh,” he says, tone pleasantly surprised. “God’s clocking overtime on the night shift?”

You nod, a little too quickly to hide your curiosity. “I mean, the union reps keep trying to shut that shit down, but,” you click your tongue, waving your hands vaguely at the divine hassle, “the angels are striking again, so…all hands on deck, there.”

A short, forced classic angels, am I right? chuckle escapes your otherwise stoic face.

Then you shrug, nodding sharply again, and crossing your arms over your chest.

And then you swivel a little in your chair, your nerves jumping at the potential for drama.

“And, like, imagine, all those centuries of listening to claims— uh, murder confessions with nothing fun to break the monotony,” you say, almost pleading at this point.

Abbot shifts his jaw, the ghost of a grin flickering. “Sure. God probably doesn’t get enough hot goss.”

“Exactly, girl, so spill,” the words fly out of you, desperate. You pause, reining yourself in. “Uh, later. After— after eight-thirty. And also…” jerkily, your index unfurls and points to the ceiling, “to God.”

A flicker of something crosses his eyes—a little tired, partly entertained, and extremely fond at your flailing attempt at a theology lesson. His mouth curves into that rare, careful smile he never wastes on anyone else.

“Amen, honey,” he mutters.

Oh, he’s enjoying this way too much.

His gaze flicks upward, brow furrowing just slightly as if he’s consulting some internal filing cabinet labeled How to Pin You with Felony Charges. The warm hand resting on your thigh raises slightly, his index finger spinning a single, slow loop on the cloth, physically rewinding a VHS tape only he can see.

“Hold.” He says it low, an order. He pauses the invisible tape with a slow, deliberate sweep of his fingers, then lets his hand drift lower, palm curving around your leg. His thumb presses in, eyebrow lifting a fraction at your breath catching. “I want to make sure I’m understanding you correctly.”

“God gets off at eight-thirty, but he’s pulling OT to listen to my sins,” he recounts lowly, “while you, no relation, also get off at eight-thirty. Now, are you billing hospital time or holy time while my soul’s on trial?”

You press your lips together, left hand coming to rest idly on our cheek while you attempt to think—something getting increasingly difficult with every moment his palm sends warmth shooting up your leg.

“Can we do, like— maybe like, uh— like a divine double shift situation?” you ask.

He tilts his head forward slightly and his hand tightens around your leg, but says nothing.

You swallow, feeling the silence stretch between you.

“Yeah, I’ll admit that one got away from me,” you concede.

The silence grows. Does this guy even blink?

You pivot tactics then.

Slowly, you slink your foot around his metal one, and roll yourself closer, slotting one leg between his. Leaning forward, you begin to reclaim your personal space and launch a counter-attack on his.

His arms brush yours.

“Holy time, obviously,” you whisper, looking up at him through your lashes. “I’m God’s strongest soldier. I deal with you every day.”

#jack abbot x reader #abbot x reader #the pitt #jack abbot #dr abbot x reader #the pitt x reader #dr abbot x you #*writing

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mononijikayu · 10 months ago

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bed chem — nanami kento.

“Are you free next week?” Your breath hitched, caught off guard by how effortlessly he turned the tables on you. It was exactly what you had been thinking, the question that had echoed in your head. He had beaten you to it, but his tone told you this was no ordinary invitation. There was more behind that simple question—an invitation to something deeper, something physical. You raised an eyebrow, smiling to yourself, already knowing your answer. “I think I could be.”

GENRE: alternate universe - modern au;

WARNING/S: romance, love at first sight, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, kissing, making out, fingering, p to v sex, orgasm, humor, characters speaking in sexual innuendo, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, nanami kento is that MAN, reader really wants to have bed chem with nanami <3;

WORD COUNT: 4.8k words.

NOTE: i keep thinking about how much i wrote and how it could be a treat for the entire october in terms of kinktober but i think i realize i'll be too busy starting the 11th, so i won't be showing up to anything, so i'll just be doing all this stuff i can now and posting some in between so i can at least have something for yall, you know? also im realizing my actor sukuna series and this is a minor part of it. its such a good story!!! if you wanna read it the latest chapter is here chapter four; anyway, i hope you can feel my love through out. i'll be seeing you soon enough, though. wish me luck on my upcoming exams <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

kayu's playlist — side 1500;

YOU’RE NEVER GOING TO FORGET THIS NIGHT. And you were happy about that thought. You remember the day you met him vividly, as if it happened just yesterday. You were dressed in a sheer, ethereal gown, moving gracefully through the grand corridors of a buzzing fashion venue.

Models, designers, and staff rushed around in a whirlwind of fabric and creativity, preparing for the show. You were part of that beautiful chaos, your mind focused on the evening ahead. But then you saw him.

Nanami Kento, the famous actor.

He stood out, calm amidst the frenzy, wearing a sharp white jacket that contrasted with the hectic energy around you. His sandy-blonde hair fell neatly into place, and his tall, sturdy frame exuded a sense of quiet confidence.

You exchanged brief pleasantries—just a moment's conversation—but the connection felt palpable. His presence lingered in your thoughts long after. You can’t help it. He was just that enigmatic. He was just that awe-strikingly beautiful.

Later that evening, a friend of his reached out, suggesting the two of you connect. You think that maybe they think you guys are going to be good for each other. Or maybe you could just be friends.

Who knows? You hadn’t expected it, but before you knew it, there was a message on your phone from Nanami Kento himself. And just like that, you found yourself scrolling through his texts, your pulse quickening with every new notification.

Who's the cute guy with the white jacket and the thick accent? The thought danced in your mind, replaying your brief interaction. You wondered if you were imagining it, but something told you this connection was real.

He wasn’t just like any other guy you’ve dated. A lot about him was already an improvement, but you were sure, one hundred percent — he would be everything. Everything that you could ever want in a man.

Maybe it was all in your head, just a fleeting crush, but you couldn't shake the feeling. You have never felt like this before. You began to picture more than just idle conversation. You bet the two of you would have incredible chemistry—on all levels.

Your thoughts spiraled into fantasies, growing more vivid with every passing moment. You imagined him picking you up with ease, spinning you around like you were weightless, his strong hands firm but gentle. It just made sense, didn’t it? The way he looked at you, the way his words were always so calm and collected, but with an underlying intensity that pulled you in.

There was chemistry—bed chem, as you started to call it in your mind.

You saw it all clearly: the way he’d pull you close, lower you down, his voice teasing but sweet. And his hands—how they might trail over your skin with a deliberate touch, a mix of sweet and sinful. You were obsessed with the idea. He didn’t even need to say anything when you saw him, the look in his eyes was enough to spark that connection.

You imagined asking him, casually, Are you free next week? You were certain that if you met again, everything would fall into place. You’d fit together seamlessly, like two puzzle pieces made for each other. Your fantasies painted the perfect picture: soft sheets, the thermostat set just right—maybe at 69—and the two of you in sync, moving as if you’d done this a thousand times before.

You saw him later that night at the after-party, his blue eyes scanning the room until they landed on you. Your heart skipped a beat. Nanami wasn’t just an actor anymore, not just a face from the big screen or a billboard. He was real, standing right there, closing the distance between you.

As he approached, you couldn’t help but think, I bet we’d have really good bed chem.

The thought made you smile to yourself, a secret desire that hung in the air, just waiting to be fulfilled.

He moved closer, his stride confident but unhurried. The noise of the party seemed to fade into the background, the music and chatter dissolving as your attention zeroed in on him. You could feel the air between you thicken, an unspoken pull drawing you together. Nanami’s eyes never left yours, his intense gaze making it clear he hadn’t forgotten your brief encounter earlier in the day.

He stopped just a few steps away, close enough that you could see the faintest hints of amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. You exchanged a polite smile, but beneath the surface, the tension was palpable. It was as if every look, every subtle movement, was laden with meaning. Your heart raced, but you kept your composure.

“I didn’t expect to see you here.” he said, his voice smooth, with that same deep cadence you had replayed in your mind over and over again.

You offered a light laugh, something casual, but even the smallest exchange felt charged. “Fashion world is small, I guess.”

The conversation was polite, yet every word held weight. You both knew there was something more bubbling beneath the surface. And that’s when it happened—he leaned in, just a fraction, and his voice lowered, the faintest hint of something playful lacing his words.

“Are you free next week?”

Your breath hitched, caught off guard by how effortlessly he turned the tables on you. It was exactly what you had been thinking, the question that had echoed in your head. He had beaten you to it, but his tone told you this was no ordinary invitation. There was more behind that simple question—an invitation to something deeper, something physical.

You raised an eyebrow, smiling to yourself, already knowing your answer. “I think I could be.”

Nanami Kento chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming. It was a small moment, but it felt like a confirmation—like a prophecy about to be fulfilled. You both lingered in the silence for a beat longer than necessary, the electric tension between you undeniable.

As the night went on, the party flowed around you, but your attention never strayed far from him. Each glance, each word exchanged, only built on the anticipation. By the time you said your goodbyes, you were already planning out the next week in your head.

When you finally parted ways, your phone buzzed almost immediately. A message from him.

Next week, then.

You smiled, already thinking about how things would unfold. In your mind, you could see it—how he’d pick you up like it was nothing, his strength and control so effortless. You pictured the way he’d pull you close, then spin you around, always so deliberate but never rushed. The chemistry was undeniable, it was practically written in the stars. Bed chem, the kind that left no room for hesitation.

And when that moment finally came, you knew everything would fall into place, just like you imagined. The perfect rhythm, the thermostat set just right, every movement in sync.

It was only a matter of time.

The days that followed felt like a slow burn, each one stretching out as you found yourself replaying that moment over and over. The anticipation built, winding tighter with every passing thought of him. Every time your phone buzzed, your pulse quickened, hoping it was another message from Nanami, and more often than not, it was.

His texts were short, simple—never too much, but just enough to keep the flame alive. He didn’t need to say much for you to read between the lines. Each message held a certain calm confidence, like he knew exactly what he was doing, just like when you saw him at the party.

Each message was a spark, feeding the fire of your fantasies. Your mind wandered constantly, imagining every possible way the encounter could unfold. You knew it wouldn’t be rushed—it was never rushed with someone like Nanami. Everything about him was measured, thoughtful, intentional.

How’s your week?

Thinking about that conversation.

Looking forward to next week.

By the time the day finally arrived, you could feel your nerves dancing in your chest, excitement pulsing beneath your skin. You chose your outfit carefully, something that balanced elegance with subtle suggestion. You wanted to look as effortlessly composed as you imagined he would be.

When you arrived at the restaurant where he had suggested you meet, the atmosphere was warm, dimly lit, and intimate. Nanami was already there, sitting at a table near the window. He looked up as soon as you walked in, his eyes locking onto yours immediately, that same intensity you remembered from the party.

As you approached, he stood to greet you, his hand resting lightly on your back as he leaned in for a polite kiss on the cheek. His touch was brief but electric, and you felt the heat rise in your chest.

“You look stunning, darling.” he said, his voice deep and smooth, just as you remembered.

You smiled, brushing off the compliment with a modest shrug, but the way his eyes lingered told you he wasn’t just being polite. The dinner itself was a dance, every word exchanged adding to the tension that simmered between you. You talked about the show, your careers, little moments from your lives—but beneath it all, there was the unspoken promise of what was to come.

It wasn’t long before the two of you found yourselves alone, walking down the quiet city streets. The cool night air did little to cool the heat that was growing between you. His hand brushed yours as you walked, a casual but deliberate touch that sent a shiver down your spine.

Then, as if on cue, he stopped, turning to face you. His eyes held yours for a long moment, the city lights casting shadows over his sharp features.

“Should we continue this somewhere more private?” His voice was calm, but there was a subtle edge to it, the tension in his question making your breath catch.

You nodded, your heart racing as he reached for your hand, his grip firm but gentle as he led you toward his place. The walk was quiet, the air thick with anticipation. When you finally arrived, it felt like the world had slowed down, the moment you had been waiting for was finally here.

YOU WERE ASTOUNDED HOW SUAVE HIS EXISTENCE IS. The sight of his apartment took you by surprise, sleek and minimal yet warm, much like him. Everything was perfectly arranged, clean lines and subtle comfort that mirrored his understated charm. You couldn’t help but admire him, drawn in by everything he was. The more you were around him, the more you wanted—his presence, his touch, his everything.

He glanced at you, his gaze never wavering as he slipped off his jacket, hanging it neatly over the back of a chair. In an instant, he was standing before you, hands on your waist, drawing you close with a quiet, commanding energy. The world outside faded into the background, leaving only the two of you in the dimly lit room.

His lips hovered near your ear, his breath warm as he whispered, "I’ve been thinking about this all week."

The sound of his voice sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could respond, his lips found yours. The kiss was slow at first, deliberate, as if savoring the moment. You could feel the excitement become even more palpable in you.

Each movement of his mouth felt carefully measured, like he had been imagining this for far longer than you realized. His hands moved with an easy confidence, sliding across your body, each touch making you feel as though he had memorized every inch of you.

When he lifted you, it felt seamless, effortless, as though you weighed nothing at all in his arms. He carried you to the bedroom, his strong grip both protective and possessive.

There was an undeniable chemistry between you—every brush of his skin against yours, every touch electric and charged with desire. His movements were slow, savoring the build-up, as if he had waited too long for this moment to rush through it.

Your breaths came out shallow and uneven as his lips moved from yours, down the length of your neck, leaving a burning trail in their wake. Each press of his mouth against your skin felt deliberate, purposeful, sending sparks of heat coursing through you.

His scent filled the space between you, rich and heady, mixing with the warmth of his body as he pressed closer. Every inch of you was aware of him—the solid strength of his frame, the way his breath hitched slightly as his hands roamed over you.

Kento’s fingers grazed the curve of your waist before tightening on your hips, pulling you against him with a quiet but undeniable hunger. The sensation of his body molded so tightly to yours made your heart race, your skin tingling with anticipation.

You bit your lip, trying to steady your breath, but it was impossible under the weight of his touch, his presence. His knee nudged between your thighs, parting them with a gentle yet insistent pressure, the friction sending a fresh wave of desire flooding through you.

"You feel so good, sweetie." he whispered, his voice low and rough, filled with want.

A soft moan slipped from your lips as his hands roamed lower, teasing the edge of your clothes before slipping beneath the fabric. His fingers dug in, just enough to make you gasp, his touch hot against your skin. The sensation of him—his rough palms gliding over your bare skin, the tension coiling between you—was intoxicating, leaving you breathless.

You felt his lips curl into a smirk against your neck, clearly pleased with the effect he was having on you. "I love hearing you like that, sweetie." he murmured, his breath warm and teasing as his mouth hovered near your ear. "Don’t hold back."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body arching toward him as his fingers dipped lower, exploring you with an eagerness that made you ache. You gasped, unable to stop the sound that escaped your throat as his fingers slipped inside you, moving with a skill that left you trembling.

"Oh—Kento. Oh, baby….." you whimpered, the intensity of the moment overwhelming you. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly as your body pressed closer to his, desperate for more of his touch. He groaned softly in response, the sound vibrating through you.

His fingers moved inside you with purpose, every stroke calculated, every flick of his wrist sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. His thumb found the sensitive bundle of nerves that made you cry out, your hips bucking instinctively against him.

"God, you’re so responsive. I like that." he growled, his voice rough with desire. His free hand gripped your waist, holding you steady as his fingers moved faster, building a rhythm that had you teetering on the edge of control.

"I want you to come for me, sweetheart." he breathed against your ear, his voice low and commanding.

You couldn’t help it. The way he touched you, the way he knew exactly what you needed—it was too much. Your body responded without hesitation, muscles tightening as pleasure coiled deep inside you, ready to snap. His name fell from your lips like a prayer, broken and breathless, as you reached that sweet crescendo, your body trembling in his arms.

Kento didn’t want to stop, didn’t slow, as you rode the wave of pleasure. His fingers stayed inside you, coaxing every last bit of sensation from you, until you were left breathless, trembling, and utterly undone in his arms.

Kento’s fingers slowly withdrew, leaving you sensitive and aching, but he wasn’t done. His sharp gaze darkened as he looked down at you, his breath hot against your skin. He shifted, positioning himself between your thighs, and you felt a fresh rush of heat flood through you as his hands gently spread your legs wider, exposing your most sensitive, intimate places to him.

"You look incredible, slick like this." he murmured, his voice husky with desire. His eyes roamed over your body, lingering on every curve and soft line before settling on the glistening heat between your legs. The way he looked at you, so intent, so focused, made your heart race even faster.

Without a word, he lowered his head, his lips brushing the inside of your thigh with soft, teasing kisses. You shuddered beneath him, anticipation buzzing through your veins as his mouth inched closer to where you needed him most.

When his tongue finally flicked against your sensitive folds, you gasped, your back arching off the bed as pleasure shot through you. His touch was gentle at first, soft and exploratory, as if he was savoring the moment. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as he took his time, each lick and kiss slow and deliberate.

"Kento—" you moaned, your voice breathless and needy. His hands slid up your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin as he held you steady, his mouth working against you with a precision that drove you wild.

"Mm, s’ good." he hummed against you, the vibration of his voice sending a fresh wave of sensation through your core. His tongue swirled over your clit, slow and deliberate, before he sucked gently, and the world around you seemed to blur as pleasure bloomed deep in your belly.

"You taste so sweet. So so sweet." he growled at you, his voice low and full of hunger. He didn’t give you a moment to recover, his mouth returning to its work, tongue stroking over you in long, languid movements that left you trembling beneath him.

Your hands gripped the sheets, your body writhing against his mouth as he worked you closer to the edge. Every flick of his tongue, every soft press of his lips had you teetering on the brink, the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside you.

"Please, please." you whimpered, your hips bucking against his face. "Don’t stop, Kento—"

He growled softly in response, his hands tightening on your thighs to hold you still as he intensified his pace. His tongue moved faster, more insistently, flicking and stroking your clit with a pressure that made you cry out. You could feel yourself unraveling, your body trembling uncontrollably as he pushed you closer and closer to release.

The heat inside you built with every stroke of his tongue, every soft moan he let out against you, until you couldn’t hold back any longer. Your body tensed, your muscles tightening as the pleasure overwhelmed you, and with a final, desperate cry, you came undone, your release crashing over you in waves.

Kento could only find himself addicted in your taste, his mouth continuing to work against you, drawing out every last bit of your orgasm until you were trembling, breathless, and utterly spent beneath him. Finally, he pulled back, his lips glistening with your arousal, and he looked up at you with a satisfied, almost possessive smile.

"You’re incredible, sweetie." he whispered, his voice rough and low as he moved back up your body, his lips finding yours again in a slow, heated kiss. You could taste yourself on him, and it only made you want him more.

"Kento..." you breathed, your voice barely audible but full of want. The way you said his name made him pause, his eyes darkening with desire as they met yours.

He leaned in again, his lips hovering near your ear, his voice deep and rough. “Gonna keep making you feel good, sweetie.”

His thumb brushed against your lower lip before claiming your mouth again in a kiss that was no longer soft or patient but filled with raw, undeniable hunger. His need for you was palpable now, every kiss, every touch pushing you both closer to the edge.

The night unraveled slowly, deliberately, as if time itself bowed to the intensity of the moment. His movements, once restrained and careful, had given way to a raw passion that filled the air with a palpable heat. The soft glow of moonlight slipping through the curtains cast fleeting shadows on his face, highlighting the quiet hunger in his eyes as he gazed down at you.

His lips, warm and persistent, traced a slow, deliberate path over the curve of your neck, sending shivers cascading down your spine. Your breath hitched as his mouth moved lower, each kiss searing your skin with a promise of what was to come.

His fingers followed, brushing against your skin with the lightest of touches, drawing a soft gasp from you. Every time he whispered your name, his voice low and filled with desire, it felt like the room itself pulsed in response, his words sinking into your very core.

“God, you’re so beautiful, sweetie.” he murmured, his breath hot against your collarbone, his eyes dark with an intensity that made your heart race.

Your body arched beneath him, a mixture of pleasure and anticipation building with every gentle caress. He paused for a moment, hovering above you, his gaze locked with yours, the weight of his control making your pulse quicken. It was as if he could sense every thought, every want, every need—knowing exactly how to unravel you. And you, caught in the tide of his desire, could do nothing but surrender.

“Please...” you breathed, the word slipping from your lips before you could even stop yourself. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes remained focused, intent.

His hands moved lower, his touch no longer teasing but commanding, each movement calculated to drive you closer to the edge. Your fingers tangled in the sheets, the anticipation almost unbearable as his lips brushed against your ear, sending another wave of heat through your body.

“I’ve got you, sweetie.” he whispered, his voice a dark promise that sent a jolt of desire straight through you. And then, finally, after what felt like an eternity of delicious torment, he positioned himself above you, his body pressing against yours in a way that made you ache with need. “Doin’ so good for me already, aren’t you?”

When he entered you, it felt like the culmination of everything—the tension, the desire, the quiet longing that had simmered beneath the surface for so long. A soft moan escaped your lips as he filled you completely, his movements slow and deliberate, each thrust deep and steady, leaving you breathless.

Your hands found his back, your nails digging in as you clung to him, the intensity of it all building between you like a storm ready to break. His breath was ragged now, mingling with yours in the heated air, every thrust a silent declaration of the connection that bound you together.

“Don’t stop, Kento…. Don’t…Oh—” you whispered, your voice breaking as he moved faster, his control unraveling just enough for you to feel the full force of his desire. His lips found yours again, his kiss rough and hungry, matching the rhythm of his body as you moved together, lost in the heat and the need for more.

Each movement, each breath, felt like an unspoken promise, his body telling you everything he couldn’t say aloud. In that moment, there was no space for hesitation, no room for anything but the overwhelming intensity of him, of you, of the way you fit together so perfectly.

When you finally came, it was everything you hadn’t known you needed. Kento’s name fell from your lips over and over, a soft chant as waves of pleasure washed over you, your body tightening around his. The intensity of it left you breathless, your fingers clutching him as if afraid to let go. Moments later, he followed you, his body tensing as he found his own release, his low groan sending shivers through you all over again.

For a long time, neither of you spoke, the only sound in the room the quiet, shared breaths of two people completely undone by the moment. He pulled you close, his arms wrapped around you protectively, his warmth enveloping you as you lay tangled together, the weight of what had just passed between you still lingering in the air.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice soft but filled with satisfaction. “Well, I think you got your answer.”

“Oh? About what?”

“We have bed chem.” He grins at you, kissing your shoulder.

You blinked and then laughed.

You could feel your heart still racing, and looked up at him, knowing that this moment was just the beginning.

epilogue

The sunlight filtered through the bedroom window, casting a warm glow over the rumpled sheets that barely covered your body. You stretched lazily, feeling the soft, comforting weight of the blankets and the familiar presence of Nanami beside you.

His arm was draped over your waist, his chest rising and falling steadily as he slept. The peaceful moment was too perfect to pass up, so you quietly reached for your phone, snapping a quick picture of the two of you in the soft morning light.

The sheets barely covered your bodies, your bare skin visible beneath the white fabric. The scene was intimate, cozy, and full of the quiet warmth of a morning spent wrapped in each other’s arms. You couldn’t resist adding a cheeky caption before posting it online:

“Come right on me, I mean camaraderie.”

The double entendre made you giggle quietly as you hit "post" knowing it was bound to get some playful reactions. You leaned back into the pillows, snuggling against Kento, who stirred slightly at your movement, his hand tightening around your waist.

“What are you up to?” he mumbled sleepily, his voice rough from sleep. His eyes opened just enough to catch your mischievous grin.

“Nothing… Just posting a little morning memory, darling.” you teased, unable to contain the laughter bubbling up inside you. Kento’s brow furrowed, clearly suspicious but too tired to press further.

It didn’t take long for the comments to start rolling in. Within minutes, his phone buzzed repeatedly on the nightstand. Kento could only feel himself groaning, reaching for it, and as soon as he saw the notifications lighting up the screen, his eyes widened in realization.

“You didn’t…?” His voice trailed off as he stared at the picture you had posted, the cheeky caption front and center.

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter, watching as Nanami’s expression shifted from confusion to mild horror, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks. He scrolled through the comments, and you could see the flood of teasing messages from his castmates already coming in.

@/GojoSatoru: Nanami, my man! Didn’t know you had this side to you! 😂

@/Geto Suguru: Yo, Kento…….You really kinky IRL, huh?

@/HaibaraYu: Is that what we call ‘teamwork’ now? Guess I’ve been doing it all wrong… 😏

@/IeiriShoko: Honestly? Kinda iconic. But also, never gonna let you live this down.

Kento could feel his blush deepened as he kept scrolling, his lips pressed into a thin line, clearly flustered. His hand ran through his hair in frustration, and he glanced at you with an exasperated but fond look.

“I can’t believe you posted that, sweetie.” he muttered, shaking his head as more notifications flooded in. “They’re never going to stop teasing me about this.”

You couldn’t stop giggling, leaning over to kiss his cheek, which was now bright red. “Come on, it’s cute. They’ll forget about it soon enough… maybe.”

Kento groaned again, but there was a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he pulled you closer. “You’re impossible, hm.” he said, though the warmth in his voice made it clear he wasn’t actually upset. He kissed your forehead softly, the tension in his body relaxing as he resigned himself to the teasing. “Too impossible.”

“I don’t mind being impossible if it makes you blush like this.” you teased, running your fingers through his hair, enjoying the rare sight of Kento looking flustered.

“Don’t push your luck, sweetie.” he replied, though the way his arms wrapped around you betrayed the affection behind his words. He sighed, resting his forehead against yours. “I guess I’ll have to get used to being the subject of their jokes for a while.”

You grinned, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I’ll make it up to you, promise.”

Nanami chuckled softly, the sound low and comforting. “You already have, sweetheart.” he murmured, his hand brushing a lock of hair away from your face. His eyes softened as he looked at you, the teasing forgotten as the moment between you became tender again.

“I don’t care what they say, though.” he added quietly. “All that matters is this. Us.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, the teasing moment giving way to a warmth that spread through your chest. You snuggled closer into his embrace, feeling the steady beat of his heart against yours, and smiled.

“Good. So do I.” you whispered, kissing him again, the teasing fading into the background as the two of you enjoyed the quiet intimacy of the morning.

Nanami Kento could feel his phone buzzing again, but this time, neither of you bothered to check it. Let them tease—it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the two of you, wrapped in each other’s arms, finding comfort in the simple joy of being together.

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milkoomi · 6 months ago

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semester success. ᥫ᭡

[ 3 chapter mini series ] | chapter one

in this series, i’m going to teach you all my helpful tips and tricks on how to succeed in the new semester in just 3 quick chapters! get ready to take notes, we’re diving right in!

chapter two — MASTERING NOTE-TAKING

in the last chapter, we talked about the first week and how to prepare for it! now, we’re going to get real into it and talk about one of the most important skills that can help increase your level of success throughout the semester: taking notes.

class is in session …

୨ৎ — physical or digital

let’s first decide how we’re going to take notes. if you’re the classic/traditional type, a notebook & some pens/pencils & highlighters are the way to go! but if you’re feeling a bit more modernized, grab your laptop and/or tablet!

i personally use my ipad to take notes! i know lots of people who use Notion, create digital documents for their notes, utilize GoodNotes/Notably, and i use this app called CollaNote (more on this later)! if you’re note-taking digitally, find an app or format that works best for you! you can play around with the different apps and tools on your device! digital note-taking also allows for more creativity, in my opinion, but i’ve seen loads of students get really creative with traditional styled notes!

digital note-taking inspo:

i highly recommend this post by @glowettee if you want a quick, but detailed list of how to get set up for digital note-taking!

physical note-taking inspo:

୨ৎ — note-taking methods

there’s lots of ways to take notes! that’s the beauty of note-taking, there’s no one right way of doing so or any wrong way of doing so! there’s a variety of ways to take notes, so find and play around with what works best for you!

different methods:

quick notes - the unaesthetic version

you’ll see lots of people say that they rewrite their notes, and i’m one of those people! i typically don’t take notes during lectures (mainly because my ADD doesn’t allow me to lol) but when i’m actually able to take some notes, my in-class writing is just plain bullet points and words scrambled onto my page.

i see “quick notes” as a way of making sure you get all the key points from the lecture without the stress of writing everything else down.

here’s how:

don’t focus on writing every single thing down! this will make you lose track of what the professor might be saying in addition to what’s in the textbook/lecture slides.

focus on the key points! keep an ear out for your professor and if they say something like “this will be on the exam” or “this is really important to know”. those are the things that need to be written down!

remember: you can always go back and rewrite your notes! having just the key points written down will help you 1. stay focused during class and 2. be prepared for what to focus on during your studies.

don’t worry about your notes looking bland or messy, again, you can go back and rewrite your notes to make it look nice and add additional information! this “quick notes” method is for people who are like me and struggle with taking notes during lectures!

** tina’s tip: record the lecture! if you’re able to have your phone out or if your computer/tablet has a recording feature, use it to record the lecture so that when you do go back to rewrite your notes you don’t forget any other important points!

mind-mapping - an organized flow chart

how it works:

start with your central idea or main topic you want to focus on! have this be the center of your mind-map.

when info regarding this topic starts to come up, write them down and connect that additional information with the central idea using lines and arrows.

get creative! use different colors and add images or symbols!

mind-maps are a great way to organize and visualize the information you need to do into a creative diagram! this is a great method for those visual learners!

boxing method - compartmentalizing notes

this method is another great one for visual learners as it allows you to create a chart for yourself and all that you’re learning in class!

how it works:

start by dividing up your page so that you have different boxes set out for you!

include headings/titles for each box and have them relate to each topic you’re learning.

in those boxes, write down key points from each topic and include any and all information as you can!

you can also connect the boxes with lines and arrows to see how all that information flows together and relates to one another!

i suggest going onto @nenelonomh ‘s blog and reviewing her study corner where there’s a section dedicated to different note-taking methods! as well as other helpful academic advice!

୨ৎ — record your lectures

i mentioned this earlier, but i just want to reiterate this point! recording lectures will help you so much with note-taking as it allows you to go back to what was said in class and continue taking notes that way. it’s extremely helpful especially when your teacher/professor is a fast talker and you can’t keep up with note-taking in class!

୨ৎ — color coding

an easy way to make your notes more appealing to you is by color coding everything! feel free to pick your favorite colors and use those!

what to color code:

key points

important vocab/terms

connecting topics

additional notes from your teacher/professor

୨ৎ — CollaNote

i promise this is entirely unsponsored, but i do love this app! it’s completely free (with in-app purchases if you want to unlock other templates)!

it comes with a variety of free tools, pen styles, highlighters, colors for those writing tools (which are also entirely customizable!), page templates, recording feature, and so much more that i can’t fully remember off the top of my head!

it also allows you to organize everything into folders which is really, really nice! organization of your notes is also super important when it comes to note-taking! so let’s get into organization!

୨ৎ — note organization

if you’re taking notes in the traditional way, make sure you have designated notebooks for each class. if you’re using a binder that includes all of your classes, make sure you have those divider tabs to prevent from any of your notes integrating with your other ones!

for digital notes, make sure you have folders or an organized list of links for each of your courses! it’s important that your files are titled accordingly so that there’s less confusion when you need to go back to any of your notes!

going back to note-taking methods, make sure when you’re writing your notes that you stay consistent with your organization!

write your topics in chronological order

create sections for different bits of information

color code

you don’t want your notes to be a jumbled mess! not having some kind of organization system can lead to confusion while studying or unclear information on the topics you’re learning.

before you’re dismissed …

note-taking, as i mentioned at the beginning, is one of the most important skills to have while in school. you want to make sure you have effective notes that will help you understand the material and help you study for upcoming quizzes/exams! just imagine yourself as the main character in a show or movie and think of yourself as this studious and amazing person while taking notes and sitting through lectures! romanticize your academic career!

with lots of love, faustina 🌷

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manasastuff-blog · 2 months ago

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foundationclasses · 3 months ago

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When to Start JEE Preparation: A Complete Guide for Aspiring Engineers

Are you wondering when the right time to start your JEE preparation is? Whether you're in Class 10 or already in Class 12, the timing of your preparation can make all the difference in your success. In this comprehensive guide, we break down the ideal timeframes to begin preparing for JEE, tips for balancing schoolwork, and how to build a strong foundation for the exam. From early starters to those considering a gap year, learn how to effectively plan your JEE preparation journey and maximize your chances of success with expert advice and strategies.

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polkadotaspinall · 9 days ago

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Hiiii, could you write about Khamzat Chimaev x Reader Doctor, where the reader treats him after one of his fights, but coincidentally, Khamzat becomes a frequent patient due to any "physical discomfort," buit's just an excuse for him to be touched.😻🩺

aching pain

Khamzat Chimaev x doctor!reader

warnings: smut MDNI, khamzat being obsessed with your touch, m!receiving handjob, unprotected sex, public (?) sex, filthy behavior all around, needy khamzat

summary: khamzats can't help but want his gentle doctors touch in certain places.

"miss l/n?" one of the staff members pokes their head in as your looking at your chart- you're a doctor for the ufc you're often times the only doctor who is in Vegas and able to travel.

"yes" you respond back flipping through your chart notes you don't have anyone you're supposed to see but normally the athletes just come by and get a physical or a checkup regardless never really having appointments unless the fighter really asks

"I have khamzat chimaev" the staff member tells you ah yes how could you forget- you just watched his fight of course he'd need your help taking some nasty hits "bring him in" you hum preparing the exam table for him having a new thin sheet of paper for him to lay on you turn to see khamzat walk in holding his ribs and he's got some bruising on his face his upper lip looks busted you gesture for him to sit on the table which he does with a wince as he sits

you carefully look at his body gently prodding as you slide your hands on his legs and arms looking for a reaction getting a slight reaction when your hand grazes his calf you write that down "does it hurt right here Mr. Chimaev?" you ask gently feeling the area- it feels tender you like watching the fights you can normally tell who'll come to you after khamzat was taking some calf kicks through the fight and it appears like its already bruising "yes" he responds almost breathless hes in a lot of pain you could tell. "could tell me what else hurts?" you ask as you slowly exam his rib area also appears to be bruising you write down he may need an x-ray for it to see if any are broken

you grab him some nice and place it on his calf and gently hand him the bag of ice which he takes you're honestly not really paying attention to what he's looking at just listening for ques and seeing if his breathing sounds odd which it does a little bit worried his ribs might be broken.

but he's looking at you when you go up to his face turning on the light above him and examining his lip you're close to his face slightly tip-toeing because he's so tall even laying down you almost lose your balance but he helps you as his right arm goes to hold your waist 'inappropriate' you think to yourself but you allow it because you're able to get a better look at his lip he has a cut above his eyebrow too

"okay Mr. chimaev you'll need stitches on your lip and eyebrow- I have a numbing gel if you'd like me to apply it" you tell him taking off your gloves to replace them and getting your supplies in order he groans "no gel" he says you shrug most fighters don't want it you assume they want to be tough but you can tell it bothers them and they regret not taking it half of the time "here's something you can squeeze if it's painful" a stressball its light blue and looks tiny in his hands he squeezes it testing It small smile forming on his lips you prep his lip and eyebrow disinfecting it he winces at this "sorry it'll sting a bit" you mumble as you focus on the cut seeing how bad it really is

you begin on his eyebrow deciding that you'll do that before the lip- itll hurt but wont be as bad as his lip he's looking at you the whole time your hands are gentle is what he thinks as you see him up he's squeezing the toy but not as bad as he thought he would've you're quick and so smooth with it that it doesn't hurt as much "alright your eyebrow is done" you tell him as you move toward his lip you hum as you start on it "let me know if it hurts too much m'kay?" you say starting it hurts but not bad again you're fast so you're done before it could even really build up.

his head is spinning and throbbing you give him some medicine to help with that and tell him to stay so you can monitor him. which he allows just laying there watching you as you clean up after him and his exam you ask if he's thirsty and he nods you get him a water "thank you" he says as he drinks you just smile and nod and walk around your space

you were so gentle khamzat has never met such a gentle kind doctor your touch really left an impression on him thats why hes here today in the p.i with you gently checking him, your hands softly checking him and you being curious as to what was hurting him- khamzats become a regular in your office after you stitched him up when it was time to remove them he came back with flowers a gift he said "because you helped me" is what you recall you accepted and kept them in your office after you removed his stitches you told him hes brand new and you cleared him for his next fight

however he kept coming back complaining about physical discomfort and aching pains you were almost confused on what was going on with him- you work in the p.i you can see the guys training he always seems okay while training- maybe training too hard and exhausting himself was your theory but he was here today eyes glued to you as you touched his skin your hands slightly cool which causes him to react "oh sorry my hands are cold" you smile at him apologetically "n-no worries" he responds his breath seemed slow almost seeming like he was forgetting how to breathe

you checked his pulse and his heart was racing "khamzats are you okay?" you ask explaining his heart was racing his face became slightly pink before saying he was okay maybe it was his caffeine from earlier.

khamzats had another fight which you watched. great fight from him as per usual and you didn't believe he'd come to you afterwards as he was practically untouched but to your surprise here he was laying in your table breath slow his eyes on you your feeling his legs as he said he felt he was getting cramps which surprised you as he looked great- no hesitation no sign of cramps . as you inch up his thigh you couldn't help but notice his hard on through his trunks you swallow hard feeling your face heat up as you try to ignore it.

"a-alright!! I think you're okay khamzat" you say walking away face burning as you write in your chart for him you hear him get up and almost sigh out of relief thinking he left when you hear your door lock click you freeze and suddenly you feel khamzat pressing you against the table you feel his hard on poking you from behind

"miss y/n.. I have this ache" you mumbles as he begins groping you "w-where" you ask gasping as his hands grope your breasts roughly "between my legs, I try to get rid of it- I need your help" his warm breath against your ear his words sending shock waves to your core "I'll help you- get on the table" you say he obliges you watch him stip down to his underwear before laying on the table his eyes lazily watching you

his breath hitching when you come over gently pulling his underwear down revealing his hard- throbbing member the tip an angry shade of red leaking with precum he's big- and thick you mouth almost waters at the sight you wrap your hand around his cock he moans "here?" you ask as you stroke him "f-fuck yes" he groans out watching you stroke him you lick the pre-cum off his tip you look over at him his mouth in an o shape in aw of you

you spit on his cock and stroke him faster his hips bucking up he takes your hand off as he sits up and presses his lips to yours hungry like he's been waiting for this moment you moan in his mouth which makes him grin as he gets off the table he presses you into the table and bends you over it you gasp as he yanks off your doctors coat his hands finding its way to your ass which he slaps happily watching it giggle through your black pants he pulls them down and gently rubs your cheek he slapped his hand mark already becoming visible "I hurt you?" he asks softly he's pulling your black panties down exposing your pussy "n-no" you say biting your lip looking back at him as he spreads your legs further to see your pussy your dripping wet

"you like huh?" he asks teasingly his hand still gently rubbing your ass cheek he smacked before you can respond he spanked you again earning a moan out of you he smiles at this spreading your cheeks as he lets his cock rub against your slit he watches enjoying the way your wetness coats his tip and the string of wetness you leave behind on his tip as he gently pulls away earning a whine from you

before you could beg him, he's already pushing in his cock stretching you out "o-oh fuck" you moan out gripping the paper sheets on the table "so tight" he mumbles as he slaps your ass again earning another moan as he tries to let you adjust to him but you move your hips causing the both of you to moan "so excited Dr aren't you?" he says hands gripping your waist he pulls back slowly his cock leaving you before snapping his hips back filling you with his cock. his thrusts are so rough the table is squeaking and your knees are pointed inward at the pleasure your legs giving out as khamzat holds you up and fucks into you

your pussy drooling around his cock your wetness leaking down your slit- your clit coated in it "slutty pussy" he says rubbing your clit earning a moan from you "more please" you whimper "more? you can barely handle" he teases fucking you deeper you're about to cum you're seeing stars his brutal pace and his rough thumb on your clit "cum for me Dr" he mumbles as he quickens his pace his cock hitting your cervix you're so full.

he feels you clamp down on him as your pussy gushes around his cock "fuck look at that" he says as he watches the wetness drip onto the floor he's about to cum he's gonna pull out till "please cum in me khamzat" you say looking back at him eyes full of tears you're so overwhelmed and the sight of you begging for his cum and the way your pussy is milking him has him cumming deep inside of you- you moan at his warm seed filling you up

as you're both catching your breath- your pussy all sore and overwhelmed you hear knocking on your door and realize the co-main event just ended. you gather yourself and so does khamzat he kisses your forehead before leaving telling you to call him as you take your next patient

khamzat begins to see you more and more at the p.i after that. he cant train well if he hasn't cummed in your pussy.

[authors note: thank you anon for this request !!! I hope you guys like :D]

#ufc #ufc x reader #khamzat chimaev imagine #khamzat chimaev x reader #khamzat chimaev

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starshideurfics · 6 months ago

Text

Thirsty Thursday - Trying

steddie, omegaverse, mpreg, cw: vomit, cw: miscarriage, angst with a happy ending

Steve knows better than to get his hopes up when he and Eddie start trying for a baby. He knows it can take time. That it isn’t just about throwing out his birth control and getting dicked down three times a week—anything more than that leads to diminishing returns: lower sperm count, less ejaculate. He’s already on prenatal vitamins and he’s eating better; he’s cut alcohol and coffee from his diet.

But it’s not like he expects it to happen right away.

Then he starts puking.

At anything. Weird smells, weird tastes, eating too late in the morning or too early, drinking water too fast. So, he pulls a test out of the bathroom cupboard, pees, waits the five minutes.

Eddie finds him crying in the bathroom twenty minutes later. Steve cried so hard he threw up. But the test has two blue lines, confirmation of the life growing inside him.

Sinking to the floor, Eddie gets his arms around his omega, kisses his temple and pets his hair, and whispers his love and excitement into the skin of Steve’s neck.

They can’t believe it’s happened so fast.

They don’t tell anyone, not even Robin—not even Wayne—because Steve is too nervous, too superstitious.

It doesn’t stop the blood from coming three days before his first prenatal appointment. He calls the office in a panic, and when the nurse says, “Some spotting is normal, even enough to look like a light period, how much blood have you-”

“A lot. I’m already on my third overnight pad today.”

“Oh… I’m so sorry, honey.” After that, she tells him to call again if the bleeding gets worse, or if he faints. That it’s early enough he should be fine managing it at home.

She keeps his appointment slot, so his doctor can do blood work, give him a full physical.

Eddie offers to go with him, but Steve needs a little time alone. Needs a little privacy.

He’s sitting on the exam table, paper under his bare ass, wearing a soft pink hospital gown. “Was it my fault?” He can’t help crying as he asks, explaining about the morning sickness, how he was afraid to eat half the time for fear it would come right back up.

Dr. Greene holds his hand, in both of hers. “No, Steve. This early it usually means something’s wrong with the embryo. Genetic non-viability.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t think the morning sickness helped, but it didn’t cause this. It’s just what happened. And it’s quite common. There’s a reason we say not to announce a pregnancy until the second trimester.”

Steve nods, grateful even if he can’t stop his tears. “Thank you,” he whispers, relieved.

Dr. Greene just squeezes his hand, and walks him through all the tests and checks she wants to do. Steve leaves his appointment with a half-dozen pamphlets, including one with tips for fighting morning sickness.

He spends the afternoon reading, and stocks up on ginger candy in preparation.

Eddie is cautious for the next week, always offering Steve comfort, holding him close and kissing him sweetly. Steve is the one to get back to business, jumping Eddies bones as soon as he has the go-ahead.

It takes two months for them to get pregnant again, and Steve’s morning sickness comes back.

The ginger candy helps, and the ginger ale. Sometimes he does a cold compress on his chest, and it’s enough to stop the urge to vomit. He’ll pinch the skin between his thumb and forefinger, and that helps most of the time.

But not always. Usually, when he first wakes up, or when he gets out of the shower it will hit him hard and fast.

He makes it to ten weeks this time, before the spotting and the cramping. Steve’s at work when it starts and he tells his boss he’s sick, drives straight to the OBGYN office, hoping they can do something.

But he’s already passed a clot, the bleeding worse.

A nurse finds him an empty exam room so he can clean up. Compose himself a little. He calls Eddie at work and tells him the bad news.

“I’m coming, baby, just give me ten minutes, and I’ll be there,” Eddie promises, ready to care for his mate.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll see you at home.”

“Steve!”

“You shouldn’t leave work for this. I’m just gonna go home and lie down.”

Steve hangs up. He feels like a failure.

When Eddie gets home that night, he finds Steve on the couch eating butterscotch ice cream. He plops down next to him, gets an arm around his shoulder, and just lets Steve melt against him. “It’ll be okay, baby. These things take time.”

“I know,” Steve whispers. “I was just really excited this time…”

“As soon as you’re ready, we’ll start trying again.” He pulls Steve into his lap, not even caring that the mostly empty ice cream carton is being squished to his chest. “And no matter what, I will always love you.”

“I love you so much,” Steve murmurs back, pressing his tears to Eddie’s neck.

💔💔💔

Over the next year and a half, Steve loses three more pregnancies before the end if the first trimester. His morning sickness is better by the last one, but it doesn’t seem to matter.

They have another appointment with Dr. Greene, this time to go over their options, and do a bit more testing, but the night before, Steve is distraught. “I can’t do it again,” he whimpers. “I can’t fall in love with another baby that I don’t get to meet. Eddie, I can’t!”

Eddie can’t either. But it’s not his body. He doesn’t feel that same connection Steve does, doesn’t bear the same burden. But he still loved each and every one.

He also can’t stand the thought of Steve suffering again. His mate has been through more than enough.

Then the tests come back, and Dr. Greene smiles kindly. “Steve, there’s nothing in your blood work or health history that should be contributing to this. But the ovum is a robust little cell. In fact, research indicates that problems frequently boil down to sperm count… And quality.”

Eddie freezes. He knows he eats better than he did when he met Steve—Steve feeds him after all—but he has… Bad habits. “How bad is it?” he asks, cringing internally as he thinks about how proud he was to fill his sample cup past the halfway point that afternoon. Pointless alpha preening.

“Your sperm count is actually in the normal range for an alpha your age, which is a good sign, especially knowing you’re a smoker, Eddie. But your motility is low, which means even fewer sperm make it far enough to reach the egg. It means odds of a healthy sperm fertilizing the egg are lowered.”

Eddie squeezes Steve’s hand in apology. “So, it’s my fault,” he says, keeping his voice even.

“This isn’t about placing blame,” Dr. Greene starts.

At the same time, Steve murmurs, “Eddie, no…”

“No,” Eddie says clearly, forcing a smile. “If there’s something I can do, I will.”

He quits smoking cold-turkey, needing the nicotine out of his system. Eddie knows too many guys who traded their pack a day smoking habit for a pack a day of nicotine gum. Every time he even thinks about smoking he snaps a rubber band on his wrist, and remembers how many times he’s found Steve crying over the past two years.

He gets more vegetables in his diet, leafy greens that taste bitter as hell, but he still eats every salad Steve packs fir his lunch.

In the end, the hardest part is exercising. Eddie hates running. He hates it. Even going for a morning run with Steve doesn’t help because Steve does 5K no problem, and Eddie feels like he’s dying after six blocks.

They stop running together, but Eddie keeps running. He goes to a weekly yoga class and starts swimming laps at the Y.

He and Steve take a break from sex. Then, when they do have sex, they use protection. Steve won’t risk it. Not yet.

They wait neatly a year, Eddie asking to have his sperm checked at his annual physical. There’s no pride this time in how much he managed to jizz in the sample cup, only the relief at being told, “Your sperm count is on the high end of average, with good motility. Overall, everything looks healthy, but if you’d like a referral to a specialist, I can give you one.”

Eddie calls Steve with the good news, promising that they can wait as long as Steve wants before they start trying again, that the lifestyle changes are sticking around.

Steve tells Eddie to get his ass home. Right away.

Eddie finds Steve in the bedroom, wearing lingerie for the first time in a couple years. He’s seated on their bed in the prettiest lilac silk, and he stands as soon as Eddie’s through the door, pouncing on him. “I love you, Eddie,” he mumbles between kisses.

“Love you so much, baby,” Eddie murmurs back, ready to celebrate their small victory. He guides Steve back to the bed, ready to worship his beautiful tits as soon as he’s unwrapped them.

He touches Steve everywhere. Kisses him everywhere. Holds him close once they are both naked and sweaty. He reaches for the bedside table, but Steve stops him. “No condom,” he whines. “I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?”

“Eddie, you’ve spent the past year getting healthy for this, for us. It sounds like it worked.” Steve reaches down, takes Eddie’s hard cock in hand, stroking him roughly, the way he likes. “Let’s try again,” Steve says with finality. “Let’s make a baby.”

💕💕💕

A year later, Steve is seven months pregnant and glowing. He had some morning sickness this time, but it went away before the second trimester. Now, he has to pee. All the time. And he’s always hungry.

Eddie dotes on him, making sure even his wildest craving are satisfied, which includes an astounding amount of pickled jalapeños and tapioca pudding. But he’s right on track, everything routine, perfectly healthy.

It’s all worth it. Soon, they’ll get to meet their little girl.

#steddie #omegaverse #fanfiction #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #stranger things fic #ficlet #mpreg #thirsty thursday #cw: miscarriage

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