#Been holding on to this thought for a while

[maskedbyghost]

cw: explicit sexual content, morning sex, somno? but its consensual, unprotected sex, dirty talk...

You remember saying it once, half-joking, laying on your back in bed, still sore from the night before, your hair a mess, and Simon standing shirtless at the foot of the bed pulling on his sweats while you groaned dramatically and said something dumb like, “I wanna start every day with a good fuck,” and he’d turned to you with that lazy grin, all sleepy eyes and messed-up hair, and just said, “Say less,” like it was a promise instead of just something to laugh about.

And now? Now it’s a few weeks later, and the bed is warm, and your limbs are heavy, and the sun is barely up yet, but he’s behind you, his big arm slung across your waist, bare skin pressed up against your back, and your brain’s still halfway in a dream when you feel him shift just a little, nudge his hips forward and slot himself right up against you like he does every morning now, but this time it’s different—this time he’s already hard and pressed up right there, thick and hot and heavy between your thighs, and you let out this soft little breath when you feel the way he pushes forward just enough for the tip of him to catch and press right at your entrance.

“Still wanna start your day like this, sweetheart?” he whispers right in your ear, voice all gravelly and deep from sleep, because he hasn’t spoken a word until now, and you’re so tired and turned on already that all you can do is nod and whine a little, shifting your hips back into him like that’s permission enough.

And Simon, fuck, he doesn’t even wait—he kisses the back of your neck real slow, one hand sliding up your thigh, gripping your hip, and he just sinks in like he’s got all the time in the world, sliding inside you so gently but so deep that your breath hitches and your toes curl under the covers.

“There you go, baby,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear, hips rocking slow as hell, savoring it. “Nice way to wake up, yeah? All warm and wet f’me already… been dreamin’ about me, haven’t you?”

You manage to let out this sleepy little moan, eyes fluttering shut again as he keeps fucking you slow and deep, trying to draw those sounds out of you, wanting to keep you stuck right here between sleep and bliss, and his hand moves up your body, cupping your breast, squeezing it softly while his other arm tightens around your waist to hold you exactly where he wants you.

“You’re so good like this,” he whispers again, mouth right against your skin, breath warm as he keeps fucking into you in these long, unhurried strokes. “So fuckin’ perfect, lettin’ me in like this… every single morning, baby. Gonna spoil you rotten.”

You’re whimpering into the pillow now, body arching into his with every roll of his hips, and it’s slow, it’s so fucking slow you could scream, but it feels too good to ask him to speed up.

“Don’t even have to say a word,” he keeps talking, voice all low and cocky and sweet at the same time, like he can’t shut up when he’s this deep inside you, and he needs you to hear every dirty thought in his head. “Just wake up and take it, yeah? Always so ready f’me. Fuckin’ made for this, I swear.”

His hand slides down again, slow and lazy like everything else he’s doing, fingers finding your clit and rubbing little circles that make your whole body tense up and shake just a little under him, and he hums when he feels it, all proud of himself.

“That’s it, love,” he says, a little louder now but still all low and husky, still in your ear, still so damn close you feel every word. “Come for me. Let me feel it, baby. C’mon, let’s start the day right, yeah?”

And it’s too much, all of it—the warmth of his chest pressed to your back, the way his cock stretches you out so slow and deep, the constant soft praise in your ear, the way his fingers don’t stop even when your body’s twitching and gasping for air—and you come with this choked-out cry, biting down into the pillow to muffle it, legs shaking as he keeps fucking you through it, gentle but firm, holding you tight like he never wants to let go.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder, hips starting to move a little faster now, just a little, chasing his own release while you’re still trembling in his arms. “Takin’ it so good, always so good for me…”

You can feel it when he gets close—his breath starts coming faster, hips stuttering, arm tightening around you until you can’t even move, just feel him rutting into you, the way he groans low in his throat and presses his forehead against the back of your head, whispering your name like it’s the only thing keeping him together.

And when he finishes, it’s deep and messy and perfect, spilling inside you with this quiet, broken noise that makes you clench around him all over again, and he stays there, buried to the hilt, breathing hard, kissing your shoulder over and over like he’s thanking you just for letting him have this.

Neither of you moves for a long while—just breathing, tangled up, skin on skin, his hand rubbing slow circles into your belly now.

“Best part of wakin’ up,” he says eventually, voice all smug and soft and still out of breath, and you laugh into the pillow even though your thighs are still shaking and you feel like jelly.

“You’re an idiot,” you mumble back, reaching behind to smack his thigh, and he just laughs too, hugging you tighter, still inside you, not even thinking about pulling out yet.

“Yeah,” he says, kissing the back of your head, “but I’m your idiot. And I got your morning routine memorized now.”

You hum, smiling. “Good. Keep doing it. I’ll never need coffee again.”

And he just chuckles again, nuzzling into your neck like he’s getting ready to doze off all over again, still deep inside you, and that’s exactly where he plans to stay for the rest of the morning.

And honestly? There’s no better way to start the day.

-------------------------------------------------

hope you enjoyed this bc next up is angsttttt

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid @syofrelief

[centaurianthropology]

Murderbot as a ‘Cringe’ Litmus Test for the Audience (a.k.a., we are culturally the Corporation Rim)

One of the more interesting things I’ve seen in discussions of ‘Murderbot’ are how many people are not happy that the show made the Preservation team more explicitly hippies.  After all, per our current cultural zeitgeist, hippies are silly, over-earnest, over-feeling, over-EVERYTHING. Why is this team of scientists holding hands and humming?  Why are they taking breaks in the middle of a tense situation to reassure a colleague that they love him? Why do they stand around playing music and dancing during their downtime?  Why did the show make them “Cringe”?

And that got me thinking again about the current cultural antipathy toward sincerity and openness.  People who are seen as open and sincere beyond a fairly narrow scope of emotional expression are treated as deeply weird, off-putting, and most importantly for this conversation, as INCOMPETENT.  You can’t be goofy and competent.  You can’t believe in the power of love and friendship and holding hands and taking a dance break, and still be a good scientist.  You can’t have one of the unsexy sorts of mental health problems (panic disorder) and be a good leader.  In our current cultural moment, you have to be Cool.  You have to be unaffected by both the horrors of the world and the day-to-day joys. 

I think that a lot of people see themselves in ‘The Murderbot Diaries’, and a lot of them understandably love the very anticapitalist tone of the books.  And they wanted Preservation to be Cool Space Communists.  Hypercompetent at all times, serious, without flaw.  Because any personal flaws might be taken as flaws in their cultural and political leanings, right?  And we can’t have silliness or goofiness or fun in our Communist Utopia, or people won’t take us seriously.

But to me, the tension is so much better, so much more real and human and FUN. And it makes the audience question their own implicit biases as much as SecUnit is going to have to contemplate its implicit biases.  This team is comprised of highly talented scientists from a culture that values emotions and, yes, activities that we the audience have been culturally trained to think are Cringe.  They do have a humming consensus circle—so that anyone in the team can have veto power over a decision that has major ramifications not only for a research project, but for their own ethics.  They do like to play music and dance when they’ve got some free time, even if that music would be considered embarrassing or offputting to outsiders.  They do openly love one another and support one another, even in—no, especially in—challenging times.  It’s good to have that tension, both to tell the story and to give the characters and the AUDIENCE an emotional and thematic arc.

Let’s use Dr. Mensah as a the best example so far of this tension. Mensah is a good leader.  In every scene where she’s with the group, she’s the heart of it.  She’s always weighing the fears, the thoughts, the feelings, and the arguments of her friends to come to a decision.  She doesn’t feel like Gurathin’s right about not trusting SecUnit, but she’s also very aware that he knows more about the Corporation Rim than she does, and that his arguments, while rooted in his fears, are rational.  So she ends up deciding that they’ll leave the SecUnit behind for their mission. 

And it’s the wrong call. Going out to the dark site in the map without the SecUnit almost gets her killed. But her decision to climb the scree pile alone makes sense, because she doesn’t want to further endanger Bharadwaj, and if she doesn’t climb up there with her equipment, they won’t get important information about what’s going on with their survey data. And yes, while she’s climbing she has another panic attack. But she keeps climbing through it. Hell, she even takes a moment to encourage the teamwork between SecUnit and Gurathin, because that’s an important part of being their leader.  And, yes, they both roll their eyes because they still don’t like one another. But the important thing is that she’s created this sense of openness, of acceptance, of love.

Being a good leader doesn’t mean making the right call all the time.  It means learning from both right calls and wrong calls.  It means creating an environment where people can be wrong, and learn from their mistakes, and try again to get it right.  And it works!  Gurathin may roll his eyes, but he also has the space to apologize for getting it wrong. He has the space to fuck up and try again. And that is created by her encouragement, by her openness, by her caring even when it becomes embarrassing to a man raised in our culture the Corporation Rim, where open emotion is something to smirk at.

And when she’s alone, Mensah falls apart.  When no one can see her, she has panic attacks, because things are starting to go pear-shaped for these people she loves.  Because one of her dear friends nearly died, and she wasn’t there, and apparently that could happen at any time because their maps are faulty, and the only real rescue is an untrustworthy bond company that is a week away at best.  That’s a perfect recipe for a panic attack, but she hides them because she knows what she needs to be for her friends and colleagues.  She is the leader, and damned if she’s going to let something like her panic disorder stop her from doing that.

That’s not incompetent, that’s incredibly courageous.  Her bravery lies in being afraid and pushing through, not being flawless from the off.  The bravery and the competence and the things that eventually are going to win Murderbot over to loving these humans ARE their flaws and the fact that they don’t let those flaws stop them from trying to be the best people they can be, while also being true to a culture of being open and loving to the point that they can come across, to the jaded construct or audience member, as Cringe.

I think we’re going to see more and more of that as the show unfolds.  We’ve only just laid the groundwork, and established the initial impressions of all the characters.  They are being set up for arcs, and by electing to let the Preservation team be more out-there, more earnest, more Cringe, they’re setting the audience up for an arc too.

Anyway, loving the show, can’t wait for the DeltFall storyline to kick off tonight.  And I love this crew being highly-competent space hippies with realistic human flaws, who love and support one another.  In an unrelentingly Cool, Bleak, and Edgy television landscape, it really is nice to have kind characters be free to be their kooky selves without the show judging them for it.

[https-bobreynolds]

a favor

pairing: robert ‘bob’ reynolds x reader

summary: bob has been having trouble getting sleep, so he asks his crush teammate for a favor.

warning: reader is sooooo whipped for bob

author’s note: so pissed rn i was already halfway with the story then my phone decided to restart and i didn’t get to save it :) this is based on one of my headcanons of bob that you can read here

it was half an hour past midnight on a regular friday, you were already fast asleep, given the fact that you just went home from a long mission. you thought that you were going to be able to enjoy this sleep more than you did, until you heard the constant knocking on your front door.

you sighed, being awaken from your dreamland. you quickly sat up and walked to the front door, wanting to murder whoever was disturbing your sleep, “i swear to God, if it’s- oh hi bob.”

the man stood there with a guilty face, fidgeting with his sleeve, a nervous habit. there was a long pause before he started, “h-hey, y/n. can i ask you something?” his voice was hesitant, his gaze flicking to you for a moment before darting away again.

“of course you can” you quickly said, looking at him with a mixture of genuineness and confusion.

he took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. therw was a moment of hesitation, then he spoke again. his words came out in a rushed tumble, almost like he was worried he’d lose the courage to say them if he didn’t hurry. “can i… can i ask you for a favor? it’s sort of… it’s kinda dumb.” he admitted, his cheeks flushing a bit brighter.

“anything, bob. what is it?” you replied softly. at this point you were already cursing at yourself at how obvious you were that you’re absolutely whipped for this man.

he chewed nervously on his lower lip, the nervous habit seemingly taking over. he was still avoiding eye contact, his gaze dropping to his hands that fidgeted on his lap. “i- i uh… i know it’s stupid,” he said, his voice quieter now. “but i’m just… i’m having a hard time… falling asleep is all.”

“oh!” she exclaimed, a bit surprised as the favor but nonetheless, “no, no it’s not stupid. how can i help you.?” she asks, genuinely nervous uncertain on what to do.

he shrugged again, his gaze still averted. he was uncomfortable, whether from his own request or the realization that he couldn’t just power through his insomnia on his own, you weren’t sure. maybe both. he looked tired, and his expression was conflicted. bob fidgeted with the sleeve of his shirt, refusing eye-contact. ”i-i don’t know,” he muttered. “it’s just… could you… uh, could i sit with you for a bit?”

you could only nod to the man, leading him right to your bed. you sat on one side, patting the other one down to let him know that it was okay to sit there, to which he immediately does- a bit too fast for his liking.

you moved closer to bob but still maintaining a small distance, afraid to make him more uncomfortable than he already is. you thought to yourself for quite a while before asking softly, almost coming out as a whisper, “can i touch you, bob?”

he finally looked up at you, his expression caught between surprise and hesitation. he was still nervous, but there was something else there too, something almost like hope. his gaze flickered to her hand, then back to her face. he swallowed hard, then nodded. It was a small motion, barely visible. a silent ‘yes’.

you nodded back at him, one hand moving to carefully caress his arm, almost as if you was writing down something. and the other moving to play with his hair gently, massaging his scalp from time to time, “this okay.?”

he shivered at the contact, but it was a shiver of pleasure. hus eyes fluttered shut, and he let out a soft sigh. bob leaned into your touch, his body losing some of the tension it had been holding onto. despite the initial hesitation, he clearly craved the physical contact, needed it, maybe. his body spoke volumes, even if his words couldn’t. “y-yeah,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “that’s… that’s more than okay.”

you hummed as a response, letting your hands continue the magic… eventually, you started humming a lullaby your mom used to sing for you, back when you couldn’t sleep as a child. the flood of memories making you a bit more sleepy as well.

bob’s expression relaxed even further as you hummed that old lullaby. his shoulders slumped, and he almost seemed to melt into your touch. it was strange, the all-powerful sentry, reduced to a puddle under the slightest touch and some old song. he leaned in, his head tilting to the side, almost like a stray cat being stroked.

you noticed his movement, somewhat understanding what he wants- needs. you moved the hand that was caressing his arm to his jaw, ever so slightly tracing his jawline. the other stroking his head, all still whilst humming the lullaby.

he leaned even further into your touch, practically purring like a cat. it was fascinating, truly, this powerful man, reduced to a relaxed mess just from the simplest of touches. he seemed desperate for more, like he’d never been on the receiving end of such gentleness before. and now that he was, he couldn’t get enough. every brush of your fingers against his skin made him shiver, and each hum from your lips made him melt just a little more.

the sudden realization of your close proximity, the fact that you’re caressing a man on your bed, made a blush creep up your cheeks but she still continued nonetheless. you have also realized that you, have in fact, had never done this kind of skinship before. and the fact that you’re doing this with a profound friend, a teammate even, made your cheeks even more red than it already is.

unbeknownst to you, bob was very much aware of your proximity. the way your knee gently brushed against his leg, the touch of your soft fingers on his skin, the way your breath dusted across his face as you hummed that lovely little song.

you were so close to him, and it was messing with his already rattled brain. he couldn’t deny the way his heart raced and his eyes fluttered shut every time you skimmed a finger against his jaw- he opened his eyes, and saw how red your face was.

the way bob looked at you out of nowhere, caught you off guard, this time you were the one avoiding eye contact, unable to hide your blush. “uhm don’t mind me...” you said softly, pulling away your hands from him, “goodnight bob”

“no, wait, don’t go.” his voice was soft, almost pleading. he reached out, almost on instinct, and caught your hand in his. it was the barest of touches, but the intention was clear.

“o-oh, no yeah, i won’t.” you answered shyly, mentally cursing at yourself once more at how you stuttered with your words. you caressed his hand and said a bit more firmly this time, “i won’t leave you, bob”

his lip twitched at your words, the hint of a smile forming on his face. bob’s grip on your hand loosened, but he didn’t let go. instead, his thumb moved gently over the back of your hand.

”s-stay with me…” he said.

the words were quiet, but there was a hint of desperation in them. he sounded almost like a lost child, searching for comfort in the darkness.

“i will, as long as you’ll have me” you replied, with a smile.

his eyes widened at your response, as if that was the last answer he’d been expecting from you. ”good,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “don’t leave me. i don’t… i don’t want to be alone ever again.” he sounded vulnerable, lost, and more like just ‘bob’ than anything else.

“won’t.” you whispered softly, coming a bit closer, getting rid of any distance the two of you had, “i won’t ever leave you, bob.”

his heart skipped a beat as you came closer, the air between you growing thick with unspoken feelings. his eyes darted over your face, roaming your features as if he was afraid you’d disappear if he looked away.

”p-promise?” he asked, his voice cracking. he searched your gaze, looking for any hint that you were being dishonest.

you looked at him with a genuine look of affection, some might even say… look of love? “i promise, as long as you promise to stay with me too…” you said, carefully caressing one of his cheek, making him let out a shaky sigh.

he leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut. it was as if your hand was a lifeline, anchoring him to reality and keeping him from sinking back into the darkness of his own mind.

he leaned forward, bringing his forehead to rest against yours. his breath was warm against your face, and he spoke in a low, almost reverent tone. “i promise… i’ll stay.”

almost as if saying ‘please do, please stay’ you nodded lightly, afraid to lose his touch- like you might never be able to touch him ever again.

he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, seeming to relax at your gesture of affirmation. the tension in his shoulders melted, and he allowed himself to lean in a little closer, basking in the comfort of your presence, pulling yourself to lay on his chest.

for a moment, there was only silence.

he looked down at you, a wide, satisfied smile spreads across his face when he realized you had fallen asleep. he gently brushes his fingers through your hair, taking a moment to admire you. he felt oddly at peace- comfortable in a way he never had been before. there was no tension, no anxiety, no fear… he was just… content.

bob let out a long sigh, his eyes fluttering shut as he pulled you closer, your limbs tangling together. he was tired- exhausted, really- and he let himself drift off into sleep, a small, faint smile still on his face.

bonus: the next morning

“that favor doesn’t seem so stupid now, huh?”

“n-no, not so stupid at all…”

[the-kr8tor]

Sleeping Beauty

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem! Reader/ Red Hood x fem! Reader

Word count: 2.5k

Synopsis: Jason sees you unmoving on the floor, his worst fear almost brings him to the edge.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), established relationship, lovestruck! Jason, CW food mentions, one suggestive joke, CW anxiety, CW blood and death mention, fluff!

A/N: I don't know if this trope has been done before for him but it's too perfect for Jason!

Navigation

Jason Todd Masterlist

*I don't consent to having my work translated/ published on other platforms and copy pasted on any AI software*

Jason feels lighter as he pulls his bike towards the driveway, the shared driveway that he can't wait to shovel snow off of its pavement once winter comes. He can't even fathom that he wants to do such a thing when he doesn't even like winter, or shoveling snow for that matter. But the mundanity of the act has him feeling normal, feeling like he's just another person bringing takeout to a normal home with its very normal façade, a regular door and even more regular windows. It's a…good feeling, a warm one that brings him hope for whatever the future holds.

For once he doesn't feel like the red hood in the quiet street that's filled with equally normal houses with their normal families residing inside. For once he can just be Jason Todd, not a vigilante, not a gun for hire or anything in between. There's no blood coating the soles of his boots as he steps around the freshly poured concrete that you've etched yours and his initials into and inside a crudely drawn heart. “It's tradition,” you said with a shining smile. He smiles at the sight of it, remembering how much you giggled while you drew it on the wet concrete like you're etching his and your names on a tree.

The house isn't as grandiose as the Wayne Manor, but just like the manor, it's home to him.

Jason pats for his keys, noticing the lack of weapons on his person that he's so used to that it's second nature for him to check them. He has no weapons on him, except for a small knife you've given to him as an anniversary present that you said brings out his eyes as a joke. He always brings it wherever he goes. When some people would have their loved ones pictures in their wallet, Jason has this as a reminder of you. Whenever he's nervous or worried, he runs his thumb across the leather handle, letting the small notches in it ground him. The blade never pierced flesh nor will it ever be marred by blood since it's a reminder of you. On his driveway, he's just someone who's just bringing home takeout after hauling boxes upon boxes of things into the new home.

Bruce and his brothers helped with the big move at first, but with the bat signal raised up high in downtown Gotham, they had to go before Jason could even repay their help with greasy takeout. When he tried to come with, Dick stopped him with a strong hand on his shoulder, saying that he should let them take care of the situation. For once, he's happy to oblige. He smiles at the thought of not having that sense of urgency anymore. The weight inside his stomach slowly fades in time, it weighs like a boulder, pleading for him to don the suit and rush towards the signal with his guns. But as he looks up at the starry sky, the bat signal flickers out completely— another mission accomplished. If not then Oracle would've called him for backup as a last resort. Since his phone is as silent as the street that he now lives in, he exhales shakily, fists furling and unfurling out to rid him of that awfully familiar weight.

The people of Gotham are in safe hands while he's out here with you.

Grabbing the plastic bags of warm noodles and dimsum, he fishes out the ring of keys inside his pockets. As he walks quietly on the cobblestones, the doormat that you've chosen greets him at the door. It has the cliché ‘Welcome!’ sign on it, for once he likes clichés.

After a bout of reminiscing and smiling to himself like some love sick fool, he unlocks the door with a click. Silence hangs in the foyer, the queen sized mattress is still standing against the wall, waiting to be carried upstairs. He makes a mental note to haul it upstairs lest the two of you sleep on the floor tonight.

The scent of lavender wafts around him, for sure coming from a scented candle that's lit somewhere. The smell coincides with the scent of his old books that are temporarily placed on the dinner table while the pieces of his bookshelves are still in its box. A soft smile appears on his lips at the thought of you two struggling to put it together as he crosses the shared space with silent footsteps.

“Sweetheart, I'm home.” Jason calls out in the dimly lit home. He's met with the quiet ticking of the wall clock. The lack of lights makes his skin stand on edge, especially when you always had the old apartment lit back when you two still lived downtown. And you always reply back to him the second he enters the place, always quick with a first aid kit in hand or a peck or two.

“Hey, where are you?” He asks the air as he toes off his shoes, placing them neatly beside yours. “They didn't have the chicken you wanted but they did give us extra fortune cookies.” Still nothing on your end. “Babe?”

Honing in on the faint groans of the house, he concentrates, ears twitching and picking up nothing that could involve you. There's no light clacking of your footsteps, nor your voice as you mumble a song that's stuck in your head.

“You could be upstairs,” Jason tells himself to avoid the awful biting feeling. First he'll sweep the whole downstairs, an old habit. Looking towards the kitchen, he finds it eerily empty. Save for the warming kettle that looks like you left on the stove with the fire still on. Your mug and his own are sitting beside it, the tea bags are as dry as a bone inside the ceramic. The kettle shrieks just as he places the takeout on the counter, shutting the stove off, he has an awful feeling gnawing at his chest. Worry slithering from the back of his head down to the pit of his stomach.

Jason's hand doesn't tremble as he takes the knife from his pocket, brandishing the blade as he stalks his own home. Heart pounding in his chest, rattling his ribs and blood flowing in his ears. His mind draws the worst, your blood sticking to the new couch, ichor dripping all over the walls. Then a struggle, a lamp knocked down, glass shards everywhere— a gun to your head. And your screams, yelling for him before you're shut up for good.

He fights those thoughts as he enters the living room, boxes littered around while you're nowhere in sight. The grip he has on the knife tightens, the handle digging harshly into his palm.

Just as he rounds the corner, he sees your feet sticking out from behind the couch, laying on the carpeted floors— unmoving.

Eyes widening and frantic, heart plummeting down to his stomach, his worst nightmare comes to life. Jason stands there for a moment as if he doesn't trust his own eyes, frozen at the sight. Then he inhales, waking himself back to reality, walking closer until you're in his sight.

You're curled around a couch pillow, eyes closed, body relaxed. Looking like how he left you— an oversized shirt, and a pair of comfortable sweats. There's no drop of blood on you, but that doesn't always mean you're alright. Jason kneels, a shaking hand reaching to feel for your pulse. The second his index feels the light thump of your heartbeat, he exhales loudly in relief.

“Oh thank fuck.” He almost drops his whole body on you from the sheer relief. Tucking the knife back inside his pocket, you stir in your sleep. “Gave me a fucking scare.” Whispering, he grasps your bicep gently, not waking you up, but just to feel your warmth. Making sure that his cruel mind isn't playing tricks on him again.

“Mm-hmm.” Mumbling, and as if you're sensing his presence above you, you crack an eye open. Meeting with his bright emerald eyes that seem to light up in the dim room, relief swimming in the shining embers. “Hey,” your voice crackles with sleep. “I fell asleep.”

“You did.” Chuckling breathlessly, Jason carefully cleans the gunk from the corner of your eye. You feel how clammy his palm is against your cheek, hand gravitating towards his nape, nails scratching mindlessly at the scruff. “Was the floor more comfortable than the couch?”

Craning your neck towards the plump green couch, you scrunch your nose. “I didn't want to ruin it.”

“Babe, c’mon, why did we buy it then?” He pokes your cheek, and you grab his wrist, acting like you're about to bite it as he plays tug of war with you. “We're bound to ruin it anyway.” he winks, and you pause, flustered as you pull at his finger to take a gentle bite that has him laughing.

“It looks too perfect, and the floor is nice and cold.”

“I should adjust the thermostat then.” Before he could move away, you tug at his hand, wordlessly inviting him to rest on the floor beside you. With a fond smile, he obliges.

When he lies down with a groan, you immediately turn towards him, hand grasping at his collar to pull him closer. “There, you look like you need the rest.”

“Why?” His thumb traces the side of your face. “Do I look that tired?”

Shaking your head, you fight a yawn. “No, you look like you've seen a ghost, Jay. Are you okay?”

Sniffing, Jason cups your cheek, feeling your warmth ebb through his palms. “I just thought… nothing, it's stupid.”

Your brows furrow, concern prevalent on your face. “Your hand's cold, and you're breathing heavily. It's either our house is haunted or you carried the mattress up by yourself.” Palm placed on his chest, you feel his quick heartbeat that's slowly steadying under your touch. “You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. Just tell me what to do.” Voice shrinking, you pat his heart. “Do you want me to stay like this?”

Nudging your nose with his own, Jason closes his eyes, lashes fluttering as he breathes you in. You smell like his cologne and the lavender candles you lit. You're breathing, alive and holding him gently. “Please stay.” That's all he wants.

“Okay, I'll stay.” Whispering, you move closer, chest to chest, fingers moving strands of hair from his eyes. “And whatever it is, it's not stupid.”

Humming, his lips brush along the space between your brows, then he traces down to the bridge of your nose. Kissing you softly like a fallen flower petal grazing along your skin.

Smiling through his affectionate kisses, you brush his hair away from his eyes again, giggling when the strand falls back down on his eyelids. “You need a haircut.”

Eyes half lidded, green peeking through, the corner of his lips curls into a light smile. “Do you want to do it for me?”

“Me?” You gasp out, and he throws his leg over yours, embracing you as if his arm over your waist wasn't enough. “I might ruin your hair, Jay bird. I don't trust my hand eye coordination when it comes to scissors. Especially with your nice hair, I might end up giving you a mohawk.”

“I could rock a mohawk.” You grin at the thought. “Your coordination is fine, babe.” Blowing his bangs off his face for emphasis, he draws hearts around the plush of your bare hip. “You did hit me with an encyclopedia dead on.”

“That was one time!” Mouth agape and feigning offense, you lightly smack his chest, scars peeking above the hem of his shirt. Scars that you've lovingly traced with your lips and fingers. “I thought you were a burglar! And in my defense, it was dark out, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He chuckles, a palm cupping the back of your neck, placing affectionate pecks over the corner of your eye. “You got me good though, hit me right on my noggin.”

Laughing, you bite your lip at the memory. “I'm sorry, good thing you were wearing your helmet back then.”

“Yeah, good thing.” Keeping you close, his muscles relax even more, the fear that encapsulated him is just a dull ache in his stomach now.

Your knuckles brush along the curve of his jaw, the same worried look returns to your pretty face. “Jay—”

“I thought you got hurt.” Blurting it out, he frowns at the recent memory. “The house was dark and you left the kettle on. Then I saw you… and I—” inhaling, he gives you a strained smile. “I feel better now though, you don't have to worry too much.”

“Oh, Jason.” Lifting yourself up by your elbows, you gaze at him softly as he holds onto your waist like it's his lifeline. “I didn't mean to—”

“It's not your fault, that's just how my mind works I guess. Seriously, it's fine.”

Taking his hand, you place his palm right on your beating heart. “Worrying is part of my job, handsome.” You beam at him, staring fondly and leaning down to kiss the tip of his nose. “I'm sorry for leaving the kettle on. I promise to not forget next time, and I promise to keep the place lit. And then whenever I take a nap, it'll be on our too perfect couch.” He sighs, eyes gazing up at you with reverence as he nods and pulls you down towards him. “I'll try to lessen your worries.”

“Thank you,” tugging you down, he hides his face on the crook of your neck. Arms wrapped around you like a cocoon. You rest on his chest, cheek pressed right on his heart as you rub reassuring circles all over his clavicle. “I don't mind you sleeping on the floor. Your poor back might feel it though.” You can feel his smile against your skin.

Moving a smidge away, you grin at him, eyes shining with mischief. “Yeah, I might need a massage actually.”

“From me?” He raises his brows, a smirk playing on his lips. “I would but I don't trust my hand eye coordination.” Pinching your sides, he lets out a quiet laugh.

Giggling, you poke his cheek playfully. “You don't need that to give a massage though.”

“Maybe for shit massages.” The chorus of laughter echoing from the living room drenches the whole house in warmth. “Say please?”

You roll your eyes, moving down to press a brief yet saccharine kiss right on his smiling lips. “Please?”

“You really want that massage huh?” He pats your cheek, then his hand crawls to your nape, gently kneading. “Do you still want that massage even if I didn't get you your orange chicken?”

Tilting your head, you shake your head with a grin while squeezing his cheeks together. “I'd say that it's a good bargain.” You were on the floor for a second, then the next you're lifted up, legs wrapped around his hips as he carries you. “Jason!” Squeaking and grinning, you wrap your arms behind his head for leverage.

“What?” He asks innocently, mirroring your giddy smile as he brushes his lips against your cheek. “I'm going to give you that massage.” It's a ruse to get you off of the harsh floor, but you let him when his hold is much more comfortable than the floor.

“Better be a damn good massage then.” You say before you're dropped on the couch, bouncing gently as you stare up at him lovingly.

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

[stellamarielu]

worthy

andrew “pope” cody x female reader

summary: you tell andrew you want to start a new life with him— away from the chaos of his family, and he agrees with another future promise on his mind

content: nsfw, 18+ mdni, a sprinkle of angst & a dash of fluff but almost entirely smut, pope with a nasty breeding kink, lots of pregnancy talk, reader has hair but no explicit description of it’s appearance, gut wrenching intimacy, fingering, cum play, we’re doing cowgirl AND mating press buckle up baby!

word count: 3.4k

author’s note: hi hello, i am HEAVY on my pope cody shit rn, and i know we’re all longing to give that man a baby, so i thought i'd take one for the team and write this little fic. let’s just imagine this is some kind of alternate universe where pope gets a happy ending, and a family of his own.

Wet curls gather at your fingertips, as Andrew’s head burrows deeper into your chest. Your hand passes through his hair, absentmindedly following the pattern of his curls, as he concentrates on the sequence of your steady breath underneath his cheek. 

“Long night?” A soft whisper leaves your lips as you continue threading your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. 

He doesn’t respond, just subtly nudges further into your touch. 

You let a blanket of silence fall over the room. 

He’d been gone most of the day, out on a job. When he finally got home he walked straight past your frame laying in bed, heading directly for the bathroom, barely acknowledging you before turning on the shower and filling the room with steam. 

You gave him space, letting the water wash the remnants of his remorse down the drain. 

Solitude played a pivotal role in Pope’s ability to process his actions after a particularly long day. You’d learned to give him time alone when he came home from a job, knowing he’d seek out your comfort when he was ready— when he felt worthy of your silent forgiveness. 

He’ll always remember the first time his feet carried him up the stairs of your front porch in search of your nurturing exoneration. Him and his brothers had just pulled off an incredibly intricate heist, one that he should’ve been proud of— relieved by the success of their endeavors. Instead, he strayed from his family’s celebration, finding himself on the doorstep of the girl he’d been seeing for the past few weeks. A girl he had no business keeping in his life. In fact, every moment he spent with you up until that point had been laced with worry and hesitation, scared that he’d taint you with his unruly lifestyle. But you were unlike anyone he’d ever known, never running out of compassion and holding yourself steady with a soft disposition, it drew him to you. The magnetic field of your aura calling to him, as his heavy hand knocked on your door, still shaky from the adrenaline and regret coursing through his veins.  

You didn’t ask any questions, just helped him get cleaned up and pulled him into bed next to you. His body fit perfectly beside yours under the thick fluffy linen of your duvet. All he could think about the entire night was that white comforter, and how it was far too pure to envelop someone like him.

Neither of you said a word, he just laid with his head on your chest while you ran your fingers through his hair until he fell asleep. Limbs intertwined in the same way they would be every single night after that. 

Now your house was just as much his. His clothes in your drawers, his toothbrush next to yours by the bathroom sink, his shoes by the front door; it was his home too now- you were his home. 

Pope never knew anything other than the life handed to him by smurf. His perception of the world was dark, hopeless, primitive. He’d been raised that way. Never thinking he could be anything other than a bomb on a detonator just waiting to self-destruct. He was destined for a life full of pain and deception— destined to be Pope Cody. 

But then he became your Andrew. 

Despite everything you learned about him— you stuck around. Never using the nickname assigned to him as a kid, instead exclusively calling him by the name given to him at birth, the name graced upon him when he was still undiluted, clean of the mess waiting ahead of him. 

He’d never loved someone the way he loved you. He never even thought it was possible. But when he came home to you at the end of a long night, with his head on your chest, listening to the smooth beating of your heart as you graced him with your gentle touch, he found redemption. There was vindication in your forgiveness— an unspoken, yet absolute commitment to him.  

“Maybe it’s finally time for us to get out of here.” Your voice was still quiet and your hands continued their movement at Andrew’s scalp as he laid on your chest.

“We could go up north, get a house somewhere…” You begin devising a plan as he relaxes further into your touch, his face hidden from your view, making it impossible to see his reaction to your words. 

“maybe the mountains…” Your voice is mild, matching the soft rhythm of your strokes through his hair.

“Nothing extravagant, just two or three bedrooms. We could start over, on our own.”

The words trail out of your mouth, thoughts spewing as you look down at the man laying on your lap. You knew he thought about it— leaving. The two of you had talked about it before, yet here you were.

“We could be free from all of this. You deserve a normal life Andrew.”

He doesn’t.

That’s all he can think as you continue petting his hair, your touch keeping him in a trance, acting as a mirage of warmth and protection washing over him. Showing him a vision of a man deserving of love. 

“I don’t know about the mountains.” His tone was gruff, words fighting against his throat as they slipped into the air. 

“You don’t do well with the cold.” You couldn’t see his face but you knew there was a slight smirk on his lips by the sound of his voice. 

“When should we go?”

His question was simply spoken— genuine.

For the first time that night, your fingers paused, intertwined in the deep auburn of his curls as you sat in silence.

The lull in your movements was rectified by his own fingers toying with the hem of your panties. It wasn't inherently sexual, but rather tender, as his fingertips traced the skin at your waist, dipping under the material just enough to coax a shallow breath from your chest. 

“Andrew…” You whispered his name, spoken like a quiet warning underneath the gasp at feeling his touch trailing lower inside your underwear. 

“Tomorrow? Next week?” The questions mumble from his lips as he keeps his face smushed into the material of your shirt.

With a hand inside your underwear, his middle finger comes to a resting position on your clit. You instinctively curl your fingers into his scalp at the feeling of him rubbing small, delicate circles in between your thighs.  

“I’m ovulating.” Another warning from your lips as you sigh from the relief of his touch on your body. 

You tracked your cycle religiously. It had become your primary form of birth control, definitely not the most foolproof, but it hadn’t failed you yet. 

He didn’t stop at your warning, just kept pressing soft circles into your clit.

“We should stop.” You tug on his hair a little as the words leave your mouth, trying to confirm the seriousness of the situation.

“Yeah?”

He rustles in his spot until his face is peering up at you, wearing an expression of pride. 

“So, just you and me in that two bedroom house then?” 

His big soft eyes bore into yours with your hands still holding onto his hair, frozen at the implication on his lips. 

The feeling stirring in his chest was foreign. 

A sudden longing for something he’d never had.

A family. A baby. Your baby. His baby. Not given to him, not found, but born. A piece of him brought into the world in the most pure form, built from a place of unconditional love. A promise of what could be. It was so daunting- the idea of it, but he couldn’t shake the anticipation coursing through his veins as he stared intently, watching your eyes widen upon hearing his words. 

“Are you serious?” Your lips curl into a smile at the implication— him wanting to get you pregnant. He’d never once mentioned having kids. Never once came in you with the intent of knocking you up, so the topic catches you off guard.

He takes your wonder-struck grin of infatuation as disbelief— possible amusement that he’d ever think you’d want to have a baby with him.

His eyes lose their hopeful glimmer, gaze suddenly growing rigid and darting away from you at the potential doubt lacing your words. Of course you didn’t want to have a baby with him. He was a mess— his life was a mess. 

“Andrew…” You draw out his name in a soft, sweet breath as you attempt to get him to look at you, but he’s already lost, wandering the maze of remorse and self-doubt paved in his mind. 

His hand slips from your panties, and his body pulls into a seated position against the headboard. He refuses to look at you. The disgust on his face is evident, and you know he’s angry— not at you, not at the situation, but at himself.

Throwing the comforter off your body, you sit up, crawling onto his lap, straddling his hips and sitting back on his thighs. 

“Andrew?” The one word question lingers in the air as you cock your head to the side, your hands wandering up his bare chest, until they’re at his jaw pulling his gaze up to meet yours.

His stare is cautious as he peers up, leaning in to your thumbs rubbing back and forth at his cheeks. 

“Do you want to have a baby?” You stare deeply into his eyes, your tone low and serious.

You search his expression, trying to gauge what’s going through his mind. His eyes hold a picture of bewildered hope before he’s crashing his lips onto yours. Kissing you like he’s starving. His hands shoot to your hips, gripping hard as his lips interlock with yours. 

He’s nodding pathetically with his mouth against yours. Not capable of forming words through the adrenaline fueling his actions, he just kisses you harder, shaking his head to communicate the answer to your question. Yes, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he wanted to give you a baby.

He reaches for the hem of your shirt, pushing the material up until one of his hands splays out over your stomach, caressing the skin of your lower abdomen. His pupils are shot as he pulls back from the kiss to look between your eyes, and his hand resting on your skin. 

“Is that what you want?” His stare is focused on his hand caressing your belly.

You nod.

“Say it.” 

His demand is stern as his stare moves to your face- intense and rough.

“I want you to fuck me full Andrew…” 

A soft groan leaves his lips. 

“Want you to put a baby in me.”

His hands immediately find the waistband of your panties, fighting the urge to rip the thin material straight from your body. 

He yanks at them until you’re hovering over his lap, aiding him in getting them down your legs. He pulls his own underwear off, and you're back on his lap. The only piece of clothing left between you is the shirt on your back, which he immediately peels off your torso.

Both of you are completely bare, and he pulls you back to him with his hands threaded through your hair, kissing you with the same hunger as before. Fueled by the thought of finishing in you, filling you with every last drop, and fucking you until it seeps back out around his cock through every thrust. 

His hand comes down between your bodies, two thick fingers at your entrance, circling, but not daring to push in. He lets out a weak grunt, as he plays in the pool of slick threatening to drip down your legs. Amazed by how wet you are, his mind buzzes at the idea of you already being such a mess from the mere mention of him getting you pregnant. He has half a mind to push his dick into you right then and there— to thrust into you to the hilt and pull your hips down onto him over and over again until he’s cumming once, twice, maybe even three times, until you're full and leaking, practically crying from how good it feels, but he wont, not yet. 

Andrew always makes you cum first. Always ensuring that you're shaking on his fingers, or seeping onto his tongue before he gets his dick wet between your folds. Not because it’s the chivalrous thing to do, but because he’s obsessed with it; watching how your body reacts to him, knowing exactly what angle of his fingers makes you twitch. The exact speed to circle your clit with his tongue to have you clenching your legs around his head. It’s the routine of it, the satisfaction in hearing you cry out his name, and knowing he can do it again and again. Treating your pleasure like a game he’ll always win. 

But tonight, you grip his wrist, stopping him before you can feel the ease of his fingers sinking into you. 

“Not tonight.” You move his hand from between your legs, bringing it up to your mouth and placing a gentle kiss to his palm.

“Just wanna feel you.” You mumble into the palm of his hand before guiding it to rest on your cheek. He’s holding your face carefully as you shift your weight until you feel his length nudging at your entrance. 

Sinking down, your cheek pushes further into his palm, and he holds you steady, his chest heaving as he fills you inch by inch. 

You wait for a second before you move, focusing on how deep he feels as you sit there with him pushed completely into you. 

He always fucked you with reverance. Fucked you like he meant it— long deep strokes in purposeful positions where he could see your face, watching your eyes roll back in your head with pleasure. But, in this moment, he was frozen. His hands holding your face, eyes locked on yours, mind echoing with your voice asking him to give you a baby. He lets you take your time, grinding down onto him with little whimpers escaping your throat as you rock your hips. 

Your hands find his chest, bracing against his body as you move over him, keeping a steady pace. In a complete daze, you angle your hips a little differently to bury his dick even further into you, and he watches your face as it contorts in pleasure. Your hips have a mind of their own as they move in a perfectly calculated rhythm. Your eyes are on him, but glazed over with a distant fog while you mindlessly chase your release, riding him with a desperation he’d never seen before. 

He knows you're close. He can see it in the familiar twitch of your jaw, and the focused furrow of your brows. 

He brings a hand down between your bodies, flat at the base of his cock until your clit is gliding across his knuckles. Using the position of his hand to double your pleasure, he watches as you feverishly rub against him, using him for your own pleasure. 

Your fingertips at his chest mount harder, and your head falls back, strangled moans slipping past your lips as your hips move faster. Snapping back and forth until they’re stuttering. 

Andrew’s hands are still on your face, adjusting your head to make your eyes level with his. Making sure he gets to watch you cum. 

Your mouth falls open, eyes zoned in on his as you cum around his cock. Your pulsing and shuttering, the only thing keeping your body from slumping forward into his are his hands still holding your head steady. 

A current of pleasure washes through you, lingering in the spasms of your thighs, as Andrew watches. Giving you a moment to breathe, he lets his hands move from your face, pushing through your hair and trailing down to your waist. 

With his dick still buried deep into you, he maneuvers your body until your back is on the mattress. He brings your legs up until your knees are practically against your chest, trapped under his weight as he hovers over you. 

“What was that you said earlier?” His soft growl is just inches from your ear as he presses further into you. 

“About fucking you full?”

You don’t answer, you can’t. Not with the way his dick is buried so far into you, grinding deliberately against the plush of your walls, tip threatening to kiss your cervix. 

Something must’ve snapped in him while he watched you finish, because Andrew isn’t normally this vocal in bed. He’ll groan and whine, speak a brief praise, or quick command, but he’s not one for extensive dirty talk. Hearing him speak like this, looking you in the eyes while he pulls out slowly just to plunge back into you, is unlike him. 

He’s completely entranced by your body under his control. Unable to think about anything other than giving you all of him. The need takes over his entire body, and he can’t help but vocalize it.  

“Want me to fill you up?”

His head comes down to rest against yours, foreheads meeting as he bucks his hips into you hard.

“Want me to give you a baby?”

You nod with your head pressed against his, a pitiful, whining mess at his words. 

Then he drives into you. Serving you deep, deliberate strokes as he keeps your legs folded against your body. Thrusting with a melody of raspy, breathless groans at his lips, his hot breath fans over your face as he fucks you. He loses all control, taken over by a primal need to fill you with his release— to see you carrying his child. 

He’s relentless. Letting the way your nails drag down his back, spur on the sinful slapping of skin on skin that fills the room. It’s not fast, but intentional— purposeful. Each thrust a promise of your future as he keeps his eyes on you, Telling you he loves you in the intimacy of his body colliding with yours. 

“Please Andrew.” The two words are whispered from your lips, begging to feel him soak into you, asking for him to give you everything. And It’s all you have to say for him to completely come undone.

He cums with a string of strangled moans, the weight of his body completely crumbling into you, his forehead still resting against yours.

His body is heaving, dick still buried inside of you- nearly quivering. You bring your hands to his hair, playing with his curls as he comes down from his high.

He pulls back after a few seconds, sliding out of you, and sitting up, freeing you from the weight of his torso on yours. You raise up onto your elbows, watching as he kneels between your legs.

He puts a hand on one of your thighs, prying your legs further apart while he watches your pussy, messy and swollen underneath him. 

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look up at you, just stares down between your legs, parted for him. Waiting. Standing by in anticipation to see himself dripping from your core. 

You feel it, thick and warm as it seeps at your opening. 

Before it can pool on the sheets beneath you, Andrew brings his thumb to your entrance, thick and sturdy, and pushing into you. His finger sinks in to the knuckle, a low moan leaving your mouth as you both watch between your legs as he fucks his spend back into you. Stroking a few times before making his way back up your body, hovering over you until you feel his dick, still hard and throbbing, gliding through your folds.

“Andrew…” You feel light headed as you pant out his name, and it almost sounds like a cry. 

“Thought you wanted me to keep going till I knocked you up?” His voice approaches a playful tone as he raises his brows along with his words. 

He doesn’t say anything else, just pushes all the way back into you, thrusting nice and slow, determined to fuck you through the night if that’s what it takes. All he knows, is that this time next month, you’ll be pregnant with his baby.

[junojoel]

Cake and Candles

Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Summary: Joel never forgets your birthday.

Warnings: fluff, reader is implied younger than joel through one piece of dialogue, Joel's love language being acts of service/gift giving, reader had a mom, dad and little brother

ITS MY BIRTHDAYYYY!!!! ellie birthday episode and my birthday being in the same week was too much fate for me not to write this.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

It had rained the night before, which meant the alleys smelled worse than usual — sour and metallic, like the city was rotting from the inside out. The puddles on the concrete looked more like oil than water and the sky hung low and mean.

The drop was supposed to be quick. A supply run from an abandoned ration depot near the North Wall to a safehouse two zones over. Painkillers, batteries, something with an industrial chemical label that Joel warned you not to breathe near.

You were three hours in, already soaked through, and the mood had turned to shit.

Joel barely said a word the whole time. Tess did most of the talking, leading the three of you through narrow side streets and broken corridors like she’d lived in the bones of this place for decades. You kept your eyes up, finger close to the trigger. Your boots were too loud, your nerves too exposed.

“Two more blocks,” Tess muttered, crouched beside a rusted-out vending machine. “Then we sit tight.”

You nodded, Joel only grunted.

And you told yourself not to think about it. About what day it was. About what it used to mean.

But you did. Of course you did.

The thought kept coming back like a compulsion: If things were normal, I'd be home right now.

Your mom would’ve been waking you up early — warm kitchen light, the smell of sugar and cinnamon, her telling you not to peek while she decorated. Your little brother would’ve made some half-glued card with stick figures and misspelled words, and your dad would’ve tried to act cool while holding out whatever he'd managed to barter for that year. Cheap jewellery. A book. A cassette tape. Whatever felt like something.

Now the idea of cake and candles made your stomach hurt.

But still. You remembered. You kept track.

You weren’t even sure why anymore.

Tess glanced over her shoulder as you cleared the alley and stepped into the shadow of a half-collapsed parking garage.

“You’ve been quiet,” she said, voice low.

You tried to shrug it off. “Just tired.”

But her eyes narrowed, suspicious in that way she got when she knew you were lying but didn’t feel like calling you on it yet.

“Alright,” she said slowly. “But don’t lose your edge. We’re not safe yet.”

Joel gave you a sidelong glance, like he’d caught the lie too.

The handoff went fine. Quick, quiet, almost clean. You met the contact in an old laundromat with half the ceiling caved in. Joel stood near the back, one hand resting casually on his pistol, eyes cold and distant.

You did your job. Took the crate. Loaded the bags. Moved through the checkpoint tunnels without drawing attention.

You didn’t say a word the whole way back.

By nightfall, you were holed up in the safehouse near the old subway tracks. It wasn’t much — one small room, a gas lamp, sleeping bags, and a metal table with one leg shorter than the others. But the door locked, and now that was enough.

Tess peeled off her jacket, wrung out the rainwater, and looked between you and Joel like she was trying to decide which of you would implode first.

“Alright,” she said, grabbing her pack. “I’ve got another deal to check on. You two hold down the fort. Try not to brood each other to death.”

Before she left, she paused in the doorway and shot you a look. Her voice softened.

“You doing okay?”

You hesitated.

You could lie. But something about the way she looked at you — not pitying, not prying, just… knowing — made your throat go tight.

“It’s just a day,” you said finally.

Tess nodded slowly, her gaze flicking briefly to Joel. “Yeah. That’s what we all tell ourselves.”

Then she was gone.

You sat on the edge of the sleeping bag, staring at your hands.

Joel was already at the table, stripping and cleaning his gun with mechanical precision. Every movement deliberate. Detached.

You listened to the sound of metal clicking, cloth brushing steel.

Finally, he spoke.

“You gonna tell me what the hell’s eatin’ at you, or am I supposed to guess?”

Your jaw clenched. “It’s nothing.”

He snorted. “You’ve said less than ten words all day. Even Tess noticed. And she’s usually too busy talking to hear herself breathe.”

You huffed, reluctant, but the words were already pushing forward.

“It’s stupid.”

Joel didn’t answer. Just waited.

You looked down at your hands again.

“It’s my birthday.”

That made him pause. He set the cloth down slowly and looked up. Something flickered in his expression, gone too fast to catch.

You laughed, but it was hollow. “I know. Dumb thing to care about now. I just— I always used to. My family made a big deal out of it. Even when we didn’t have anything. And now… I don’t know. I guess part of me keeps expecting someone to remember. Even though they can’t.”

Joel’s mouth twitched. Not quite a frown. Not quite anything. He looked away. “Birthdays don’t mean much anymore.”

“I know. That’s what I keep telling myself.”

You stood, pacing now, energy suddenly too restless to hold.

“But it’s like… this twisted kind of hope, right? You spend all year just trying to survive, and then one day rolls around and you remember you used to feel important. Used to feel seen. And now it’s just another reminder that you’re alone.”

Joel’s jaw worked.

You didn’t see him move at first — just the rustle of his coat, the sound of the door unlatching.

You turned. “Where are you going?”

He didn’t answer. Just pulled on his jacket and stepped outside.

You sat in the dark, listening to the wind rattle the window boards. The minutes stretched. You tried not to think about him. Tried not to wonder if he’d come back, or if maybe you’d said too much, crossed a line he didn’t want crossed.

Then the door creaked open and Joel stepped back in, face cold, holding something wrapped in a rag. You blinked as he walked past you, set it down on the table, and unwrapped it slowly.

A dented metal can.

You stepped closer.

Peaches.

The label was torn, but you could still make out the picture — bright orange slices swimming in syrup. It looked like something out of a dream.

You stared.

Joel didn’t meet your eyes.

“Found it near the East checkpoint. Took it off some jackass who was trying to trade it for antibiotics. Almost got himself shot.”

You swallowed hard.

“Don’t get used to it,” he said. “It’s a one-time thing.”

You sat slowly.

He cracked the can open with his knife. The scent hit instantly — sweet and sharp, syrupy and thick. It brought tears to your eyes before you could stop them.

Joel handed you a spoon.

“Happy birthday,” he said, barely louder than a whisper.

You looked up. “Thank you.”

You didn’t talk much after that. Just sat and shared the can between you, passing the spoon back and forth in silence. It was too sweet, too sticky, but it tasted like something close to memory.

You should’ve left it there—quiet and safe, something unspoken you could both pretend didn’t matter tomorrow.

But the sugar and the warmth of it, the bitter nostalgia curling behind your ribs, made your guard slip. You stared down at the last peach in the can, barely more than syrup and pulp now, and said it before you could stop yourself.

“Do you remember yours?”

Joel didn’t look up. “My what?”

“Your birthday.”

He stilled. Spoon halfway to the can, hand clenched just a little too tight.

“You don’t have to answer,” you added quickly. “I just— I don’t know. You did this for me. Made me feel like I mattered today. Thought maybe that meant birthdays meant something to you, too.”

Joel exhaled through his nose. The sound was flat. Dry. Almost a laugh, but not.

“They don’t.”

You looked at him carefully. “But they used to?”

He stared ahead like he wasn’t really seeing the room. His fingers drummed once against the table, then stopped.

“Long time ago,” he said. “When things were… different.”

“Family?”

His jaw tightened. You regretted asking, wanted to take it back.

He didn’t answer right away. Just leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face. The lines at the corners of his eyes looked deeper in the lamplight, carved in by time and grief and things he’d never said out loud.

“Had a daughter,” he said finally. Voice low, rough-edged. “She used to make me pancakes. Every year. Even when she burned ‘em.”

Your breath caught.

Joel didn’t look at you. Just kept his eyes on some point far away, like the past was something he could still see if he squinted hard enough.

“After… everything,” he said, “I stopped keeping track. Seemed easier that way.”

You were quiet for a long time.

Then he said it. Quiet. Flat. Like something he’d rehearsed in his head a thousand times but never let pass his lips.

“September 26th.”

You felt the air shift. The weight of it settle between you.

“Jesus,” you whispered.

Joel didn’t answer.

“I’m sorry.”

He just gave a small shake of his head, like he didn’t know what to do with your sympathy. Like he didn’t think he deserved it.

“I was at work,” he said, eyes fixed somewhere far away. “Didn't mean to be that late. My daughter wanted to bake something, asked me to bring a cake home. She was real excited. Kept asking me to stay home that night.”

You didn’t breathe.

He rubbed a hand over his mouth, then let it drop.

“Anyway. It was that night."

You nodded, throat tight.

Joel reached out and pushed the last piece of peach toward you with the spoon.

You took it.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “For this.”

“Won’t make a habit of it,” he muttered.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You woke before the sun, the cold biting at your nose through the cracked window. The room was dark, quiet — just the soft hum of wind threading through boarded slats. Another day. Another job. You told yourself it was just that.

You sat up slowly, pulling your jacket closer, and tried not to think about the date. But of course you did. The date. It nestled in your jaw like a bad tooth, aching every time your mind circled back.

It was your birthday.

You hadn't told anyone. Not this year. Not after how last year had gone, with Joel’s voice going flat when you asked about his own birthday, the air going still when he’d muttered September 26th, and your stomach flipping when you realised why that date mattered. You hadn’t meant to open a wound — you’d just wanted to share something.

So this year, you didn’t bring it up. You told yourself it was fine. That birthdays didn’t mean anything anymore.

Still, you hoped — foolishly, silently — that someone might remember. That Joel might remember.

“Pack light. We’re headin’ to Bill’s.”

You glanced up from where you were tightening the strap on your boot, heart giving a soft lurch. “Supply run?”

He gave a noncommittal grunt — not exactly a yes, but not a no either — and turned back into the hallway without another word. Typical.

You exhaled slowly. Today of all days. You couldn’t decide if it was a relief that he didn’t remember or if it stung more because you’d spent the last few days nervously rehearsing whether or not to bring it up. Your birthday had crept up again like it always did now — not with excitement, but with that same sharp pang of twisted anticipation that you couldn’t fully shake.

The truck ride was long and uneventful. Joel didn’t say much beyond the occasional grunt when a pothole jostled the tires or a flick of his hand to indicate a change in route. The countryside passed in blur — dead trees, skeletal remains of billboards, rusted-out signs and roads that had long since stopped leading anywhere. He’d said they needed extras. Ammo from Bill, spare wires, maybe some of Frank’s dried herbs.

You kept your face turned toward the window and tried not to count how many birthdays you’d had since the world ended. It didn’t matter.

Bill and Frank’s compound came into view as the sun was dipping into its late-afternoon golden hour, the light casting long shadows across the fence line and orchard. The gate creaked open automatically — someone had been watching. Of course they had.

Bill met you at the entrance like he always did: with a gun over his shoulder and a permanent scowl on his face.

Joel nodded at him. “Need to pick up some things.”

“Yeah, sure,” Bill muttered, but his eyes flicked to you briefly. Something unreadable passed across his face.

Frank, ever the gracious one, stepped out onto the porch and beamed at the sight of you. “Oh, good! You made it.”

You were still pulling your pack off your shoulders when you noticed something strange: the smell. Not just smoke or stew — something sweet. Spiced.

“What's that smell?” you asked.

Frank smiled wider. “Dinner. You’re just in time.”

Joel clapped a hand on your back — that rare kind of Joel-touch that said move along without words — and steered you toward the house.

You turned to him, brow furrowed. “I thought we were here for supplies?”

He didn’t answer. Just opened the front door and motioned you inside.

And then… you saw it.

The table was already set. Not with mismatched tin and rusted forks like you were used to, but with real plates and silverware. Frank had pulled out linens — actual cloth napkins, even candles in old mason jars. There were roasted vegetables, a stew simmering, warm bread, and at the centre of the table — a cake. Small, imperfect, decorated with little wildflowers and what looked like foraged berries.

It took a moment to register. You stared, heart pounding in your ears.

Tess was already inside, leaning back in one of the chairs with a glass of wine, smirking.

Joel brushed past you with a low, almost dismissive grunt. “Figured we’d eat while we’re here. Been a while.”

You stood there frozen for a second too long. You didn’t know what to say. The warmth in your chest warred with the confusion, and just behind it, that flicker of shame — for hoping. For thinking it might mean something.

“Frank,” you said slowly. “What… is this?”

He beamed. “A proper meal. For a proper occasion.”

“What occasion?”

Frank glanced at Joel, then at Tess. Neither of them said anything. Tess just raised her glass.

And you knew.

You swallowed hard. Your throat felt suddenly tight. “Tess,” you said quietly, “Did you—?”

But she cut you off. “You hungry or not?”

The meal passed in a haze of laughter. Frank filled everyone’s glasses with the wine he’d been saving for a “special occasion,” and even Bill joined in with a dry story about nearly electrocuting himself fixing the generator.

You smiled and laughed where appropriate, but your mind kept wandering — back to the cake, to Joel’s deflection, to Tess’s knowing glances.

You still thought Tess had orchestrated it. It was the kind of thing she’d do, drag Joel into playing along.

It wasn’t until later, after the plates had been cleared and Frank had started a record in the other room, something jazzy and low, that you found yourself alone with Tess in the hallway. The candlelight from the kitchen cast her in soft gold, and she was sipping from a chipped cup, arms crossed, watching you with that same half-lidded look she always had when she knew something you didn’t.

“So,” she said. “Nice night.”

You nodded. “Yeah. It is. Sorry I'm just overwhelmed— Thank you, honestly.”

“You think I planned all this, don’t you?” she asked.

You blinked. “Didn’t you?”

She scoffed lightly and shook her head. “Hell no. I just helped Frank make dinner.”

Your stomach dipped.

She tilted her head, her voice quiet now. “This was all Joel. Every bit. He’s the one who remembered,” she said. “He’s the one who asked Frank to make the cake. Told Bill to keep his mouth shut. Hell, he even insisted we make it look casual so you wouldn’t freak out.”

Your heart stopped.

“He said he didn’t wanna make a thing out of it,” Tess added, “But he’s been planning this for weeks.”

You were quiet for a long beat.

“But… he didn’t say anything,” you said, the words a whisper.

Tess’s smile turned a little sad. “He’s not good at saying things, but he remembers.”

Later that night, when the others had drifted off and the music had faded into the background hum of insects and wind in the orchard, you found Joel on the porch. He was leaning against the railing, watching the dark. You stepped beside him, your heart thudding hard enough to drown out the world.

He didn’t look at you when you approached. Just spoke low.

“You enjoy dinner?”

You nodded. “It was perfect.”

A pause.

“You remembered,” you said.

He didn’t look at you. “Wasn’t hard.”

You hesitated, searching for the right words. “I didn’t want to make it weird again, like last year.”

His voice was low. “Wasn’t your fault.”

You turned to him. “Thank you.”

You reached for his hand. You didn’t expect him to take it — but he did.

And then you leaned in.

The kiss was soft, slow, uncertain — but it wasn’t one-sided. Joel met you there, warm and still, his hand brushing lightly against your back like he’d been waiting, too.

When you pulled back, he kept his eyes on yours.

“Happy birthday,” he murmured.

This time, the words didn’t hurt.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

It rained for three days straight.

The kind of cold, spitting drizzle that soaked through your coat no matter how tightly you cinched it, that made your boots squelch with every step. The wind howled through broken barns and trees stripped bare, and every shelter you found smelled like old rot and abandonment.

You trudged through it with your shoulders hunched and your hood pulled low, your boots squelching with each step. Every now and then, Ellie would grumble something under her breath, mostly complaints about the cold, or how the rain made her hair look like a wet mop, or how she was going to die of trench foot.

Joel, as always, didn’t say much. He just led.

You were somewhere in rural Pennsylvania, miles from anything even remotely familiar. The landscape blurred — trees, collapsed fences, skeletal houses too picked over to be worth stopping for. You’d passed a rusted water tower around midday and Joel had muttered that there was a town not far off.

No one said it, but you were all tired. Supplies were low. Joel had slept in fits, always with one hand on his rifle, and you could see the lines at the corners of his eyes deepen by the hour.

Your back ached. Your ribs still twinged from a bad fall two weeks back. You could feel the day’s date sitting heavy on your tongue.

You weren’t sure if he’d forgotten this time. Or if he remembered, and just decided this year, there wasn’t room for sentiment. It was stupid to care. It always was. Especially now. Anyway, it wasn’t like you could blame him. You hadn’t seen anything resembling a candle in months.

Still, it sat in your chest, heavy and hollow and echoing.

You didn’t say anything about it. Not this year. Not with Ellie around, and Joel already stretched taut with exhaustion and responsibility. You hadn't said anything last year either, but back then it had been different — the ghost of a good night with Bill and Frank, a flicker of something soft in Joel’s eyes, a secret truth Tess had given you like a gift.

This year you felt like a burden for even remembering.

By late afternoon, you reached the outskirts of the town Joel had mentioned.

It was nothing more than a collection of crumbling buildings, storefronts with glass long shattered, faded signs swinging in the breeze. A gas station sat caved in at the edge of town. A church steeple leaned crooked over a few blocks like a snapped spine.

Joel’s eyes swept the horizon. “We’ll hole up here tonight. Find shelter, stay outta the open.”

You nodded, too tired to argue. Ellie sighed and muttered something about praying for a haunted mansion.

What you got was a busted-up diner with broken windows, a torn-up vinyl booth, and a kitchen that smelled like grease and mildew. But it was dry, and it had a back room with a door that locked. That was enough.

Joel checked the place with his usual precision — every room, every corner, even the roof. You stood in the center of the kitchen, dripping water, hands shaking with cold, watching the ghosts of an old world flicker in your memory.

You remembered diners.

Birthday pancakes. The sound of your mom singing off-key while stirring coffee. The way candles flickered when the waitress brought out cake with sparklers on top.

You shook your head. That was gone.

You shrugged off your pack and sat on an overturned crate while Ellie stretched out on a dusty counter, flipping through one of the comics she’d scavenged.

Joel stood by the window, arms crossed, scanning the street.

Ellie rolled out her sleeping bag and plopped down onto it with a theatrical groan. “So glamorous. When do the spa treatments start?”

You laughed, sitting beside her and rubbing warmth into your frozen fingers. Joel didn’t smile, but his eyes flicked to you for a half-second.

Then, abruptly, he muttered, “I’m gonna check for propane. Maybe see if there’s any storage behind the hardware store. Stay in here. Lock the door behind me.”

You perked up. “I can come.”

He shook his head. “No. Stay here. Get warm. Lock the door behind me.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “You already said that.”

Joel shot her a look and was out the door before either of you could respond.

The rain slowed around dusk. The wind picked up, scraping against the glass and groaning in the walls. He was gone longer than you expected.

The minutes crawled. You tried to help Ellie pass time with a round of card games using a half-destroyed deck she found in a laundromat weeks ago. Her jokes got weaker. Her eyes drooped. Eventually, she curled into her bag, comic book in hand, and let sleep claim her.

But the silence in the room settled heavy. And with every passing minute, you grew more convinced Joel had forgotten.

The funny thing was, you weren’t even angry. You didn’t expect anything — not really. What could anyone do? You were in the middle of nowhere with a teenager, a man whose burdens you could feel like a shadow following him, and enough food for maybe two more meals if you stretched it.

But it still hurt — that tiny, stupid ache under your ribs.

You told yourself you were being childish. That birthdays didn’t matter anymore. That survival was the only thing worth counting.

But then the door creaked open, and Joel stepped inside, soaked from the knees down, his coat dripping. He was carrying something wrapped in a tarp and a small dented tin. He didn’t speak right away. Just crossed the room, dropped the bundle near the fire, and lowered himself with a quiet grunt.

Ellie stirred but didn’t wake. The fire crackled. Joel adjusted the tarp and looked over at you with that same unreadable expression he always wore.

Then he pushed the tin toward you across the floor.

You looked down. “What’s this?”

He didn’t answer. Just gave a nod — go on.

You opened it slowly. Inside, nestled in worn paper, was a chocolate bar. Slightly melted, slightly warped, but real.

You blinked at it.

You blinked at it.

“I—what?” You looked up at him, heart stuttering. “Joel…”

“Found it in an old vending machine. Back by the rail yard.” He cleared his throat. “Still sealed. Figured it might be okay.”

“Joel… I haven’t had chocolate in—”

“I know.”

You stared at him, dumbstruck. Then he reached for the tarp and unwrapped it with deliberate care.

A book. Its spine was cracked but intact, the cover a faded storm-blue cloth with the title in gold: Wuthering Heights.

You gasped. Your hand went to your chest.

“Are you serious?”

He nodded, glancing down. “You told me once. That your mom used to read it to you. I saw it a few weeks ago in some house. Had to double back. Took a while to get to it.”

“You… you went back for this?”

He rubbed his thumb across his knuckles. “I wanted to get you somethin’. I know it don’t fix anything. But…”

His voice trailed off.

You stared down at the book and the chocolate, your throat thick with emotion.

Joel shifted again. Looked at you, then quickly away.

“I know you didn’t wanna bring it up,” he said, voice low, “and maybe you thought I forgot.”

You felt your chest cave inward.

“I don’t know what this day means to you now. But I know it ain’t right that someone your age has to spend it freezing in some busted-up diner with nothin’. You should’ve had… more.”

“I had this,” you whispered. “This is more.”

He gave a dry, almost-bitter smile. “Maybe I just… I’m glad you’re still here. That we’re still here.”

Silence.

Then, hesitantly, like it hurt to say: “I look out for you. You know that, right?”

You nodded slowly, heart in your throat. “I know.”

“And it ain’t just… ‘cause of Tess. Or the job.”

Your eyes lifted to his. The firelight flickered across his face, deepening every line of sorrow carved there.

Your hand moved to his — fingers wrapping over his, gentle but firm. “You don’t have to say anything else. I know what you mean.”

He swallowed, jaw tight.

You shifted closer and leaned in. Your lips brushed his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. A test. A promise. When he didn’t pull away, you kissed him softly — long, tender, and steady.

His hand came to rest on your back, warm and protective, holding you there for just a moment longer.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads rested together.

“Happy birthday,” he murmured.

You smiled, tears glistening. “It is now.”

Later, after the fire burned low and the storm outside quieted, you curled beside him on your sleeping bag, the book tucked between you, the warmth of his body pressed into yours.

And for the first time in a long time, you fell asleep not with a rifle in your hands — but with his arm around you, your head tucked beneath his chin, the steady thrum of his heart keeping time with yours.

You didn't even care about the jokes Ellie would make.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You knew what day it was.

You didn’t need to mark it on a calendar. It lived in your chest like something raw and coiled, like a bruise you’d pressed your thumb into just to see if it still hurt.

Even in the early years after the world ended, you'd tried to mark the day — a scavenged piece of candy, a lucky pair of socks from a trading post. Something. A way to remember who you were, who you used to be, before the world fell apart and took your family with it.

And then you'd met Joel. And Tess. And Ellie. And for the first time in years, someone had remembered. Joel had remembered.

Although, Joel had said nothing last night. He’d eaten dinner with you like he always did and kissed your forehead on the porch before heading to his own cabin across the way. No words. Just warmth, familiarity.

You didn’t know what that kiss meant anymore. If he kissed you because he loved you, or because it had become habit — part of the quiet routine you’d built together.

Routine had settled into your bones. You worked supply runs twice a week. Helped repair fencing. On Sundays, you took guard shifts with Maria. You had a room in one of the old lodges — warm blankets, real soap, even a bookshelf that you slowly filled with whatever Joel found for you.

You and Joel hadn’t put a name on what you were.

You’d shared nights. Touched hands in quiet kitchens. Kissed, softly, like it might break something inside you both. But life moved differently now — slower, more careful. Sometimes he looked at you like he wanted to say something and couldn’t. Sometimes, you did the same.

It was two weeks before your birthday when you first noticed Joel acting strange. He was quieter than usual — and for Joel, that was saying something. He didn’t meet your eyes as often. His hands lingered on tools longer than needed when you passed them over. He volunteered to help with fence repairs even though Tommy had told him to rest his knee.

And then he did the one thing that gave it away: he started asking questions.

“What kinda food d’you miss the most?” he’d asked one night, seemingly out of nowhere, while you washed dishes in the lodge kitchen.

You shrugged. “Pasta, probably. Like… real pasta. With too much cheese.”

He grunted. “Noted.”

Two days later, he wandered into the rec center where Ellie and a few others were playing cards, and asked what kind of music you liked.

She later told you — with a devilish grin — that he pretended it was about planning a patrol route and needed to know how to boost your morale. Ellie lived to embarrass him now.

But you didn’t say anything.

You didn’t bring up the date.

Last year on the road had meant more than you could put into words — the chocolate, the book, the warmth of his body beside yours. And the year before that, Bill and Frank’s. But this time felt… heavier. Safer, sure, but somehow harder.

Because now you were stable. And that meant facing things you used to avoid — feelings, fears, memories that hadn’t knocked for years.

You let the covers fall off your shoulders and sat up slowly, stretching the stiffness from your arms. You dressed in silence, pulled on your boots and stepped outside.

It was still early. The sky was the color of ash, the town wrapped in the hush of morning. Smoke curled from chimneys in slow spirals. Your breath fogged in the air as you crossed the quiet streets, your boots crunching softly beneath you. A few neighbors nodded as you passed. One of the children in the community handed you a tiny knitted bracelet without a word and ran off. You stared at it for a second before tucking it into your pocket.

You slipped into the warmth of the dining hall, nodding to a few early risers. Maria stood behind the serving counter, already ladling out bowls of oatmeal and pouring coffee.

She spotted you and smiled. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you said with a shrug. “Habit.”

Her smile widened just slightly, as if she knew something you didn’t. “Big plans today?”

You blinked. “Uh… no. Just patrol, I think.”

“Mm. Right.” She slid a mug of coffee toward you.

You sat at the corner table, your usual spot, and picked at your breakfast. The oatmeal was warm, sweetened with something, but you barely tasted it.

Then the door opened, and there he was.

Heavy boots. That worn flannel you liked. His hair still damp, his jaw clenched in that familiar Joel way. He walked over to you, slow and purposeful.

“Morning,” he said, voice low.

“Morning,” you returned, wary.

He looked around, then leaned down a little. “Got a job. Maria wants us to check the old supply cabin. South side of the river.”

You furrowed your brow. “That hasn’t been used in months.”

He gave you a blank look. “Still gotta check it.”

You eyed him suspiciously. “On foot?”

“Nah, horses. Not far. But we gotta leave now.”

You stared at him, heartbeat skipping.

“Is this about today?”

His brow furrowed. “What d’you mean?”

“Nothing.” You stood slowly, collecting your tray. “Let me get my gear.”

He nodded, mouth pressed in a firm line. But his eyes lingered on you as you turned away.

It was just the two of you on horseback. The trees lining the trail were coated in snow, branches low and heavy. Joel rode ahead a few paces, occasionally glancing over his shoulder.

It felt normal, and that made it worse. You didn’t know if you were mad at him for pretending today didn’t matter — or mad at yourself for still hoping he’d remember.

But then Joel turned off the main trail.

You frowned. “Joel? This isn’t toward the storage cabin.”

He didn’t look back. “Shortcut.”

“Uh-huh.”

You followed him another five minutes until the trees thinned out and you saw it — a small cabin tucked between two birch trees. Smoke rose from the chimney.

You halted your horse. “Joel, what is this?”

He dismounted. “C’mon.”

You followed, suspicious.

Inside, the cabin was warm. The table was set and steam rose from a pot in the center. The scent of tomato, herbs, something rich and warm hit your nose.

He walked in behind you, rubbing his hands together. “Figured if I tried to do this in Jackson, or if I told you, you'd find some excuse not to come.”

You swallowed hard. “You cooked?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Kinda. Got help from Maria. Ellie made fun of me the whole time.”

He stepped closer, slower now. “I know we don’t always say things the right way. I don’t. But you’re…” He looked down, jaw working. “You’re important to me. And this day’s important. Not ‘cause of cake or candles or whatever. But because you made it. You’re here.”

“Joel…”

He finally met your eyes. “I’m glad you’re here. Still.”

You took a shaky breath. “You remembered my book last year. The chocolate.”

His voice was low. “That wasn’t enough. Wanted to do somethin’. For you.”

“I told you I didn’t need anything.”

“I know. That’s why it matters.”

You blinked back sudden tears.

He stepped closer, voice softer now. “I remember everything about you.”

He took a deep breath, as if deciding something. You looked at him, eyes wet.

He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a small box — old, metal, a little rusted. You opened it carefully. Inside was a ring. Simple, silver, with a faint scratch on the band. It was beautiful.

“It’s not for anythin’ fancy,” he said quickly. “Just… wanted you to have somethin’."

Your breath caught in your throat.

“I love you,” he said, low, like he’d been holding it in for years. “And I’m not good at this. But I want more. With you. Here. However you want it.”

You stepped forward and kissed him, fiercely, your hands curling into his jacket. He held you like he was afraid you’d disappear, his mouth slow and reverent on yours. You wrapped your arms around his waist. He stilled — just for a second — before his arms came up and folded around you.

You stood like that in the cabin’s quiet warmth, holding on.

“I don’t need big things,” you whispered into his chest. “Just this. Just you.”

He didn’t respond right away. But his grip tightened. His lips brushed your hair.

“Then you got me,” he said. “Today. Tomorrow. Long as I’ve got breath.”

Later, after dinner, after laughter and a glass of something Joel had insisted was aged but clearly wasn’t, you sat beside the fire with a blanket draped across both your legs. He rested his hand on your thigh.

And when the fire burned low, and your eyelids drooped, you leaned into his shoulder and let yourself fall asleep there — warm, safe, remembered.

[deepspace-scenarios]

[scenario/drabble] Fly away (with you)

How LIs would react if he wants a romantic getaway with you, but he misreads your hesitation as disinterest and withdraw the offer. You reassure them and clear up the misunderstanding and it's cute <3 Genre: Fluff + (veery mild) hurt/comfort

SYLUS

The air seems to hold its breath around you, the remnants of his question fading into a busy silence filled with your unspoken thoughts.

While Onychinus isn't exactly in peril, you know enough to tell the stakes have shifted, and Sylus has been working more than usual to eliminate any issues before they become a proper threat.

Sylus leans back in his chair, gaze sharp. “Forget I mentioned it. Clearly, you have priorities."

You grab his wrist before he can stand. You can't let him dismiss the thought of travelling just yet. “Sylus- it’s not that. I just know the N109 Zone’s unstable right now. If you leave, your enemies might-"

His scoffs, flipping the grip so that he's the one cuffing your wrist instead. “Oh, kitten. You think I’d let vermin ruin our time?"

He pulls you onto his lap in one languid motion. “But since you’re so concerned… I’ll burn their nests to the ground before we go."

“Sylus, you don't have to-”

He hums, gaze steady as he presses a finger to your lips. “Now, let's decide on a destination.”

___

XAVIER 

You contemplate the idea. An early-morning flight, disrupted circadian rhythms, only three full days before you fly back again to start work the next morning.

As the seconds tick by, Xavier’s smile fades. 

“You’re right. It was impulsive."

You scoot closer to him on the sofa and cup his face. “Xavier, I want to go. But think of the logistics of cramming an international trip into four days. A plane ride? Time zones? I don’t want you exhausted."

He blinks, then melts into the touch. 

“You… worry for me."His thumb traces the curve of your cheek.

“I do," you say. Then you decide to tease him. “If I have a sleepyhead Xavier dozing off at the airport, how can I carry a big luggage alone?”

He scrunches his nose at the thought, then places his hands over yours and moves them to his chest, holding it close to him.

“Then let’s go somewhere closer. A place where the stars are bright, where we can unwind. Just the two of us."

 ___ 

ZAYNE

You hover opposite him, thinking about his gruelling roster over the past week, while he reads through some documents in preparation for a surgery the next morning.

With his upcoming schedule as well, a vacation would only drain him more over the long weekend. 

Zayne adjusts his glasses, his voice even. “Withdrawn. The odds of compatible availability were low anyway."

You recognise the tone- he uses it to mask any emotion, delivering speech devoid of any subjectiveness. The same tone he uses when delivering bad news to patients.

But you know better. He's not Dr. Zayne right now, he's just... Zayne. At home, in cosy cotton loungewear. Clinical stoicism will not stand- at least, not on your watch.

You step into his space, sitting down and threading an arm between the sofa and his back as you lean into him. 

“Zayne. You’ve pulled four overtime shifts this week That's nearly twenty extra hours of work. A vacation isn’t rest if you’re jet-lagged."

He makes a small contemplative hum, his hazel eyes softening as he looks at you. “…You tracked my shifts?"

You poke his chest. “If it isn't me, who else?"

He exhales, almost a laugh. “Fine. A staycation, then. Let me know if you need assistance with planning."

 ___ 

RAFAYEL 

You look at all the documents and drafts Thomas left in Rafayel's studio, all of which he has pushed to the corner of a work desk.

Now he asks you to go on an island-hopping trip to see all the art installations spanning more than five coastal exhibition sites?

Not a chance.

Rafayel flops onto the couch. “Wow. Rejected by my own muse."

You toss a cushion at him. “You have so many events happening soon! What if you get tired? Or catch a cold traveling? Then who's gonna have to listen to you complain about your dark circles and headaches? Do you expect your bodyguard to be a makeup artist and a nurse?"

He sits up, eyes gleaming. “Ohhh, you do care!"

Grinning, he tackles you into a hug “Don’t worry, Miss Bodyguard- I’ll charm the germs away! And if I do get sick…"

He looks at you with puppy-dog eyes. “You’ll take care of me, right?"

You sigh, letting him drag you to the table to show you a website of the hotel he wants to stay at. He peppers your face with kisses with each tab he shows you- and you know he's already won.

 ___ 

CALEB 

Is it really a good idea? The thought of Caleb going for another Deepspace Tunnel mission- the ones you dread the most- and then a flight the same night once he returns, close to midnight, just doesn't sound like a rest-and-recharge situation.

You stand with your hands on your hips, and purse your lips in thought. 

Caleb's gaze lingers on your lips, but he catches himself as he notices the silence stretch on. “Sorry- stupid idea. We don’t have to-"

Your gaze snaps back onto him. Oh, crap. He misunderstood.

You squeeze his hand, and hold back from the urge to just hug the living daylights out of this man. “Caleb. Your mission could run long. I just… don’t want us to get disappointed if plans change."

His jaw tightens, his purple eyes blazing. “Then I’ll finish the mission early."

“And if anything tries to stop me…" He kisses your knuckles. “I won't allow that to happen. I promise."

“Caleb," you murmur, “Just make it back safely. It's all I need, vacation or not,”

“Anything for you, pipsqueak,”

And with the kiss he presses to your lips, you know he means it with every fibre of his being.

[hooniehon]

( ✶ ) OLDER STEPBRO!JAKE ⎯⎯ 🐶

( ⟢ ) pairings. jake x fem!reader 18+

⎯⎯ warnings. stepcest corruption virginity loss (f) praise oral f. rec kinda possessive jake reader calls jake ‘yunie’ unprotected sex lmk if i missed smth!

WORD COUNT ˳ 1.3k

( 🗒️ ) note. don’t like it don’t read it.

+ i’ve been feeling kind of insecure of my writing these days so this might not be the best.. pls forgive me 😭

older stepbro jake who can’t help but always gush from how cute and innocent you are. he always asks himself how one could be as innocent and pure as you.

and of course he has nasty dirty thoughts about you. he’s always in his room jerking off to the thought of pounding your tight pussy and fucking fleshlights similar to your body shape ⎯ he can’t stop thinking about being in your pussy it’s becoming a problem, shit he knows it’s probably so tight and wet. it has to be. he keeps thinking of drilling his big cock in you and hearing you scream from pain, from how big his cock is stretching your tiny pussy, keeps thinking about stuffing his cum into to you just lick it all out of you again.

both of your parents were gone today, he was so fucking horny he couldn’t hold back so he thought it was the perfect time to finally have you. be in you. ⎯

he makes his way to your room, opening the door without even knocking and sees you lying down on your stomach in just your polka dot panties and a oversized shirt that was clearly his while you scroll through your phone. you felt comfortable enough to be in just your panties around him even jake told you it’s normal.

his eyes go directly to your ass, he licks his lips from the delicious sight in front of him and makes his way on your bed.

you feel the bed slightly dipping and immediately turn your head back to see who’s on your bed.

“oh! yunie what are you doing here?” you ask with furrowed brows, slightly confused why he just randomly came in your room without saying anything.

you really loved your stepbrother you thought he was the nicest person on earth he always supports you and makes you feel like he’s the only real person you have in your life besides your parents. although he is possessive sometimes you really don’t mind it. you think he’s just really protecting you from all the bad things and people in life. that’s why you don’t really have any friends besides jake, you feel like he’s the only one who really understands you.

“i came here cause i wanted to try something new with you angel face.” he says with a mischievous smile as his fingers make their way on your cheek to caress them. you were obviously confused and curious about what he wanted to try so you asked what this new thing was about and that made you be in this position.

you were laid down on your back and jake came on top of you, he then went between your thighs and pulled your panties down. “j-jake what are you doing?..” you asked nervously, you’re pretty sure step siblings are not supposed to be doing stuff like this so you obviously felt kind of weird about it. but all those feelings quickly washed away when you felt his soft lips on the inside of your thighs as you let a quiet whimper.

“i’m gonna make you feel so good baby don’t worry.” he mumbles between pecks. his lips feel so good on your sensitive skin, your pussy clenches in an instant while your legs almost close around his head but jake quickly spreads them again.

“are you nervous?” he asks in a playful tone as his face makes way to your pussy. he can’t believe he’s finally between your thighs. you look so fucking good for him like this. but before you could even answer his question, he already decided to dive in. ⎯ “ye- mpfff yunie!” you moan his name out so loud, your hands cover your mouth immediately.

jake is finally tasting you and fuck- you’re delicious, just as he always dreamed of. ⎯ his hands grip your spread open legs to just dive in deeper and deeper. he wants to taste all of you on his tongue and the deeper his tongue reaches you the more you feel like you’re on cloud nine. your hands that were currently on top of your mouth directly going to his hair, gripping it tightly

“mhmmmm” he moans in your pussy from the pleasuring pain. the vibrations going up to your clit making you grind your hips on his face. “fuck- yes grind your pussy on my face like that.” he mumbles against your cunt.

as you grind your pussy on his face you feel like you’re getting closer to your release but all of a sudden jake pulls away with a smile on his face from the disappointed huff you let out. ⎯ “want you to cum on my cock” he says as his fingers make way to your chin and he closes the distance between your lips, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. ⎯ his hands go from your chin to your leaking pussy as he gently rubs your clit to try to let you relax making you squeal in his mouth.

jake has given you many pecks on your cheeks and forehead but this is really the first time he kissed you on the lips, you feel your cheeks getting hotter and hotter each time he deepens the kiss. he then ends the kiss with a sweet little peck on your lips and gets up to get rid of his sweatpants.

“uh.. y-yunie i’ve never done this before, and i’m not sure if we should be doing this..” you say nervously, if you guys really do it together that means you will lose your virginity to your stepbrother right?

“well no one else but me deserves to be in you baby it’s okay.” he reassures you again as he also takes off his underwear and reveals his thick cock to you. he’s already rock hard from eating you out precum leaking from his nearly red tip ⎯ you nearly flinch from seeing his cock. it’s so- so big? it’ll definitely hurt since it’s your first time doing this.

“fuck i know you’re gonna feel so good.” that was jake’s last word as he lines his cock up to your entrance and thrusts into you in one swift. ⎯ you really lived up to his expectations again, you’re so tight and wet his mouth waters from your walls snuggling so tightly against his cock he couldn’t help but let out a loud groan.

“a-agh yunie..” you hiccup, eyes teary from the insane stretch. ⎯ as he thrusts more in to you the painfully feeling slowly switches to pleasure making you into a moaning mess.

“my baby stepsister is enjoying herself huh? ⎯ i’m in love with the sounds you make for me fuck.” jake moans at the last part as he thrusts harder into ”mhmm- yes!” you moan as you keep nodding. jake laughs at you he surely thinks he really fucked you dumb at this point.

“t-tell me no one else but me deserves to be in your pussy like this.” he demands as his hand makes way to your throat to choke you but not to tight. ⎯ “ngh- n-no one but you deserves to be i-in my pussy like this.”

hearing you say that made him lose his mind as he lets go of his hand on your neck to grip your hips so he could thrust into you deeper and deeper.

“yunie i think i’m going to- aghhhh” you finally release, you’re fingernails digging in to his arms creating crescent shapes on him. ⎯ you’re clenching on him so hard he feels like he’s about to cum too. he quickly pulls out of you and jerks off his cock above your stomach as the white ropes of cum splatter on your stomach.

“fuuckkkk that was amazing __ i love you” jake huffs still coming down from his release as he instantly kisses you.

this ending was so whack (when are they not..) NTM ON ME GUYS IM SERIOUSLY OUT OF IDEAS BUT IVE BEEN WANTING TO FINISH THIS FIC.. btw the beginning doesn’t really add up to the end but anyways i hope you guys enjoyed this fic.. ☺️

[sacredsorceress]

Hi lovely!! Been thinking about Bob taking care of his drunk partner. how he’d feel seeing her at that state, trying to keep himself calm while simultaneously making sure she’s okay. i can just picture him being such a sweetheart with pulling back her hair and rubbing her back, then flinching when she throws up 🥹

.:*Bob taking care of Drunk!Reader.:*

A/N: bob is such an angel. I know he'd love being able to help his girlfriend in her hour of need (even if it's far from glamorous). not proofread sorry!! WC: 1.4k WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol consumption and descriptions of vomiting

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・bob masterlist・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

"Heyyyyyyy Reynolds."

No matter how long you've been together, Bob loves hearing you say his name. It grounds him in reality and reminds him that he's really there, and truly yours. ‘Reynolds’ may have been mostly retired as you crossed the line from teammates to partners, but it still had its way of slipping out: particularly when you had been drinking.

And from the way you dragged out the s in his surname and hiccupped while waiting for him to respond- you were drunk.

"Hey- hi baby," Bob replied over the intercom. "Are you okay?"

Able to hear the small smile on his face through the phone, you hummed.

"Mmmmm yeah," You said. "But I forgot my keys. Wanna let me upstairs hot stuff?"

Even after all this time dating, Bob's face still burned red. He only dropped out in the first few months of high school, but he imagined that this is what being a lovesick teenager would’ve felt like.

"Um y-yeah." He said, nodding. "I... hold on..."

You could hear the sounds of pages rustling as his book was tossed onto the bed, and his slippers shuffled as he dragged his feet against the floor.

"Aaaaanddd...." Bob droned, melodic tapping sounds echoing in your ear. "O-okay it should be open now."

Like magic, the lock on the front door of the Avengers Tower unlocked with several clicks.

“Be up in a second, honey.”

And the line went dead.

As he headed to the elevator to meet you, Bob considered how until recently, he had never known what it was like to have someone rely on him. Sure, he wanted to be that guy- even to a detriment- but whether because of chance or his own shortcomings, no one ever did. Not truly. Even now, with powers and abilities beyond his comprehension, Bob failed to be a reliable asset.

Then there was you. Sweet, loving, kickass you who loved him just as he came and trusted him with your life. Not as Sentry, not as the Golden Guardian of Good (gosh that really was a mouthful), but as Bob.

You and Bob. Two halves of one whole- lost without the other.

Bob may have thought you were doing a lot of the heavy lifting, but then again you knew him better than he knew himself.

As the elevator binged, announcing your arrival, he cringed at the bright light that poured out of it.

Most times you walked out of that same elevator you were like a goddess: confident and poised. Now, Bob chuckled to himself as your own mortality had caught up with you.

Bag slipping off of your shoulder, you stumbled out of the elevator, heels clicking against the floor.

"Mmmm, Bob." You hummed, crashing into his arms. If it hadn't been for his strength, he thinks you both would've fallen to the floor.

"Hi." Bob said, running his hand up and down your back. "Tired?"

Face still pressed against his chest, cheeks smushed up to your eyes, you simply nodded.

God, you were cute.

Sensing how you had shifted your weight entirely on top of him, Bob had a feeling that you'd struggle making it across the apartment in your inebriated state. Rather than watch you bumble like a newborn deer to your bedroom, he bent over, hooked one of his arms under your knees while the other laid flat against your back and lifted you from the floor.

A series of giggles escaped your throat as you clung to his robe.

"I always forget you have super strength." You said, nudging your face into the crook of his neck. "I should've had you pick me up from the bar."

Bob doesn’t miss a beat.

“I would’ve.”

And he’s being honest. He would have done anything you asked of him.

Pushing against his door,

The second Bob had his back turned, he heard your hurried rush to the bathroom. You tripped over the shoes you had disposed off seconds before, catching yourself on the bed before fumbling with the door handle.

Your boyfriend was just about to ask you what was wrong when he heard your knees skid against the floor, sliding into first base just in time for the toilet bowl to catch the contents of your stomach.

It was ironic really that despite the amount of times Bob had thrown up in his own life that he had such a weak stomach. Hearing you now, retching in the other room, the blanket slipped from his fingers as he brought his own fist to his mouth and gagged.

Keep it together. You can do this. You can help.

Do. Not. Vomit.

Like a mantra, Bob whispered cucumbercucumbercucumber to himself as he followed you into the bathroom.

His cool fingers on your scalp made a groan slip past your lips as your face fell onto the toilet seat.

Good thing he cleaned it today, Bob thought.

Squeezing his eyes shut to avoid seeing the contents of the bowl- something that would most certainly make him lose his lunch- Bob blindly ran his fingers over your forehead, pulling your hair back from your forehead and into a makeshift ponytail. Securing it with one hand, he moved the other to your back, rubbing in soothing, circular motions.

"Bob it's-" you retched. "it's okay, you can go to bed."

Digging his face into his shoulder, Bob shook his head.

"No, I can help." He assured you. "Just uh, let it out."

You were inclined to argue, but were cut short by another convulsion hitting your body as you threw up the last of what was in there. Heaving, you swatted your boyfriend away.

"It's okay, Bob." You said, wiping your face. "It's done. Mind running the shower?"

Quick to take a ticket out of vomit duty, Bob went to the shower and turned the faucet. As his hand ran under the water, waiting for it to run from cold to hot, he watched you flush the toilet and pick yourself up off the floor.

Even with your hair a mess and the bright white lighting of the bathroom raining down on you, Bob still thought that you looked beautiful.

"What are you looking at?" You laughed, pulling your shirt over your head.

"You're just... just," He shrugged, a sheepish smile hanging on his lips. "...really pretty." Bob turned his face to hide his blush. "Anyway, the shower's ready."

Stripping yourself of the last of your clothes while holding on to Bob to steady yourself- you'd really have to appreciate just how strong his chest was in the morning when you were sober- you then climbed into the shower. As the hot water ran over your skin, relaxing your muscles, Bob busied himself at the counter. You watched through the fogged glass as he squirt toothpaste onto your toothbrush.

After he slipped you the toothbrush, Bob hung your towel over the shower door, careful not to get it wet. You closed your eyes, focusing on the running water and the sound of him rattling through the cabinets, no doubt preparing the morning care package of pain reliever and water to leave on your nightstand.

Gosh, you were lucky.

Once you had finished washing clean the mess of the night, he helped you dry off. You couldn't help but giggle as he rubbed the tower up and down yours arms, making your hair stand on edge. When he helped you put on a fresh pair of pajama pants, your fingers fisted in his hair to keep from falling, you hummed.

"You're the best, you know that?" You said with hooded eyes. "I'm the luckiest."

Although your bedroom lighting was dim, you could see the heat creep up his neck at the compliment. Bob chuckled.

"I still think you're pretty when you're throwing up." He said, shaking his head in disbelief as he guided you under the covers and into bed. "I'm the lucky one."

As Bob hunched over you, bringing the sheets up to your chin, you couldn't help but mentally argue with him- positive that you were in fact the luckiest.

But, Bob had heard your teammates- particularly Walker- whisper about how they could make him useful; an asset to the team, but it rarely phased him now that he had you. He may not be able to control his abilities enough to save the world, but he could take care of you, his world, and that would be enough.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・inbox・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

[writingsforfandoms-multi]

unwell | jack abbot x nurse!reader

requested prompt: “your complexion is scaring me, please sit down”. original request

warnings: medical inaccuracies, mentions of surgery 

From the moment you woke up, something didn’t feel right. 

You felt a small ache in your stomach, but you brushed it off thinking it was probably just something you ate yesterday. You noticed the pain was coming and going in waves, and in hindsight maybe you should've called out, but you didn’t want night shift to be short staffed. Well, more so than night shift usually was anyway. 

You took an ibuprofen before you entered PTMC, and you honestly forgot about the pain until a few hours into your shift when the pain came back in full force while you were talking with Dr. Ellis. You winced as you held your lower abdomen, “fuck” you said softly under your breath

Dr. Ellis’s eyebrows scrunch in concern, “you good?” 

“Yeah, just a little pain” you say as the pain starts to subside

Before she could ask you when the pain started, you were called away to answer a patient’s call light. You were leaving the patient’s room when you heard jack call your name on your right, “hey jack” you smile through the pain, going to your locker in the opposite direction to get another ibuprofen, not realizing he was following you

“Ellis mentioned you were in pain, what's going on?” he asks, concern in his voice as he eyes the ibuprofen you took out of your bag 

You shrug it off, “it’s nothing really, my stomach has just been hurting today, probably just cramps or something I ate” 

“How much ibuprofen have you taken today?” he asks, his thoughts thinking of all the questions he wanted to ask you, his mind thinking of all the potential diagnosis.

“I took 500mg before coming in, and now I’m taking 500mg more” you said as you take the medicine 

“When did you first notice the pain?” he asks

“Right when I woke up, doctor” you tease, pressing your hand against your lower abdomen as you get a wave of pain

“Rate your pain” his eyebrows scrunch together as he notices you grimace

“Right now it's like a 4” you say, and he gives you a quick look when you wince again

“So it’s really like a 7” jack amends, knowing that you were trying to lowball your pain 

“I’m fine, really” you insist 

He narrows his eyes, “okay, but let me know if the pain gets worse, okay?” he asks softly

“Okay, Dr. Abbot” you smile and he gives you a quick kiss on your forehead 

The ibuprofen didn’t seem to help as much as it did earlier when you first took it. You were standing at the nurse’s station, taking a minute for the nausea to pass when you feel someone tap your shoulder, making you look up into Jack’s eyes 

His eyes sweep over your face, “okay your complexion is scaring me, please sit down” he says as he leads you around the counter and into a chair. 

He grabs one of the carts to take your vitals, “describe your pain” he says as another wave of pain rolls through you 

“Like a sharp, stabbing pain” you said, and hold your lower right abdomen in hopes of relieving some of the pain, but it only makes it worse, “okay pressing it makes it way more painful” you wince 

“In your lower right quadrant” he notes as he finishes taking your vitals, “your blood pressure is elevated, so is your heart rate” he places the thermometer in your mouth and once he takes it out, he sees you have a mild fever. “Do you still have your appendix?” he asks 

You nod through the pain, “okay, I want to give you an abdomen exam” he says as he starts to see what room was open

“No really jack it’s fine I’ll just go to urgent care after shift” you say, not wanting to be a bother or take the bed from someone who has been waiting for hours to be seen

“If it’s your appendix you won’t be able to wait until after your shift” he gives you a look as you refuse to follow him into the empty room. “Okay, what if I just give you a quick abdomen exam and if it isn’t your appendix, fine, I’ll even go to urgent care with you afterwards” he compromises

You think about it for a moment, “fine” you relent and follow him into the empty room and lay down on the bed while he dons gloves. How could you say no when he looks at you with those eyes

“Can I?” jack asks, albeit a bit shyly, as he gestures towards your top to lift it up to expose your stomach. you give him a reassuring smile, you had never seen him shy like this before, he was always so sure and so confident, it was nice to see him a little nervous. He always made you nervous anyway

“sure” you nod and a light blush overtakes your face. He gently takes the end of your scrub top and lifts it up just below your breasts.

“I’m going to gently press down here okay” he says, his fingers lightly pressing down on your right lower abdomen, making you grimace. He quickly removes his finger, “sorry  sweetheart” he says softly, “can you get in the position to check for the psoas sign?” with a nod, you get on your side and extend your leg, wincing again 

“Okay, so positive mcburney's point and positive psoas sign” he says as he gets the ultrasound machine, “we’ll confirm with an ultrasound instead of a CT” he grabs the jelly, “it’s gonna be a little cold” he warns 

Once he looks at the screen, he sees an enlarged appendix and confirms it, “it’s appendicitis, luckily we caught it before it ruptured, I’ll put you in line for surgery, you’ll be next” he goes to the computer to put in the information 

You sit up in the bed and go to stand, “okay, I need to go finish up my chart-” you don't even get to finish before jack is shaking his head and lightly pushes you back on the bed 

“Nope you’re not getting out of this bed, I’ll bring you a computer, and let the charge nurse know” he sees you about to refuse and quickly continues, “and no buts, okay? This can get pretty serious pretty quickly and we don’t want it rupturing or even rupturing while you’re with a patient” he reasons and you relent, he had a fair point

“I hate it when you’re right” you say under your breath and get back in bed with a huff, but you give him a small smile when he grabs your hand in his. 

“I know you do baby” he indulges with a grin. 

–

potential for pt. 2, tbd :)

the pitt masterlist

[mw00nie]

you’ve been skipping meals.

toji sees it. doesn’t say shit at first. not his style. he’s not some nosy asshole who’ll ask what you ate for lunch or remind you to drink water every five seconds.

but he’s not blind either.

your face is thinner. hoodie swallowing you up more than usual. wrist bones sharper. you pick at food like it’s poison, sip coffee like it’s a meal.

he clocks it. every time.

and he lets it slide. once. twice. five times. maybe you’re just stressed, maybe it’ll pass.

but tonight, he watches you open the fridge. stare inside like you’re trying to convince yourself. standing there like if you focus hard enough, the hunger’ll go away.

he leans against the wall, arms crossed, jaw tight.

“you gonna eat somethin’ or just keep lyin’ to yourself?”

you freeze.

“i’m not lying,” you mumble.

he raises a brow. “yeah? fridge’s been full for three fuckin’ days.”

“i just.. haven’t been hungry.”

“bullshit.”

you flinch at that. he’s not here to coddle.

he pushes off the wall, walks over, closes the fridge for you. slow. quiet. heavy.

“you think i don’t notice?” he mutters. “you think i don’t see how your hands shake? how you ‘accidentally’ forget dinner, leave shit on your plate, say you ate earlier when i know you didn’t?”

you try to look away. he grabs your chin, not rough, just firm. makes you look at him.

“you think i’m stupid?”

your mouth opens. nothing comes out.

he clicks his tongue. lets go of your face. looks tired now, but not angry. just... done with the lies.

“i used to do the same shit,” he admits. voice low. “back when i fought for cash. had to stay a certain weight. thought starving meant control. strength.”

he laughs once, bitter.

“all it did was fuck me up. made me weak. angry. sick.”

you’re quiet. too quiet. eyes glossy. he hates that look on you.

“you got shit going on? fine. but don’t starve yourself over it. don’t treat your body like the enemy. it’s not.”

you still don’t say anything, just blink too fast. and when your shoulders start to shake, he finally pulls you in. arms wrapping around you, solid and warm.

you don’t cry. not really. just breathe against his chest like you haven’t breathed in days.

he holds you tighter.

“you don’t gotta talk,” he mutters into your hair. “not now. just don’t fucking lie to me. alright?”

you nod against him.

“good. now come sit your ass down.”

you do. legs tucked under you on the couch while he throws something together in the kitchen. nothing fancy. just enough to put something in your stomach.

he sets the plate in front of you. sits down next to you. doesn’t say a word while you eat, just stays close. hand on your thigh. grounding.

when you hesitate mid-bite, guilt creeping up your throat, he taps the side of your knee.

“don’t overthink it. it’s jus’ food. ain’t good or bad. it’s fuel.”

you nod again. quieter this time.

and when you’re done, when your plate’s empty and your shoulders finally drop, he kisses your temple.

“you’re not broken,” he says. “don’t act like you are.”

and somehow, you believe him

♡—————♡—————♡—————♡

A/N: i got the inspo from @sugussugar :>

[2kidult]

hey congrats on shifting again omg!!! if it’s okay to ask, did you use any method this time around or was it more like mindset + letting go? i’ve been trying for a while now and i’m super curious if something in your routine changed or if it just happened 😭 either way i’m so happy for you fr <33

hiii thank you so much!! <3

after almost 2 years of trying literally every method on the menu (including redoing my nighttime routine 40 different ways), i hit a point of cognitive fatigue. i realized i wasn’t failing because i wasn’t doing enough. i was failing because i kept assuming i had to do specific things in order to shift. so i used @hrrtshape’s anti-method (linked here) and let the assumption unravel. i laid down, let my brain spiral, and held a single thought like a match in the dark:

“what if i already shifted and just forgot?”

that was it. not a hypothesis, not a question to test, but just an epistemic interruption. something that bypassed all my intellectual resistance. the shift happened when the assumption collapsed. i stopped treating the dr like a destination and started recognizing it as default. i wasn’t locked out. i was just still playing along with a story that said i was.

and yeah, my brain fought it. it tried to fact-check me back into place. “you're still in your room.” “you're not shifting.” “you're still in your cr.” and that’s fine. it’s supposed to do that. i didn't argue back. i just kept holding that thought that i'd forgotten i'd shifted. once you let go of the narrative, the mind doesn't know how to defend its own limitation.

so if you’re exhausted from trying? good. that’s your entry point. that’s the system cracking. let it. not in defeat, but in relief. the void isn’t something you summon. it’s what’s left when you stop performing.

i didn’t shift by effort. i shifted because i stopped assuming i hadn’t. you’re already in your dr, you have already shifted.

<3

[yourlocalcringekid]

You know, you'd expect this to go the typical way. I survive, heal, and decide to become a villain in order to get revenge. Well you'd be wrong.

I don't know who that god blessed woman that pulled me out of the rubble was, but it was her job as a firefighter (and my part time colleague!) to. Well. Rescue people. You know, they were convinced I would die. Have you /seen/ the photos?

Apperently the... "Hero of Ith'gar", as they called that bastard of a man, had been slowly getting... possessed??? Or something??? By a demon, slowly taking control of his body. And he had to watch as that demon made his puppet-like flesh turn away, made his mouth utter words he was internally screaming against. Well I couldn't care less about that bitch.

I couldn't care that he was sorry, not after having left me to die. As he cried and cried holding my hand while in the hospital, begging for forgiveness. Forgiveness for what, Morgan? What do you deserve forgiveness for? It was probably a good thing I couldn't speak. Anyways, yeah. I «healed», and he took me under his wing. Again. AHEM AHEM.

I remember those first few days after getting released. Where he held me everywhere he went around that... house of his. I always hated the walls of that place. I think snails were eating up the interior.

In a... rather «tragic» twist of fate, I died in my sleep. On night three. It was actually quite a comforting thought. That I didn't have to deal with the aftermath of all that shit. The night till morning was.. boring. I mostly stayed in my room, floating around, inspecting everything before I finally moved onto here.

One of the home nurses found me not long after the sun had graced the earth with it's. Very very bright presence. Pretty sure Morgan had a.... bit of a mental breakdown. Screeching about how I «couldn't die now», and how we'd «made it this far». No buddy, /you/ made it this fa- Not- Not directed at you, At him- But anyways, yeah, no, buddy. /You/ made it this far. I should've been laid to rest with my parents long ago.

Anyways, that's how I got here. What did you say was your name? Death? Aha. Got it. I actually expected the.. river of the death or whateverit'scalled, to be. A lot more dreadful.

You were the sidekick to a super hero. You worked hard, doing all the labor while he got the credit but it's fine. Anyways, while saving people in a fire, you get trapped. You scream out for help, but all he does is stare at you. "Sorry, kid." He shrugs and leaves you there to die.

[lxvvie]

Threadbare.

“You’re doing it again.”

Simon’s back stiffened. He didn’t need context clues to know what it meant. Fuck.

Cigarette butts galore in his makeshift ashtray, the empty cartons of microwave dinners, and the dark circles under his eyes—damning stuff, that. He didn’t have the energy to argue otherwise. Couldn’t be arsed to meet your stare head on, either. Didn’t need to; the tone of your voice more than made up for what he’d see.

The weary bastard supposes it’s been a while since he saw you. His latest deployment went longer than anticipated and when he came home, work kept you busy and his demons went unchecked. Simon couldn’t find a middle ground, couldn’t achieve equilibrium, so he lost himself in the usual: little sleep, shitty cigarettes, even shittier food, and pity wanks. Bloody hell, he was pathetic.

“You promised me, Simon.” Just had to remind him, huh? Yeah, he did and no, he didn’t keep it. Fuckin’ sue him, then. He was a soldier where it counted, though, and kept his mouth shut and gaze downward to avoid turning this into an even bigger shitshow.

Then you fucked him over.

You brushed your fingers lightly over his jaw, over stubble days old and a fading scar, and he would’ve shivered if he weren’t so goddamn tired—when has that ever stopped him before? Your touch was a bloody godsend in the most painful way, a stark reminder of shit he never had before, something fleeting.

And his cock was hard.

Goddamnit. Simon thought when you finally had free time that it wouldn’t be spent doing this shit. He thought he’d have you spread out on his bed, head between your thighs, you moaning, saying his name, giving commands, praising him, holding on to him—anything to calm the demons, sweetheart. Anything but this. If he wanted to be reprimanded, he’d talk to the old man. The hell are you doing? “You promised, Simon,” you reiterated. So sue me sat at the tip of his tongue but again, he’s a soldier where it counts. For the most part. Fuck you want him to say? Sorry?

You ran your fingers over his stubble and scar once more, trailed them down his chest, didn’t stop there, went lower, and… you fucked him over. Again. And his cock’s straining in his pants. Leaking. A goddamn faucet. You didn’t even cup it like you normally would, you fuckin’ tease. But Simon wasn’t stupid; he knew you were expecting an answer. He just didn’t have one to give. Or at the very least, one that wouldn’t piss you off. Fuckin’ cocktease.

But, just as soon as you touched him, you stopped, and Simon felt the chill from your absence and disappointment very deeply. His brows furrowed, his body became rigid with trepidation, and his demons came calling. No. No, wait, please—touch him again.

It hits him like a truck, this… feeling. Goes against his very being, against everything that was either beaten, trained into him, or taken away, and Simon hates it. Hates the push and pull of it all, that it disarms him, leaves him bare and vulnerable, and you don’t even blink twice at him.

He hates the fact that he loves it damn much. Poor bastard leans into it, too tired to fight any more, and just wants to fuckin’ crumble to pieces in your arms.

Christ, he needs you. Missed you, too. And he's sorry, he's so bloody sorry, sweetheart. He wasn’t supposed to relapse. Pride’s a fuckin’ bitch to swallow but he’d do that and more if it meant hearing your contented hum, feeling your fingers trail through his short-cropped hair or wrap around his cock, or… or him tasting you. Fuckin’ hell, he wants to taste you. Doesn’t want to remember the taste of shitty microwave dinners, nicotine, and cheap alcohol. He wants that fine dining, wants it so bad that he’s desperate, and while sorry’s not a word in his vocabulary—can’t be, not with the life he lives—Simon’ll say it. He’ll swallow his fuckin’ pride and say it, all for this, luv. All for you.

Just don’t take this away from him, sweetheart. Don’t deny him this. Don’t take your softness and comfort away and leave him.

Don’t let his demons get the best of him.

But again, he’s a soldier where it counts. For the most part; discipline’s a bitch sometimes, yeah? Or did it make the shitshow worse? Fuck if he knows. You’re still looking at him expectantly. Or you were. The silence was palpable but Simon would get his answers, and not even a moment later, you tsked in dissatisfaction. Your soldier felt the disappointment emanating off of you in droves, especially in the way that you pulled back even further from him. It caused that primal, yearning part of Simon to rage, his cards laid out, the fed up beast within that wanted to tell you that didn’t know shit about him and what he’s going through, wouldn’t ever know shit about him and what he’s going through, and would you stop fuckin’ teasing him and just… comfort him?! What the fuck is wrong with you?

He keeps it contained as best he can. Manages to ground himself with what little fortitude he has left. Simon looks at you now, perhaps a little expectant himself, brows too furrowed for your liking, dark eyes intense, tired, longing, and everything in-between, and you suppose you’ll give him grace. Grace illuminated by repressed contriteness. For now.

But even compassion has its limits, and Simon’s everything would remain untouched. He didn’t have to give you an answer, not this time. But you would give him yours. And so you do in your small, tight-lipped smile, the once-over you give Simon’s body, his cock especially, and the way you turn to leave just as soon as you arrived. You’re gracious enough to look back one more time, to see him staring at you intensely with something akin to… well, fuck, everything. A little anger, some disgruntlement, contentment at seeing you again, yearning… Good. He was on edge. As he should be.

“I’ll see you later,” were your light parting words but Simon heard your threat loud and clear.

I better not see this again and don’t you dare touch yourself.

Fuckin’ hell.

[illum1z]

it’s okay to feel good

counselor!mingi x f!reader

tags: sensitive topics on religion, coercion, praise, loss of innocence, pet names (pretty baby, lamb, love, etc.) corruption, unprotected sex(yikes), religious guilt, pleasure dom mingi, oral (f! receiving), cheating, eye contact, mentions of breeding, talking you through it, NOT PROOFREAD. (Like at all, sorry for any spelling mistakes)

Summary: you would do anything to relieve this dark, invasive feeling in your soul. absolutely anything.

wc: 7.3k

“in the crooks of your body, I find my religion.”

Frankly, from the beginning, you thought it was out of the ordinary. And you had to give yourself credit for the fact that this was indeed your last resort.

For the past 10 years, you’ve struggled with a deep-seated shame in yourself. Growing up sheltered and with a family that valued innocence and chastity. Basically, celibacy was the only way to live your life without sin. While being raised that way was damaging on its own, after having left the church once you got out on your own, it followed you. The guilt...

It was instilled at a young age that anything along the lines of adultery is sinful and is to be utterly ashamed of. And even though those ideals are not ones you wholeheartedly live by anymore, ideas that you lived with for such a long time tend to stick. Old habits die hard, you guess.

So when you had your very first boyfriend, a young, kind, smart guy you had met in your public speaking class, you thought this was your chance. To break through and not let the chains of the past hold you back from experiencing new things.

When you guys had your first kiss, it went fine. He respected your boundaries, made sure to understand that you were kind of fragile. To be careful with you. You can't ask for better. But one issue is that he never ever tried anything further than kissing. You two could make out for hours, and it never progressed any further than that. On one hand, you were relieved that you didn't have to put yourself out there like that so soon, but at the same time, you wondered if you just didn't see yourself in that way. Maybe he didn’t find you pretty enough for sex. Or maybe intimacy just wasn't his thing. You came up with every excuse in the book. Some for yourself on why you won’t just ask him, and some for him as to why he never initiated. This went on for a year. A whole year of dating and not once touching each other.

You felt disgusting. Something must be wrong with you. Your boyfriend never even once suggested anything sexual. It felt like it was all you. You felt perverted, like all you were thinking about was sex. You’d touch yourself at night while he was on his computer, working in the other room. Your pillow in your mouth as you bit to muffle your noises while your fingers explored your body. Every time after you were done, a strong and hot feeling of dirtiness and guilt washed over you as you realized what you had done. Touching the rosary on your neck as you stared into the ceiling, breathing heavily, a prayer in the back of your mind raced by as you tried to calm yourself. The sacred jewelry on your neck was a gift from your mother. Something that even though held sick memories and painful reminders, it was just too familiar, and you wouldn't dare part with it.

“I'm not doing anything wrong. This is normal. I'm okay. It's okay. “ But you became addicted, touching yourself until it hurt. Until it burned, but it was never enough. Lust was becoming a drug, and each dose you amped it up, but it never was the high you were searching for.

You decided that after this had been going on for too long, you needed help. You could never tell your boyfriend. You’d be humiliated, and he’d find you repulsive. You searched all over online for a solution to this problem. Sex counselors were a thing, maybe they could help.

Nothing online was helping, article after article. Website after website. It was feeding you all the same redundant information, and none of it was settling the constant disturbance in your gut. You'd find yourself twirling your necklace again, leg bouncing from anxiety. You needed to be somewhere familiar. Somewhere that might ease you.

Slipping on some clothes and gathering your things, you walked out of your room, walking to your boyfriend as he sat at his desk, like always, typing away. You pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead and smiled.

“I'm going out for a little. I’ll be home later.” He gripped your hand a kissed the back of it, squeezing it gently.

“See you later, hun, love you.” He smiled up at you. It felt mocking, even though he meant completely well. He let go, and you walked out the front door. Making your way to your car.

You didn’t know where you were driving, but you were going somewhere. It was like your mind was on autopilot. Your brain clocked out, and your body took you where you wanted to go.

You blinked and found yourself parked at the cathedral you had frequented your whole life. Standing tall and sharp against the stark contrast of the orange and purples that littered the sky as the sun descended behind the steeple. The wind blew softly, and the streets seemed oddly empty for a Sunday night. The stained glass windows called out a whispering “welcome home” as you stepped out of your car and stared at the beautiful building in front of you. The wind started to become harsher nd began to bite at your skin with the cold. You walked up to the front entrance, purpose in your step as you ascended the stairs and slipped past the doors as quietly as you could.

Immediately, the comfort of silence enveloped you like a warm blanket. The tall ceilings with beautiful murals scrawled on them. Giant glass windows with depictions of different moments in history cast blue, green, and red lights from the setting sun on the altar. And next to it, tucked away in a dark corner in the front of the room. The confessional. An all too familiar space to you. You forced yourself to drag your eyes away from it as you stepped further into the space, heading for the very first row of pews. You looked around, the church completely empty and the definition of quiet. Just the soft blow of the wind outside. You sat in the first row of pews, taking a moment to just take it all in. You felt safe, clean, and forgiven in here. You sat in that pew for what felt like hours, just basking in the quiet. When you looked around again, you noticed it had gotten dark outside. The moon shone through the windows. The candles by the altar were the only light in the whole building, casting an eerie orange glow about the church.

And there was one candle in the confessional. It shone like a quiet soul inside that wooden box, seeping through the intricate carved designs on the door. You felt a small tug on your heart, like it was asking to go, to unload all the thoughts and emotions plaguing you. Let them spill free, unabashedly, somewhere to feel forgiven.

So you followed it and walked to the confessional, opening the door with a creak and sitting on the bench. You shut the door behind you, and it seemed like the world around you faded away, within the quietness of the booth. You immediately had the urge to just start talking. To get these things off your chest.

You talked about your guilt. You talked about your sadness. You talked about your lust, how it was plaguing you all the time. How you felt like your boyfriend didn’t actually love you, and how you felt like a pervert for always wanting to feel good. How it hurts to not feel good. Another 30 minutes spent in the booth trickled by before you decided you needed to head home. You stood, before bowing your head. Old habits die hard, like you said. A prayer you remembered began to flow past your lips with the ease of muscle memory. Hands clasped around the rosary and eyes shut tight.

“Merciful Lord, I come before You seeking forgiveness and healing for the sin of lust that dwells within me. I confess my weakness in giving in to impure desires and indulging in lustful thoughts and actions that offend You. Purify my heart, renew my mind, and sanctify my body as Your temple.”

You continued until the prayer was finished. You dropped your hands and turned, opening the door and stepping out.

But as soon as you did, you looked up from the knob and locked eyes with someone. A chill tickled down your spine as you stared past the altar, at a man sitting in the first pew, exactly where you sat for hours before. Wearing a tight, barely fitting sheer white button-up shirt, black pants, and sharp black shoes. His hair was slightly tousled yet still professional in a way. He was hunched over, elbows resting on knees as his hands came up, pressed together like he was praying, the tips of his fingers pressed against his lips. His head was tilted slightly down, while his eyes stayed up, locked directly onto yours.

Your breath hitched, and he didn’t move a muscle. His eyes bore into yours, the orange glow of the candlelight flickered across his features beautifully, and you couldn't look away. You felt small under his gaze as he pinned you down with his stare effortlessly.

Who is that? Why is he here? How long has he been here? Did he somehow hear me?

His hand twitched, then he moved it down, before fully turning his head. He narrowed his eyes. He smiled. He waved.

You felt a lurch in your stomach. He was unbelievably handsome, with the mole under his eye. The charming way his crooked teeth formed the most beautiful smile. The borderline [predatory look in his eyes. He stood and began to walk towards you.

Immediately, you stood up straight and made sure you took a couple of steps away from the confessional, as if you were too close, you would start spilling secrets.

He was right in front of you now, smiling down as the closer got, the smaller you felt.

“Evenin’, I'm sorry, thought I was the only one here tonight, I hope I wasn’t bothering you.” He had a deep, baritone drawl in his voice that felt like ice on your brain. This was not good. Not good at all.

“No, no, you’re completely fine, it's not like I own the place, I was just… visiting.” You smiled nervously, your palms sweating. Even though you were just conversing with one person, you felt like you had millions of eyes on you in the dark, empty church. His gaze alone was already so intense, the ghosts of former church goers seemed to stare at you as if you moved, the floor would cave underneath you.

His eyes traced your body, just for a flicker of a second, you didn’t catch. He caught your gaze again, taking a small barley there step closer to you. His hand rested lazily in his pants pocket. His other hand reached forward to offer a handshake.

“Song Mingi. I'm a counselor at the cathedral. It's a pleasure to meet you, sweet thing.” You smiled as you hesitated, but ultimately brought your hand up to shake his.

“(Name), nice to meet you, Mingi sir.” His hand wrapped around yours, easily swallowing your entire hand up as he shook it firmly, lingering just a little too long.

“So what brings you here so late at night (Name)? Can’t be anything good, right?” He laughs and nudges your shoulder playfully, a little glint of joy in his eyes. While mostly an overwhelming and intense presence, he sure knew how to soften the armospehete.

You smiled softly and shook your head. “Just… feeling a little weird lately, just thought maybe a visit to somewhere familiar might ease me a little.”

He tilted his head, and his eyes softened as he tsked. “What's going on, if you don’t mind me asking. I am a counselor after all, maybe I can give you some advice.” His smile was genuine, and he seemed like he really just wanted to lift your spirits.

“Well..” You bit your bottom lip, worried, before sitting on the red velvet stairs, resting your forehead on your knees as you hugged them. Mingi followed, sitting on the step a couple below yours, looking up at your face with genuine curiosity all over his face. You took note of the clunky rosary wrapped around his neck, the crucifix sitting directly between his rather protruding pecs that pressed through the thin fabric of his shirt. You tried not to stare too much.

“Its, hard… for me to talk about. I had just been feeling strange lately. Like I can't find rest within myself. I thought maybe coming by my childhood church and just spilling my guts in the confessional would help, but it's just made me realize that what I'm feeling and thinking is REAL. And not just… I don’t know. I feel like there's some kind of animal in me that just won't sleep. I can't even sleep. I'm always anxious, always guilty, and I somehow can’t even get my boyfriend to validate me when I’m feeling-” Imedicualty, your eyes widened, and you slapped a palm over your mouth in embarrassment, a heat trickling up the back of your neck.

“Sorry.” You whispered. “I started rambling..” You were too out of it to notice that Mingi’s hand had been silently and ever so softly grazing up and down your calf, as if trying to soothe you through this confession.

“You’re perfectly fine, sweetheart. Thank you for feeling alright with telling me.” His hand gave your calf a small squeeze before slipping away from your leg, back on the stairs.

“It sounds like you’re going through a lot right now. You sound tired, so let me tell you something.” You were still looking down from shame, and he softly btoguht his hand up and tilted yout chin upward so he could look into your eyes. That intense stare of his pinning you down like a fawn in headlights, you felt like you were coevred in a warm, heavy weighted blanket, like even if you tried to run away, your wouldnt be able to.

“My doors are always open to counseling sessions.” He points to a door behind the altar. “Over there is a door to my office. By the confessional. I’m here every Sunday, Wednesday, and Friday from 4 to 10, accepting walk ins. If you’d like you can come back and we can try to explore these feelings deeper and see if we can work on getting you some well needed relief.”

You felt a flutter in your stomach at his kindness, but also at the seemingly suggestive way he chose to express his words. Maybe you were really in need of professional help, he was trying to help you, for God’s sake. You nodded, and your eyes flicked to his nose, to his lips, to his chest, back up to his eyes. You felt like you had been caught, a small flicker of something in his eyes, his body shifted slightly, a small pink tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“That sound alright princess?” You took a second, mulling over your thoughts. This could really benefit you. This could fix the unrest in your heart. Fix your relationship with your boyfriend, with yourself.

“I'll stop by.” You smiled, nodding your head once as if in confirmation. “Thank you for listening to me.”

His grin widened and he dropped his voice down to a low whisper, coming a little closer to where you could feel his breath on your ear, his warm, woodsy scent wrapping around you, filling you with him.

“It's my job, sweetheart, no need to thank me.” Now, you may not know too much about people, but one thing you just barely caught was a slight twitch in his soft smile, like his lips wanted to smile wider, but he stopped himself. A look in his eyes that held a secret. A desire. It was odd, you felt so safe and comforted in his presence, it was almost eerie how easy it was to get you to spill to him like that.

I mean, you walked out of the confessional, and he was sitting in your spot, staring at you like he was going to eat you. That should have unnerved you from the beginning, which it did. But something was so alluring. So tantalizing and bewitching about him. Just a few words from his pretty plump lips, and if he had asked for your soul, you’re sure you would have given it to him.

You left, turning around to look at the church. The steeple seemed sharper against the stark black sky. The streets were even quieter, the air colder. The building seemed more haunted than holy now, but before you psyched yourself out, you got back in your car and drove home.

It had been a week since your visit to a church. If you weren’t going to hell before, you were certainly going now. Every night, the same routine continued, but this time, you were imagining him. Mingi, tracing your curves and kissing your skin. Mingi, reaching inside you and caressing your insides in a way so invasive it should be considered immoral. You wanted him pressing his body into yours, his warmth soaking into your skin as he pleasured you in ways you imagined heaven should feel like.

Just sick in the head.

There was no way you could go see him now, with these images of him squeezing your body and rolling his hips, mouth agape and eyes rolling and boring into yours in a fashion that felt like he knew your entire being.

You slept next to your boyfriend every night, not even daring to cuddle with him in fear that even just by touching, he could feel the want and the lust seeping from your skin.

And that's how you found yourself in your car, back at the church. The streets are empty again. The sky had opened on your way there, the clouds angry and dark, fat droplets of rain pouring fast on the streets.

Your hands gripped the steering wheel so hard it began to burn, but you didn’t let go. You were trying to ground yourself before you walked into the church and saw him. You needed to get a hold of yourself. With a couple of bites to your palm and a cold sip of water. You rushed out of your car and walked with purpose to the church quickly as not to give yourself time to chicken out and go back home.

You entered the church, albeit soaked to the bone from the rain. It felt darker and colder now. The candles cast flickering, dark shadows on the walls. Behind the altar was his office door. Standing tall and mocking, you pinched your necklace and took a deep breath before making your way to his door.

The carpet swallowed your footsteps as you walked to his door, past the confessional, the urge to tell secrets welling up in your chest again. You stopped in front of his door, a soft light emanating from the crack at the bottom. Your hand hovered over the knob.

“Come in.” The muffled voice beckoned behind the door. You obeyed.

Twisting the knob you opened the door with a quiet creak. Inside was a broad, beautiful mahogany desk, littered with papers, candles, and an assortment of Bibles. A large painting of Mother Mary was mounted on the wall directly behind the chair behind the desk, where Mingi sat. The first 2 buttons of his shirt were undone, and he leaned back lazily as his foot rested on his knee. His hand was on the table, his fingers resting in between stacks of paper, caressing the edge of the paper ever so slowly, occasionally slipping between sheets.

His eyes caught yours immediately, smiling as he gestured to the chair in front of him. A large velvety red and blue couch was against the left wall, and tall, gold-plated mirror was on the right. His eyes were darker tonight. Narrowed. Filled with… intention. 3 candles lit up the room, providing minimal light to properly see his face.

“(Name), it's good to see you again.” You sat in the chair, feeling his voice rumble in your chest as a roll of thunder sounded in the distance. He laughed gently before flashing that charming grin of his at you.

“Guess you got caught in the rain, huh?” The teasing lilt in his voice sent a little shock wave through your head, suddenly aware that you were still, in fact, soaking wet.

“Yeah it just started pouring as soon as I left, I considered d turning around.” You smiled in an attempt to hide your nervousness, before he reached across and took your hand in his, squeezing it gently.

“Well, for what its worth, I’m glad you wanted to be here so bad you came anyway.” Confusion shot through tou but before you could even react he pulled away and cleared his throat.

“Now then, let's start unpacking this, yeah?” He waves his hand at you and smiles.

“Talk to me, sweetheart. Tell me everything that's on your mind.” You blinked. Once. Twice.

Oh god…

“Well..” You shifted in your seat. This was it. You were here for a reason. No time to be shy, this is how you get the help you’ve been needing. But his presence is so heavy… it was overwhelming your senses. The whole office smelled like him. The air was thick, and the atmosphere was dark. It felt like the painting was watching you. He was watching you. Picking you apart with his eyes, carefully.

“I’ve got this suffocating guilt that's been following me for what seems like years. As a kid, I was sheltered, being part of the church kept me away from much outside influence, and frankly, I feel like it's messed me up a bit, in a way… I don't know how to explain it. Anyway, so I get out, right? Out in the world by myself. I’m doing okay, learning new things and trying to work the world without the influence of the church holding me back.” You stop and smile, a little lost in your thoughts as you think about old memories.

“Then I meet my first boyfriend. Hes really sweet, smart, kind. Kind of the complete package kind of guy.” Too busy lost in your story, you failed to see how Mingi’s grip on his knee tightens, how his jaw clenches and how his eyes rove over you like you’ll disappear if he looks away for one second, enamoured.

“How’s that going?” Mingi asks softly, “Sounds like a pretty awesome guy.” There it is. He sees the change in your demeanor. The way your shoulder slumps, the burning shame in your eyes. The slight readjustment of your posture.

“Well, that's just the thing. He's great and all, a really good guy. But, he doesn’t seem… interested…” You refuse eye contact as you trail off, beginning to close up again. You can feel the heat crawling up your back as you know in a second the conversation is about to take an incredibly inappropriate and soul-baring turn.

“Interested in what love? Cmon, talk to me.” he comes over from behind the desk and squats down in front of you as you stay sitting in the chair, so he can look at you eye level. His hands rested on his knees, and he spoke even softer now that he was closer. “You can trust me. Let me help you.”

Mingi was so close now, and he was making it so hard for you not to just straight up start acting like an animal in heat with that look he was giving you. He was trying to pull the secrets from your throat with his eyes. Like a fish hook in your mouth, he was prying you open to him, and you just simply couldn’t resist

“I… fuck okay. Fine. I feel so gross because he won’t make any sexual advances towards me, and it's been over a year of dating. Yes, it's unbecoming, and it makes me feel so sick that all I seem to crave is for him to touch me. I'm so ashamed it's all I think of every day and every night, and we’ve never gone any farther than kissing. I feel like I'm missing out on so much because of my lack of knowledge, but I also feel like it's better for me to just never know. It's sick and it's hurting! It–it hurts me to know that it's not okay to feel good like.. That..” Silence fell, your eyes glued to your lap.

You slowly raise your eyes, ready to see the disappointment in Mingi’s face at your shameful confession.

Instead, a small smile, barely there, tilts up the corners of his lips. You glue your eyes to the rosary on his chest as you feel the deep, baritone chuckle that slips past his lips. The shame burned. You won’t look at him.

“Y’know. I’m going to tell you a secret, okay?” You felt a finger pinch your chin gently, before he directed your gaze at his, dropping them before they landed on your knees.

“What you are feeling? Is okay. I promise.” His voice was soft and promising, words dripping in sugar as he began to drag his big, calloused palms up and down… up and down… your thighs soothingly through your pencil skirt.

Your breath hitched, and you couldn’t take your eyes off him. “Your boyfriend, not touching you, has nothing to do with you physically. You’re beautiful, I can promise you that.” You felt that warmth envelop you again from when he whispered in your ear. That deeep pull in your lower stomach that burned.

“In fact, I could even go as far as to say you’re very alluring. So small, soft, like a lamb.” Daringly, his hands slipped further up, now resting on your hips, like they were made to fit there.

He knew what he was doing. The dangerous look in his eyes swelling as he watched you slowly melt as his words sat in your skull.

“I’ll confess it now, I heard everything you said in the booth last week.” his voice was now a whisper, gentle like he would scare you off. He felt your body jolt like you’d run from him, and his hands held your hips tighter, holding you down onto the chair only slightly, like it was a suggestion that you should stay, his thumbs rubbing slow, soft circles into your stomach.

“I heard every word. Every cry. Every plea. Every prayer that this feeling could be relieved for you. You were so pretty coming out of the booth. Little tear droplets on your lashes and embarrassment all over your body. I knew you needed help.”

Mingi sank to his knees, so close to your body you could feel and smell every inch of him all over you. His hands moved up and gently cupped your face, guiding your head down so he could mumble in your ear.

He breathed quietly for a second before blowing a cold gust of air on your ear, making you shiver. “Let me help you, precious. Let's drag that feeling out. Let me drag it out of you.”

“If anyone can make you feel good in a way that’ll satiate the craving inside of you, it’s me. I can take care of you. Treat you like the angel you are. Does that sound good.” He pressed a gentle kiss to your hair, his hand mindlessly massaging your leg. “I promise.” He was whispering now, barely contained desire seeping from his gentle, coaxing words. “Don’t you trust me?”

Your brain was so fuzzy. Was this happening? Was he offering to take care of you in the way you’ve been crazy about? The one your boyfriend won’t give you. Maybe it’ll clear the nasty thoughts out of your head. Make the hysteria go away.

“Cmon baby…” He was all over you now, standing, towering over you as he leaned down, one hand on either side of your chair. You followed his gaze up and stared into his eyes. His rosary dangled right above your chest, almost touching it. It swung back and forth back and forth, hypnotically. His hand gripped the armrests tightly, like he was stopping himself from ripping you apart with his bare hands.

You looked so good, so delicious, so pure. He’d love to be the one to introduce you to the wonderfully sinful world of pleasure, to drown you in the feeling himself. To give himself to you.

“Let's get it out of your system, yeah? I can fix you, angel.”

Testing the waters, he leaned further down, his breaths mixing with yours, keeping you caged in, his eyes never leaving yours. It felt like you stayed like that forever. Lips millimeters from touching, tension in the air crackling.

You had never felt this way before. Your body ached, and your lower stomach throbbed with what could only be described as need.

All it took was the small, slight parting of your lips before Mingi finally pressed into you. His plushy lips sinking into yours like they were meant to be there. His eyes stayed on you, watching and guaging your reaction to the touch, only when your eyes fluttered close and you whined softly into his mouth did he really let himself go.

Pressing himself impossibly closer against you, his hands left the arm rests and threaded through your hair before gripping gently and completely swallowing you whole with his mouth. His tongue delved deep, tracing patterns in your mouth and moving against you in ways that had you groaning deep into him.

He swallowed your sounds gratefully, a loud crack of thunder nearly shaking the room. One candle blew out.

It wasn’t enough. He needed more of you. He needed to consume you. Even though it hurt, he pulled away from your mouth, panting softly as he watched the trail of saliva snap between you. He stared at your glassy eyes and pink lips, groaning to himself as he stood up and started to undo his tie.

“Alright, princess, I need you to take off your skirt and go lie on your back on that couch over there, okay? Can you do that for me?” Taking a second to break out of your stupor, you nodded and stood up, slipping the skirt and pantyhose off your legs before complying and lying on the couch. Mingi strode over, his tie gone and his shirt completely unbuttoned, a filthy, hungry look in his eyes. Rosary hanging proudly around his neck.

Gently, like he was still afraid to scare you. He laid between your legs on the couch. He planted his head directly between your thighs, his big hands slipping under your thighs and guiding them upward around his head, before spreading his big hand directly over your lower abdomen. His other hand slipped down and teased your soaking wet cunt through your panties.

Mingi stared into your eyes from between your legs and breathed in your scent deeply.

“You’re gonna taste so sweet fa me, aren't you angel?” Your head lolled at the sweet words, he just knew how to break you down and turn you into a puddle in his hands.

“All for me…” he mumbled completely to himself as he dragged your panties down your thighs and off your legs. He couldnt pull his eyes away from your pretty pussy. You felt so bare, so exposed, shying away, you tried to close your legs, but of course, his head was in the way.

“Don’t be ashamed, pretty girl.” He rubbed gentle circles on your thighs again before letting out a quick, quiet whistle. “Look at me, {Name}.”

Your head snapped to him, eyes locked with his, his gaze so intense you felt your eyes water, and a whimper bubbles up from your chest. He kisses your thighs softly, before hovering his mouth over your cunt, letting his breath fan over her gently.

“I want your eyes on me while I eat, okay? I need to see what you like, baby.” He’s going to read your body. You shivered and moaned softly at his words as you kept your eyes on him.

“Good. Keep those pretty eyes on me.” Slowly, tortorously slow, he brought his mouth down, licking a slow, wide strip up your cunt, kissing your clit at the end of its journey. The switch in Mingi was quick. Too quick. He became addicted immediately.

His eyes clouded over and buried his tongue inside of you, his nose grinding against your clit. You felt like you were going to die. It was so good. It felt so fucking good. You brought your hand up and bit your finger to keep yourself quiet. It felt so wrong. Doing something like this in a church, of all places. You felt judged and watched, but it felt like heaven. Mingi’s tongue felt like heaven.

“Yeah, yeah, that's it. Feeling good, pretty baby?” You nodded frantically, whimpering out broken “yes’s” and cries of his name. His hand snuck up and pulled your hand away from your mouth, grabbing both of your wrists in one hand, keeping a firm grip on them, holding them down in front of your tummy.

He groaned LOUD into your pussy, the vibrations reaching deep inside and making your back arch. He closed his eyes for a second, lost in the taste of you. “I have to hear you, don’t be shy.”

The knot in your stomach tightened, that familiar feeling from the nights you explored your body, but this time tenfold in strength. Mingi truly was drawing a kind of pleasure out of you that you’ve never felt before.

“Oh mmff… Min-! Feels good.” You whined, feeling that climax building deep in your gut.

“Oh, baby, I feel you. You bout to cum?” He smiled and latched onto your clit, sucking and slipping one long, slender finger deep in your snug cunt. You nod again, moans breaking when he curls his finger upward inside, pressing against a spot you’ve never been able to reach yourself.

“Yeah.. yes yes yes..” You panted out, focusing on the feeling of Mingi all over you. He let out deep staccato moans around your clit before he slipped a second finger inside, coaxing inside even deeper.

“I’m gonna get you there, sweetheart. I’m gonna fuck you right through it and spread you on my cock. I'll have you seeing stars, baby, I promise.”

Before you could react he slipped his fingers out and moved up, caging you against the couch, in split second he removed your shirt and his pants, his cock, hot and heavy laid on your stomach as his hand came up and snaked behind the back of your head.

Pressing all his body weight down on you, he nudged your legs up to wrap around his waist.

His other hand slipped down and adjusted the fat head of his cock against the slick entrance of your pussy, before moving to hold your waist tighly, his thumb sinking and pressing hard against your stomach.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good. Such a good girl like you deserves to feel good, right?” Mingi’s lips came down and swallowed your whines again, increasingly desperate and sloppy like his tongue was trying to drag noises from deep in your throat.

“You deserve it.” He groans into your mouth, keeping his eyes on yours as he slowly, slowly sinks into your cunt.

Already you felt so full, tears spilled from the corners of your eyes, falling apart as his eyes stripped you down to your soul and his curved, thick cock splits you open. He bottoms out with a deep groan.

Your legs shake as his head sits snugly against your G-spot perfectly. He stays there for a moment, sinking his teeth into your plush bottom lip.

“Shh, yeah… that's it. So filthy. You feel how deep I am? So warm and so perfect.” Mingi rolled his hips into you, not quite thrusting, but he dragged his tip against that spot, and you came just like that, convulsing and whining into his mouth.

‘“Oh angel, you just came?” His whole body shivered at the amount of control he had over how good you felt. Like clay, he could shape and mold you to fit him perfectly. Make you his pretty little doll.

Your hands wrapped around his neck as he pulled himself out of you, dragging deliciously against your insides before thrusting back into you.

“Oh, you're so good. So good for me…” Ming sucked and licked dark purple marks into the flesh of your collarbones, drooling on your neck before leaving wet, open mouth kisses against the shell of your ear.

“You’re perfect, there’s nothing wrong with you, pretty baby. So responsive. So easy to please.” Mingi words floated around in your empty brain as he fucked you deep, and heavy. Your moans and cries egged him on. He wanted more from you, he wanted you to come on his cock again.

“You’re gonna give me another one (Name). I’m gonna make you come on my cock again, okay baby?” Mingi took the rosary that was swinging in your face off and flipped you over so you were on your stomach now. Wrapping the chain around your wrists, he brought them down behind your back, bound tight.

His hand massaged from your neck, down your shoulders, along your back, and down to your hips. Without warning he slid his cock back inside of you, the new prone angle making your pussy suck him even deeper. He bends over, lips pressed directly against your ear, one hand around the back of your neck and the other snaked between your stomach and the couch, drawing slow, rough circles against your clit. He fucked you deep and hard, feeling him in your stomach.

“This is what heaven feels like, baby. Like it? I know you do, your voice and your wet cunt is telling me everything. Every dirty thought you’ve been having. I’m giving you what you need. I can always give you what you need…”

The knot was building again, the drag of him against your walls stretching you so perfectly, the feeling of his body overtaking yours.

“My dirty, dirty girl. Would you like me to take you out and fuck you stupid in the altar? All whiny and sensitive, I can breed you like an animal, would you like that?”

Grinding his hips into yours without mercy, Mingi relished in the feeling of you giving yourself up to him. He was obsessed with the way you twitched and squirmed, completely at his mercy.

He loved that he was the one to rip this abstinence away from you, drag you down further into sin.

“See, this isn’t so bad, no need to feel guilty about it baby, it feels good, nothing that feels this good— fffuckkk… could ever be so bad…”

Mingi must be right. It feels so good, it’s impossible for this to be so bad right?

You weren’t going to last much longer, and he could feel you clench around him as your impending orgasm was reaching its height. Mingi licked and bit all along your back, dragging his open mouth along the length of your shoulder blades. His hand continued to rub slow, pressured circles on your clit.

“Almost there sweet girl,” he murmured against your bruised skin, chasing his own high with your body.

“You sin so beautifully for me, you’re to tempting, as soon as I saw you I wanted to shove you back in that confessional and eat you out so good you’d beg me to stop. A sweaty overstimulated mess for me in a place meant for repentance.” He kept whispering in your ear, the deep rolls of his hips making your stomach feel like it was sinking.

“Ooh I wanna cum in you so badly. But that’d be so wrong of me. So bad..” Mingi’s hips began to stutter as he buried his face deep in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent and lazily kissing every inch of your throat.

“Cum for me baby, it’s okay to feel good, feel good under me, feel good while I strip your purity from you, give it to me, let me have it. I want it please honey please..”

Who were you to ignore such sweet prayer to you as he worshipped your body, practically melting into your flesh and becoming one.

His arms came around and wrapped around your torso like you were a body pillow, locking his hands together around your arms and your chest, effectively caging you against him and the couch, you couldn’t budge if you tried. He held you in a vice like hold, so tight you almost couldn’t breathe.

Your vision blacked, for just a second, as your orgasm came crashing down on you in STRONG periodic waves that felt like your insides were being battered, again and again and again and-

Mingi slowed his pace inside of you, opting for deep, deliberate rolls of his hips to move you through your orgasm, fuckinf his cum into you in the process.

His grip on your body turned softer, more like he was trying to hold you together rather than prevent you from moving. He ran his hands up and down your body so slowly and gently, like he was mapping you out and finding every curve, every mole or scar, every stretch mark and every sensitive spot.

“Yeah good girl. Let me fuck you through it mkay? Should I fuck you to sleep too huh? Would you like that pretty baby?” His voice was low and soft, his lips kissing along the top of your head, soothing and gentle. Your eyes lids fluttered at his softness, your cunt giving one last clench before you fully realized he had run you ragged.

Your body slumped under his own, face smushed in the pillow as you caught your breath. Mingi stood up and slipped on his pants, before gently turning you over on your back again. He pulled a pack of baby wipes out of his desk drawer and began gently cleaning between your thighs and all over your body.

His eyes followed trails of marks and bruises he left on you from his kisses and his grip on your flesh, a flash of possession hit his heart as you traced the dark marks on your neck and collar bone. “Did so good, love. Bet your boyfriend wouldn’t be able to have you praying for me like that huh?” He laughed to himself before reaching up and untying his rosary from your wrists.

He turned to the mirror and began putting it back on him. With his back turned you stared at the scratches on his back. He made you feel so good… and then it hit you.

Your boyfriend.

Your eyes widened and panic quietly began to set it. But before you could really process anything, Mingi turned back around, that stupid smile on his face as he gestures you to stand up.

“Come on lamb, we have to go visit the confessional.”

The puzzled look on your face formed and he laughed, almost condescendingly at your pitiful appearance.

He leaned down to your ear and gently bit the lobe, tugging with a low, quiet hum.

“You’ve got some sins to get off your chest.”

My fics always end up being like 7k something words it’s like my body knows when to stop, it’s like my ancestors being like “stop.. that’s enough…”

Thanks for reading :3

[momotonescreaming]

Tommy 🔥🚁💙 What are your thoughts on takeout tonight instead? x

Evan ❤️ Not that I'm opposed, but what bought this on?

Buck sat down on the station couch and frowned down at his phone, waiting for the typing bubbles to appear.

He and Tommy were trying again, taking it slow and working through everything properly this time. Tonight was supposed to be a part of that — a semi-casual date night at a local Malaysian restaurant Buck had wanted to try — where they could carve out time for the both of them to enjoy the others company and talk over good food. If the reviews were anything to be believed, that is.

But evidentially, plans have changed. Buck's not mad about it, no way, they can always go eat another time. Buck's just glad Tommy still wants to spend the evening with him.

He'd been really looking forward to it — his date night with Tommy. It had been the driving force carrying him through his shift. Knowing that at the end, he'd be able to go see Tommy.

Knowing that he'd be able to see his man dressed up nice, with a button up shirt that hugged his chest just right. That Tommy would look at him fondly while he spent entirely too long going over everything in the menu. That they could hold hands over the table while they waited for their order, and could press their ankles together under the table while they ate so they still had a point of contact. That Tommy would insist they get dessert, and Buck would agree because he loves Tommy's sweet tooth.

But above all else, he just wanted to go see Tommy. Buck always felt lighter when he was around. He hopes it's the same with Tommy.

His phone vibrates.

Tommy 🔥🚁💙 Didn't realise something was pissing me off as much as it did until I got home

Buck's fingers hover over his phone's keyboard as the typing bubbles quickly appear, before stopping, and the appearing only to disappear again. His fingers itch, and he quickly types out a message before Tommy can start his message over

Evan ❤️ And you need an evening at home?

Tommy 🔥🚁💙 Yeah. If we could?

That was something Buck had been learning about Tommy this time around, now that they were talking about more things that were scary, and more things that were real — he wasn't a fan of being angry. He grew up with an angry father, he said, was more scared of becoming him than he liked to admit. Letting the cycle repeat. He didn't want to risk it. He was a big guy, intimidating by sheer stature, and he didn't like to be angry on top of it.

The fact that he was worried, meant he'd never become his father. He'd never be like him in any way. Buck knew this, and Tommy was trying to let himself believe it.

But he needed to process through it.

Tommy would take the time before dinner to work through his anger as best he could, they both knew this, but Tommy felt more comfortable recovering at home after something really riled him up. He'd go to the gym, go for a run around the block, exhaust himself before retreating home to shower and rest.

Evan ❤️ We can reschedule, if you need?

As much as he was looking forward to seeing Tommy, he'd reschedule in a heartbeat if Tommy needed it. Tommy loves to look after him, to care for him, to love him — and Buck wants to do the same. As much as Tommy will let him.

The reply comes through instantly.

Tommy 🔥🚁💙 No need. Come over. Please? x

And how, or why would Buck say no to that? He said he admired Tommy for being brave, and that hasn't changed at all now that he admires him for being brave and letting him in. He knows that Tommy admires him for taking more time for himself, for letting himself be a little more selfish.

They're good for each other. They always were, just even more so now.

Evan ❤️ Absolutely ❤️ I'll bring burgers from that place you like?

Tommy 🔥🚁💙 I could kiss you x

Evan ❤️ I accept payment in kisses, yes

Later, in the quiet of his Jeep when there's no one else around to listen in, Buck will call and cancel their reservation. He'll make a pick up order from that burger place Tommy loves, driving it over so they can eat it fresh and hot. Tommy will open the door in a worn LAFD shirt and sweatpants; looking clean, and soft, and relaxed.

Buck will listen as his boyfriend bitches and rants through their dinner, in a way Tommy wouldn't let himself in the confines of the restaurant. He'll hum that he's listening and make all the right comments because he gets it. They get each other in a way they're finally, really starting to understand.

He'll steal a spare pair of sweatpants from Tommy and clean up the wrappers while Tommy looks through his shelves for a romcom for them to watch. They'll curl up on the couch under a fuzzy blanket that has no business being that comfortable, Tommy tucked under Buck's arm, and he won't regret cancelling their reservation for a second.

Tommy 🔥🚁💙 I'm holding you to that. See you tonight xo Thank you xo