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sonarspace · 6 months ago

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❝ TOUCH ME, TAKE ME, KISS ME ❞

ft. gojo, geto & shoko. (4some)

꒰ synopsis. where celebrating new year’s with your best friends turns into something much more intimate—one kiss at midnight isn’t nearly enough.

warnings. MDNI. college au. fem! reader, fōursome, mutual pining, unprotected p in v, orāl (f! and m! receiving), fingerıng (f! and m! receiving), clıt stimulation, overstimulation, dirty talk, shared partner dynamics, voyeurism, slight dom/sub vibes, hair pulling, teasing, praise kink, body worship, light biting/marking, cųm play, & multiple orgasmś.

the cabin was exactly what you’d expect from satoru gojo – unnecessarily luxurious, tucked away on the outskirts of a snowy mountain town, and equipped with every amenity that screamed rich kid with too much money to burn.

“seriously, satoru, who the hell needs a jacuzzi in their living room?” shoko teased, setting her duffel down by the entryway. the bubbling water glowed from the built-in lights, steam curling lazily into the warm space.

gojo smirked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black hoodie. “it’s about the vibes, shoko. the experience. and, i dunno, maybe i just like having options.”

geto, sitting cross-legged on the couch, glanced up from his phone. “yeah? and when’s the last time you used it?”

“hey, i brought you guys here, didn’t i? sounds like ungrateful energy to me,” gojo shot back, though his grin didn’t waver.

you chuckled softly, toeing off your boots near the fireplace, letting the heat seep through your socks. the large windows stretched across the far wall, showcasing the snow falling steadily outside, blanketing the trees under the silver moonlight.

“he’s right, though,” you chimed in, peeling off your jacket. “we could’ve rung in the new year at some regular house party. but instead, we’re here. cozy, secluded... not the worst way to spend our last new year as college students.”

“see? someone gets it,” gojo said, flashing you that familiar, lopsided grin.

you rolled your eyes, but the truth was, you didn’t mind. the four of you had been close since your freshman year, and as the years piled up, so did the late-night study sessions, spontaneous road trips, and drunken confessions after long nights out. this felt like a full-circle moment. one final hurrah before graduation came sweeping in to change everything.

shoko tossed herself onto the couch beside geto, tugging off her beanie and shaking out her hair. “so, what’s the plan? drinking games until midnight, or are we just free-styling it?”

“why not both?” suguru said, stretching an arm behind her, fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder where you leaned against the armrest. the contact was subtle, but you felt it linger.

gojo raised a brow, tilting his head dramatically. “i was thinking strip poker.”

shoko snorted, flicking his forehead. “sure. you’d be naked in five minutes.”

“is that supposed to be a problem?”

your eyes flickered to suguru, catching the small smirk pulling at his lips. his gaze met yours for half a second, dark eyes flickering with something unreadable, before dropping back to his phone.

this wasn’t the first time you’d caught the lingering tension between everyone – the casual touches, the way shoko’s gaze would sometimes linger on you a little too long, or the moments gojo’s hands would rest on your lower back at parties, guiding you through crowds when he didn’t really need to.

you weren’t oblivious. but none of you had ever crossed that line.

yet.

“alright, let’s start with drinks,” you suggested, pushing yourself to your feet. “anyone want to help me?”

“i got it,” geto said, standing with an easy grace. “come on.”

as the two of you headed into the kitchen, shoko and gojo’s quiet laughter echoed softly from the living room, the crackling fire filling the otherwise silent cabin.

suguru leaned against the counter, watching as you rummaged through the cabinets.

“so,” he started, his voice low and smooth, “how are you feeling about tonight?”

you glanced over your shoulder. “in general? or is this a ‘we’re about to graduate, what are you doing with your life?’ kind of question?”

his lips quirked. “both, maybe.”

you sighed, grabbing a bottle of whiskey. “i’m trying not to think about it too hard. tonight’s about celebrating, not panicking about the future.”

he nodded thoughtfully, but his eyes lingered.

“you know,” he mused, stepping closer, “satoru’s not wrong. it is kind of a waste to let this cabin go to waste.”

“what are you suggesting?” you teased, pouring the whiskey into a glass.

suguru’s gaze dipped, trailing over you slowly before flicking back to your eyes. “just saying… midnight’s a good time for new experiences.”

heat prickled your skin under his stare, but before you could respond, gojo’s voice rang out from the other room.

“hey, you two! quit flirting and bring the damn drinks!”

you laughed, but suguru didn’t move right away. instead, his fingers brushed lightly against your wrist as he grabbed the bottle from the counter, his touch lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch.

yeah. tonight was going to be interesting.

the drinks flowed easily, laughter spilling into the warm cabin air as the four of you huddled near the fireplace, sprawled across the plush rugs and oversized pillows. suguru sat beside you, his knee brushing yours with every shift, while gojo leaned against the couch, one long arm lazily slung around shoko’s shoulders.

“alright,” gojo drawled, tipping back his glass. his eyes glittered behind those obnoxious shades he insisted on wearing inside. “time for a game.”

“drinking game?” shoko asked, already halfway through her second glass of whiskey.

“nope.” gojo’s smirk curled wickedly. “truth or dare.”

you snorted, shaking your head. “what are we? sixteen?”

“don’t knock it,” suguru said smoothly, his eyes half-lidded as he sipped his drink. “it could be fun. besides, satoru’s incapable of suggesting anything mature.”

gojo shot him a look. “this coming from the guy who suggested skinny dipping in the hot tub an hour ago.”

“that was different. it was an intellectual suggestion.”

“sure it was.”

shoko waved a hand dismissively. “fine. truth or dare it is. but no stupid shit like licking the floor or whatever. we’re not in a frat house.”

gojo grinned, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “who’s starting?”

your hand shot up, aiming for the path of least resistance. “truth.”

“boring,” gojo muttered, but there was mischief behind the slight pout. “alright, fine. if you had to kiss one of us at midnight, who would it be?”

the room fell quiet for a beat too long. you felt three sets of eyes zero in on you, the weight of their attention thick enough to taste.

“uh—” you faltered, heat crawling up your neck.

“careful,” suguru murmured beside you, voice low and teasing. “we’ll know if you’re lying.”

your gaze flicked to his, catching the flicker of something darker in his expression. your heart thudded a little harder.

“i dunno,” you hedged, taking a slow sip of your drink. “depends on the mood, i guess.”

gojo leaned closer, grinning like he’d already won. “that’s not an answer.”

“then take it as my answer.”

shoko laughed, leaning back against the couch cushions. “she’s playing it safe. smart girl.”

but the tension lingered, subtle but persistent, weaving through the air like smoke.

“my turn,” suguru cut in smoothly, tilting his head toward gojo. “truth or dare?”

“dare, obviously.”

“kiss shoko.”

“easy.”

without hesitation, gojo leaned down and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to shoko’s lips. she didn’t pull away – if anything, her hand slid lazily up his arm, nails grazing lightly against his skin before they parted.

“you guys have done that before,” you pointed out, trying to ignore the heat twisting low in your stomach.

“multiple times,” shoko replied, smirking. “you’re late to the party.”

gojo winked. “jealous?”

“not particularly.”

but the idea lodged itself somewhere deep. maybe it was the alcohol warming your veins, or the way suguru’s hand rested against the small of your back, light but possessive, but the thought lingered.

midnight wasn’t that far off.

the countdown started around 11:50. the drinks were mostly forgotten by then, the four of you curled closer near the fire, the alcohol buzzing quietly in your heads.

“five minutes,” gojo announced, his voice dropping to something smoother, almost suggestive. “better start thinking about that kiss.”

shoko stretched her legs out, crossing them at the ankles. “maybe we should just kiss each other. take the guesswork out of it.”

your stomach flipped at her casual tone, but when you glanced at suguru, his gaze was already fixed on you.

“not opposed,” he said softly.

gojo made a low hum of approval, sitting up straighter. “why not?”

“you’re all serious about this?” you asked, voice tipping toward incredulous, but your pulse betrayed you, hammering against your ribs.

“you’re curious,” suguru countered, brushing his knuckles against your thigh.

and you were. the tension had been building for years – subtle glances, fleeting touches, unspoken things hanging just out of reach.

“alright,” you relented, the words tasting like adrenaline on your tongue. “fine.”

the countdown echoed on the tv screen, bright against the dim cabin.

ten.

nine.

suguru shifted closer, his thigh pressed against yours.

eight.

seven.

gojo’s gaze dropped to your lips, his grin softer, teasing.

six.

shoko leaned into your side, her arm brushing yours.

five.

four.

your breath hitched as suguru’s hand curled under your chin, tilting your face toward his.

three.

two.

one.

their lips met yours at the same time – suguru’s mouth warm and steady, while shoko’s was softer, tasting faintly of whiskey.

you lost yourself in it, your hand fisting in suguru’s shirt as gojo’s hand brushed against your lower back, slipping lower, pulling you closer.

and just like that, the line dissolved completely.

the kiss started playful—soft touches, slow exploration—but the heat behind it caught quickly, sparking into something heavier. suguru’s fingers brushed your jaw, coaxing your lips open as his tongue slid against yours, slow and possessive. shoko’s mouth trailed along your neck, leaving wet kisses against your pulse, while gojo’s hand slipped under the hem of your sweater, his palm warm as it splayed across your waist.

you broke the kiss with suguru only to meet shoko’s lips, her tongue teasing against yours as she pressed closer, her hands slipping down to rest on your thighs. the space between the four of you seemed to vanish, replaced by the weight of wandering hands and shared breaths.

gojo groaned softly, nipping at suguru’s bottom lip before tugging him back by the collar, stealing a kiss that left no room for subtlety. suguru didn’t resist, his hand tangling in gojo’s hair, tilting his head to deepen it. the sight had your breath catching, heat pooling low in your stomach.

“god, you two,” shoko muttered, smirking against your lips. “it’s like watching a porno.”

“jealous?” gojo quipped, pulling back just enough to catch his breath, his eyes glittering with amusement.

“maybe.”

“you get her,” suguru said smoothly, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. “we’ll be back.”

before you could question it, gojo grabbed suguru’s wrist and led him out of the living room, disappearing into the hall with low, breathy laughter echoing behind them.

the absence of their presence left you and shoko tangled together on the rug by the fire, the crackling flames casting soft shadows across her face.

“guess it’s just us,” she murmured, her fingers tracing light patterns over your thighs.

“seems like it,” you whispered, barely able to focus with the heat of her body pressed so close.

shoko didn’t waste time once the boys left the room. her lips crashed into yours, all tongue and teeth, as if she’d been holding back for too long. you could feel the heat radiating off her as her hands roamed your body, tugging at the edges of your sweater until it slipped over your head.

her palms were warm against your bare skin, fingertips skimming the soft curve of your breasts, and you gasped into her mouth, arching into her touch.

“fuck,” she whispered, eyes trailing down your body, drinking you in like she couldn’t get enough. “been waiting to get my hands on you all night.”

you let her take control, her nails scraping lightly down your back as she kissed a path to your collarbone, sucking a bruise into the delicate skin.

your sweater, jeans, and everything else ended up in a pile near the fireplace, leaving you bare and vulnerable in the soft flicker of firelight. shoko settled between your legs, her hands pressing your thighs apart with a confidence that had you squirming beneath her.

“you’re so wet already,” she murmured, dragging a single finger through your folds. “you like this, huh?”

you could barely nod, the sensation making you dizzy.

her mouth followed, soft lips trailing over the inside of your thighs, her tongue flicking out to catch the slick gathering at your core.

“fuck, shoko,” you gasped, hips bucking when she sucked your clit between her lips, the warmth of her tongue making you shudder.

her grip on your thighs tightened, nails digging into the soft flesh as she kept you pinned, her mouth relentless.

“stay still,” she mumbled, voice muffled against you.

it was impossible. you tugged lightly at her hair, desperate for something to hold onto as she worked you closer to the edge, her tongue curling just right.

you didn’t even notice the sound of footsteps until shoko pulled back slightly, glancing over her shoulder with a smirk.

“oh,” she hummed, licking her lips. “you two back already?”

your gaze snapped to the doorway.

gojo and geto stood there, completely bare, their cocks hard and already dripping.

“we were enjoying the view,” gojo said, his voice deeper, laced with something dark as his gaze fixed on you.

geto stepped forward first, his eyes hooded as he stroked himself lazily, clearly not in any rush. “didn’t know you’d start without us.”

“you two looked busy,” shoko teased, swiping her thumb across her bottom lip, catching the glisten of your arousal.

“don’t stop on our account,” gojo added, stepping closer, his hand wrapping around the base of his cock as he knelt beside you.

shoko chuckled, glancing down at you with amusement in her eyes. “what do you think?”

you didn’t know how to answer, too overwhelmed by the weight of their attention—the way geto’s dark gaze lingered on your mouth, the curve of gojo’s smirk as he ran his fingers along your inner thigh.

“she can take it,” geto murmured, brushing his lips along the curve of your jaw. “she’s been good so far.”

shoko shifted lower, her breath hot against your core, but this time, geto was beside her, his lips pressing soft kisses to your clit before shoko’s tongue joined him.

“fuck—” your breath hitched, your back arching off the floor as their mouths worked in tandem, the slick warmth of their tongues too much.

gojo, not wanting to be left out, moved behind you, his lips ghosting along your neck as his fingers slid into your pussy, curling to meet the rhythm of their mouths.

“so fucking pretty,” he whispered into your ear, biting lightly at the lobe. “you like being the center of attention, don’t you?”

you couldn’t answer, too caught up in the overwhelming sensation, your body trembling as the knot in your stomach tightened.

“c’mon,” shoko coaxed, her tongue circling your clit faster. “let go for us.”

you did, a sharp cry leaving your lips as your orgasm tore through you, your hips jerking uncontrollably as shoko and geto didn’t stop, their mouths and fingers milking every last drop of pleasure.

when you finally opened your eyes, dazed and breathless, geto was already shifting, settling between your legs as gojo moved to take his place beside shoko.

“don’t be greedy, shoko,” gojo teased, his lips brushing yours as geto lined himself up with your entrance, the thick head of his cock pressing inside.

shoko’s hand slipped beneath your jaw, guiding you to look at her as geto thrust into you, stretching you wide.

“you can give us one more,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to yours as her lips hovered inches from your mouth. “be a good girl for me, yeah?”

geto’s cock stretched you to the hilt, the fullness making you shudder as he bottomed out, his forehead pressed against yours. shoko’s hand traced slow circles along your cheek, grounding you with soft touches even as her other hand slipped lower, two fingers pressing against your clit, slick from how drenched you were.

“you’re taking him so well,” she whispered, her thumb brushing your bottom lip. “but you can take more, can’t you?”

you nodded weakly, body already trembling, but the praise made your stomach flutter.

gojo shifted, moving behind you, his lips trailing lazy kisses along the curve of your shoulder. “gonna open you up even more,” he murmured, his fingers dragging down the length of your stomach, teasing along the edge of your folds where geto’s cock stretched you.

you felt his middle finger slip inside, pressing against the soft spot geto wasn’t reaching. the sensation was dizzying.

“so fucking tight,” gojo hissed, sliding another finger in beside the first, stretching you further. “can feel how deep suguru is inside you.”

shoko’s breath tickled your lips as her fingers drifted lower, joining gojo’s as he stretched you open, the combination of their touches leaving you gasping.

“so sensitive,” shoko cooed, pressing soft kisses along your jawline, her fingers brushing light circles around your clit.

gojo’s third finger slipped inside, the stretch nearly overwhelming, and your nails dug into the rug beneath you as your back arched, your body tightening around them both.

“fuck,” geto grunted, his cock twitching inside you. “she’s squeezing me like crazy.”

“feels good, doesn’t it?” gojo teased, his smirk audible even if you couldn’t see him. “she’s so warm… bet you won’t last long.”

geto’s grip on your hips tightened, his thrusts slowing, each drag of his cock purposeful as he pushed deep, grinding against the spot that made you tremble.

you whimpered, barely able to take it all in, your body stretched beyond its limits but craving more. shoko kissed the corner of your mouth, her lips lingering just long enough to make you chase after her, your tongue brushing against hers in a soft, needy motion.

“i can feel how close you are,” she whispered, her fingers pinching your clit just enough to make you jolt. “you’re trembling.”

gojo’s fingers pressed deeper, curling in a way that sent sparks shooting through you, and you nearly sobbed from the intensity.

“you’re holding back,” gojo whispered in your ear, his lips brushing against your earlobe. “let go, sweetheart. we’re not stopping till you’re a mess beneath us.”

geto groaned, his pace faltering, hips snapping faster as he chased his own pleasure, his grip bruising in the best way.

shoko dipped her head lower, trailing soft kisses down your neck, her hand leaving your jaw to tug gently at one of your nipples, rolling it between her fingers as her other hand continued its teasing strokes over your swollen clit.

“give it to us,” she coaxed, her voice laced with a softness that made your chest ache. “you can take it, pretty girl. just one more, i know you can.”

your breath hitched, the knot in your stomach tightening as the pressure mounted.

“fuck—shoko, i’m gonna—”

“i know,” she whispered, her lips pressing to yours in a soft, breathless kiss.

the wave hit you hard, your walls fluttering around geto’s cock as your orgasm crashed over you, your hips jerking up to meet his thrusts as gojo’s fingers kept curling inside, stretching you open further.

“that’s it,” gojo growled, pulling his fingers out just as geto’s pace grew erratic.

“fuck, i’m close,” geto grunted, thrusting hard one last time before he groaned low in his throat, spilling into you with a slow roll of his hips.

shoko kissed you through it, swallowing your soft cries as geto leaned forward, his forehead resting against your shoulder, chest heaving.

but they didn’t stop.

geto groaned low in his throat, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he gave one last deep thrust, burying himself fully inside you as he spilled, warmth flooding your core.

your body trembled, the overstimulation leaving you breathless, forehead pressed against shoko’s shoulder as she ran soft fingers through your hair, grounding you.

“fuck,” geto whispered, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as he pulled out slowly, his cum slipping down your thighs, sticky and warm against your skin.

but even as geto leaned back, his hands still lingering on your hips, gojo wasn’t done.

his cock throbbed against your thigh, heavy and slick with precum, the tip flushed and desperate for attention.

you felt his gaze on you, his hand sliding over your jaw to tilt your face toward him.

“think you can help me out, pretty girl?” he murmured, his lips brushing yours in a teasing kiss, but his hips were already shifting closer, his cock pressing insistently against your palm.

you nodded, the quiet desperation in his voice making you throb, still sensitive from geto’s lingering touch. your fingers curled around him, warm and slick as you stroked slowly, feeling the weight of him in your hand.

“fuck, just like that,” he groaned, tipping his head back slightly as his hand covered yours, guiding your pace.

meanwhile, shoko shifted in front of you, her bare thighs brushing against your waist as she straddled you, her hands resting on your shoulders for balance.

“don’t forget about me,” she teased, voice low, but there was heat in her eyes as she grabbed your wrist, guiding your fingers between her legs.

her slick heat coated your fingers immediately as they slipped inside, making her moan softly against your ear, hips rolling to meet your touch.

“you feel that?” she whispered, her forehead pressed to yours, panting softly. “been wanting you to touch me like this all night.”

your palm pressed deeper, thumb brushing over her swollen clit, and she gasped, biting down gently on your bottom lip as her hips bucked forward.

but shoko wasn’t one to let you do all the work.

her other hand drifted between your legs, her fingers brushing over your overstimulated core, dragging through the mess geto left behind.

“so messy,” she murmured, her tone soft and teasing, but there was nothing gentle about the way she slipped two fingers inside you, pressing into the heat that still fluttered around nothing.

you whimpered, arching into her hand as your own pace on gojo faltered, your grip tightening around his cock.

“shit—” gojo hissed, his breath stuttering as your fist squeezed him just right, his hips jerking up into your touch.

“i’ve got her,” shoko murmured to gojo, her lips grazing your ear as she thrust her fingers deeper, her pace slow but deliberate. “she’s so tight, aren’t you, baby?”

you couldn’t form words, only broken moans slipping past your parted lips, drool glistening as it trailed down your chin, your jaw slack beneath the intensity of it all. shoko’s fingers curled deep inside you, pressing against that spot that made your thighs tremble violently, your entire body arching into her touch.

her thumb circled your clit in slow, deliberate motions—not too much, but just enough to have you writhing beneath her, the friction driving you higher with every slow roll of her hips against yours.

“look at you,” geto murmured, dark eyes fixed on the way you twisted between them, shoko’s hand buried up to her knuckles inside you.

without a word, he leaned in, catching the trail of drool with his lips, kissing gently along your jaw before letting his tongue brush over the corner of your mouth, warm and unhurried.

“you’re taking her so well,” he said softly, his breath fanning over your lips before pressing a kiss to the hinge of your jaw, his palm cupping your cheek tenderly.

shoko’s teeth scraped over your neck, biting gently before soothing the mark with her tongue, her fingers never faltering.

“i know you can give me one more,” she coaxed, her voice soft but firm, curling her fingers until you nearly sobbed into her shoulder. “come on, baby, let me feel you.”

your hips rocked into her hand on instinct, chasing the pressure as pleasure coiled tighter inside you, her fingers coaxing you toward the edge.

“she’s close,” gojo groaned, his cock twitching in your palm as his eyes dragged over your body, flushed and trembling beneath shoko’s touch.

his hand slid over yours, guiding your strokes as his breath stuttered, his hips jerking forward to chase your fist.

“let go for us,” shoko whispered, her tongue tracing the curve of your ear, and with one last slow curl of her fingers, the tension inside you snapped.

your body trembled violently, thighs clenching around her hand as your orgasm surged through you, knocking the breath from your lungs.

shoko kept going, fucking you through the aftershocks, her fingers stroking deeper to draw out every last shiver until you were limp against her chest.

“fuck,” gojo hissed through gritted teeth, his grip on your hand tightening as he spilled hot and thick against your fingers, painting your skin with a satisfied groan.

for a moment, the room was quiet, the only sounds the soft crackling of the fire and the heavy weight of your breathing.

you lay there, muscles lax and trembling, shoko’s fingers still lazily circling your clit as she pressed soft kisses against your shoulder, grounding you in the afterglow.

“you were perfect,” she murmured against your lips, smiling softly as she finally slipped her fingers free, slick and glistening with your release.

geto brushed his thumb along your jaw, tilting your face toward him as he kissed you, slow and deliberate, his touch warm and steady.

“happy new year,” shoko whispered, her forehead resting gently against yours, and you couldn’t help the quiet laugh that slipped out between heavy breaths.

“happy new year,” you echoed softly, sinking further into the warmth of their bodies against yours.

an. HAPPY NEW YEAR BELOVEDS 😼😽😸! what are some new years goals y’all have? one of mine is to grow my tumblr following n get better at posting more 🤞🏽

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erwinsvow · 15 days ago

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𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 — 𝐣.𝐚.

summary: also known as the story of how you became jack abbot's sugar baby.

word count: 7.8k

tags: younger reader/sugar baby dynamic, reader is in an unspecified masters program, reader is poor (sorry girl), descriptions of burn wound, jack tends to reader's wound because why wouldn't he!, robby guest appearance, smut (hard and fast and creampie.. sorry), these two are so cute and i love this reader

note: based on this blurb. enjoy! crazy what motivation can do. go listen to don’t worry baby by the beach boys 💛

you should have known you were in trouble when dr. jack abbot of the closest emergency room handed you a full-size tube of the expensive burn gel you needed and said in a firm yet gentle voice: don’t worry about it, kid.

little did he know that you did worry about it, that you worry about everything and then some. like the ridiculous injury that led you here in the first place—ridiculous and embarrassing, a double whammy. you were writing a paper at two in the morning despite the fact that the words on the screen had stopped making sense hours ago, determined to get at least another three pages done before calling it quits.

what you really needed was a coffee, but instead, stupidly, you settled for making hot chocolate. you thought it would be comforting, like a warm hug, which is probably what you really need and since you live alone, it’s not like you’re going to get that anywhere else.

so—hot chocolate, with milk rather than water, and mini marshmallows. you make it on the stove because it’s just better that way, and despite how you feel about yourself deserving things, you think you can waste the few extra minutes to make it the right way.

except you probably should have made the cup of coffee. after two am, your brain really, really stops working. your palm ends up against the burner of your stove and you cry out from pain before realizing what you’ve just done.

“fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck-” you curse, taking your hand to the sink immediately and running it under cold water. it stings and the pain isn’t going away, and then you realize a few other things.

one—that you have nothing besides bandaids and neosporin in this apartment. two—that you have no idea how to take care of a burn. and three—you really, really should have just gone to sleep.

on the verge of tears that are about to spill over, you keep your hand wrapped against a towel, slip into real shoes, and call an uber to the nearest emergency room. you’d walk but you’re in pajama shorts and a hoodie and it’s three in the morning and you don’t think you can handle anything else going wrong right now.

your paper is abandoned at your desk. the cup of hot chocolate with marshmallows melting in it looks at you almost jeeringly. and you think you’ll never trust your stove again.

you wait for a little bit but luckily, it’s not as packed as you were worried it’d be. you still have to finish that paper when you get back home, and if the sun is up by then there’ll be no sleeping for you. the nurse looks at you kindly when she notices your wet eyes and wobbly chin as you explain you accidentally burnt yourself and you didn’t know what to do.

“hold tight, honey. the doctor will be right in.” you thank her and then curse to yourself—you’re reaching levels of stupidity unknown to man. you hope she’ll tell the doctor it was just a burn and whoever it is will leave it at that. you don’t think you have energy to explain this to anyone and your face burns with embarrassment at the very idea.

then the curtain gets pulled back and he walks in and whatever thought you were thinking flies out the window.

“hi, i’m dr. abbot,” he says, his head tilted down—showing you a mane of messy salt and pepper curls—and looking at the tablet in his hands. he looks up at you to confirm your name and then your birthday, though in all honesty, he could have said something completely wrong and you would have nodded and agreed.

your doctor is handsome. he’s hot. like grey’s anatomy level hot. like, some other medical show that your brain recognizes but can’t currently remember the name of hot.

“so you burned yourself? can i take a look?” as stupid as it is—you don’t think you’ve ever been stunned into silence by a man before. his words are gentle and sincere and it sounds like he really cares about whatever's wrong with you—so many things you can't begin to name them all right now. fuck, he asked you something. you nod and then he looks up at you again. “i kind of need to hear you say it.”

fuck. me. what the hell kind of doctor says things like that to deliriously delusional women at three in the morning?

“yes. yes, thank you.” you move the towel and lift your palm towards him and he takes a gloved hand to support you. you can feel his fingers against the back of your hand, holding you in place, and normally that contact would be enough to have you reeling into never-never land where all the doctors are hot and single and you’re presenting with a more much cool, mature injury.

but then you notice his arms, and you have to bite your cheek so hard to not accidentally say anything you will without a doubt regret. hot doctor is jacked, with huge arms and a scrub top that covers most of his biceps. his forearms are thick and veiny and your eyes focus on them for way, way too long. you can make out so many freckles on his skin that it presents like a galaxy. you momentarily forget how badly your hand hurts. he sucks in a breath and looks at you again, making intense eye contact that you can’t bear. you look away immediately.

“ouch. so how’d this happen?” he asks, and you groan before you can stop yourself—of course he’s a good doctor who doesn’t cut corners and has to make sure you’re not suicidal or a masochist or something. “you okay, kid?”

what the fuck. one man cannot be doing it for you in so many ways—this dr. abbot should have never existed because you don’t know how you’re going to stop thinking about him. when you meet his eyes again and can actually look into them—hazel and very pretty, because of course they are—they’re filled with concern.

you can’t imagine how crazy you must look to him right now. plaid pajamas shorts, a grey hoodie for some sports team you know nothing about, messy hair. you curse yourself for not doing your makeup earlier.

“yes, i’m sorry. i-i was just hoping you wouldn’t ask.”

“yeah?” he says, with a teasing lilt to his voice. seriously, fuck this guy. “why’s that?”

“i…i was making hot chocolate. y’know, the good kind. stovetop with milk and the tiny-” jack looks at you with a smile, holding back a laugh and you lose your train of thought and trail off. “marshmallows. the tiny ones. and i was half-asleep already working on this paper, so, yeah. that’s, um, the story.”

jack asks you some other questions quietly—about what you’re in school for and how you like it—probably to distract you while he cleans your wounds. his touch alone is enough of a distraction and the way the muscles in his arms move while he does is enough to make you black out, but you still answer politely and try to not embarrass yourself further.

when your wound is all wrapped up, you cover your mouth to stifle a yawn and blink tiredly at dr. abbot.

“thank you,” you repeat for what must be the hundredth time—though you are very thankful. different people wearing scrubs interrupted him to ask a question probably three or four times and he never once stepped away from your bedside or left to go help someone else, even though you told him you could wait.

“you’re very welcome,” he stands up and you get your hand back and it feels much colder without his touch. stupid, you think to yourself, don’t think that! you are stupid! “now, don’t get this wet and change the wrap daily. when you’re changing, if it looks red or swollen or there’s any pus, you come straight back. and you’ll need burn gel. the nurse is going to give you some packets but it’s a bigger wound so you’ll have to buy a bottle at the pharmacy. that sound okay?”

you want to shake your head and tell him no, it kind of doesn’t. for starters you don’t want to leave his comfortable presence—maybe you’re just really lonely. if you had more money you’d get a cat so you’re not so alone all the time, but it’s one thing to subject yourself to poverty, bringing in a cute little kitten to your life is just stupid. oh god—there you go again. he said something and you can’t even remember what it is. you blink dumbly at dr. abbot.

right—burn gel. the real answer is no, insanely handsome doctor jack, i unfortunately cannot buy a bottle of burn gel at the moment, not until my next paycheck. but admitting all of that to him right now, after the already humiliating hot chocolate story, seems the emotional equivalent of your own personal 9/11. instead you lie and nod.

“sounds good.”

he smiles at you and you smile back, though you feel incredibly silly.

“don’t try to make hot chocolate half asleep again, kid. just go to bed next time,” jack says and you feel your face flush and burn at his words—you feel like a child getting scolded by dad. “and get some sleep, okay?”

“yeah. thank you, dr. abbot,” you say quietly. he smiles one last time, closes the curtain and leaves you in there alone again.

and though you thought it very nearly impossible, you do fuck up one more time before leaving pittsburg trauma medical center. you ask the nurse, who brings you two tiny samples of the burn gel, if there’s any way you could have more, explaining in not so many words that you’re a student and hoping that she gets the gist of what you’re trying to say.

“oh. well, let me go ask dr. abbot, and if he says yes, i can-”

“no! no, never mind. this is perfect, i’ll figure it out, um-” you scramble to your feet to get the burn gel packets and your paperwork.

“just one second, okay, i’ll be right back.” the nurse—young and very pretty and probably new, which is why she wants to make sure she’s not making a mistake, rushes out.

and you, not sure if this is exactly against-medical-advice, take your belongings and head outside to go back home.

(the nurse does go to jack—asking if she can give you some more packets of burn gel because you can’t afford it. he agrees immediately, thinking that he would have given you more if you had told him, wondering why you hadn’t. he goes back to your bed to give them to you himself, but you’re not there.)

and two days later, staring at your hand post-shower, still needing to write two thousand words before bed, you wonder if it looks a little… red.

you hadn’t gotten it wet, but you’re using the burn gel sparingly, and maybe because you’re not using enough, it had gotten infected.

fuck. you should have just coughed up the money to pay for the big bottle—you’re so dumb sometimes. you try to justify that it’s not red, it’s just the lighting, but when you take a picture with flash, you don’t think it’s in your head.

an hour later, it starts to hurt again like the first day. double fuck.

grumbling something about cyclical poverty, you pull on your hoodie over your outfit of the day, which was at least some-what cute. both things thrifted—a denim skirt and a plain pink henley—but it’s cold, so on the jacket goes. it’s a struggle to get it on without hurting your hand but you figure it out. it’s only just hit nine o’clock but it’s dark—so there goes another charge for the uber.

you go inside and go up to the lady with whom you check in, telling her you were here a few days ago for a burn, and that somehow must mean you get priority access, because the nurse—a different one—brings you back right away.

you wait for someone to tell you dr. abbot’s not here but there’s another just-as-good doctor, preferably one with normal arms and a normal smile that doesn’t make the lines around his eyes crinkle and light up his whole face and doesn’t make you fall headfirst into numerous, unrealistic fantasies, mostly centered around what a hug in those absolutely abnormal arms would feel like and—

you realize you’ve lost the plot as soon as dr. abbot pulls back the curtain.

“oh. i didn’t know if it would be you again.”

“it’s me again.” you must look starstruck, you conclude, with the way he looks at you and smiles and takes a seat on the stool in the room. now you’re the one staring—crow’s feet and all. “so what happened?”

“i was looking at it after my shower and, i-i don’t know, it just looks red. and it started to hurt again and i-i have to write so many papers and i don’t wanna lose my whole hand because i didn’t use enough burn gel-”

“hey,” he says, firmly yet still tinged with gentleness. like someone talking to a skittish animal—which, you think, you pretty much are at this point. the fact that he's the one taming you makes you dizzy. “you’re gonna be fine. you’re here now, so i can take of it.”

you refuse to let yourself read between the lines—the way he only mentions himself. the way you think he should have said so i can take care of you.

“o-okay. thank you, dr. abbot.”

you peel away the shitty, rushed bandage wrap and let him observe your palm closely. he’s so close that you can almost feel the heat radiating from his body.

after what feels like ages, he tells you it’s not infected. you sigh before you can stop yourself, shoulders sagging in relief. jack looks at you with an expression you don’t recognize—like he’s a little confused and amused at the same time.

“but it’s good that you came in anyways.” you face burns when he pulls out a tube of the burn you were supposed to be using generously from the pocket of his scrubs.

“oh, um, listen, i can explain-”

“don’t worry about it, kid.” you accept the bottle and stare at him and he does the usual thing—tells you to come in if it gets worse, use the gel and if you need another tube, just come back here and find him, making you flush hard and get teary-eyed when he finally leaves.

maybe it’s just nice to be taken care of, for once. but you shouldn’t get dependent on it. you indulge in the reality until the uber is there to take you home, and then you conclude that you’ll likely never see dr. jack abbot, the kind hearted, good physician who took care of your wound twice now, ever again.

until you do.

sometimes your work writes itself when you’re in a new environment, and you blame the lack of progress on your boring, tiny apartment. there’s a coffee shop not too far from campus that another girl in your masters program had told you about. good coffee, even better pastries, and there’s always cute guys, she had said with a laugh.

you had been so focused on figuring out what the cheapest thing to buy was that you forgot the ending half of your friend’s sentence. from the hospital nearby.

there’s always cute guys from the hospital nearby.

you get settled with a small iced coffee and start typing away, working with an intent to make sure this paper gets done because it’s been put off long enough, when the door opens and you almost feel him before you see him.

it’s eight in the morning. why would he even be here? it’s not him—you conclude, staring at the back of a man in a dark blue shirt that fits him a little too snugly and green cargo pants. you don’t see the telltale black stethoscope or an id badge that tells you anything, just the profile of his back and a head of messy, gray curls.

fuck. it's him, isn't it? of course it's him. jack orders and then steps away to wait for it, hot coffee black in the biggest size they have. and when he turns around, he sees you looking at him like a deer in headlights. then you turn your head down immediately, as if you’re trying to hide and make yourself as small as you can.

he chuckles to himself because you’re pretty cute when you do things like that.

you keep your head down long enough, pretending to be so engrossed in your paper, that you get a little too locked-in, not realizing the footsteps approaching belong to him.

“is this seat empty?” jack asks, and you almost jolt with the realization that he’s so close to you.

you look up tentatively, bracing yourself for the encounter, reminding yourself not to act a complete fool like you have the last two times.

“yes. hi, dr. abbot. small world, huh,” you say, though it’s not a question, more of a cruel joke.

“yeah, kid. you still working on that paper?”

“yes. it’s, um, a real beast,” you say, before realizing how dumb you must sound to him. “oh my god, not that, it’s like a real job, or anything, or as hard as yours. it’s just taking a lot longer than usual, and-” “don’t say that. that’s plenty hard. i couldn’t do it, that’s for sure,” he says, in that gentle voice that still sounds like he’s teasing you but you know he’s not because he’s so sincere. your head feels like it's spinning from a single sentence.

“really?” you ask, feeling like a stupid, scared child all over again.

“yes.”

the validation washes over you and you try to soak in every drop—it’s been a while that someone older than you hasn’t made you feel silly for what you’re pursuing. or rather, for the fact that it is hard sometimes, that it’s not just typing away at a computer all day. the research and the readings and the discussions and everything that you pour into your work, the stuff that no one in your life save for your favorite professors seem to understand.

jack is intoxicating, and you’re beginning to realize how much of a problem that is.

he smiles at you and you smile at him, reaching for your coffee just so you have something else to focus on because his attention is almost blinding, when you stop your hand half-way. it’s empty.

you bring your hand back to your lap awkwardly and look up at him, hoping he didn’t notice. he did.

“so, are you coming straight from the hospital?” you try to pivot the conversation away from yourself because the truth is that you could listen to him talk for hours.

“yeah, i just finished the night shift. and i’ve got a couple days off so i figured i’d get a coffee before tackling my list of things i’ve been putting off.”

“that’s always a smart idea,” you say.

“yeah. you’re doing the same thing, huh?”

“i guess i just needed to get out of the house. and drink something that’s made without bodily harm involved.”

he laughs, so you laugh, and then you stare at his pretty, sparkly eyes and wonder why everything feels so easy around him. the concern that you’re not good enough or not working hard enough melts away and you feel so much lighter. your struggles are forgotten, if just for a moment, and you realize that this, unfortunately, is something very bad. because he’s not going to be around you much longer.

the barista calls out his name and he says he’ll be right back, getting up quickly. you think he would have said that he’ll see you around and in true doctor fashion, remind you to take care of your wound, but he didn’t.

you conclude that he must be saving it for after his coffee, that he’ll pass by on the way out. you’re a little distracted with your thoughts to notice that he’s gone for a little too long.

he comes back with his coffee—large and in a hot cup, the polar opposite of yours—and a pastry in a bag.

but then he hands it to you.

“oh—what?” you ask, confused.

“it’s for you. you haven’t eaten, right?” “well, no, but i-” he sets the bag down next to your empty coffee cup. “you didn’t have to do that, i, um, i-”

“that’s okay. i was a student once too, y’know.”

“yeah. wow, um, thank you. that’s so nice of you.” you’re so stunned you can’t even begin to piece together jack’s reaction. it’s a five dollar pastry, and he thinks briefly he’d buy you ten of them if you really wanted, with how grateful you seem.

“they’re making you another coffee, so pay attention for your name.”

“dr. abbot, i-” your eyes are wide like coins, heart thudding in your chest, confused and dizzy and unable to process how nice this man is.

“it’s nothing, kid. don’t worry about it.”

you laugh at how crazy this whole things seem to you—or maybe you’re just not very used to nice things.

“you should stop because i’m gonna get used to this,” you say half-joking with a smile and another laugh, taking a bite of the delicious pastry so he’ll be appeased.

“maybe you should.” you blink at him. “i gotta go, kid, but here’s my number.” he takes out a pen from his pocket and scribbles the number on the back of the paper bag the pastry came in. “call me if you need anything, hm? for your hand or anything else."

you stare at him blankly, and he laughs, and heads out with his coffee, turning to look at you one last time when he’s at the door.

the barista calls out your name and there’s a large iced coffee waiting for you on the counter.

yeah, you’re in trouble.

you save jack’s contact but you don’t text him, worried that he’ll think you only want to see him for his money or the seemingly endless generosity that’s always pouring from him.

you do need need help—there's a half assembled desk from facebook marketplace that you didn't have the tools to finish yourself, despite how hard you tried. but you can't possibly ask him for help with that—he's a stranger. he's your doctor. so you don't do anything with his number.

it’s just as well because the universe has other plans for you two.

you work a part-time job to pay for your tiny apartment. it’s inconsistent, you get scheduled when they’re really busy, and now that it’s getting warmer out, there's more shifts.

so saturday morning, bright and early, you get ready, first wrapping your hand as discreetly as you can. it’s doing much better now, half of which you attest to the burn gel and half to jack’s healing powers. then your hair and make-up, and then whatever seems suitable for the hot weather today.

there’s no uniform, at least, and you decide on a black athletic skirt and a pink shirt with the material that helps you not get too sweaty, even though you’re in the shade of the drink cart for most of your shift.

it’ll be a full day so you pack lunch and fill up your water bottle before making your way to the golf course. you’re assigned a specific section and you pray to god it’s filled with stupid, rich businessman who tip way too much if you flutter your eyelashes at them.

it’s a little skeevy at times, but money is money, and no one’s ever tried anything more than a failed pick-up line or the more sober friends dragging away the drunk guy who lingers, even though they all wear wedding bands.

you make the first round, and though it’s early and you’re more of a disarming, clumsy sort of charming, when you smile brightly and say it’s five o’clock somewhere, it’s enough to the men golfing to laugh and buy hard seltzers.

a little bit later, the beers start selling, and by noon, you have to go restock your cart. it’s been a good shift—you think if it keeps up like this, your tips will be enough to put towards rent and if there’s extra, you can go find a dress if you ever work up the nerve to text jack and ask him on a date.

but post lunch, to your surprise, it slows down a little. it’s hot out and you have to admit to yourself you were never going to be brave enough to text jack. at least if your rent gets almost paid, you’ll feel better than you did last night.

you drive around on the cart, stopping in front of a tall man who you think is golfing alone. in your experience, if they’re alone, they’re looking to get drunk.

“hi,” you sing, hoping he’s a good tipper. he looks nice when he smiles at you but you never know. “would you like anything to drink?”

“two beers, please. thank you, sweetheart.”

the nickname, like always, make you a little flustered. it’s always the older guys who lavish them on you, and when they’re wrinkly and too old it’s not that big of a deal, but when they’re in this one specific age range—your heart churns remembering that jack is probably a part of that group, just like this guy—it’s enough to make you spiral. many things are, you conclude, unsure how you’ve made it this far in life.

“two?” you confirm, since you don’t see anyone else around.

“yes, just waiting on a buddy of mine.”

“oh, okay. coming right up,” you respond, leaning over to pick up two beers. when you turn back to tell them the price, again, you feel him before you hear it.

“our livers are gonna be shot, man.” you hear it in the distance.

“well, after the week i’ve had, i deserve it-” the man next to you shouts out to his friend, who you, unfortunately, recognize. you hear footsteps getting closer and closer.

“yeah, yeah. don’t come calling when you want a piece of my liver. i got it,” jack says, approaching you. you turn around to face him. “oh. hi, kid. talk about a coincidence, huh?”

you want to say something but you’re not sure how to get it out without stammering.

jack’s eyes rake over your body—short skirt, tight shirt, cute golf shoes that you had spent way too much money on. you just wanted to play the role and fit in and it had all seemed worth it at the time.

and then he notices how you’re holding onto the beers with both hands, condensation dripping onto your mostly-dry bandage. and he turns into dr. abbot right before your eyes. “hey, hey, let me take those. you’re supposed to be keeping this thing dry,” he says, handing one over to robby.

“you two know each other?” his friend says, his eyes going from you to jack and back to you.

“yeah. listen, i’ll be right over.”

“sure,” robby says. “thank you again for the beer,” he tells you and you weakly smile before he walks away.

“i-i did keep it dry. it’s doing better. but i didn’t want to turn down work so-”

“yeah, but, i don’t want you compromising the healing. how long have you been out here? have you been drinking water?”

“yes, i have,” you say earnestly, his concern for you making you light-headed, though you resist the urge to fall directly into his arms, no matter how much it possesses you.

“as your doctor, i don’t think i can recommend this.”

“i’m sorry,” you say, unsure of what else you can tell him. “you know how it is. gotta pay for coffee somehow, right?”

“you didn’t text me. or call. i was hoping for a call but i figured you’d send a text, but then you didn’t.”

“i’m sorry-” “stop apologizing. i-i’m kidding. you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. i just meant-” “i wanted to,” you pipe up, interrupting him. “i still want to. i just-i just got nervous, i guess. you’re like a real doctor and i’m, i’m barely a real student.” “why do you do that?” “do what?” “make it seem like it��s lesser. you are a student, you told me all about it. it’s impressive.”

“no it’s not. you don’t have to lie-” “i’m not lying.”

you pause, processing everything happening in front of you.

“i’m sorry i didn’t text you.”

“that’s okay, kid. i’ll take your word for it this time.” “i didn’t think you’d actually want to see me, i guess.”

“yeah? why’s that?” he gets in a little closer, until he’s in the shade of your cart with you. he stares intensely and you feel yourself getting warm, unable to answer, unable to even remember what he had said.

“i-i-”

“you, you?” you hear it in the distance—his friend calling out his name. jack takes a step away from you and looks over. “i gotta go. thanks for the beer, kid.” he pushes cash into your hand and you feel like you’ve been shocked with a live wire where your hands touch. “if you don’t text me, i can’t get your number, you know.”

and then he walks away. and in your hand is a hundred-dollar bill for two beers.

it turns out, that texting jack was, indeed, a mistake. you text him a simple sentence—hi, followed with your name so he knows who it is. maybe he has other former patients he’s giving his number out to—you don’t know. (you hope not, as the thought just made you nauseous.)

he calls you a few minutes later and completely unprepared, you have to answer, and talk to him on the phone as you pace around your tiny living room until your downstairs neighbor hits the ceiling with a broom to get you to stop.

jack is a planner, you realize, because after the phone call where he asked about your day and you learned about his, you have a date for friday night.

against every better instinct, you go buy a new, used dress for the date from your favorite consignment store, using the money from jack’s tip. you get dressed up hours in advance, unable to focus on your work, but rather chewing your cheek and reapplying your lip gloss until it’s time to go downstairs.

jack meets you outside your apartment, though he tells you he was going to come up. he has flowers for you but you elect to carry them, not sure if you’re prepared for him to see the tiny place you call home.

this has never happened before. your first date with a man, rather than a boy, and he brought you flowers and he’s driving you to the restaurant and he gets out first and tells you to wait and then goes around and opens the door for you.

it’s ridiculous. it’s like a movie.

the first date goes well, you think.

well—it’s the best first date you’ve ever had. jack tells you all about his life but he always stops to ask about yours, though yours isn’t nearly as interesting. instead you preen him on about his time in the service, and he tells you about the prosthetic you saw when he was at the golf course, and why he wanted to become a doctor and how he likes it there now.

(when you bring that up, he puts his hand over your injured one, still wrapped with a much smaller bandage than before, and asks how your hand is for probably the third time that night, like he has to keep checking to make sure you’re okay. it’s dizzying. everything about him is dizzying.)

he lets you pick dessert and walks you up to your door and kisses you goodnight, and you have to refrain from inviting him inside right then and there.

you stare at the flowers daily—not sure when one date had become two, and then three, and then four.

he brings you a box of chocolates—the good kind—on the second date and you makeout for twenty minutes in his car after. new flowers on the third one, when you end up seeing inside his gorgeous apartment for the first time and also end up on his lap for the better part of an hour.

and then the fourth one, which was supposed to be a late lunch after his shift at the hospital, you very nearly have to cancel. jack is outside your door and you still have a complex about your apartment, but you let him inside while you scramble around.

“woah, woah,” he says, steadying you by your shoulders and turning you towards him. “what’s going on?”

“um, work called and this girl is sick and they want me to come in but i-i have to see the bus times or call an uber and i don’t even know where my golf shoes are and-”

“just tell them no, then sweetheart,” he says, and you blink at him.

“but i should really go. if it’s busy it’s like enough to pay half my rent, and-” jack sighs, moving his hands from your shoulders to your waist.

“i don’t think you should have to worry about things like this.”

the way he says it, it sounds very final, very firm and absolute.

“i wish it was that easy,” you say, but when you turn to meet jack’s eyes again, he’s already looking at you intensely.

“it is. let me care of it.”

and it’s jarring. letting him pay for every date—though you paid for the ice cream after date two, something you pride yourself on—is one thing. letting him pay for coffee because he sends you money when you mention you’re going to the coffee shop to work is… something. but letting him pay for your life—your rent and your bills—is something else entirely. it’s dependence, it’s serious, it’s what you’d expect if you were engaged or his sugar baby or something—

“stop overthinking it. you know how much i like you, right?” you nod dumbly. “then let me take care of it. let me take care of you.”

unfortunately—it’s way, way too easy to give in. you’ve never been the spoiled sort, ever, but with jack, you get to be. you tell work you can’t come in and you don’t feel incredibly guilty about it for the first time. you get to go on your lunch date and then kiss jack goodbye and tell him to have a good day at work, instead. jack sends you a direct deposit for your rent, and you think he’s made a mistake at first—it’s almost double what you need. you call him to tell him about his mistake but he says the same thing he always does.

i know. the extra is for you. don’t worry about it, kid.

it’s incredible what those five words can do to your body and soul. it gets worse—the next time you see him, when you’re hearing home after a day of classes and he’s heading to the hospital, he takes out a little box and hands it to you, telling you to open it at home. and then he kisses you until your knees are weak and drops you off at your apartment.

on the elevator, you open it—a pretty necklace with a glittery diamond that probably costs three times your monthly rent.

you’ve never thought you’d get used to be spoiled like this so quickly—but you do. it’s not like you need so many luxurious things, but the little luxuries add up so quickly to the point where you’re overwhelmed. a new pair of shoes for every day because your old ones were hurting your soles. a large coffee and a pastry when you go to the coffeeshop to work. when your laptop stops working, you don’t freak out and cry like you’re programmed to do, you just tell jack and he helps you pick out a new one a few hours later.

intoxicating is the only word you can use to describe jack abbot and his affect on you.

and after another date—matching earrings for your necklace this time, ones that he helped you put on—you end up in apartment, staring at the bustling city below you from his huge windows. jack comes up behind you, kissing your cheek and then your ear, which makes you laugh, and then your shoulder and your neck, and you melt into his touch.

you’ve been doing nothing but kissing for the time you’ve known him, and you think you’ve been fed up for long enough. actually, you know you have, but he’s been the one insisting to take it slow, like he doesn’t want to scare you off.

you wrap your arms around him and bring him in for another kiss, though this one feels slightly different. hot and wet and hard, the two of you pushed so tightly against each other that your mouth hurts. you open it further to let him push his tongue inside, and you realize as fun as this is, you need more. you need whatever jack abbot will give you.

his hands—still enough to make you think voltage is buzzing through them because every time he touches you, you feel like you’ve been hit with a live wire—grab your waist and roam up and down your back. you moan into his mouth and jack pulls away briefly, letting you catch your breath.

“please, jack?” you ask, and that’s all he can let you get out, smashing his mouth against yours again.

you squeal when he picks you up, carrying you to the bedroom and letting you land on his bed with a gentle thud.

“i wanted to stay out there,” you say softly, running your hands over his shirt, exploring his chest. your hands go to the buttons, undoing them even through your hands feel a little shaky.

“yeah? why’s that?” jack answers in that quiet, rough voice that makes you so wet you can’t think straight. he hovers over you, leaning into press another kiss to your neck that makes you moan. “wanted to give everyone a show, huh?” he presses his lips to yours and you giggle against them.

“s’not my fault you have such big windows.” then, emboldened, you keep going. “maybe i just wanted to show everyone that i can take care of you too.”

jack pulls away, staring at you with those eyes. those eyes, those eyes. it’s enough to drive you crazy, the way his gaze is so intense. you feel chills run through your whole body despite how hot and flushed you feel. you can’t help it—jack abbot makes you feel every emotion in the book at the same time.

“yeah, kid? you want to take care of me?” you nod, your hand finishing unbuttoning his shirt and helping him take it off.

“please, jack. i really do.” you let your hand wander to his bulge, palming him while biting your lip at the sheer size you’re feeling. he’s so big it’s going to hurt—though right now you can’t think about anything other than getting him inside your mouth so you can finally begin to take care of him how he’s been taking care of you.

“next time, kid, i promise-”

“ja-ack,” you whine. you think you’ve gotten a little too used to getting exactly what you want from him. it’s his own fault—he shouldn’t have spoiled you so much.

“come on, sweetheart. i thought you’d be good for me, huh?”

“but i wanted to-” you feel jack’s hands wander up your thighs, searching for the fabric of your panties, but he can’t find it. instead he feels the wetness between your legs, the your juices coating the inside of your thighs. he chokes out a laugh, burying his head into your neck like he can’t believe the sight in front of him.

“you’re not wearing anything underneath this?” he asks, and you shake your head, biting back a smile. “oh, kid. you’re in for it now.”

you squeal again, trying to fight his hard grip but jack keeps you firm in place, his lips crushing down on yours again, his tongue in your mouth. he pulls your dress up until it’s bunched around your thighs, and he’s still in his slacks but you want him inside of you so badly that you don’t think you can wait for the clothes to come off.

“shh,” jack says against your ear, nipping at it right above your pretty new earrings. “i’ll give you what you want. i just gotta stretch you out first.”

the words are enough to make your eyes roll all the way back—your head hits the pillow with a thud. jack keeps you distracted with a kiss while your wrap your hands around his neck. his finger get closer and closer to where you want them, and when he slips inside one thick finger, you gasp against his lips.

“yeah?” he teases, “feel good? i know, sweetheart, just take it.”

the stretch of just one is incredible, but then he adds a second, pushing them in and out with his palm flush against your clit, the pressure building in your stomach already.

it’s a combination of everything, you think. the soft sheets that smell like him, the way you’re both too eager to even take your clothes off. how the jewelry you’re wearing is from him, just because.

and finally, his weight on top of you, even when you’re begging him to let you take care of him for once, he can’t rest, he can’t stop it, like it’s so engrained in him. like his only mission in life is to take care of you.

jack adds a third finger and you don’t think you’ve ever been so stretched out in your life. panting against him, you lean in for another kiss, sloppy and wet.

you pull back so you can stare at jack’s expression while he fucks his fingers into you harder and faster, so wet that he’s almost slipping out. he’s flushed, pretty silver hair damp against his forehead, and you reach over without thinking to brush some of it away.

“c’mon kid, cum for me. i know you want to. let me take care of you, hm? don’t think, don’t think, just cum-”

and you do. it’s explosive, though you’ve always thought this sort of orgasm was impossible for you to achieve. you guess nothing’s impossible when jack abbot is the one doing it. you hear him before you fully feel it—fuck, yes, good girl—and your entire body tenses and tightens as that coil low in your belly snaps and washes over you. if you had ever thought his touch was electric, then today it was lightening. he rides you through it, not stopping until you’re practically pushing his hand away, and even then, he only stops to laugh against your sweaty skin.

like he knew it’d be too much for you. like he’s only just begun breaking you in.

every muscle is aching and sore by the end of it. your body collapses into his mattress and you flutter your eyes shut, still leaning for another kiss, even when your brain is so tired it can’t think straight.

“good job, sweetheart,” he says, and you hum against him. “you think you’re ready for it?”

when he says it like that, you can’t help but nod.

jack lines himself up with your leaking cunt, and you can’t imagine what a mess you’ve made on his nice sheets. but when he pushes inside you, your eyes roll back again and you lose all train of thought.

damn him—you can’t even keep a sentence coherent anymore. it’s not fair.

you feel so full. your toes curl and your muscles scream at you, but with jack’s grip tight on your hips, the fabric of his pants rubbing against you because he had just taken himself out, not taken them off entirely, it’s hard to complain.

he sets a rhythm that makes you cry out against him, so loud that you’re worried his neighbors will hear. but jack doesn’t seem to care, encouraging you, hitting that spot inside of you that makes you see stars over and over again.

the sheer size of him is enough to make you cum again, you think, deliriously and delusionally.

your eyes are shut tight, but when you open them and meet jack’s eyes, you smile at him like you can’t believe this is real.

“j-jack,” you moan, unsure of your own volume. you hear the bedframe thud against the wall repeatedly, feel jack hold your legs up to get deeper in you, if that’s even possible. he looks down at where you two are connected, like he’s unable to pull his gaze away from there. “jack, it feel s-so good,” you hiccup, wet eyes meeting his.

“yeah, kid?” he asks, the words coming out in a shuddery breath. “fuck, oh fuck.” hearing him say that makes your toes curl, and when he picks up his pace and starts battering against that one spot in you, your feel it again—the electric current washing over you and running through each nerve, making your limbs into jello and your heart race so fast you think it’ll thud out of your chest.

you dig your nails into jack’s back, leaving little crescent shaped marks in your wake. and when you bring him for another kiss, you whisper it against his lips, watery eyes blinking up at him through wet eyelashes, just because you felt like you had to say it.

“thank you for taking care of me, jack.” you feel it before you hear him—his hips stuttering, streams of hot cum filling you up endlessly until you’ve made a mess all around him. he groans loudly—a noise that you wish you could hear on repeat from how good he sounds, how good you made him feel.

none of this is grounding—it’s so extremely un-grounding that you feel like you’re floating on clouds.

though you wish he wouldn’t, jack pulls out of you. his sheets must be ruined by now.

“you okay, sweetheart?” he asks, and you can’t believe this is your life.

“yes. are you okay?” you ask quietly, throat sore.

“yes,” he says, with a laugh, he helps you pull the skirt of your dress down and curl up next to him. his chest is warm and you think you could fall asleep pressed up against him like this.

you trace patterns on his forearm where it rests next to you and stare at all the freckles.

“we should have stayed out there. the sun’s setting soon.”

“yeah?” “yeah. i like your apartment.” you sigh and mew next to him, curling in closer, close to sleep.

“yeah, kid? how would you feel about moving in?”

♡ thanks for reading!

#as a 9/11 baby i am allowed (1) one joke per year #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #guys this is so rushed im sorry but i hope everyone likes it!! <3 #sugar baby reader

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biggest-gaudiest-patronuses · 1 year ago

Text

i watched My Neighbor Totoro for the first time, here's my chronological viewing experience:

woo-hoo! dusty old japanese house with japanese architectural details aplenty

these kids got some ENERGY my goodness

family dynamic's adorable. peak quality dad humor

kids: our house is haunted. parents: that's so cool!

hell yeah, wrinkled old lady rep. we need more friendly old women with potato faces and warts like storybook witches. the backbone of society, these ladies

Plot Summary: Small Child Bothers Local Wildlife

sacred tree sacred tree sacred tree

Introducing Totoro! nobody said this fucker's got TEETH???

Uh-Oh! Inadequate Parental Supervision Detected

(you misplaced your four year old! you're not supposed to do that)

4-year-old: i met a magic forest spirit. dad: oh shit fr?

4-year-old: *angrily hugs sister* missed u bitch

this small child has a smile like a toad. like a really really cute toad. like the cutest toad in all existence. i love her she's perfection please just let this child be happy

rice paddies are so pretty....so back breaking....rice is such a prissy crop

*my crush is stranded in a rainstorm* takethisumbrellait'syoursnowBYE *runs away in panic im so good at flirting*

Giant Chinchilla Learns To Hold Umbrella, Is Fucking Delighted By Experience

take this, it will help you on your quest! *hands u trail mix wrapped in a leaf*

LO-FI HIP HOP STUDY LIST!

crouching down to peer at dirt--A++ top notch foundational childhood experience

mom has a big ass forehead

honey! the chinchillas are performing Rituals in the backyard again

help yeah let's jack and the bean stalk this shit

huh so we're all just climbing aboard the giant chinchilla's tiddies now ok

class trip!

the pure adrenaline of Vegetable Gardening

no! the small child is crying! she is bawling her eyes out. no no no. i can't cope with this. emotionally i cannot cope 🥺🥺🥺

i've only had Mei one hour but if anything happens to her i will raze this earth and everyone on it

please someone make this small child smile again

oh no the tall child is crying too

i can't take this. my heart can't take this.

i need a drink

small child running determined to deliver magic veggies to the hospital. this kid is my hero

she is also unsupervised. so, so unsupervised

babe you are FOUR

godDAMMIT ghibli, you cannot give me watercolor sunsets while a small child is missing. u are killing me. my heart is giving out. this is me, experiencing heart failure.

Totoro to the rescue!

no wait CATBUS to the rescue!

i admit i initially thought the cat was a creep. alice in wonderland prejudiced me. i have revised my notions of smiling cats

i've decided the cat is a metaphor for the magic of a robust public transport system

MEI'S OKAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!

and so is mom. she's a lovely lady im sorry for what i said about her forehead. it's a noble forehead.

happy ending YES bitch!!!!!!

ok. ok ok ok. that was magical.

(as a first-time adult viewer i was worried i wouldn't be able to Access the Magic. but i could and i did and it was incredible. that was culture. that was ART. joy distilled into animated form. holy rites of childhood. i understand now. how glorious, this world we grow out of. how full of marvels. i'm going outside to smell grass and sun and get dirt under my fingernails. miraculous.)

#mr ghibli please you cannot do this to my heart #totoro #my neighbor totoro #spoilers #?#initially i misspelled Totoro as Tortoro throughout the entire post #i fixed it but dear heavens i was tempted to leave it in. you're WELCOME

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houseofaegon · 1 month ago

Note

Bob and a reader who bruises easily and when they have sex the reader is usually marked up the next day?

Marked ✩ Bob Reynolds

Pairings: Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolt!Reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. explicit sexual scenes, bruising (reader bruises easily), rough sex, possessive!bob, protective older brother!bucky, strong language, secret relationship, minor angst, fluff, found family, chaotic thunderbolts energy, family dynamics, violence (threatened),

Summary: You and Bob had been sneaking around for months, the thrill of secrecy only fueling the fire and desire. But bruises from the night before threaten to unravel everything—especially when Bucky Barnes sees them and goes into full protective big brother mode.

Author's Note: omg you guyssssssss!!! i had so much fun writing this one. i am so obsessed with the whole secret relationship setup, and bucky going full protective older brother mode???? ughhhhhh I'm obsessed. i love my boyfriends<3 yelena my baby I love love love writing her so much she's sooo ughhh I love her!!!! i love myself some found family<3 keep the requests comingggggg!!!! i’ve got so many on my inbox already i’ve been planning out all of the fics so they’ll be posted soon<3

You woke up tangled in sheets, muscles aching, skin kissed with tenderness. Bob's arm was drapped heavy over your waist, the rise and fall of his chest pressing your back into him, grounding you, like he needed the contact to breathe. He always held you like that after—like if he let go, you might vanish.

A dull ache throbbed deep in your thighs, your hips, the slope of your neck. Each mark a reminder of the night before. Of how careful he tried to be. Of how easily he lost himself in you when the door was closed and the rest of the world disappeared.

It had started slow, like it always did.

Quiet knock on your door, late enough for the others to be asleep or buried in their own distractions. Bob would linger in the hall, hoodie thrown over his head, hands in his pockets like some kind of teenage boy sneaking into his girlfriend's room.

The moment the door clicked shut, the tension would snap. You’d throw yourself at him—starving, always starving—and he’d catch you every time.

Last night was no different. You'd been watching him all day, practically squirming on the sidelines of the gym while he trained with Yelena.

That damn white shirt clung to him, soaked through sweat, riding up every time he moved. His biceps flexed with every punch, his golden curls damp and wild. You caught him watching you more than once, eyes dark, mouth parted.

He looked wrecked before you even touched him.

By the time he showed up at your door, you didn’t say a word. You grabbed him by the collar of his hoodie, yanked him into your room, and kissed him like he was oxygen.

His hands trembled when they touched your waist. “I’ll be careful,” he whispered, even as you guided him to the bed, tugging his clothes off, already breathless.

“You don’t have to be,” you said. "I don't want you to be."

He kissed down your neck, hands gripping your thighs like he was anchoring himself. When his mouth found your pulse point, he sucked just hard enough to draw a moan—and the bruise bloomed seconds later.

He pulled back to look at the mark, already forming, then looked up at you with something feral in his eyes. “You’re so fucking soft,” he groaned. “I’m gonna mark every inch of you. Mine. All of you.”

You gripped his hair, kissed him harder. “Then do it.”

His fingers laced with yours, pinning them above your head as he pushed into you slowly, the stretch of him drawing a gasp from your lips. He watched your face like it was the only thing that mattered.

His thrusts were slow, deep, patient at first—until you begged.

“Harder, Bob. Please. Don’t hold back.”

He shuddered. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“I do,” you gasped. “I want all of you.”

His mouth crashed into yours, and the dam broke.

You swore the headboard cracked. The bed groaned beneath you. Your name was a prayer on his tongue, murmured between bruising kisses and gasped apologies he didn’t need to make.

Because you loved the marks. The ache. The secrecy.

The thrill of sneaking out of his room at 3AM, hair a mess, lips swollen. Of pretending nothing happened in the halls the next day. Of brushing fingers under the table during briefings, eyes meeting like a promise.

And in those moments—when no one else knew, when it was just you and him—you felt more his than ever.

You traced a bruise on your collarbone absently as you slipped out of his bed, one of his t-shirts falling to mid-thigh. You bit your lip to hide the satisfied smile. Bruised and adored. Just how you liked it.

The tower was still quiet as you crept back to your room to change, slipping into gym shorts and a hoodie for morning training. You paused once, catching your reflection in your bathroom mirror—faint marks painting your hips, the curve of your neck, the inside of your thigh.

Heat flushed through you at the memory. His hands gripping your waist. His voice—“You’re mine.”

You tugged the hoodie tighter and headed down to start training.

The gym was already humming with low music and the sound of punches hitting pads. Bucky was setting up on the mat, hoodie off, sweat darkening the collar of his black shirt. He gave you a quick nod when you walked in—his version of a good morning.

Bucky Barnes had been like a brother to you since day one. Not in the forced “everyone on a team is family” way—no, this was different. Real.

He was rough around the edges when you first joined the Thunderbolts, all tight-lipped commands and watchful eyes. Cold. Distance. Guarded. But something in you cracked through that hard soldier shell. Maybe it was how stubborn you were. How warm. Unafraid to rile him up, to poke the bear. Maybe it was how you asked too many questions. Or the way you always saved him a seat in the briefing room. Or how you reminded him—without meaning to—what it felt like to care about someone without it turning into war.

You sometimes reminded him of Steve.

He saw him in you. In the way you saw people. In how you never gave up on anyone, not even him. In the way you could smile even after a mission gone sideways and still say, "We're okay. We'll figure this shit out."

You were brave. Kind. Loyal.

You were the thing Steve used to fight for.

And Bucky—he didn’t say it, couldn’t say it—but he clung to that. To you. Because if someone like you could believe in him, then maybe there was still something worth saving inside him.

That’s why he called you “kid,” even though you weren’t.

That’s why he tossed you his hoodie when you were cold, sat beside you when you couldn’t sleep, and taught you how to break a man’s wrist with a flick of your body weight.

He watched over you in the field. Back-to-back in a firefight. A quiet hand on your shoulder after a tough mission. His voice, always steady, always low: “You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

He wasn’t your teammate. He wasn’t a friend.

He was your brother. Your family. Not by blood. But by bond. By choice.

And that made what happened next inevitable.

Because when he saw those bruises, the ground shifted underneath his feet. All he could see was someone hurting you. And he'd spent decades trying to protect people like you, people he cared about. He had lost Steve. He wasn't going to lose you.

“You’re late,” he said.

“Barely,” you said, grinning. “Try smiling once in a while.”

He rolled his eyes. “Try not tripping over your own feet.”

“Rude,” you said.

He tossed you a set of gloves. “Let’s go. Standard drills.”

You started slow. Footwork. Blocks. He moved easily, but watched your form like a hawk, correcting gently with a hand at your hip, your wrist, your shoulder.

“Looser on the right,” he murmured. “You’re tightening up too much, kiddo.”

“I’m fine.”

“Mm-hmm.” His tone was skeptical. “Take off the hoodie.”

You froze.

“It’s hot in here,” he added, too casually. “And you’re sweating like hell.”

“Bucky—”

“Off, Y/N.”

Shit.

You sighed, peeled it off, revealing the tank top beneath—and the faint, fresh constellation of bruises that peppered your collarbone and shoulders.

The moment the hoodie dropped to the mat, everything stopped.

Bucky’s whole body tensed.

His eyes locked on the marks. A slow, terrible realization crawling across his face like storm clouds. His voice was suddenly razor sharp.

He stopped breathing.

“What the fuck is that?”

You blinked, already knowing where this was going. “It’s nothing, Bucky.”

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice dropped, deadly quiet. “Who did this?”

“I said it’s nothing—”

His gaze narrowed. “Don’t bullshit me. Y/N, what is that?” He stepped forward, fingers brushing the side of your neck. His touch was soft, but his jaw was tight. “Who the fuck did this to you?”

“I—” You swallowed. “It’s fine, Bucky. It’s—just mosquito bites, that's all.”

“I'm not stupid. I know what bruises look like,” he snapped, his voice rising. “And those? They didn’t come from sparring.”

You stepped back. "Please don't do this."

“Do not follow me unless you’re gonna tell me the truth.”

And then he was storming down the hall, headed for the common room. Straight into the storm.

Because to him? This wasn’t just bruises.

It was his kid—his sister—hurt, marked, and silent about it.

And he’d tear down the whole damn team to protect you.

But of course, you followed him. You fumbled to put the hoodie back on, trying to catch up with Bucky.

You caught up to him just as he stormed into the common room, boots stomping accross the floor. You barely had time to catch your breath before all hell broke loose.

Bob was sprawled on the couch, legs stretched out, hoodie pulled halfway over his head, curls messy on his forehead. Yelena sat beside him eating chips straight from the bag, one boot resting on the coffee table. Walker was slumped on the other, flipping channels again and again.

"Just pick a damn channel already, jeez," Yelena scoffed.

"We have Netflix you know?" Bob chimed in softly.

The second Bucky entered, everyone looked up.

“Do you know who fucking did this to her?” Bucky barked, voice sharp enough to cut metal.

Yelena blinked, slow and unbothered. She raised one perfectly arched brow and held up her bag of chips. “Wow. Good morning to you too, soldier boy. Want a chip?”

Walker frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about this!” Bucky turned, grabbed your armg gently, always gently, and tugged the hoodie sleeve up to show the fading bruise near your wrist. “And that,” he pointed to your neck. “And that.”

“Bucky, please—” you tried, stepping in front of him, but he wasn’t hearing it.

“You better start talking,” he growled, pointing at each of them like they were suspects in a murder trial. “Because if one of you laid a hand on her—”

“Okay, this is very dramatic,” Yelena said, popping another chip in her mouth. “I love it. Are we in a movie right now? Because damn, the drama.”

“I’m being very fucking serious right now, Yelena.”

She shrugged. “Just trying to defuse the tension.”

“And you're not helping!”

“I know,” she said sweetly.

Bucky whirled on Walker next. “Was it you?”

Walker sat up straighter, blinking. “What? No! Jesus—”

“I swear—if you even looked at her wrong—”

“Oh, come on, man!” Walker snapped, tossing the remote on the couch. “I’m not suicidal.”

While Bucky and Walker bickered, Yelena turned to you slowly, her eyes cool but curious. Then—subtle as smoke—her gaze dropped to the bruises peeking from your hoodie, then flicked to Bob.

Bob hadn’t moved. But he was watching. His shoulders tense. His jaw clenched.

Yelena raised one perfectly arched brow. You saw the moment it clicked for her.

Of course she knew.

She wasn’t stupid. She’d seen the way you looked at each other during debriefs. The way you flushed when Bob’s fingers brushed yours in the kitchen. She’d definitely heard the sounds coming from your room last night—because, shocker, spies hear everything.

But she wasn’t going to rat you out to Bucky. No. She gave you the look—the look—tilting her head with the tiniest smirk like, girl, really? him? damn okay.

Then she turned back to her chips like none of this concerned her.

Meanwhile, Bucky was still in full interrogation mode.

“I will find out who did this,” he said, voice rising again. “And when I do—”

“You’re going to do what, Barnes?” Walker snapped back. “Ground us? You're not her dad.”

“I don’t have to be,” Bucky growled. “She’s family. I raised her on this goddamn team while you were still figuring out which way the bathroom was!”

“Oh my god,” Yelena said through a mouthful of chips, “this is better than anything on TV.”

You rubbed your hands down your face and slowly met Bob's eyes, just for a second.

It was enough.

He stood up. Violently. Almost knocking off the entire coffee table.

Yelena sat up straighter, chip bag rustling. "Oh, here we go."

Walker looked from Bob to Bucky, then back. “Wait. Wait wait wait—are we fighting now? In the middle of the living room? Are you guys serious?"

Bucky turned toward Bob, chest puffe like a feral bull. "Say something. I dare you."

“Enough!” Bob’s voice cracked like a whip across the room, thunderous, vibrating in the air like it came from somewhere deeper than his chest.

Yelena froze, chip halfway to her mouth. “Well, there goes the drywall.”

Bucky took one menacing step forward. “What did you say?”

Bob didn’t flinch. His voice was low. "It was me."

Dead. Silence.

Oh, fuck.

You could've heard a pin drop.

Yelena whispered, “Oh my god, I knew it.”

Walker blinked. “Hold the fuck on.” He gasped like he just found out Santa wasn’t real. “Wait—you two?! You’ve been doing it?”

“You?” Bucky spat, stepping forward. “You think that’s fucking funny?”

“No,” Bob said calm. Too calm.

And that snapped Bucky.

He lunged. “I’m going to kill you right now!”

“Bucky!” you shouted, throwing yourself between them just as Bucky’s fist came up.

You caught him mid-swing, grabbing his wrist, bracing your weight against him with everything you had.

“NO! No, no, no—Bucky, stop!” you yelled, pushing back on his chest, eyes wide.

Bob didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. His hands stayed at his sides, jaw set like he was ready to take it.

“You did this to her?” he hissed. “You put your hands on her?”

“I didn’t hurt her,” Bob bit out. “I’ve never laid a hand on her in anger—”

“You left bruises!” Bucky shouted, jabbing a finger toward Bob like he was issuing a death sentence. “You don’t get to decide what hurting her looks like! You don’t get to be the one who touches her and makes her lie to me about it!”

“Bucky, please,” you pleaded, voice breaking.

“I didn’t hurt her,” Bob snapped. “You think I don’t know what I’m capable of? I’ve been terrified of it since day one. Every time I touch her, I’m scared shitless I’ll lose control—but I don’t. Because I’d rather die than ever cross that line.”

Bucky’s jaw locked. “That’s not comforting.”

“She’s not a child, Bucky,” Bob bit out. “She knows what she wants."

"But she's my child, Bob! Mine," Bucky roared, voice cracking with something other than rage, like fear. "I've been protecting her since she joined this team. I've bled for her. I would take a bullet for her if it meant keeping her safe. You think you can just crawl into her bed—what? Expect me to shake your hand? Pat your back? You're fucking delusional."

"She's not yours to own!" Bob roared. "You don't get to decide who touches her, who loves her. She’s not some piece of property. She made a choice. I made my choice."

Bucky’s breathing was ragged, fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white. “She’s my family!" he hissed. "And you didn’t even have the balls to tell me.”

“I wanted to,” Bob snapped. “She told me you’d do this.”

“She was right!” Bucky barked, his eyes glossing over with betrayal. “Because I trusted you. You were supposed to be safe.”

“I am.” Bob’s voice dropped. “I love her. I’m careful with her. You know she bruises easily. Everyone knows it. I try. I always try. But she wanted it. She asked me to. I never forced her. I’d never do that to her.”

You stepped in closer, your hand sliding to Bucky’s chest. “He’s telling the truth.”

Bucky stared at you like he didn’t recognize you for a second. “You let him…”

“I wanted him,” you said simply. “And I still do.”

Walker stood up slowly, blinking like a deer in headlights. “Oh my god,” he muttered, running a hand down his face. “Is this… is this a thing? Like a regular thing? You two just… sneak around and… Jesus Christ, you two fuck?”

Yelena nearly choked on her chips.

She turned to him slowly, eyes wide with disbelief. “Walker. My guy. You live here. How have you not noticed?”

“I thought the noise was the pipes!” he said, flailing.

Yelena tilted her head. “You thought the pipes moaned her name at 2AM?”

“HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW?!”

She blinked. "Walker, if your pipes ever sound like that, you call an exorcist. Not maintenance."

He shook his head, exhaling hard. Then he looked at Bob, fury simmering low. “If you ever cross a line—if you so much as make her flinch or cry—I will end you. You break her heart, I break your face. Deal?”

“Deal,” Bob said without hesitation.

Bucky stared at Bob, his jaw ticking. But then his eyes shifted—back to you. Still tight with anger, but… softer now.

“You okay?”

You smiled—small, soft, but sure. “I promise,” you said. “I’m more than okay.”

You glanced back at Bob. He was still watching you like the room didn’t exist.

“He makes me happy, Buck.”

Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Goddammit.”

He yanked you into a hug, a little too tight, one arm slung around your neck like he was both scolding you and shielding you. You melted into it as he pressed a kiss to your head.

“I swear to God, Y/N,” he muttered, voice low in your ear, “if he hurts you, I’ll kill him myself.”

You chuckled against his chest. “I know you would.”

Bucky sighed and pulled back, plopping down onto the couch like the last ten minutes had aged him a decade. “And for the love of all that is holy—use protection.”

Yelena snorted next to him. “And do not fuck in the communal shower. Please. I beg you.”

Walker looked horrified. “Wait—have they?!”

You and Bob exchanged a look. He blushed. You smirked. Then you crossed the room, and without missing a beat, Bob reached out and pulled you into him. His arm slid over your shoulders like muscle memory, tucking you against his side with an ease that made everyone in the room groan. He looked down at you with that soft, dopey grin, like a damn teenager who just scored the girl of his dreams.

Yelena let out the loudest groan of all. “Oh my god, you’re disgusting. Look at you—so in love. Yuck!” She made a dramatic gagging noise. “This is vile. I feel violated.”

Bob chuckled.

Bucky didn’t even look. He just threw his head back. “Jesus Christ, please stop this. I can’t take it anymore.”

Yelena didn’t miss a beat. “Honestly, Buck? I’m surprised she can still walk after what I heard last night.”

Bob choked violently.

You burst into laughter, burying your face in his hoodie, muffling a wheeze.

Bob cleared his throat, red as a tomato. “Okay, wow.”

Bucky clapped his hands, hard. “OKAY! Great. That’s enough. Breakfast. Anyone?”

Walker, still pale, raised a hand. “I need alcohol.”

Bucky didn’t even hesitate. “You know what? Make it two. Double.”

Yelena leaned back, completely unbothered, tossing a chip in her mouth. “God, I love this team.”

And you? You looked around—at the chaos, the bickering, the laughter—and felt it settle deep in your chest.

You loved them too.

With all your heart.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

taglist ⊱☆⊰ @the-a-word-2214 @favestxrboy @uraesthete @abbysbenchpr @sammystarswrite @pey2618 @qardasngan @lunaoieoie @orithyia-eriphyle @amatiswayland @madzzz6958 @all-by-myself98 @dark-silhouette @ghost-ghost-13 @wyvernthekriger @gayfiretruck @watermeezer @lvmxla @novausstuff @mommymilkers0526 @natureartisian @feralgoblinbabe @misaki-evans (if you want to be tagged in my future works lmk! <3)

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dakusan · 14 days ago

Text

B e G o o d F o r M e

Felix x Reader | praise-soaked filth, soft aftercare, and a thigh you’d die for

synopsis: He’s sunshine in the hallway. A hand on your lower back. A kiss to your temple. But tonight? He tells you to ride his thigh like you were made for it. Spits on your pussy, praises your cries, and fucks you through every broken sob until your voice is gone and your body’s trembling. And the worst part? He still calls you “baby.” Still holds your hand. Still whispers, “One more for me, yeah?” with that fucking smile. You thought you knew Felix. Until tonight, you were proven wrong.

💌a/n: okay so this was requested by 🦔anon and honestly? i blacked out somewhere between “ride my thigh” and “you ruined my guts, felix.” idk if i did well. i feel a lil unsatisfied but also my brain was full of static and lust and then halfway through writing i got violently pulled into a side quest where i had to help my mother BURN A FUCKING WASP NEST that decided to colonize our garden shed like it pays rent??? do i feel like i could’ve gone a different route? sure. do i also kinda love how this spiralled into daddy thigh riding praise ruin sunshine aftermath hours™? also yes. idk. i feel conflicted. if you loved it? i am kissing your forehead with consent. p.s. if you reblog it???? i will cry. on your carpet. gently. if you comment, i respect you. and if you're still here, i love you. p.p.s. i don’t even like wasps but i think one of them is haunting me now

📌 Please ride responsibly. Moan louder. Hydrate after.

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

🎧 » Mmmh — KAI « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:12 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

You met Felix under the fluorescents of a backline studio.

He had walked in humming—hoodie sleeves tugged over his hands, freckled face flushed from rehearsal, damp hair curling around his temples—and dropped his bag with a thud that made your audio meters spike. It was your second week working with Stray Kids’ internal production team, still proving yourself in a room full of idols and engineers who already moved like family.

But Felix? He’d smiled at you.

And not the polite, press-trained one. The real one—the kind that cracked wide open, all dimples and gold, the kind that made you forget your own name for a full five seconds.

“Hey, new sound girl,” he’d said. “You got magic fingers or something? This mix sounds insane.”

You didn’t blush. (You absolutely blushed.)

From there, it built in quiet pulses. Shared coffee runs. Long nights layering harmonies in empty booths. The two of you tucked into a corner of the console, your hands moving across sliders while his voice—that voice—poured like honey into the headphones. It didn’t take long before he was leaning into you, brushing your wrist with his pinky, whispering, “You always smell so good…” in a way that made your pulse hiccup behind your ears.

Six months later, he was in your bed. Not just once. Often. Softly. Cuddled behind you in oversized sleep shirts, brushing your hair out of your face in the morning. Whispering things like “I’m so lucky I get to love you” and giggling when you squirmed under the weight of it. He’d bring takeout to your place after double shifts. Leave notes tucked in your laptop bag. Keep his toothbrush beside yours in the cup.

You knew him as Felix the angel. Felix the sweet. Felix the clingy little golden retriever who kissed your temples and held your hand under the dinner table. Even the sex had been like that—sweet, devotional, slow. He called you beautiful. He was perfect. Made you feel like you were living in heaven.

But something had been changing lately.

Little things. A sharper look in his eyes when you teased him too far. A rougher grip on your waist when he pulled you onto his lap in the studio. That one time his voice dipped too low in a live take and you jolted so hard you hit the mute switch. You’d laughed it off.

But Felix had seen. And Felix never forgot.

Tonight, it starts like all the others.

Long day in the studio. Changbin and Chan gone before midnight. Felix stayed with you—always did—half-sprawled on the couch, hair tied back, legs propped up, scrolling through beat drafts while you fixed the last few compression issues on Jeongin’s verse.

He kept glancing over at you.

Not in a sweet boyfriend way. In a watching-you way. Like he knew something you didn’t.

You feel it again when you both get home—your place, still messy from the ramen rush earlier, one overhead light on low. You stretch your arms, ready to slip into something more comfortable, and murmur:

“God, you sounded so good today. That second take in the booth? Nearly melted me.”

Silence.

You glance over your shoulder. Felix has dropped his bag by the door, but hasn’t moved since. He’s standing there. Still. Head tilted. Eyes… dark.

“Yeah?” he says. Quiet. “You liked the way I sounded?”

Something in your stomach tightens.

“You always sound good,” you reply with a nervous smile, turning to walk toward the bathroom. “I mean, I mix you for hours every week, Lix. I—”

But he catches your wrist.

Not hard. Not harsh.

But firm.

“Say that again.” His voice is still soft. But it slips now. Deeper. Tighter. “Say I sounded good. While I was making you melt.”

Your heart stutters. He takes a step forward.

“Felix…?”

He watches your throat bob as you swallow.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about?” he murmurs, crowding into your space. His palm slides down to your waist, warm and grounding, deceptively sweet. “I’ve been thinking about the way you react when my voice drops. The way you get quiet. Still. Like you’re waiting for something.”

You can’t speak. He presses forward again, herding you toward the couch.

“I’ve been good,” he says, lower now. Freckles glowing like they’re under a full moon. “I’ve been so good. But you keep pushing. You keep giving me that look like you want me to break.”

He stops when the back of your knees hit the couch cushion.

“So tonight, baby,” he whispers, brushing his lips against your ear, “You’re gonna let me.”

Felix’s hand finds your throat—not squeezing, just pressing you still, guiding you down further onto the couch with a gentleness that makes the control feel even stronger. Your back hits the cushion. You blink up at him, breath caught between a question and a moan.

He climbs over you, knees on the cushions, straddling your thighs. His hoodie’s still on, sleeves pushed up. His rings are warm from the walk home. He drags two fingers down your collarbone, slow, watching goosebumps bloom in his wake.

“You know I’ve been holding back, right?” “You know I watch how you squirm every time I call you good.”

Your breath stutters.

“So we’re gonna try something new tonight, angel.” “You don’t touch me unless I tell you to.” “You don’t cum unless I say so.” “You speak only when spoken to, and you take every fucking second of what I give you. Got it?”

You nod, frantic, heart pounding.

His hand moves to your hair and his grip tightens in it.

“Use your words.”

“Y-Yes. Got it.”

“Atta girl.”

He tugs your shorts down first. Not your top. Not your panties. He likes to tease. Leaves you half-dressed, on your back, thighs slightly open as he pushes your knees apart with one hand.

“Fuck, baby. Look at this mess.”

He hums. Brings his thumb between your legs and drags it slowly over the damp cotton. You whimper. His eyes flick up.

“You gonna cry already, sweetheart?”

And then he rips the panties to the side. No gentleness now. Just that soft tone and filthy mouth working in perfect contradiction.

He spits on your cunt.

Hot. Messy. His.

“You know what I wanna do to you?” he murmurs, dragging two fingers through the slick. “Wanna make you ride my thigh till you can’t see straight. Then bend you over and fuck you slow ‘til you cry for me. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You nod. Helpless.

“Too fuckin’ pretty like this. Can’t say no to you when you beg.”

He tugs his hoodie off one-handed. You get a glimpse of his lean stomach, the way his chain hangs against his chest, the ridges of toned arms from hours of dancing.

And then he sinks back onto the couch, spreads his legs and points.

“Come sit, good girl.”

You hesitate for half a second—and he slaps the side of his thigh with a sharp smack.

“I said. Sit.”

You climb into his lap. He holds you in place, arms locked around your waist, his thigh pressing right there, and begins to rock you.

And the feeling? Oh, it's heaven. You're simply melting.

You’re already gasping before you’ve even started.

The heat of his thigh against your bare cunt—muscle flexed just enough to grind into that aching spot—makes your legs weak before they’ve even moved. Felix doesn’t rush you. He just watches. One arm around your waist, the other relaxed across the top of the couch like he has all the time in the world. And those eyes?

They ruin you. All heat and hunger, waiting for the show.

“Go on,” he whispers, lips brushing your temple. “Make a mess for me.”

You brace your palms on his shoulders, shaky, breath trembling. The first grind of your hips feels dangerous. Too much friction, too much slick, not enough rhythm—but fuck, it hits.

“That’s it, baby,” he breathes, voice dropping further. “Rub that needy little pussy on my leg. Just like that. C’mon.”

You gasp. Then whine.

Your hips start moving on instinct—small at first, trying to chase pressure without falling apart too fast. But Felix’s leg is solid. Flexed. Perfect. Every roll of your body sends your clit dragging against muscle, and you can feel the wetness soaking through both layers already.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.

You whimper, nails clutching at his hoodie sleeve. “Felix—”

“No.”

He grabs your chin and forces your eyes to meet his. “Not ‘Felix.’ Not when you’re like this.”

His lips hover right over your cheek, voice velvet and vicious in your ear.

“Try again, baby. What do you call the man ruining you?”

Your whole body stutters—hips still rocking, cunt dragging shamelessly over his thigh.

“D-Daddy—”

He moans, low and filthy, like the word alone strokes his cock.

“Fuck, that’s it. Knew you’d sound perfect saying it. Say it again while you ride me.”

You do. Over and over. Falling into it like a prayer. His name. His title. Your surrender. Your cunt is throbbing, twitching—your thighs slipping from the slick and heat of your own arousal. The more you chase it, the more you shake.

“You close?” he whispers, pressing his lips to the corner of your jaw. “You gonna cum just from my thigh like the good girl you are?”

You nod. Desperate. “Please, please—need it—need to—”

“Then fuckin’ cum for me.”

The moment you let go, it breaks you. You cry out—body seizing, vision spotting, hips still moving even as your muscles twitch through the overload. It’s too much. Not enough. You want to scream, moan, sob—and all that comes out is his name, slurred and needy.

“That’s it, angel. There she is.”

You collapse forward into his chest. Your legs refuse to work. Your pussy’s still pulsing and he’s holding you there, firm hands stroking over your spine like he cares—but his cock is hard beneath his sweats, and you feel it press against your stomach.

“One down,” he whispers against your temple, smiling like he hasn’t just destroyed you. “How many more can my good girl take?”

You try to answer—but you can’t. You’re dazed. Fucked out. Sweating and panting, still twitching from aftershocks.

And that’s when you feel him lift you.

Arms under your thighs. Carrying you across the room like you weigh nothing. You cling to him, head buried in his neck, still whimpering.

“Shh,” he soothes. “I got you, baby. Gonna lay you out. Gonna fuck you slow and deep ‘til all you remember is my name.”

When he enters the bedroom, Felix lays you down like you’re made of something expensive. Your back hits the sheets—warm, soft, rumpled—and he hovers over you with his palms planted on either side of your head. His hair has come loose from its tie. It falls into his face, golden and damp, framing the sharp line of his cheekbones and the flicker of obsession glowing in his eyes.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice a threadbare hush. “Fucked out already. But I haven’t even been inside yet.”

You try to respond—some tiny sound of need or please or Lix—but the words stick in your throat, caught somewhere between overstimulation and begging.

He smirks. And then he moves.

“Arms up, baby.”

He strips your tank top off first, dragging it over your head like he’s unwrapping silk. Your skin pebbles at the cold air, nipples tight, chest rising and falling with shallow little gasps—and fuck, does Felix stare. His eyes rake over you like he’s cataloguing the exact shape of your ruin.

“So beautiful,” he whispers, almost like he’s not saying it to you—just… to himself. “So fuckin’ perfect. All mine.”

His sweats are next, undoing them—slow, teasing—and then finally pulls them down along with his briefs, letting his cock spring free.

It’s hard. Already flushed, leaking. Beautiful. So him.

“Been thinkin’ about this all day,” he says, crawling over you again, voice deeper now. “Thinkin’ about how tight you’re gonna feel wrapped around me. Thinkin’ about how good you’re gonna take it.”

And then?

Then he turns you over.

“Face down, ass up baby.”

You shiver. But you listen. You shift onto your stomach, arms stretched up across the pillow, chest pressed into the sheets. Your ass is bare, slick, glistening under the light. You feel the mattress dip as Felix settles behind you, feel the heat of his body as he palms your thighs and spreads you wide.

“Look at this fuckin’ mess,” he growls, dragging two fingers through your folds, slow and heavy. “You’re dripping, angel. You need me that bad?”

You sob. Nod. “Please—need you—”

“I know.” He presses a kiss to the curve of your spine. “Gonna give it to you. Gonna fill you up real slow. Fuck you so deep you feel it tomorrow.”

He fists himself—just once—and then lines himself up.

“Breathe, baby,” he whispers, thumb pressing into the small of your back. “And stay still. Let me in.”

The first push is agony. Sweet, stretching agony. His cock slides in slow—so slow you think you’ll break—inch by inch, until the fullness makes your eyes roll back and your fingers clutch the sheets.

“There she is,” he groans, voice cracking. “So fuckin’ tight. So wet. You’re squeezing me already.”

He stills when he bottoms out. Just holds you there—stuffed full, twitching around him, your thighs trembling from the pressure.

“You feel that, baby?” he whispers, leaning over you, voice melting into your ear. “That’s mine now.”

He doesn’t start slow.

There’s no easing you into it. No gentleness now that he’s buried to the hilt inside you. Just the stretch of him—thick, perfect, intentional—and the way his hands lock around your waist like he’s anchoring himself to the only thing keeping him sane.

He finally starts moving. Deep. Slow.

His hips drive forward in measured, devastating strokes—like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your insides. Each thrust rocks you forward into the sheets, your arms trembling from the force. You can feel every ridge of him, every twitch, every grind against that spot that makes you see stars.

You’re a mess. Whimpering. Gasping. Drooling on the pillow.

And Felix?

He won’t shut up.

“That’s it, pretty thing. Cry into the sheets. Let ‘em hear how good I fuck you.” “You feel full? You feel mine?” “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you sob. “Fuck—Felix—I’m yours, I’m yours—”

“Fuckin’ right you are.”

He leans over you—pressing your spine down, mouth right at your ear—and his voice goes low. That lethal octave. That ruinous, deep rasp that shakes your bones from the inside.

“You’re my good girl, aren’t you?” “Taking my cock so deep. Letting me fuck you stupid.” “Gonna fill you up, baby. Gonna cum so deep it drips out of you.”

Your eyes roll back. Your stomach coils. Your voice breaks on a scream, “I’m gonna—gonna cum—Felix—Daddy—!”

“Do it. Cum for me, baby. Let go. Show me who fuckin’ owns this pussy.”

And you do—you cum hard, body locking, thighs trembling uncontrollably as you clamp down around him, crying into the sheets, wrecked and shaking and so full you swear you can’t take another second.

But he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down.

“Nah, sweetheart. We’re not done.”

His grip on your waist tightens. One hand slides up your spine and pushes—forcing your chest deeper into the mattress, arching your back until the angle makes your vision white out.

“One more,” he growls. “You can take it. Be good. Be so good for me and take every drop.”

You sob again—loud, broken—but your hips still push back. You want it. You need him to fuck you through it, to stretch your limits, to claim every inch of you like you asked for this.

And he does.

He fucks you until the sound of skin-on-skin is filthy and frantic, until the pressure builds again so fast you can’t catch your breath. You’re babbling now, incoherent—his name, god, daddy, please—over and over like a litany.

“You gonna give me one more?” he whispers, ragged. “Let me fuck you dumb, pretty girl. Just one more. C’mon. Make a mess on my cock.”

You break again.

Screaming. Crying. Shaking so hard your knees give out under you.

Your knees collapse.

You can’t hold yourself up. You’re shaking too hard—legs trembling, muscles locking from the force of your second orgasm. Tears have soaked into the sheets beneath your face. Your hands have long since given up. Your body is boneless, fucked out, ruined.

But he holds you.

Felix grunts low, adjusting his grip as you slump forward. One hand locks around your waist, the other slides beneath your chest, hauling you up against him.

Your back hits his chest—slick with sweat. His cock stays buried deep inside you. You whimper at the stretch, the burn, the rawness—but he coos softly in your ear, kisses your neck like it’s his salvation.

“That’s it, baby. I got you.”

He doesn’t stop moving.

His hips roll up into you—slow now, but just as deep—while his hand splay across your stomach, holding you flush against him like he never wants to let go. Your thighs are soaked, your pussy is twitching, and fuck, you can feel the mess between your legs.

“So full,” he whispers, lips dragging across your jaw. “So fuckin’ wet for me. All mine, yeah? Say it, baby. Say who owns this perfect fuckin’ body.”

You sob. “Y-You do, Felix—yours, I’m yours—”

“That’s my girl.”

His thrusts stutter—hips jerking erratically now, cock twitching inside you as he moans into your shoulder. His voice breaks—half-growl, half-worship.

“Gonna cum,” he rasps. “Gonna fill you up so deep, baby. Wanna fuck it into you. Wanna watch it leak down these thighs while you’re still twitching for me.”

Your walls flutter around him—tight, hot, soaked—and that’s all it takes.

He snaps.

“Fuckfuckfuck—oh, fuck—”

His moan rips through your ears as he buries himself one final time and cums hard—hot, thick pulses spilling deep inside you while he holds you pinned against his chest. You can feel it. The way he throbs, the way he doesn’t pull out, the way his body shakes around yours like he’s giving you everything he has left.

And through it all—he kisses you.

Everywhere.

Your temple. Your cheek. Your shoulder. The curve of your neck. Gentle little presses, over and over, like he’s grounding himself on your skin.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes. “So fuckin’ perfect. My pretty baby. My good girl. Took it all so well.”

You’re crying again, but they’re not sobs now. They’re soft. Shaky. Your body can’t process anything but him. His weight. His voice. His praise laced with that worn-out sunshine that’s never left.

He holds you there. Doesn’t pull out. Just lets you sit in his lap, full and dripping, his cock still twitching gently inside as your breath slows and your limbs go lax.

He doesn’t move for a long time.

It’s quiet. Only your breathing, mingling. And the occasional kiss— his lips brushing the curve of your shoulder, his nose nudging into your temple, his voice whispering like a lullaby.

“So good for me, baby…” “Took me so well…” “Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head. Weakly. “Never.” you whisper.

And God, does that wreck him.

His arms tighten. He holds you closer like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. His mouth presses to the top of your head, then your damp cheek, then your lips—soft, slow, tender.

“I love you,” he murmurs into your mouth. “I love you so much.”

And then—finally, finally—he shifts. One hand strokes your back. The other gently cups behind your thigh.

“Okay, angel,” he says gently. “I’m gonna pull out now, alright?”

You nod against him, breath catching.

And he does.

Slowly. Carefully. The stretch stings a little—your pussy is puffy, throbbing, still fluttering around nothing—and when he slips free, you can feel the mess spill out of you. His cum leaks down your thighs, warm and slick, and Felix groans low in his throat.

“Shit, baby… look at that. I really did fill you up, huh?”

But it’s not dirty now. Not filthy. Not teasing.

It’s awe.

“Time to take care of my girl.”

His arms wrap around you as he lays down on the bed, holding you close, cuddling you. You’re still quiet. Not from discomfort—just overloaded. Floating. Felix is holding you like he always does after a long day—chest to chest, arms around your waist, nose tucked into your hair.

If it weren’t for the light ache between your legs and the twitch in your thighs, you could almost pretend none of it happened.

But oh, it happened.

You feel it in every nerve ending.

“You okay, my love?” he murmurs, lips ghosting across your forehead. “Everything feel alright?”

You nod, still dazed. “I think I left my soul in the couch cushions.”

He laughs—a real laugh. Bright. Golden. Felix. The soft boy you thought you knew.

Until tonight.

“You’re not mad at me, right?” he asks after a moment, quieter now.

You blink up at him.

Stare.

Then squint.

And whisper: “Sir.”

He blinks. “Huh?”

“Felix. Sunshine. Angel boy. Literal human serotonin. You just—” You gesture vaguely to the air. “You ruined my guts.”

His mouth drops open. He chokes out a laugh, half-scandalized, half-proud.

“I did not!”

“You did too!” You shove his shoulder, weakly. “You throat-fucked me with praise and then made me ride your fucking thigh. I’m pretty sure my ancestors felt that orgasm.”

He’s red. Like ears-pink, nose-scrunched, dimples-deep red.

“I mean… I did say I was gonna fill you up,” he mumbles. “But I also kissed your forehead. So. Balance?”

You gape at him.

“Balance?! You said I was your good girl while you were filling me up.”

“Because you are!”

You collapse into the pillow, half-laughing, half-moaning. “Jesus fucking Christ, Felix.”

He wraps his arms around you even tighter. Nuzzles into your hair. His voice goes soft again, syrupy with affection.

“Hey. You really loved it?”

You pause. Look up at him again. There’s nothing teasing in his face now. Just that pure, open warmth—the boy who’s been falling in love with you since the day you EQ’d his vocals for the first time.

And you nod. Soft. Sincere.

“I didn’t just love it,” you whisper. “I think I need it again. Like… soon. Maybe with handcuffs next time?”

Felix short circuits. “I—you—what—okay—”

You smile into his chest. "I like this duality. How dare you not show it sooner."

He groans. Buries his face in your shoulder.

“God help me. I think I am creating a monster.”

But you just grin, ear to ear.

"Damn right you are."

#stray kids #skz x reader #skz smut #lee felix #felix x reader #filth friday #skz imagines #stray kids smut #lee felix smut #lee felix x reader

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mind-empty-just-fictional-people · 3 months ago

Note

I would love to see jack abbott with a sunshine reader i adore the grumpy sunshine dynamic.

Like Dana, she gets hit. She debates on telling him, but maybe robby lets it slip to Jack, and he ofc freaks out (i mean, the guy carries an ultrasound machine in a go bag)

His Rock

main masterlist | the pitt masterlist

pairing: dr. jack abbott x female nurse!reader

rating: PG-13

word count: 1.4k

warnings: violence (reader gets punched)

author’s note: thank you so much for the request! sorry for the part that’s so similar to the show. hope this was worth the wait!

The first date you had with Dr. Jack Abbott was at a nice restaurant. You two hit it off instantly, and no one in the world could make him laugh the way you did. Something about your energy really complemented his. You would be chipper and fun and full of life, while he’d be groaning about the amount of patients he had on his plate. You were never too chipper for him, though. You were just chipper enough. You knew when to be serious and when he needed a good laugh to brighten his day.

You remembered the first time he lost a patient while you two were together. You sat with him on the roof after his shift as he contemplated life. You held his hand and kissed it gently as you both sat in silence for what felt like hours.

“Thank you,” was all he said before he stood up, helped you stand up, and you both drove your separate ways home.

There were also times when you weren’t chipper. Then it was up to him to cheer you up, though he wasn’t as talented at it as you were. But he was there for you, and that’s all that mattered. Through ups and downs, he was always there, and before you knew it two years flew by.

You felt your phone buzz in your pocket when you realized something. Jack was late for his shift. He was supposed to be there ten minutes ago. You pulled out your phone and saw a text from Langdon, something about getting a drink with a few of the doctors after work. You replied with an excited “yes” before you texted your boyfriend.

You asked him why he was late, and he simply replied with “traffic”. Your heart stopped racing when you read the text. He was fine.

When he finally did enter The Pitt, you were there to greet him with a big smile and a tight hug.

“Good morning,” you all but squealed.

“It’s seven in the afternoon,” he grumbled.

“But you just woke up, so for you it’s morning,” you reasoned. “I love you.” You got on your tiptoes and planted a kiss on his lips.

“I love you, too,” he replied

“Why not?” a patient asked you the next day. He had been trying to get you to go on a date with him for the past two hours and wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

“Because, like I’ve said many times now, I have a boyfriend,” you repeated slowly.

He completely ignored your reason and continued to ask you out again. You simply rolled your eyes at him with a scoff.

You were outside taking a much-needed (very quick) breather when someone came up behind you.

“Hey, nurse,” the man snarled before punching you square in the face with his right hand. You fell to the floor in pain, blood gushing from your nose.

“Fuck,” you exclaimed.

After lying there for a moment, you picked yourself up carefully off the pavement and headed inside.

When Robby saw you, he came rushing over.

“Oh my god,” he exclaimed, seeing the blood on your face. “Grab some ice,” he told Mateo, who hurried to do so. Robby ran up to you and held your face in his gloved hands so he could get a good look at your face. “What happened?”

“Just got punched, I’m fine,” you said. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“Come sit down.” He guided you to a chair nearby and got down to your level so he could examine the injury. “Can you go get Ahmad, please, Dana?” he asked her before she nodded and left.

“I’m fine, Robby, really,” you persisted.

“Did you hit your head?”

“Yeah, I think so,” you answered honestly. “But I didn’t black out or anything, just a bloody nose.”

“I’m gonna apply pressure,” Perlah said before pressing a cloth to your nose.

“Okay, okay,” you winced. “I’ve got it.” You replaced her hand with your own.

“Any trouble seeing? Any double vision?” Robby asked you. “What about a headache?”

“No trouble seeing, I‘ve got a bit of a headache, yeah,” you said.

“I’m gonna grab you new scrubs,” Nurse Kim said, and she left to do so.

“You’re gonna need a room,” Robby said.

“C’mon, Robby, I don’t need a room, I’m fine!”

A nurse ran to go and prep a room.

“Follow my finger,” Robby instructed, holding his pointer finger in front of your face. “Right, left, up, down. EOM is intact.”

“Who did this?” Ahmad asked you.

“Just a pissed off patient but he split so just forget it,” you said, sounding on the verge of tears.

“Hell no! I want a name,” he persisted.

“Harrison Elliot,” you admitted.

“The asshole that was hitting on you?” Mateo asked, and you nodded.

“I’m calling the cops,” Ahmad said as he left.

Robby pulled out his flashlight and waved it in front of your eyes. “Pupils are equal and reactive,” he said. He shone the light up your nostrils before saying, “No septal hematoma. Tell me when it’s sore.” He began applying light pressure to your face, starting at the cheekbones and heading for your nose.

As he got closer to your nose, you gasped in pain and asked him to stop.

“Tender at the nasion. CT head and maxillofacial,” Robby said.

“I’ll give them a heads up,” Mohan said before she left as well.

Dana began wiping the blood off your face and neck as you asked Robby, “Is that really necessary?”

“You have at least one facial fracture,” Robby said. “With the headache and the fall, I want to rule out anything intracranial.”

“I’m fine,” you assured him, but he just shook his head with a small smile.

“Want me to call Jack?” Robby asked.

“Hell no, I don’t want to worry him.”

“I think he has every right to worry about you if he wants.”

“Don’t call him, Robby,” you said, and he nodded.

“Jack’s gonna be worried,” Robby commented when he visited your room.

“I’ll just tell him I bumped into a door, he’ll believe that, right?”

“Sure,” Robby scoffed. “CT results came back, you’re free to get back to work… or go home.”

“I don’t wanna go home,” you said.

“You still haven’t called him?”

“He’s probably asleep, I don’t wanna wake him up.”

“If it were me, I’d wanna get woken up,” he told you, knowing Abbott and therefore knowing he would want to know you were hurt. “You aren’t burdening him, just give him a call.”

“That poor man needs his sleep, believe me,” you laughed a little.

“For once in your life, don’t be chipper about a situation and call your boyfriend.

“Fine,” you sighed.

You didn’t end up calling him, but Robby figured as much.

The whole day changed when there was a rush of emergency patients due to a fire nearby. Night staff was called in early, which meant you would have to face Jack sooner than you thought.

“Abbott! So happy to see you,” Robby exclaimed when he saw him.

“How many burn victims so far?” he asked.

“Not sure yet. And I thought today’s big event was gonna be that meathead punching Y/n.” When Robby realized what he said, he watched as Abbott’s eyes practically bulged out of his skull.

“What?” Jack exclaimed loudly. “Where is she?”

“I’m right here,” you sighed from behind him. “And I hoped Robby wouldn’t tell you.”

“Oh my god,” he muttered when he saw your bruised face. “Baby, what…” he trailed off as he traced his thumb down your cheek and cupped your face in his hands. Carefully, he kissed you deeply before he muttered, “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m fine, I promise,” you told him as he looked at you with such worry that it made your heart hurt.

“You don’t look fine,” he whispered.

“Excuse you, I always look fine,” you chuckled, teasing him. That did it, that made him crack the smallest of smiles.

“See, now there you go making me all happy when you know damn well I should be mad about this.”

“Aw, you love me.”

“I do love you,” Abbott said before he leaned down and kissed you again. “And it’s because I love you, I’m gonna make sure you get the proper care you need. CT scan?”

“Already got one, I really am fine,” you said.

“Okay.” He smiled and kissed you a third time, causing you to smile wider.

#jack abbott x reader #dr jack abbott x reader #jack abbott #dr jack abbott #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt x reader #the pitt hbo #the pitt #by mind empty just fictional people #by astrid #usermindempty #userastrid

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pedgito · 28 days ago

Text

𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐘 | Joel Miller x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec

summary | Joel notices you've been overworking yourself and frankly, he won't allow it.

author's note | this is a request fill! thank you to 'non for sending this in, it's been nice to write some softer, fluffier fics <3

content warning | 18+ MDNI, jackson!joel, established dynamic, unrequited feelings toward one another, reader working two jobs in jackson, mentions of injuries, reader is exhausted and overworked but compartmentalizing it, protective!joel, fluff, joel being the sweetest man, shower smut and a much needed orgasm

word count — 6k

Joel’s got a gift.

He knows things—most of the time.

It was a sense, a lay of the land, he liked to call it.

But, you had managed to slip under his radar for too long.

He sought you out often, knowing you were reliable.

If he needed something fixed in a pinch? You had it.

A project to build in a day or two? You’d work twice as hard.

Forcing himself to work into the night on his own? You were always there to offer support.

It didn’t go unnoticed, but Joel had let you slip by the wayside lately.

Because, when you were around him, you were happy.

Bright, full of a life he couldn’t ever manage to encompass, admiring how people fed off of your energy, always laughing and smiling in your presence.

Joel didn’t deserve that—so often, he kept his distance.

Though, that didn’t stop him from late night conversations and drinking to wrap up a build when you often helped him finish up projects that would easily have taken him through the night, getting it done before dawn just so Joel could catch himself a few hours of sleep.

If he wasn’t talking about the work that needed to be done around town, he’d listen to you talk about nonsense that neither of you would remember come morning. He liked to talk to you about Ellie, knowing little about their relationship other than it being complicated, albeit Joel seemed to have a distinct care for it.

For her.

He could be more of himself when it was just you two, alone.

No watchful eyes to scrutinize you or him—as lovely as Jackson was, gossip and conversation was all most people could cling to outside of their daily jobs within the walls.

Summer in Jackson meant that there would be a swell of projects during the short three month window—but that also meant more of a workload to take on when you weren’t on the job with Joel.

The primary seamstress in Jackson had been backed up for months and you offered to share some of the stress, working dutifully on your days and hours off, even into the dark and quiet hours of the night where everything seemed to draw still.

Your hands ached for a number of reasons, but the pricks and pokes from sewing and twisting and holding your fingers in one position for an extended period of time had proved your body wasn’t handling the overload of work in a healthy manner.

And it didn’t help that often woke up with a distinct heat in your back, a sharp pain that tugged when you kneeled down to far or overexerted yourself with carrying around supplies, hiding the grimace in your face when Joel was around as you buried your head and trudged past.

But, Joel takes notice one particular morning.

Usually you’re good at hiding it, but with the amount of men who were showing up to your doorstep with rips in their jeans and shirts tattered to hell, you had been trying your best to keep yourself afloat.

“We’ve got six builds that need to be finished by the end of the week,” Joel begins as he leans against his desk, flipping through a thin stack of papers as he lists off what projects were taking priority and who would be assigned where.

Joel is habitual, making sure that every one of you makes eye contact with him as he explains what he expects of the day, going down the line until he lands on you, realizing that your eyes had drifted shut and your head rested against your fist.

Quietly, he waves everyone out to start the day before he approaches you quietly, twisting up the paper into a thin cylinder before he taps it against your cheek, his opposite hand resting against his hip.

You wake with a sudden startle, glancing tiredly around the room to find it empty.

Except for Joel.

Joel, who was staring down at you with a mix of amusement and worry, mouth downturned but his eyes soft, slowly morphing into a kind smile as your eyes landed on him.

“I’m sorry,” you say without him speaking, suddenly sleeping as you tuck your hands between your legs and Joel notices the bandages wrapped around your fingers, sparsely throughout but still enough that he takes notice, “I’m sorry, really,”

“You sleepin’ alright?” Joel asks curiously, tilting his head further to look at you as you nod, only managing to look at him briefly before your chin dips, massaging the inside of your palm with the fingers of your opposite hand.

You notice Joel’s hand extend as he tosses the papers on his desk, a movement that you don’t immediately react to, but as you glance up to look at Joel, his lips are pulled tight, repeating the motion with his fingers as he silently asks for your hand.

Reluctantly, you offer one hand and his other palm opens, accepting the other.

Joel notices the healing cuts on the inside of your palm, some fresher than others, and the white cloth wrapped tight around suspected wounds of a similar nature, some tinged with a faint pink and Joel sighs, a harsh breath through his nose.

“You know, I’m not a masochist,” Joel explains, and you look at him with a raised brow of disbelief, one that he responds with a faint tug of a smile as he turns his head away to answer as he scrunches his nose to wash away twitch of his lips, “I’m not gonna hate you for askin’ for a day off—two, if you need it,”

“These aren’t—” you quickly tug your hands away, “they’re not from building or anything,”

Joel raises his eyebrows in curiosity, silently asking you to elaborate.

“I dunno, you know how I am,” you begin to ramble softly, the couch dipping with weight as Joel comes to sit by you, elbows resting on his knees as he listens, “I get restless, I need to keep myself busy—I thought I could help out Elaine with fixing up clothes, stuff is precious, you know?”

“When do you have the time?” Joel asks, well aware of your schedule as you rarely left time for yourself outside of work and mandatory town meetings once a week.

“When I’m off,” you shrug, admitting more quietly, “usually at night or mornings when I can’t sleep, sometimes I’ll try to fit it in during a lunch break or something,”

“Or something,” Joel echoes, nodding as he laughs softly, “well—you just earned yourself a vacation then,”

“No, I’m fine,” you assure him, “a cup of coffee and I’ll be on my feet just fine. I’ve got insomnia, I’m a little worn down, but I don’t need special treatment,”

You try to match his rhythm as he stands, refusing to be bossed around but the pain in your back comes back tenfold and you wince through clenched teeth as Joel’s hand hovers out of instinct, looking up at him with a subtle annoyance he had become very familiar with.

“Special treatment my ass,” Joel retorts, “I’m lookin’ out for you like I would any of the others,”

Somehow, you find that to be untrue.

He can see it on your face, too.

“I’m your boss,” Joel argues, “you really wanna argue with me?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“Alright, three days off” Joel challenges and you sigh, throwing your hands up in defeat.

“Fine, I’ll take a couple days off,” you agree, though obviously reluctant.

Joel walkies Tommy a moment later, explaining the situation vaguely as he gives his younger brother the rundown for the day, seeming to pass off his own responsibilities too.

“You’re good at that,” Tommy comments as Joel grabs his mug from the edge of his desk, “pissin’ him off without tryin’—ain’t as good as me, but—”

“Tommy,” Joel warns with a dismissive roll of his eyes before he nods for you to follow him, his hand hovering behind your back with a presence that overwhelms you, feeling the heat of his hand so near but not quite touching.

You look over to find his face pensive, but aware of your gaze, his face softening at your own expression, feeling your own attempt at a lack of emotion slip as you chew at the inside of your cheek, a moment of understanding seeming to string you together.

Joel wasn’t going down without a fight, but neither were you.

–

His initial instinct is to walk you to your own home—comfort in your own environment and all, but the moment he steps through the door, he’s bombarded.

He trips over a stack of clothes labeled SETH and narrowly avoids another pile labeled JOHN, looking around at several stacks of clothes assigned to various people in Jackson.

At least thirty, if not forty.

You flinch as he grabs for the door handle, swinging it open to keep balance as he turns to you, the guilt washing over your face almost instantly, cheeks heated with embarrassment.

“I know what you’re gonna say,” you start, eyes flitting around without any real target, pointedly avoiding him, “...it’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Oh, darlin’,” he sighs, tenderly cupping the side of your head, his fingers scratching gently behind your ear—it shouldn’t make you feel small, but it does.

Joel rarely touched you and it was always friendly.

“You guys’ve done so much for me,” you explain, “I was near dead when you and Tommy found me, I’m just tryin’ to do my share, seeing as you both saved my life. I kinda owe it to you, the town, y’know?”

“Not if it takes you runnin’ yourself ragged to do it,” Joel argues, his hand pulling away as it curls into a fist—you can’t see it, but Joel does it out of reflex.

As physical as he could be—you’ve seen him loud, defensive, in the face of some young, spry individual that was a little too cocky than he should’ve been, begging to be knocked down a peg. You’ve seen him attack to protect his own, but when it came to something simpler, softer, it just felt…wrong.

“I promise I’ll relax,” you tell him, a half-truth that Joel can see straight through.

“Ain’t good enough for me,” Joel admits, moving his fingers in a circular motion for you to turn, “you’re gonna rest up at mine, ‘least ‘til I’m satisfied.”

Your shoulders sag, but you turn, Joel’s footsteps lingering behind as he shut your door.

“Is that alright?” Joel asks suddenly, approaching at your side.

“Do I have a choice?” you ask curiously, though your voice is laced with a tinge of frustration and pain.

“Yeah,” Joel tells you, his eyes earnest, “but I’d be checkin’ on you constantly if you stayed home, I might even send Ellie to keep you company, I’m sure she’d love to—”

“You like getting your way,” you shake your head, a quiet laugh tumbling from your lips.

“Guess you could say that,” Joel replies with a hint of smirk, turning over your shoulder to confirm your suspicion, “you’re one of my best workers, y’know?”

“I’m also the only person that wants to listen to you ramble about the different types of wood we’re using for different projects,” you retort, “and the only person who’ll stay up all night working with you, even though you get real grumpy right after eight o’clock,”

Joel opens his mouth to speak but you interrupt him.

“I’d blame it on the old age but I think you’re just like that,” Joel rolls his eyes as he silently guides you onto the sidewalk that led to his house—it was only a block away from yours, “bet you’d hate for people to know you’re also just a big ol’ softie when you get drunk,”

The morning sun filtered through the trees lining the street, making you squint as you looked up at him, gaging his reaction to your words.

Joel side-steps, blocking the glare of the sun with his broad shoulders as he steers you up his driveway, grumbling under his breath as you head for the steps of his front door.

“Ain’t soft,” you chew at your lip to hide your smile, “you get touchy when you’re drunk, if we’re goin’ there,”

You shrug, nonchalant, “You’ve never had any problem with it,”

He didn’t—Joel found out quickly that you were a hugger instead of a casual handshake type of person, always needing to reach out to touch whoever you were talking to, almost like it was a grounding technique—but when you were drunk, boundaries were a foreign concept.

“And your hair is so soft,” you comment with a knowing smile, glancing at him as you pushed past and into his house as he opened the door for you, “very touchable,”

You take a moment to soak in the space, not having seen it in a few months as you’ve hermitted yourself away and you hear Joel close the door behind you, footsteps growing closer as a bubble of laughter slips out, pointing at the furniture in his living room.

“You listened?”

Joel’s brow furrows in confusion before he understands what you’re referring to.

“Oh, well,” Joel waves casually toward the space, “it does…flow better, doesn't it?”

“You,” you reach forward and poke at the center of his chest, “listened,”

Joel chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he attempts to maintain his composure. "Sit your ass down," he warns, an empty threat that makes you smile as he gently swats your hand away, "relax, ‘for I make you,"

There’s a warmth to his tone that you’ve heard many times before, but it makes your chest flutter, nodding in response as you take a seat on the worn-in couch, sinking into the cushion as you slip off your shoes and tuck your feet at your side.

You can’t help but smile wider at the effort he put into making the place feel more welcoming, more like home. Not just a place to survive, but to live.

The living room, adorned with a few framed pictures of Ellie and some mementos from his past life, suddenly feels a bit more intimate. You spot the framed picture on the coffee table that showcased a younger Joel and his daughter, Sarah.

That Joel was long gone, but he did appear in flashes. Quick, fleeting.

“Tea alright?” Joel's voice carries from the kitchen, hearing the creak of cabinets doors.

“No coffee?” you ask curiously—Joel knew you hated it, but you couldn’t help yourself.

“Got plenty,” Joel answers, “but given what I had to trade to get it, I’m not sharin’,”

You chuckle quietly and call out, “Tea is fine,”

The sound of water boiling soon followed, and you could hear the soft clatter of ceramic mugs as Joel moved about, clearing his throat on occasion as you watched his shadow move around the kitchen.

You settled deeper into the couch, your fingers tracing along its worn fabric and pulling the blanket draped over the back of the couch into your lap.

When he returned, he balanced two steaming mugs in his hands, the fragrant scent of mint invading your senses, alongside the strong smell of freshly brewed coffee.

“Here ya go,” he said, nodding toward your mug, dropping down onto the couch beside you.

“Thanks,” you replied softly, taking a sip and letting the warmth seep into your bones, though your fingers still ached, removing one hand from the mug to curl your fingers in, rubbing your thumb against the side of your forefinger where the bandaged was haphazardly wrapped.

“You should let ‘em breathe,” Joel suggests, “I’ll clean ‘em ‘f you want,”

“I know you’re gonna do it anyways,” you respond with tired grin, “go ahead, play doctor,”

“Shut up,” he responds with subtle amusement before grunting as he stands and disappearing again, but for a shorter amount of time, coming back with a small, plastic box that was an obnoxious red.

You’ve never seen him so gentle, so careful. He takes a long sip from his mug before he sets it aside as extends his hand, palm up, waiting for you to offer your hand in return.

You let out a soft sigh as you place your hand into his. He inspects your fingers with a focused intensity, brows furrowing deeper as he examines the damage, unwrapping the thin white cloth to peek at the myriad of cuts, his eyes squinting as he turned your hand over to check the other side.

“You can’t keep pushin’ yourself like this,” he says, almost to himself, but loud enough for you to hear.

“It’s just… I want to help,” you reply, voice quiet but firm, “Everyone’s been through so much. The town needs it. I don’t see anything wrong with it, taking care of others,”

“Sometimes help means takin’ care of yourself too,” Joel counters gently, his eyes darting between each wound, dabbing it lightly with alcohol.

His touch is careful yet firm, a contrast that shouldn’t entice you, but it does.

“Okay, dad,” you tease lightly, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck,

Joel gives you a look, very fatherly, but it quickly fades.

It was more of a watch yourself, if anything.

A subtle warning.

“I’m gonna clean this up, give you some meds for your back and hope it’ll get you some rest—I’ll let you sleep up in my room,” Joel finishes up with your hand, balancing the first-aid kit on his knee before he closes it up, “figure a bed’ll be easier on your back than this couch,”

“I can manage,” you interject and he shoots you a look.

Right—telling, not asking.

“I can probably scrounge some shit up for dinner tonight,” Joel seems to be doing the mental gymnastics in his head, knowing his fridge was mostly bare,

“Don’t act like you aren’t going to go back to work once I fall asleep,” you counter, tilting your head to catch his gaze, his eyes suddenly tracking toward you, only slightly guilty.

Joel's brow furrowed as he met your eyes, a familiar flicker of frustration igniting within him. You both knew it was a familiar exchange—you'd push against the weakness for you and he'd push back just as hard to mask it.

You were one of Joel’s few soft spots, as much as he tried to deny it.

The silence that hangs between you is thick—it often was, but it never had moments like this to settle. Both of you were too busy, too distracted, unwilling to let anything flourish.

“I’m just gonna go check on Tommy real quick,” Joel explains, “I know if I’m not here ‘round the clock you’ll end up sneakin’ out,”

He wasn’t wrong.

He points at your tea, encouraging you to drink before he disappears again, stowing away the first-aid as he comes back with his hand curled up, holding it over yours until you open your palm, dropping two small pills into your hand.

“Just enough to get you a little relief,” Joel tells you, watching as you rolled the pills around in your palm with your thumb, “and some sleep,”

You swallow them down without any arguing, knowing that there wasn’t any point for it.

“C’mon,” Joel nods, waiting for you to stand and follow.

The walk to his room feels like an eternity, the floorboards creaking under the weight of your paired steps before you finally reach his bedroom door, half-cracked open as he hits it with his foot and turns on the light.

Joel’s bed is unmade, a pile of blankets haphazardly thrown across the sheets, but it only adds to the charm of his space. And it smells like him, something woodsy but warm.

“Just…lay down for a bit,” he instructs, his voice dropping an octave while his hands settle on his hips as you move around him, “I’ll be back before you wake up,”

With a quiet nod, you walk over and climb into his bed, sinking into the soft mattress.

This shouldn’t feel personal, but it does.

Joel watches with a pinched, unreadable expression as you tuck yourself under his sheets. His, the ones he sleeps under every night, his pillow tousled like he was fighting for a comfortable position to sleep in.

You smile, adjusting it under your head.

Your breath catches when you turn and realize he’s still watching, though his head is bowed and he’s trying desperately to make it seem like he isn’t watching, but he can’t help it—his gaze is intense.

“Joel,” you say softly, startling him in a way that surprises you, his head tipping up almost immediately to look at you, attentive, “I’m really sorry.”

“Stop apologizin’,” Joel reprimands with a gentle tone.

The wave of emotion is unexpected, but it burns your throat. You look down, around, anywhere but him as you blink away tears and force yourself to breathe, quickly wiping away a tear with the back of your hand.

Joel watched you for a moment longer, his brow furrowing again as if he were to piece together a puzzle in his mind.

But this time, there was a softness in his gaze—an unguarded look that made your heart race. Without speaking, he approaches, fabric shifting against itself and suddenly he’s in front of you, the bed dipping with his weight as he sits near the edge to face you.

“Hey,” he says, his voice quiet as his hand searches over the blanket for your knee, gently grazing as his hand settles and squeezes, “talk to me,”

You look up hesitantly, his presence warm and grounding, and it’s difficult to wrap your mind around the feeling building between you. Joel was used to seeing you happy, cheerful—even irritated on occasion, but never like this.

“I don’t want to burden you,” you confess, your heart pounding against your ribcage as you meet his eyes. “I am—I know I am, all ‘cause I’m not taking care of myself,”

Joel shakes his head slowly, the look in his eyes unwavering. “You ain’t a burden,” he insists firmly, reaching out to wrap his fingers around your forearm to pull you into an unexpected hug, immediately relaxing into the warmth as you let it wrap you up, strong arms barricading themselves around your body. “I want to help you.”

His hands rub against your back in a way that could lull you into sleep, matching his breathing as the silence settles, suddenly struck with the desire to pull back and look at him, curious if he was feeling the same vulnerability that you were, walls down.

Leaning back to look at him, Joel’s eyes search yours, a depth of emotion mostly unreadable, but for the first time you see a flicker of something more than just concern—a flash of adoration that he rarely displayed.

“I’ll be back by dinner,” Joel tells you, blinking and the moment was suddenly gone, “get some sleep, alright?”

You nod sheepishly and follow his order, his hand drifting up the comforter as he tucked the blanket over your shoulder before he drifts away, the room dimming as sleep begins to pull you under.

—

Again, Joel’s got a gift.

He knows.

When he steps inside the house, something feels…off.

He strips off his shoes and shirt, leaving him in jeans and a worn tank top, burdened by the heat of summer as his clothes stuff to his skin, ready to drown himself in the cool water of his shower—but not before checking on you.

When he reaches the top of the stairs, he knows.

You weren’t in bed, you weren’t even in his room.

But, your own clumsiness gives your new location away.

“Shitshit,” you curse as Joel approaches, shoving the door open as the papers float to the ground, quickly bending to pick them up as Joel clears his throat,

“Can I help you?” Joel asks only slightly accusatively, his face flushed red from the heat and the sight of his arms making it impossible to look at him for longer than a few seconds.

“I napped, I swear,” you quickly assure him, “but, I got restless—and I got…curious of what you’ve been working on,”

It had been a while since Joel had time to set down and work on anything for himself, guilty in the same way that you were, unwilling to let himself enjoy.

His face relaxes as he releases the door to let it swing open slowly, tossing the balled up shirt on the table at his hip as he approaches, pointing at the half-finished horse caught mid-read with a cowboy on it’s back, “Haven’t touched this place in a couple of months,”

You turn as he approaches, feeling the heat of his body at your back as you run your finger along the ridges of the carved wood, admiring his handiwork, “Still, this is amazing,” like most of the figurines that littered the room were, Joel’s talents were kept close to his chest, only caught in moments like this, and it never failed to amaze you.

Joel shifts slightly, his hand pressing into the table near your hip, "Just somethin’ to keep my hands busy when I can’t sleep," he admits, his voice gentle as he watches your expression shift from curiosity to admiration, turning your head to look at him with a soft smile.

“I think we’re a lot more alike than you wanna admit,” you challenge him.

Joel chuckles lightly, “I don’t know what you’re on about,”

“Denial doesn’t suit you, Joel,” you tease, turning your a smidge further and finding that the pain still lingered. Joel notices.

His head tilts almost accusatory before his hands come to rest over your shoulders, “You mind?” he asks, desperate to change topics.

You shake your head lazily, feeling his thumbs dig into the muscles near your neck, mouth immediately falling open as the tension begins to release under his precise touch.

“Oh, god,” you breathe out, leaning into his hands as they work deeper into your muscles, a blissful ache spreading from where he pressed. Without speaking, his hands had drifted lower, near your ribs as his hands worked through the balled up tension until you had no choice but to lean forward, hands catching the table in front of you before your hips did.

A soft laugh escapes you despite the discomfort; Joel had a way of making even teasing feel tender. Suddenly feeling a tinge of fear build in your chest, curious that if you turned to look at him it would ruin whatever….this was. You raise your head with half-lidded eyes, enough that you think you can catch his reflection in the mirror without him knowing.

But, he’s looking right at you.

Under the inhibitions of alcohol, you’d tease him.

Instead, you turn, uncertain of how he would react.

Your hands grasp the table behind your back as his drop to his side, balled up into fists as you take in the sight of him this close, the front of his shirt damp at the center of his chest with sweat, his belt hanging unbuckled at his hips and his eyes hungry.

Sure, relaxing was what you needed, but Joel had a strange desire to remind you just how precious your body was—both caring for it, but how much he found himself admiring it. Every curve or scar, he watches as your lips part in a breath, mimicking the movement subconsciously.

“Joel…” you begin, but the words catch in your throat.

“Just let me,” he whispers, a deep richness to his tone and he reaches out again, this time his fingers brushing against your cheek. His touch is gentle yet firm—a promise of safety and assurity layered with something more.

You lean into his hand instinctively, eyes drifting closed at his touch.

“Can I…” the words linger, but he doesn’t even have to ask.

You nod slowly, met with his lips a century of a moment later.

The kiss is soft at first, cautious and curious, his other hand twisting around your forearm to pull you in, your own fingers dragging up his biceps until they reach his neck, a touch so featherlight Joel fears he’s imagining it, but then you’re deepening the kiss.

Your tongue drags along his bottom lip, hearing him groan as he opens his mouth and lets you in, pressing himself against you as the table shakes with the unexpected weight and you snort softly, pulling away from his lips as he begins to chase them.

You can feel his heartbeat thrumming through the thin fabric of his shirt, a rhythm that matches your own racing pulse. Your hand fists into his tank and the look on his face is picturesque, a mix between wrecked and wanton.

“You smell like outside,” you tell him lightly

Joel chuckles softly, a low rumble that vibrates through the air between you two, “Coulda just said I stink,” Joel retorts.

“Maybe a little,” you quip back playfully, your fingers still tangled in the fabric of his shirt, feeling the solid muscles shift beneath your touch as he leans closer.

“To be fair, I was gonna shower,” Joel defends, “then I caught you snoopin’,”

“Sorry,” you offer sweetly, though Joel isn’t sure you mean it.

With his hand still cradling your face and his fingers wrapped around your arm, he doesn’t move, watching as your gaze centered on his chest where your thumb was rubbing a circle over the fabric, thinking.

Waiting.

“Are you gonna ask me to join you?” you ask tantalizingly, eyes flicking up to meet his gaze.

“Didn’t think it was appropriate,” Joel defends, “bein’ your boss and all,”

“Bullshit,” you retort, his face splitting into an unexpected smile at your bluntness.

You stare at him expectantly, fighting the smugness that threatened to spread across your features before Joel leans forward again, quickly kissing it away.

“You’re so damn devious,” he mumbles against your lips.

–

Contrary to what you were expecting, Joel leaves you showering alone for longer than you like, hearing him insist that you needed a change of clothes before the front door was slamming shut and you were already running your hand through the heat of the water.

You were just finishing up washing your hair when the bathroom door clicks shut, some faint shuffling on the other side of the curtain as your impatience grows, pulling the fabric far enough back that you can twist your fingers around his arm and pull him under the running water, clothes and all.

Joel stumbles slightly as you tug him into the warmth, water splashing over both of you, and an incredulous laugh escapes his lips as he looks down at his soaked clothes.

It’s infectious, filling the small space with a sense of mischief as he pulls away just enough to look at you, the droplets cascading down his jaw and neck, “Really?” he asks, “You couldn’t wait?”

You shrug, aware of his drifting gaze as they follow down to your breasts, yearning deeply for his mouth as his lips part before his hands are wrapping around his top and pulling it over his head, tossing it to the floor with soft splat, alongside the rest of his soaked clothing.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” he warns, a dangerous glint in his eyes as the water drips down his broad shoulders, revealing the strength beneath his tanned skin.

You smirk, feeling bold as you inch closer to him, “Oh? How, exactly?”

Without warning, Joel lunges forward.

His body is solid, pressing into yours as you gasp at the suddenness of it all.

“Like this,” he murmurs against your lips. This is deeper, more fervent, sealed with desperation and longing. You weren’t sure how long the two of you had been tiptoeing around your feelings for one another, but they seemed impossible to ignore now.

His mouth moves over yours like this was normal, like he knew everything that made you tick. You respond instinctively, lips parting further as your tongues press together, exploring the taste of him mixed with warm, cascading water that poured over you both as you tugged him closer, your hands settled near the sides of his chest, squeezing against his ribs as he guides you against the adjacent shower wall.

His hand finds your thigh, fingers digging into your flesh with a possessive urgency that has you gasping, allowing himself to take a moment to really admire you, watching as the water dripped from his damp hair to his nose, his free hand tracing every inch of your body with lust-filled eyes, a thumb dragging along the underside of your breast until he finds the courage to drag it up and around your nipple, a small gasp slipping from your lips.

“Sensitive?” Joel asks curiously, a subtle smirk betraying his genuine question.

You let out a high pitched noise of acknowledgement as his hand rises to pinch at the bud before you slap at his chest, “What are we doing?” you ask breathlessly, a shake of uncertainty in your tone as Joel’s movements pause, though the hand on your thigh gives a reassuring squeeze.

“You know, I’ve got plenty of methods to help ya relax,” he explains, “could show you one?”

“Joel,” you warn, knowing there wouldn’t ever be a moment after this that you didn’t look at him and see him exactly as he was now, eyes darker than their normal brown and his face flushed with an increasing desire.

Joel leans forward, though tentative, and kisses you slow, waiting for you to react with intrigue, feeling like your brain was having trouble keeping up with his actions, “Let me take care of you,” he urges, “s’the least I can do,”

He pulls back, searching your face with a tinge of nervousness that quickly fades as you nod, the back of his hand pressing against the inside of your thigh to part your legs, hiking up one around his hip before he guides your hands up and around his neck, your fingers playing into the damp ends of his hair as the hand that wasn’t descending between your bodies came around the back of your head, cupping it gently.

With the first touch of his fingers as they split through your folds, you understand his intention with caressing you, your head thudding back against the tile wall gently.

You sigh shakily in satisfaction as you nod again, though there was no pending question.

Joel chuckles, watching as your eyes fall shut in bliss as he dips his head and drags his lips across your shoulder, collarbone, down your chest until he can swirl his tongue around your nipple, sucking on the sensitive skin as his middle finger drags over your clit and circles, a surprised gasp from you at how devastating his touch was.

The end goal was relaxation and you were anything but—though, you couldn’t complain.

Your workload rarely allowed for anything like this, even a moment for you to indulge on your own, mind frazzled with worry.

Joel hadn’t take his eyes off of you, much like how he behaved at work, but this was more intense, more purposeful, his brow creasing at every noise you made, his fingers moving from your clit to slip inside of you, filling you with a fullness that only Joel could offer, his thick fingers stretching your cunt open.

The sensation of him sliding deeper inside you made your breath hitch, the heat pooling low in your belly as your fingers squeezed at the back of his neck. You could feel every pulse of his fingers as they curled inside of you, drawing whimpers from your lips as he worked you open.

“How am I doin’?” He asks quietly, though his tone is cocky, speaking against your skin with his breath hot and heavy, “You thinkin’ about work?”

“Not even a little,” you admit, your response stangled off by a gentle cry as his fingers quickly switch gears, slick from your arousal as his body blocked the stream of water and worked over your clit, your hips rocking up into his hands.

“Good,” Joel notes, his mouth trailing up to your neck and to your cheek, pressed together as you pull him in close, your quiet but quickened breath against his chest that gave him the tell-tale sign that you were close.

“Joel,” he knows—of course he does.

“I know,” he soothes, his touch insistent as he worked over your clit in fast, tight circles until your legs shook, teeth biting gently into his shoulder where you face had found solace against, he grunts at the sensation, his voice soothing, “Oh, I know, darlin’,”

He guides you through every second of your orgasm, pulling back to examine the pinch in your features with a tinge of smug satisfaction as you whisper his name once more.

Joel’s become so familiar with your tone that even a simple slip of his name told him everything he needed to know.

Thank you, is what he hears.

And when you tuck into his bed, rolling your eyes affectionately as he leaves a respectable gap of space between you both, your muscles ache.

But, with good reason.

You’ve never felt more relaxed.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #jackson!joel #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #my writing #fic: tenderly

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nerdyagere · 2 months ago

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Regressor who's primarily low energy but still wants someone to look after them but the regressor x caregiver dynamics they see is always so... full of energy. Like they're always doing something together, and they fear they might be too boring for someone to want to look after them

They take a lot of naps, they like to snuggle up in bed, maybe put a show on, if its a really good day they'll do quiet activities like puzzles or coloring

Now meet caregiver who would love to watch over someone but doesn't feel they have the energy for it, like they can't keep up with a regressor who would want to go out always, want to do fun activities 24/7, they don't have that energy

But they have a lot of soft, gentle love in their heart, they know they could nurture someone, they would love to watch over someone and make the occasional sweet comment, or make them their favorite little snacks, or hold them oh so close so the both of them can truly rest

Some peaceful, quiet time for them both with at most a bit of background noise, nothing too big, nothing too loud

#fandom agere #no specific fandom in mind again but... u guys should tag this #spread ideas teehee #sfw agere #agere #age regression #agere blog #agere community #age regressor #agere prompts #new tag to make these posts easier to find!

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iydiamartinx · 2 months ago

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THIS MEANS WAR I

Dick Grayson x Reader x Jason Todd

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto word count: 3.6k synopsis: Gotham’s youngest neuroscience lecturer never planned to get tangled up with two of its most eligible bachelors. Both are determined to win her over—without revealing they know each other… or that they’re vigilantes. But when the Joker takes an interest in her, things get a whole lot more complicated. a/n: This story is inspired by the 2012 movie This Means War. I went back and forth on whether to write it with a named OC or in reader format—and ultimately decided to try something new and go with reader-insert. I usually write in third person with original characters, so this is a bit of a different style for me. As for who the reader ends up with… I haven’t made a final decision yet—maybe one of them, maybe both. Feel free to let me know who you’re rooting for! Hope you enjoy the chaos! warnings: None so far except for the fact that I don't know anything about neuroscience only what my research brings up, so I'm praying the shit I write makes sense

GOTHAM UNIVERSITY

The lecture hall smelled like old paper and burnt coffee. You stood at the front, spine straight despite the fatigue threading through your muscles. Behind you, the whiteboard was half-covered in scrawls of chemical structures and dopamine pathways, neatly drawn and precisely labeled. It was the kind of lecture that left half the room wide-eyed with curiosity… and the other half silently praying for mercy.

With a quiet click, you capped your marker and continued. “Neurotransmitter binding is not a one-size-fits-all process,” you said, voice steady as your gaze swept across rows of glazed eyes and frantic scribbles. “It’s dynamic. It’s reactive. It’s shaped by genetics, trauma, medication—even what you ate for breakfast.”

A hand shot up in the second row.

“So… like, can serotonin make you hallucinate?”

You blinked. “No. And if it does, someone’s given you something else—and you should go to the ER. Immediately.”

A ripple of laughter. A few groans.

Another hand rose—this one from a sharp-eyed girl near the back. “In Joker toxin exposure cases, have you ever seen synthetic mimicry of dopamine flood patterns?”

Now that was a question worth respecting.

You’d specialized in Joker toxin during your postgraduate years, had seen firsthand the neurological carnage it left behind. The clown was a madman no doubt—but a dangerously brilliant madman.

Your mouth tugged into a faint smirk. “Yes. And no. But that’s a topic for next week.”

The clock ticked toward the hour. You fielded three more questions—one insightful, two exhausting—before dismissing the class.

Backpacks zipped. Conversations stirred. As the last student filed out, you finally exhaled. Slowly. The silence was a relief.

Rolling your shoulders, you gathered your coat and bag, the weariness catching up to you in waves as you made your way toward the door—hungry, tired, and vaguely craving something that didn’t taste like caffeine or sugary energy drinks.

Gotham’s streets buzzed with their usual chaos—honking cabs, barking vendors, motorcycles weaving between traffic like they were flirting with death. You walked with familiar ease, the city noise fading beneath the throb behind your eyes and the pressure at the back of your skull.

Your hand drifted up to your bun. It had been tightly wound since six in the morning, and now it felt like a migraine on a countdown. Mercifully, you didn’t have to be in the lab today—no microscopes, no sterile gloves, no post-doc breathing down your neck. Just freedom. Glorious, unwashed, unbothered freedom.

So you didn’t hesitate. One by one, you tugged the pins from your hair, each metallic clink falling into your coat pocket like a tiny rebellion. The strands spilled down, wild and full of indents, but you didn’t care. You tipped your head back, rubbed at your aching scalp with slow, tender fingers, and sighed like you’d been holding your breath all day.

You looked like hell. You felt like hell. But you were done. No lectures. No lab reports. Your appearance be damned you just wanted to spend the rest of the day in comfort.

Your boots clicked along the sidewalk as you headed toward Café Nero, already imagining the warmth of a latte in your hands—despite your earlier claim about cutting back on caffeine. A lie, obviously. Caffeine was practically your lifeblood— and something carby in your mouth.

But the universe had other plans.

You turned the corner—and nearly collided headfirst with a ghost.

Jake.

Three years of your life bundled into one name, one face. One half-curved smile that looked exactly like it used to and somehow worse now that it was being directed at someone else.

Three years of your life compressed into one name. One face. One irritatingly familiar smirk. His arm was around a tall blonde, her smile radiant and far too trusting. He wore the same smug charm he always had as he said something that had her giggling.

He noticed you first.

“Hey!” he said, voice way too bright. “Y/N. Wow. You look…” his eyes flicked over your rumpled sweater, your wild hair, “…great. Still at the university? Tinkering away in your little lab?”

You straightened instinctively, spine snapping to attention like your body was trying to make up for the indignity of the moment. Of all the days to run into him.

“I am,” you replied, polite but clipped.

Three years together, and he still couldn’t grasp the importance of your work—or the lives it affected. Your research had been groundbreaking, and he’d always referred to it like you were tinkering with science fair projects.

The blonde leaned into his side with a warm smile. “You didn’t tell me your ex was brilliant and pretty.”

You wanted to hate her. Truly, you did. But unfortunately… she actually seemed sweet.

He laughed. “I forget sometimes.” Then turned back to you with that same infuriatingly casual smirk. “Oh—uh, Y/N, this is my fiancée, Hannah.”

The word hit like a slap.

Fiancée.

Only a year ago, you’d walked in on him and his yoga instructor, limbs tangled and guilt nowhere in sight. He’d thrown away three years with you like it was nothing—and now, not even twelve months later, he’d found someone new and locked her down with a ring so big it probably needed its own insurance policy.

You managed a smile. A real one, for her sake. Sort of. “It’s nice to meet you.” Your eyes dropped to the large, glittering ring on her hand.

“Wow,” you said with a tight smile. “That’s… that’s a big rock.” You let out an awkward laugh, trying muster the slightest bit of enthusiasm you definitely weren’t feeling on the inside. “You’re engaged. To be married.”

Jake grinned. “Yeah. Things just… clicked. It was like fate.” Then he reached out and stroked her cheek with the kind of performative tenderness that made your stomach churn.

God. How had you ever loved this man?

“Isn’t that right, baby?” he murmured.

Someone gag you with a spoon.

You stood there, frozen in place, as Jake pulled Hannah in for a kiss—deep as if he was trying to fit his entire tongue down her throat. Screw you, you thought. Screw you for rubbing her in my face.

You cleared your throat, the sound awkward and a little too loud. “Well, I should get going,” you began—except your mouth didn’t stop there.

Your brain screamed abort, but your tongue had other plans.

“I actually have to go meet my guy. Yeah, he’s a neuroscientist too. We, uh… met at work.” You nodded like that somehow made it more convincing. “Anyway…”

You cleared your throat again, silently begging yourself to shut up.

“It was… great seeing you. And congrats. On the ring. The upcoming wedding. Your whole… life. All of it.” You winced inwardly. “Well… Peace.”

And if that wasn’t humiliating enough, you topped it off by flashing a peace sign like some glitching robot before turning and briskly walking away.

The second you were out of sight, your smile collapsed. You pressed your lips together, debating whether to scream into the sky or crawl into the nearest sewer.

“Someone kill me right now,” you muttered under your breath.

CAFÉ NERO

You finally made it to the café, and with it, your mortification began to loosen its grip. The familiar scent of roasted beans and fresh pastries wrapped around you like a warm blanket, softening the sting of everything that had come before.

Inside, it was calm—the gentle hiss of the espresso machine, the clink of ceramic, the low murmur of scattered conversations. A peaceful hum that felt like the complete opposite of Jake and his nauseating tongue display.

You slipped into your usual seat at the counter, letting your bag slump to the floor, and leaned against the worn wood like it might hold you up a little longer.

“Ah! Doctora!” Juan greeted you with a bright smile from behind the bar.

He was a sweet kid—maybe nineteen—who’d moved to Gotham from Mexico about six months ago. His English was improving steadily, though every now and then he’d still stumble over a few words. You’d quietly helped where you could. While he knew your name, he aways insisted on calling you Doctora like it was your superhero title.

You snorted at the thought. You, a superhero? You couldn’t even save yourself from an awkward conversation with your ex.

“The usual?” he asked, already reaching for your cup.

“Si, please,” you nodded.

He glanced up with a curious smile. “Long day?”

You let out a soft groan, dropping your face into your hands. “You have no idea.”

The door chimed behind you, but you didn’t bother looking up. Not until you felt someone hovering a little too close to the seat beside you.

You prayed your luck wasn’t that shitty.

But of course, it was.

Jake’s familiar chuckle slid into your ears like nails on glass. You closed your eyes for half a second, steeling yourself, before slowly peeling your face from your hands.

“This is too funny,” he said with a grin. “What a coincidence.”

“Right! Absolutely hilarious,” you replied, forcing a smile that you hoped didn’t look as fake as it felt as you saw Jake and Hannah standing there.

“I’m assuming this is your boyfriend’s seat?” Jake asked, eyes glinting with amusement.

“Oh, ye—”

Before you could finish, Juan slid your drink across the counter, cheerful as ever.

“No, Doctora,” he said, accent warm, words slightly clipped at the edges. “Order for one. Always order for one. Seat is free.”

You nearly choked on air.

Hannah giggled while Jake said nothing. Just raised his eyebrows slightly, in that smug little way he used to do when he thought he’d won something.

God, you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

You smiled tightly. “It is. I’m meeting him back at work. Just stopped in quick. Juan, I thought I said I needed this to-go?”

Juan frowned, brows pinching together. “Mmm… no, I don’ think so. You say you finish work. You always sit here, like always.”

“Not this time,” you said—too sharp, too fast.

Juan’s face fell a little. Guilt bloomed in your chest like a bruise, he didn’t deserve that. It was your own damn fault for digging the hole in you were now.

You sighed, softer this time. “Lo siento, Juan. Can you make it to-go, please?”

He nodded, already reaching for the paper cup and bag.

You turned back to Jake with a forced laugh. “Seat’s all yours.”

The second Juan handed you the new cup and pastry bag, you thanked him quietly, paid, and practically sprinted for the door—mortified, humiliated, and more than ready to go home and bury yourself under ten layers of shame.

MILO & ANTHONY’S APARTMENT

“Ugh! I wanted to die right then and there,” you groaned, collapsing dramatically onto Milo and Anthony’s couch, a glass of wine already halfway gone. Their apartment was across from yours, and you’d made a beeline for it the second you got home, desperate to drink your embarrassment into submission. “I fucking peaced them.”

Anthony winced. “Yeah, that’s… pretty bad.”

“That’s because you need to go out more,” Milo said, waving his wine glass like a pointer. “Meet someone. Rub him all over Jake’s face like a human flex—same way he’s doing with that girl, Hayley.”

“Hannah,” you corrected automatically. “And she seemed sweet.”

“She could be as sweet as cotton candy dipped in honey and I still wouldn’t give a shit,” Milo snapped. “I give a shit about you. And you cannot keep letting that asshole rent space in your head.”

You opened your mouth, but Milo steamrolled right over you.

“Fine if you’re not ready for anything serious, but girl—you need to go out and get some good dick. That pussy is drier than the Sahara.”

You choked on your wine. “Hey! I get some!”

Milo deadpanned you. “Your vibrator doesn’t count. Honestly, it should start charging you. Thing looks like it’s about to file for workers’ comp.”

You blinked. “Have you been going through my drawers again?!”

He shrugged without shame. “I was looking for your face cream.”

“And you thought I keep that in my underwear drawer?”

“Look, the point is,” he said, sitting forward, “you need to go out. Date. Even just a casual thing. I hate seeing you mope over that troll.”

“I’m not moping,” you muttered.

Anthony gave you a soft smile—too kind for this earth. “We’re just worried about you. And hey, for the record, we’re glad you moved here. You’re part of our chaos now.”

You exhaled, guilt and warmth stirring in your chest. “I know. It’s just… I can’t believe I was that blind. I nearly gave up everything for him. I even moved back to this shit-hole of a city—where clowns and penguins blow up buildings and guys in capes fight crime in full spandex.”

“Well, at least Gotham has a certain… charm,” Anthony offered.

“I mean, it’s great if your idea of charm is daily arson,” you deadpanned.

“We are happy you’re here,” Milo agreed, his voice softer for once. “But you’ve gotta stop beating yourself up. Even I thought he might’ve been your person—but he wasn’t. That’s on him. His loss, not yours. You’ve gotta move forward, babe.”

“I am dating,” you said weakly.

“No, you’re talking to people. You don’t even give them a real shot.” He raised his brows. “You can’t test chemistry without mixing the liquids.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s more complex than just ‘mixing liquids,’ Milo. There’s neural signaling, oxytocin regulation, attachment frameworks, behavioral conditioning… Timing alone can throw everything off. You can’t just drop two people into a room and expect chemistry. That’s not chemistry—it’s chaos.”

“Why not?” Milo shrugged. “People do it all the time. You’re overthinking it—as usual. But if it helps, just treat it like another one of your experiments.”

“It’s not that simple,” you argued. “My experiments have structure. Charts. Data. Equations. Control groups.”

“Exactly!” Milo clapped his hands. “Which is why you should try online dating. They have charts and shit.”

You let out a snort. “Please. In this city? Knowing my luck, I’d end up matched with a serial killer. Or worse—the Joker.”

Anthony tilted his head thoughtfully. “Does the Joker even online date?”

Milo groaned. “You’re both insane. There are plenty of semi-normal people on those apps. It’s how me and Anthony met.”

You gave him a flat look. “Exactly.”

You gave him a long, pointed look. “Point proven.”

“No.” Milo leaned in. “The point is you need to get back out there. Whether it’s for a wham-bam-thank-you-man kind of night, or you end up calling me crying because you just met the father of your future babies—I don’t care. You just can’t keep living in Jake’s memory. Not everyone is like him.”

You groaned, tipping back the rest of your wine in one go. “I know that.”

He raised an eyebrow, giving you a look.

“I do!” you insisted. “Look, can we table this for now? I just want to drown my feelings and make future-me regret the hangover I’m definitely earning tonight.”

GOTHAM ROOFTOPS

Boots hit the edge of a rooftop with a soft scrape of gravel. Jason Todd scanned the streets below, hands resting at his sides, jacket collar tugged up against the bite of the early spring cold. He moved with restless energy—agitated, impatient, ready for something to go wrong.

“This is a bust,” he muttered into the comms. “Three blocks, no action. Not even a wannabe thug with a pocket knife and poor life choices. I’m starting to think Gotham forgot how to be Gotham.”

There was a beat of silence before Dick’s voice came through, dry and amused.

“Or maybe you’re just scaring the criminals too much, Hood. Ever consider early retirement?”

Jason rolled his eyes behind the mask. “Only if you go first, Nightwing. I thought Blüdhaven was where all the action was—what’re you doing slumming it with us Gotham bottom-feeders?”

“It is,” Dick replied. “But every now and then I like to slum it with my baby brother. Make sure you’re not burning down half the city in my absence.”

Jason snorted. “You’re only older by what, five years and a moral superiority complex?”

Before Dick could answer, Barbara’s voice cut in over the channel, sharp and clear.

“Seems like you’re about to get your wish, Jason. I’ve got eyes on suspicious movement down at the docks—east side, Warehouse Eleven.” Barbara drawled through the comms.

Jason was already moving, boots hitting gravel as he took off across the rooftop. “Now we’re talking.”

Dick followed a step behind, vaulting over a low pipe with practiced ease. “Arms deal?”

“Most likely,” Barbara confirmed. “Thermal scans show at least four bodies. No confirmed ID yet, but one of them matches a known associate of Black Mask. “Be smart. And try not to level the building, Jason.”

“No promises,” he said, grin audible.

WAREHOUSE ELEVEN, EAST DOCKS

The docks were dead quiet when they arrived—too quiet. The kind of stillness that always meant something was waiting to go wrong. The air smelled like oil and sea rot, and the only sounds were the soft lapping of water and the occasional creak of aging chains swaying in the wind.

Jason crouched at the edge of a container stack, pistols holstered at his thighs, his gaze locked on the warehouse below. His breath clouded in the cool air.

“East lot’s clear,” he murmured into the comms. “Nothing but rats and roaches.”

Dick landed beside him in a soundless roll. “So, your usual crowd.”

Jason didn’t glance over. “That’s twice tonight. Keep it up and I’ll tell everyone you cried during that Pixar movie.”

“I was twelve. And it was Up, you heartless bastard.”

“Still counts.”

They moved in silence, slipping through a broken window high on the warehouse wall. Their boots hit the rafters without a whisper. Below them, four men circled a battered folding table strewn with crates, unmarked cases, and haphazard stacks of cash. A single overhead bulb flickered overhead, casting shifting shadows across the concrete floor.

Jason zoomed in with his HUD. “I know that one—left side. Carlo Mancini. Low-tier runner for Sionis. Looks like he’s about to piss himself.”

“Might mean he knows something,” Dick murmured.

They listened.

“I’m tellin’ you,” Mancini hissed, voice tight and shaky. “It’s gonna be big. Joker-level big.”

One of the others scoffed. “The hell you talkin’ about? Joker’s been off the grid for months.”

“Yeah, and now he’s back. Lookin’ for someone—some guy who used to run with him, then bailed. Word is, he took something. Something important.”

Jason’s fingers curled slowly around the grip of his pistol.

“It’s not his usual stuff either,” Mancini went on, voice dropping to a whisper. “Heard it’s from Scarecrow too. Some freak chemical—don’t kill you right away. Makes you laugh yourself insane. Till your heart gives out.”

A beat of silence.

“No cure for it, either.”

Jason exhaled. “Shit.”

Beside him, Dick’s jaw flexed. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Jason gave a tight nod. “If the Joker and Scarecrow teamed up and made something new—and someone stole it…”

Dick’s voice was grim. “Then Gotham just became a countdown clock. And we’re already late.”

Without another word, they moved.

Jason dropped from the rafters like a shadow cutting through fog, landing hard enough to make one of the thugs flinch. Dick followed a breath behind, graceful and quiet. By the time the first man reached for his weapon, Jason had already disarmed him with a sharp twist of his wrist and sent him sprawling with a solid elbow to the jaw.

Dick swept the legs out from under another, zip-tying his wrists with practiced ease. The other two barely had time to shout before they were taken down—one with a stun baton to the ribs, the other with a boot to the sternum.

Mancini tried to run.

Jason caught him by the collar, slammed him against a crate with just enough force to knock the air from his lungs. “Going somewhere?”

The runner gasped, eyes wide with panic. “I didn’t—look, I don’t know anything!”

“You know enough to be scared,” Jason growled, pressing his forearm into the man’s throat. “So start talking.”

“Okay—okay!” Mancini wheezed, both hands raised in surrender. “I just heard whispers, man. Word on the street is Joker and the ‘crow are lookin’ for someone—most likely one of his old runners. Said he took something. Chemical notes, maybe the whole damn formula. Whatever it is, it’s important. Real important. Joker’s tearing through people trying to get it back.”

Jason’s gaze darkened. “You know who this guy is?”

“No name,” Mancini coughed. “Just that he used to run logistics—backdoor stuff. Quiet type. Smart guy. Kept to himself. Real ghost.”

“Not smart enough if he got himself tangled up with the Joker and Scarecrow,” Dick muttered.

Jason’s hand tightened. For a moment, Dick thought he might snap.

“Jason,” he said, quiet. A reminder.

Jason let go.

Mancini dropped to his knees, coughing and trembling. Jason stepped back into the shadows, tapping his comm.

“You catch all that, Oracle?”

Barbara’s voice filtered in, sharp and efficient. “Every word. Red Robin and B are already digging. If this guy’s in Gotham, we’ll find him. But until then, you two are off the clock. Get some rest.”

Jason exhaled through his nose. “Yeah. Sure.”

Dick shot him a look. “Try to actually listen for once. Not everything has to be solved in one night.”

With that, he clapped Jason on the shoulder and nudged him toward the exit—just as the distant wail of GCPD sirens broke the silence, growing louder with every passing second. Cleanup crew was on its way.

Jason didn’t answer. His jaw was tight, his thoughts already miles ahead—backtracking whispers, dissecting clues, remembering the sound of laughter that still echoed in the corners of his nightmares.

It was rare for the Joker to get invested in anything. He thrived on chaos, not consistency. But if he was serious enough to go out of his way to hunt down some nobody, then whoever had the formula was sitting on a bomb.

Next Chapter →

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plutosunshine · 6 months ago

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The focus of the year. Solar Ascendant in signs

Our Solar chart Ascendant shows the focus of the year and can help us see what to be aware of.

Solar Ascendant in Aries

Solar Ascendant in Aries has a very energetic and initiative energy of the year, where a person may become more confident, dynamic, and decisive.

You may feel ready for the new projects and have a lot of energy. This year is a perfect time for acting, not waiting for the ideal moment. You may take a leading role and seek for independence in this year. However, be careful with rapid decisions and impulsiveness, and be aware of the details to avoid getting into trouble.

You need to focus on your personal goals and achieving them. It is a perfect time to show your talents and skills.

Aries' strong energy will make you more straightforward, but be careful since it can lead to misunderstandings.

It is a perfect year for sports or active lifestyle. This year is going to be intense, so take care of your health and find ways to lessen stress. Use this year for brave decisions and new courageous projects, but don't forget about risk analysis. Work on a balance between initiative and impulsiveness.

Solar Ascendant in Taurus

Solar Ascendant in Taurus gives the year calm, steady, and practical energy, focusing on stability, pleasures, and comfort.

The year's focus is to find solid ground and be sure of it in the future. Stable decisions and gradual progress are in priority.

The special focus is on material possessions and finances. It is a perfect time for building your financial security.

Taurus energy helps patiently achieve goals. It is important not to rush but to move forward step by step.

You may feel a desire to surround yourself with aesthetics, beauty, comfort, and a pleasant environment. You may want to improve your place, whether it be by reconstructing or changing the interior.

A realistic and practical approach to plans is important this year. Don't be impulsive, and don't act without a plan.

Taurus energy is prone to stagnation, so be careful with this tendency.

Solar Ascendant in Gemini

Solar Ascendant in Gemini brings a year rich in communication, new ideas, and learning opportunities. The year will be filled with new connections, meetings, and an expanded worldview.

This year will be very favorable for starting education, courses, or professional development. You may be involved in multiple projects simultaneously. The year will be full of changes, so staying adaptable is important.

You will easily make decisions and adjust to the circumstances. Find ways to reduce stress, as the year will be packed with experiences and events.

If you dream of starting your own blog, this year is the perfect time for it. You will be able to express your thoughts easily and convincingly, attracting an audience. Enhanced communication skills can also benefit your career.

There is a risk of wanting to take on too much at once without finishing what you start. Try to focus more on achieving your goals and avoid a superficial approach.

This year may also bring many short trips, changes, and opportunities to explore new places.

Solar Ascendant in Cancer

This Solar Ascendant may focus on family, internal, and personal matters. The spotlight might shift to family, home, and caring for loved ones. Changes in living conditions are also quite possible, whether it’s a move or home renovations.

The coming year allows emotions to deepen and makes a person more intuitive. There may be a desire to create an atmosphere of complete emotional security.

A year with this Solar Ascendant favors strengthening relationships with family and loved ones. You may feel the need for solitude and rest from the hustle and bustle in the upcoming year.

The Solar Ascendant in Cancer often emphasizes the past, family traditions, and nostalgia. You might feel a desire to deal with old wounds from the past.

As for the challenges of this Ascendant, it can bring excessive anxiety or fixation on certain feelings or emotions. You may feel inclined to hide from problems rather than confront them.

Solar Ascendant in Leo

This is the year to stand out, express yourself, and make yourself noticeable. This year may bring a stronger desire for recognition, respect, and leadership. The Solar Ascendant in Leo adds confidence, a desire to shine, and to be at the center of attention.

In the upcoming year, there might be an increased focus on appearance and style, possibly leading to experiments with your look.

The year ahead will be full of ambitious goals and the process of achieving them. Motivation will grow, and opportunities for career advancement and creative projects will emerge.

One of the risks of this Ascendant is the danger of excessive pride, selfishness, and an overreliance on external approval. It’s also advisable to avoid unnecessary dramatization.

Solar Ascendant in Virgo

The upcoming year will be dedicated to bringing order to work, health, finances, and personal relationships. The main qualities of the year will be attention to detail and practicality.

You may pay special attention to your diet, physical condition, or medical check-ups in the coming year.

Work processes will improve, and new professional skills may be acquired.

A Solar Ascendant in Virgo may bring a tendency toward self-criticism and criticism of others. Remembering balance to avoid expecting the impossible from yourself and others is very important.

The upcoming year is favorable for setting goals and creating a clear action plan to achieve them.

The Virgo sign is closely associated with self-development, so the year will be full of new discoveries and growth.

One of the negative aspects of this Ascendant is anxiety and excessive focus on specific situations.

Solar Ascendant in Libra

In the upcoming year, it will become easier for you to connect with people, and harmony and balance in relationships will be restored. Your diplomatic skills will play a significant role this year.

The year's main focus will be on partnerships of any kind, whether they are business, friendly, or romantic relationships. You may establish valuable connections in the upcoming year.

This year, you will pay more attention to your appearance and style. There may also be a growing desire for art, beauty, and aesthetics.

One of the key focuses of the year will be finding harmony within yourself.

You may feel particularly sensitive to the opinions of others this year. Do not let other people influence your decisions. You must learn to say no and defend your boundaries.

Solar Ascendant in Scorpio

The focus of this year will be on transformation and letting go of what no longer serves you. A crisis period is possible, leading to profound personal growth. Even though this Ascendant may sometimes bring challenging crises, it also provides immense strength and resilience to overcome difficulties and emerge even stronger.

In the coming year, your intuition will sharpen, allowing you to better understand the hidden motives of others. Your interest in psychological, esoteric, and philosophical topics will deepen.

The solar Ascendant in Scorpio will enhance your charisma and ability to attract people. There may be situations where you question your trust in certain individuals and feel the urge to control everything. Be cautious of these tendencies.

The upcoming year is an excellent opportunity to delve into spiritual practices and activities of any kind. These will also serve as tools for working through deep emotions and experiences.

Solar Ascendant in Sagittarius

This solar Ascendant indicates a year full of optimism and energy, with plenty of new opportunities and adventures.

This year is a great chance to explore new horizons and learn something new, whether through travel or studying other cultures and philosophies.

Sagittarius is a very fortunate sign, so the year will be filled with optimism, enthusiasm, inspiration, and luck.

The coming year may involve a lot of travel, which will broaden your horizons and provide unforgettable experiences.

This year will spark a greater interest in seeking life goals, and you might completely reassess your outlook on the world.

Be cautious with excessive self-confidence, as this Ascendant can bring such a quality.

Solar Ascendant in Capricorn

The upcoming year will require a serious and responsible approach to life. You will need to set goals and work methodically towards achieving them. Your desire for stability, order, and structure in life will strengthen.

Capricorn is associated with a career, so your professional achievements may become a central theme of the coming year.

The year is highly favorable for long-term planning, especially in financial or professional areas.

Special attention will be given to the material aspects of life. Responsibility for them may increase, as will the desire to become financially independent.

Success this year will come through perseverance and hard work, so don’t expect quick results. However, be sure that these results will be long-lasting.

Solar Ascendant in Aquarius

The year will be filled with changes, surprises, and a desire for freedom.

This Ascendant always encourages stepping out of your comfort zone, so in the upcoming year, you may make decisions that are unusual for you, bringing unforgettable experiences.

Many changes and unexpected events may occur throughout the year, turning your usual way of life upside down.

You will feel an increased need to express yourself in unconventional ways, whether through new talents, work, or creativity.

You will make many new and valuable connections in the coming year, expanding your social circle.

This year, you might develop an unusual dream or aspiration that will surprise others.

The Solar Ascendant in Aquarius grants you freedom of expression and thought, so don’t be afraid to dream big.

Solar Ascendant in Pisces

Your intuition and desire for spiritual growth will increase in the upcoming year. Any spiritual tools will be beneficial for this process.

Your emotions will become more heightened, and you will develop greater empathy. Try to avoid getting too deeply immersed in other people’s problems.

This year, you might feel lost, as if you can’t find structure in your life. Strive to look at life more clearly and with greater organization.

One of the main focuses of the year will be your inner world. You will develop it through self-analysis, reflection, and creative expression.

Your creative potential will also grow, allowing you to express your inner world more creatively.

There may be situations where you will have to make sacrifices and give more than you would like. Be cautious of illusions, as they could lead you astray.

This year, you may receive hints from fate through your dreams.

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