#f/f plots

[dejabunnies]

𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐚 é uma negociadora de obras de arte, mas não do tipo honesta, e sim do tipo que encontra e agencia a compra de obras de arte "perdidas" (lê-se roubadas) e 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐛 é uma artista independente muito talentosa e com um olho incrível para criar cópias de artistas famosos. Não é o trabalho mais satisfatório do mundo para 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐛 recriar obras que não são suas, mas a vida de artista não tem sido fácil. O caminho das duas se encontra, e enquanto 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐚 é essa mulher malandra e ambiciosa, 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐛 está com dificuldades financeiras e precisa de dinheiro. 

A parceria é perfeita; 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐚 escolhe obras perdidas, e 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐛 as recria. E juntas vendem por milhares de dólares esses “achados” tão preciosos.

[haruthinks]

PLOT BUNNIES - F/F

e aí pessoal, tudo tranquilo? nesse post eu trago pra vocês alguns plots que passaram pela minha cabecinha. mas especificamente, plots pensados para f/f. claro que poderiam ser adaptados para qualquer jogo que vocês quiserem, mas foram idealizados como f/f incialmente! espero que gostem e se divirtam em seus jogos! 💙

enemies to lovers:

muse A é jogadora no time de futebol/basquete/vôlei da faculdade enquanto muse B é capitã das líderes de torcida. é notável que ambas se detestam, porém tudo muda quando muse A acaba batendo no carro de muse B sem querer e é obrigada a dar carona para a garota até que o carro dela esteja pronto (inspirado no livro "she drives me crazy" escrito pela kelly quindlen ou "a jogada do amor" em ptbr).

trabalhar em equipe pode ser muito desgastante, ainda mais quando alguns membros não se dão bem. muse A e muse B trabalham numa grande revista de moda e são responsáveis por montar 2 looks para cada edição, então precisam ser perfeitos. porém, as duas não podiam ter visões mais distintas. enquanto muse A tinha um gosto mais vanguardista e moderno, muse B gostava de peças e silhuetas clássicas. com a deadline se aproximando, as duas precisam aprender como trabalhar juntas.

reencontrar um antigo amor pode parecer bom para algumas pessoas, mas para muse A era um pesadelo. seu relacionamento com muse B não acabou em bons termos e ela mal conseguiu acreditar quando descobriu que sua ex namorada estava participando do mesmo processo seletivo que ela. o lado bom? muse A conhece muse B o suficiente para saber todos os seus prontos fracos. o lado ruim? muse B também conhece muse A como ninguém.

fluff

muse A acabou de começar em seu novo emprego e, sempre quando chegava, cumprimentava a recepcionista muse B. com o passar do tempo, muse A começou a receber pequenos mimos como uma latinha de refrigerante, um bombom, um chocolate, etc. esses mimos eram entregues por muse B na recepção, que avisava que alguém havia deixado aquilo ali para muse A. mas na verdade, era a própria muse B que comprava os agrados para tentar ser notada por muse A.

melhores amigas desde os 12 anos, muse A tem fortes sentimentos por muse B, mas nenhuma coragem pra confessá-los. agora com 18 anos e prestes a se formarem no ensino médio, muse A faz uma promessa pra si mesma que irá contar tudo a muse B até o fim da viagem de formatura da turma delas.

forçada pelos seus amigos, muse A cria um perfil no tinder para tentar esquecer seu ex relacionamento. planejava deletar depois de alguns dias, pois não tinha interesse naquele tipo de coisa. mas acaba dando match com muse B e as duas começam a conversar e tudo é tão divertido que ela simplesmente esquece de deletar o aplicativo…

fantasia (não é minha especialidade então já me desculpo de antemão)

muse A e muse B estudam na mesma escola de magia, mas não se dão nada bem, sendo notório o desgosto mútuo entre as duas. porém, um certo dia as duas começam a perceber algo estranho, elas conseguem ouvir os pensamentos uma da outra. como se já não fosse ruim o bastante, as duas também começam a sentir o que a outra sente. desesperadas, muse A e muse B resolvem unir forças para descobrir como quebrar essa ligação.

ser uma vampira recém formada não é nada agradável, muse A sentia sede o tempo inteiro, mas era medrosa demais para atacar alguém. ficava passeando pelos arredores da cidade de noite tentando arranjar coragem para fazer sua vítima, então viu muse B quando ela estava saindo do campus após suas aulas. o cheiro de muse B deixou muse A louca, então decidiu que beberia o sangue daquela garota de todo jeito. entrou num beco e esperou muse B passar por ali, mas o que não esperava era que a humana fosse mais esperta do que o previsto, pois assim que muse A a segurou, muse B deu um soco na vampira. ela estava prestes a correr dali, quando muse A começou a chorar e se lamentar, o que estranhamente fez muse B ficar curiosa e com pena ao mesmo tempo. mesmo sabendo que era uma péssima ideia, conversou com a garota e descobriu que ela era uma vampira faminta e que não conseguia atacar ninguém, mas que precisava se alimentar e estava ficando mais fraca a cada dia. muse B resolve oferecer um pouco do seu sangue a muse A porque notava que a garota realmente parecia fraca. depois disso, as duas desenvolvem um acordo que muse B alimentaria muse A uma vez por dia, na mesma hora (eu não sei condensar coisas, perdão).

muse A foi para uma festa do pessoal da faculdade, não gostava muito daqueles ambientes então ficou quieta a maior parte do tempo até ver muse B, uma garota desconhecida e encantadora. as duas dançaram juntas, conversaram, se beijaram e resolveram sair dali para um lugar mais discreto. as duas foram andando até a praia onde muse A insistiu que as duas entrassem na água porque ela amava tudo aquilo. mesmo insegura, muse B cede ao pedido e entra com ela na água. o que muse A não esperava era que após fica submersa na água, muse B se revela uma sereia. (inspirado no clipe “only you” de cheat codes com little mix).

[mari-lair]

AU where Gon was raised on Greed Island instead of Whale Island.

More info on it here

[amaltheas-garden]

AND ANOTHER THING

this episode, despite not having the laughable plot points from 2x03, has run into some irreconcilable issues with the source material, but not in the typical "this event didn't happen in the text" way, but in the "these themes are in direct conflict with everything asoiaf stands for" way.

asoiaf sets itself apart from most fantasy because, in a genre chalk full of stories with divine, predetermined heroes destined to save the world, kings-to-be whose causes were always righteous and whose wars were always glorious, decided to flip the script. grrm wanted a story where no one's actions could be excused by vague notions of serving the "greater good", where divine purpose and prophecy held little weight compared to the very real damage done to actual people, because at the end of the day, nothing can justify the violence inflicted onto innocents in these endless quests for power.

the dance of dragons is a very easy story to comprehend when the rose-tinted glasses this fandom insists on seeing the Targaryens through are removed. it's about two siblings growing up in a time of peace and prosperity, going to war over daddy's throne, and everyone either dying or becoming a hollow husk of who they used to be. thats it. thats what war does. it kills you, or strips your humanity away bit by bit till you're hardly recognizable as a human and might as well be dead anyways. if there is one theme grrm wants readers to walk away with, it is that the price of war is NEVER one worth paying. I'm sure Rhaenyra thought that, sitting on the throne, haunted by the ghosts of her dead sons, and I'm sure Aegon II thought that, to broken to even climb the stairs of the IT, wishing only for his brothers, and sister, and children back.

while having Rhaenyra only willing to go to war over something "more than a crown" certainly paints her in a noble light, introducing a catch all justification for anything she does going forward to place herself on the IT is ridiculous. hotd essentially saying Rhaenyra actually HAD to go to war to save the realm from certain destruction years down the line because she was gifted special knowledge of her ancestor Aegon the Conqueror's prophecy (the Song of Ice and Fire *eye roll*) is a level of propaganda the "biased maesters" of f&b could only dream of.

[deantfwinchester]

Neighborhood Walgreens

Pairing: No-Outbreak!AU, Joel x Teacher!Reader like always

This one takes place before the other two timeline-wise, I guess - just a few months into knowing each other. No established relationship, and some ridiculous flirting.

Summary: A busy, sick Joel gets a little care from the people in his life - including the neighbor and friend he's been crushing on for the past few months.

Warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff-fluffity-fluff. Bout to get a standing root canal appointment, tbh.

A/N: The bulleted fics are piling up in the notes app, but boy are the well-crafted girlies a bit of a trek. More to come, if the functioning part of my brain has anything to say about it.

Word Count: 5.9k. absolute unit.

——————————————————————————————

Joel wakes up feeling like shit. He’d felt a bit of a scratch in his throat the night before, but tried to write it off as allergies or something - until he woke himself up coughing before his alarm could even go off. He knows he has a cold the second he tries to breathe through his nose - no dice. His head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, and it’s pounding before he can open his eyes. He shivers when he moves the blankets aside to get up, and each muscle in his body begs him to crawl back into bed.

Ever the trooper, he rises anyway, heading to the bathroom and checking the medicine cabinet to find what he’d feared - no cold medicine. Awesome. Resigning himself to trucking through the day, he blows his nose, pops a couple tylenol, and gets ready. His respiratory system isn’t too fond of the assault, however, and he’s coughing up a lung before he can finish. Today should be fun. He’ll need to stop by the drugstore on his way home. 

Once he’s dressed for the day (trying his best to look alive), Joel trudges down the stairs to see Sarah at the kitchen table, half-eaten bowl of cereal in one hand and a pencil in the other as she finishes the last of her homework. She hears him shuffle in and looks up just as he sniffles, locking eyes right before he can still his features into a facade of rested wellness. The  look on her face tells him he’s not getting away without worrying her, and he hates that. She doesn’t say a word as he makes his way to the coffee pot, she just watches him, only speaking up when he shivers at the mug’s warmth in his hands. The weather’s typical for an early autumn morning, but nowhere near chilly. Though the temperature should drop today with rain in the forecast, Sarah knows her dad and he’s never cold. 

“You know, I could just head next door. I guarantee she’d be happy to drive me,” she says smiling into her textbook, trying to be nonchalant with her concern. She was referring to you, their neighbor of a few months now, who’d given Sarah rides, helped her with homework, or checked in on her when Joel needed. You’d been around since the day you moved in, and neither of them could complain — certainly not Joel. Maybe she was hoping to fluster him a bit as well, suspecting his feelings for you were a bit more than the friendship he insists they are. 

He chokes on his coffee and coughs a little, shaking his head as she closes her book and begins leafing through her notes. Joel’s been worried enough lately that he’s taking advantage of your kindness too much — afraid he’s inconveniencing you and you’re too nice to say no, despite your insistence to help on more than one occasion. Besides, he already feels crappy, the last thing he wants today is for you to see him like this, hardly able to keep himself together. Or worse, to get you sick as well. Absolutely not. He opens his mouth to respond, but she speaks first. “It’s not like she hasn’t before. Maybe just one day? You need…,” she trails off, losing the battle with her expression as her eyebrows knit together and she notes the pallor and exhaustion on his own.

He takes a swig of his coffee hoping it will soothe the growing soreness in his throat before responding, “That’s alright kiddo, I-,” but the words catch in his throat before he can finish, and he cuts himself off coughing harshly into his elbow. Sarah grabs a glass and fills it with water while he coughs, longer than he has all morning, and hands it to him when he catches his breath. The look on her face is challenging now — she knows she won’t win this game, but she’ll still put up a fight. Predictably, Joel continues his previous thought as though unfazed by the fit, though his voice tells another story. “It’s just a cold, I’ll be fine. You don’t need to be worryin’ about me, babygirl,” he says hoarsely, waving her off with a sniffle. “You got a science test today, worry about that. You feelin’ ready?,” he asks, subverting talk of both his illness and mentions of you.

Sarah relents with a sigh, “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she says, gesturing to the textbook and notes on the table. He’s more confident than she is, and he smiles brightly at her.

“You’ve got it down, not a doubt in my mind. Now finish getting your stuff together before we’re late. I’ll get the car runnin’,” he says, moving his coffee to a travel thermos before grabbing her lunch from the refrigerator and getting it packed up. She looks back at him hesitantly before leaving the room to gather the last of her school stuff. 

Joel’s got his coffee in hand and Sarah’s lunch in the seat next to him as he waits in the truck. It’s nice enough outside, but he’s still chilly, and wonders if he should run back in and grab a jacket. He forgoes this idea when he realizes Sarah’d put up more of a fight if he did, knowing he’s warm-blooded as all hell, and vocally hot until at least November. Not to mention Tommy’d see right through him the second he shows up to work. No, it’s just early in the morning. The day will warm as the sun climbs to its apex for sure. He’ll be alright. 

While he’s thinking too hard through the fog in his head, Sarah climbs into the car with her backpack on, pulling it off to throw into the seat next to her. But not before she’s placed two additions in the seat between them - a box of tissues and a water bottle. She doesn’t say anything to him, just gives him a knowing look before loading her lunch into her backpack. Joel stills a moment — he’s not surprised by her care, but softens at the gesture. As Sarah shuts the passenger door, Joel wonders how the hell she turned out so sweet, and kisses the top of her head in silent thanks before pushing the truck into drive.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time Joel gets to work, his headache has bloomed into pain behind his eyes, leaving him squinting hard in the bright morning sun. He’s also used quite a few tissues since he dropped Sarah off at school. He’s definitely grateful she thought to grab them, but unfortunately, his congestion won’t budge. He’s not naive enough to think he can hide from Tommy, but hopeful that his brother might at least leave him be today. He can muscle through if he’s just working and not being nagged by his brother for hours. He’s sure of it.

—--------------------

Tommy’s not an idiot, but he lets him slide for the first few hours. It’s clear he knows something’s wrong. Joel’s a quiet enough guy, but never this silent, only speaking up when the work demands. He noticed when Joel got out of the truck this morning looking particularly drained - both in face and demeanor - and had checked in as casually as possible, hoping to avoid his brother’s evident and exceptional irritability. Joel, of course, had promptly brushed him off and clammed up for the remainder of the morning. Speaking only when spoken to hadn’t stopped Joel from making noise, though, much to his brother’s dismay. Tommy had seen him all morning, breaking into intermittent fits of coughing he’d attempt to mask beneath the racket of power tools. Tommy’s just about as good at hiding his concern, and Joel catches him looking in his direction in the thick of it on more than one occasion. After which Joel would rip his eyes from his brother’s fretful gaze, hoping to deter him from moving forward to give him a once-over. 

Despite his many efforts otherwise, Tommy knows Joel’s sick - too sick to be working like he is today. It’s when the guys break for lunch around noon and Joel just quietly nurses a bottle of water (which he only has because Sarah made sure of it, no less), that Tommy decides he’s got all the evidence he needs. Tommy sidles up next to his brother who’s leaning against his truck bed, and by the looks of it, allowing it to hold most of his weight, too weary to do so himself. Tommy sighs next to him, and Joel braces for what’s coming.

“You know, we’ve pretty much got it covered over here today, not a lot left to do before we pour anyhow. Probably a good thing, bottom looks like it’s gonna fall out before long,” he says, gesturing to the darkening sky above them. “We can manage for the day if you wanna head on home, maybe take a nap? Hate to tell ya, but you look like hell.” Tommy nudges his brother’s shoulder with his own playfully, attempting to lighten the mood. Joel rolls his eyes at Tommy, sniffing and clearing his throat to talk.

“Nah. ‘S just a cold. I’ll be alright,” Joel says, hoping to end the discussion with his curt response, but failing when his throat catches on the last word. Tommy’s face is etched in worry at the sound of the cough tearing up his brother’s throat. 

While Joel attempts to catch his breath, Tommy takes in the reddened flush on Joel’s otherwise pale face, and the distant glassiness in his eyes. Taking advantage of his distracted state, Tommy places the back of his hand against Joel’s forehead. He’s barely there long enough to get a read on his temp before Joel swats his hand away, but it’s enough. No wonder he’s caught Joel shivering more than once today. 

“Dammit Joel, you know better. We’ve sent guys home for less and you know it,” says Tommy, face twisting in frustration and concern. 

“Tommy it’s fine I-“ Joel attempts to reply, but Tommy cuts him off. 

“Did you even bother to check it before ya left? You know this is a fuckin’ hazard on the job. Damn accident waitin’ to happen,” his tone is grave, but his expression is worried and achingly sincere. Joel pushes the thought from his mind and shapes up - not his little brother’s job, he can take care of himself. 

“No. I’m fine to keep workin. That’s it. We got stuff to do,” Joel says with finality, turning on his heel and promptly returning to his tasks. Tommy’s not happy about it, but he could spend all day arguing with his bullheaded brother, tiring him out more without making any headway. No, he’ll just keep a closer eye on him while they work. That’ll have to do.

—--------------------

It’s when the rain starts coming down a little after two that Tommy hits his limit. Once he notices a couple drops beginning to fall, he looks to Joel, just in time to see his brother shivering when the drops make contact with his overheated skin. That’s enough of that. Tommy stalks over to his brother, whose reaction time is significantly slowed, and Joel turns to look at him a bit dazed. 

“Alright, that’s it. Rain’s coming down, you’re shaking like a fuckin’ leaf. Go home.” It’s Tommy’s turn to remain steadfast in his convictions. Joel looks over at him with tired eyes and Tommy can’t help but soften. 

Only when a few chilled drops hit Joel’s face and neck making him colder than he’s felt all day that he concedes. “Yeah, alright.” It’s clear he doesn’t have the energy to put up a fight, especially when Tommy pats his shoulder comfortingly and he slumps a bit. Joel’s shivering again as Tommy ushers him back toward his truck. 

“We’re heading out soon as we get cleaned up anyway. How ‘bout I pick up Sarah? Just go home and get some sleep?” Tommy asks, hopeful now that his brother’s folding. 

“Okay,” he breathes out, running a hand down his face before trying in vain to rub out the pain behind his eyes. Joel stops just outside the driver’s side door and looks to Tommy to thank him. 

“‘Course. Now head home. I’ll see you in a little bit,” Tommy responds, to which Joel nods, then climbs into the truck. Tommy takes another look back to find his brother sitting in the driver’s seat gathering himself, mildly satisfied with this result 

_____________________________________________________________

For once you actually make your way to the parking lot right after school on a Friday. You're notorious for staying too late, grading, planning, or straight up yapping, but today you’d made a rookie mistake. You’d showed up to work on Day 2 of your period without checking your advil stash. Fuck. 

After a day of cramping, crabbiness, and guilty apologies after being kind of a bitch to your students a couple of times, you head to your car as soon as the bell rings. You’ll stop in the Walgreens around the corner from your neighborhood for a quick supply run, then head home to be comfortably horizontal for the remainder of this fine Friday afternoon.

—--------------------

Truth be told, Joel is relieved to be done for the day by the time Tommy makes him leave. The last of his resolve had crumbled and fallen with the first raindrops and the chill they set in his bones. He turns the heat on in his truck and settles in, letting the air warm him up and willing the pounding in his head to subside just long enough to focus on the road. A few minutes and a bout of coughing later, he finally works up the strength to drive home, only to realize he’s still horrifically unmedicated. Shit. Guess he’s stopping at the drugstore on his way home if he wants even a little relief.

—--------------------

Joel’s standing in the cold and flu aisle of his neighborhood Walgreens, sniffling miserably and squinting heavy-lidded at different cold medicine boxes in each of his hands. He remembers one particular medicine helping at least a bit more than others last time he was sick, but for the life of him he can’t remember which one it was. Dammit, he really just wants to get out of here. He’d much rather keep this cold to himself than be hacking in public, but he needs something if he’s ever gonna stop coughing long enough to get the sleep he desperately needs. 

The tiny white letters on the back of these orange and green boxes are starting to run together, and the pain behind his eyes digs its heels into his frontal lobe. He squeezes his eyes shut and curses a little louder than he realizes, triggering a coughing fit in the middle of the store. Great. Now everyone in the store knows he’s carrying a respiratory plague. He’s sniffling and feeling like a walking germ when he hears his name called.

“Joel?” you call from the end of the aisle, having heard his voice from a few lanes over. Joel turns his head to see - oh no. Jesus. Boy did he wish you weren’t the one seeing him look so gross right now. As you come closer to find him squinting under the clinical brightness of the drugstore, you get a good look at him. He looks… rough. His hair’s a bit damp, and more disheveled than usual - not the fresh, styled damp you see when he leaves the house after a shower, but a clammier mix of sweat and rain. His posture is far from the typical confidence and swagger he typically wields with each step, and is more evidently haggard. You notice his eyes first though, with dark circles and brows creased in confused exhaustion. They’re half-closed too, like he’s fighting to keep them open. 

He tries to open them wider and stand up straighter as you approach, clearing his throat to speak, but he’s coughing again before he can get a word out. He’s shaking with the force of it and you notice his shirt is damp in places as well - must have gotten caught in the rain. Just minutes ago, he’d have been uncomfortable under your scrutiny, but he’s too wrapped up in catching his breath to be embarrassed at this point. You draw nearer with pure concern in your eyes as his coughing subsides, and his resolve melts a bit more.

“Whoa, hey, you okay over there? That sounded painful,” you say, finally meeting his eyes. He notices the fretful tone in your voice — it’s gentler than his brother’s but carries the same intention. 

“Yeah, can’t say it feels great,” Joel says hoarsely before attempting to clear his throat once again, hoping his lungs will cooperate this time. “Can’t seem to remember which of these damn pills will give me a hand though.”

“Didn’t I just see you on Wednesday? When did you start feeling bad?” you ask, leaning against his side to take a closer look at one of the boxes from his hands. Maybe with some details you can help figure something out to get him feeling better, or at least let him rest.

“Last night, I guess. Came on pretty quick. Was workin’ okay this morning, but once the rain started, Tommy sent me packin’.”

“You went to work like this, Joel?! Isn’t that like, dangerous? You could really hurt yourself,” you chastise, rubbing his upper arm comfortingly while staring up at him looking utterly devastated. Christ he may melt into a puddle right here. He’s seen this look before, and though he doesn’t want you close enough to catch this, he doesn’t have the heart to shove you away like he did Tommy. He bothers to look at least a little guilty, and you sigh before continuing: “Bad idea. And you know it. Now, let’s figure this out. You’ve got the cough down for sure - what are your other symptoms?”

Before Joel can respond, he looks down into the small basket hanging over your arm and notices its contents: a box of pads, tampons, a bag of peanut M&Ms, a resealable bag of bite-sized chocolates, sour gummy worms, two different pain medications, and a box of peppermint tea. Pain relief, pads, and candy salad. Caught. This is not a conversation you want to have with Joel — men get weird about periods for some childish reason, and you’re really not in the mood. You glance down and move the basket behind you a bit, ready to brush him off and keep the conversation on him, but when you meet his eyes they’re wider and his brows are furrowed above you, drinking you in.

“You sure you’re feeling alright?,” he asks, gesturing to the contents of your little black basket. His tone mirrors the worry you’ve been bleeding since you turned onto the aisle. You’re taken aback by the question at all, given the obvious nature of today’s dilemma — one most men you know wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. His voice doesn’t waver, and his expression doesn’t falter, or express an ounce of discomfort. It’s interesting, but you’d rather not dwell on it, and laugh him off anyway.

“Oh, yeah. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before of course,” you smile and wave your hand in the air to brush off his concern, but his eyebrows inch closer to one another, and his head tilts slightly to the side. You’re the one growing warm under his perusal now, so you turn the subject back to him. “Anyway, talk to me. What’s the matter?”

Joel stares a moment longer, but begins to rattle off a list of fairly standard cold symptoms. You’re glad it isn’t anything too serious, he’ll probably just feel crappy for a couple of days while his immune system does the heavy lifting. Now to figure out what can be done to make him more comfortable in the meantime. One thing you know for certain after hearing the growing congestion in his voice and the rasp in his throat — he’s gonna need the stronger stuff. You take the boxes from his hands and return them to the shelf. He looks at you perplexed, struggling to sniffle against the congestion that — according to the pained squinting he’s still doing beneath the fluorescent lights — is giving him a hell of a sinus headache, and keeping him from breathing through his nose. Fine as he may be in a few days, at the moment he looks devastatingly uncomfortable. 

“Yeah, this crap on the shelf isn’t gonna work. Let’s get ya some of the stronger stuff,” you say, patting his shoulder before tugging him along to the pharmacy. He doesn’t ask any questions, just quietly follows your lead. Along the way, you explain the useless nature of the phenylephrine in the easy stuff, and how the good stuff requires you to show your ID. You tell him why the drugs with the pseudoephedrine are more helpful, and he nods and snuffles in understanding. Sounds good to him, he’ll let you take the lead on that one. As smart as he knows you are, he more than trusts your judgment.

You approach the counter and begin perusing the options, talking with the pharmacist about what you need, when Joel starts coughing again. You can’t help but rub his back and whisper soft words in comfort when his face twists in pain from the fit wreaking havoc in his chest. As your hand moves in soothing circles across his back, you can feel the heat of his skin through his t-shirt. Shit, he didn’t say anything about a fever. You need to get him home as soon as possible. 

When he’s composed a bit, you wrap up with the pharmacist, and she asks for your ID. You pull yours from your bag and hand it to her, but pause. Should you show her your own? Does she need to see Joel’s too?

“Oh, for sure. Uhm, do you need to see his too, since he’s the patient?” you ask, wanting to get done with this as quickly and smoothly as possible so you can get him out of here. She’s looking at the card in her hand intently and entering your information into the computer, busy with the transaction.

“No ma’am. We don’t need your husband’s ID since you’re the one purchasing,” she responds, not lifting her eyes from the computer. You blush at this, but she doesn’t seem to notice until Joel’s eyes go wide and he chokes, forcing him into another bout of harsh coughing. Jesus, his throat must be torn up. You reach for him with one hand and place your own basket and a few other sick day supplies on the counter with the other before she finalizes the transaction. 

“Thanks for all your help!,” you say a bit frantically as you begin to usher him toward the exit. You walk out of the store in silence, neither one of you looking at the other, each of you trying to keep a nervous smirk at bay. Only when the automatic doors shut behind you do you turn to look at each other and laugh heartily, extremely entertained by the pharmacist’s assumption. The laughter only ceases when it sends Joel coughing again — you need a read on that fever he’s sporting. Once he’s mostly caught his breath, you move closer and place a gentle hand on his forehead, then move it down toward his cheek. Joel closes his eyes and without realizing, leans forward into your soft touch. When your hand leaves his face, his eyes open to find that look again, and he muses that you may make him sweat before the fever gets the chance. 

“You didn’t mention this earlier. Did you know you’re running a fever, Joel?” you ask him, and he looks guilty toward the asphalt. 

“Tommy mighta mentioned somethin’ about it earlier, but I’ll be alright,” he responds, but fails to suppress a shiver when the breeze kicks up. Your heart breaks a little seeing him shaking — how did you miss that earlier? You sigh deeply before telling him you’re hesitant to let him drive home. He insists it’ll be fine, and you understand it’d be more of a hassle to come get his truck later on. You concede since it’s such a short trip back, but you’ll follow him back to your adjacent homes. 

—--------------------

After parking your car in the driveway next to his own, you meet Joel at his truck. You bat his hand away when he attempts to grab the bags from yours, and tell him to go unlock the door. Ever the gentleman, he’s a little perturbed, but follows your instructions anyway. Once you’re both inside the house, you set the items on the table and sit him down next to it before heading for the cabinet and filling a glass with water. After passing him the glass and watching as he slowly sips, you unload the bags, and begin reading the back of the box from the pharmacy. 

“Have you eaten anything today? It’s probably not a great idea to take this on an empty stomach,” you say. He goes a little green at the thought of eating anything before swallowing and huffing a response.

“No, haven’t really felt like it. Don’t think it’d sit well right now, to be honest. I’ll be alright with just the medicine, I bet.” You sigh in response, a little anxious it’ll make him feel worse, but either option could do that at this point. At least the thought of the medicine isn’t nauseating for him at the moment. You’ll let it slide, for now. 

“Fine. But you’ll definitely need to eat something substantial later,” you tell him, giving him a once-over, taking advantage of the single instance he’s below you to get a good look at him. You’re already thinking through take-out options that might help tonight. Another day, you’d make some soup for him — get him full and warm him up. Hell, tomorrow you might. But today you’re exhausted, with the period fatigue and the cramps that won’t let up, you’re definitely ready to get into some more comfy Friday Afternoon Clothes. 

“Alright, you get changed and get comfy on the couch. I’m just gonna run home and get outta these work clothes, then I’ll be right back.” 

“You’ve done plenty already today, darlin’, really. Helped me out more than you know. And I’d hate for you to catch this too,” he explains, looking guiltier than you’d like. You’re plenty aware of the risk here but at the moment you couldn’t care less. You don’t really feel like sitting by yourself in your house right now anyway. No reason both of you should feel crappy alone. 

“Uh, Joel, did you forget that we’re ‘married’ now? I’ll be back in just a minute to check on you,” you insist, smiling at him. He looks at you admonishingly and smiles back, shaking his head. You have no idea how happy that makes him — his stomach flutters at the joke, and it isn’t from his illness. You hesitate on the way out the door, and turn to check with him once again. “If having me hovering is gonna keep you up though, I can totally leave you be. I don’t want to keep you from getting the rest you need.” Your voice and expression are apprehensive, afraid to be a bother. 

He probably doesn’t still his face well enough, and he’s certain you can see desperation in his eyes when he shakes his head. He can’t tell you quite yet, but he’s over the moon you want to stick around. All semblance of nobility is dropped - having you near him could never be unwelcome. “You don’t hover, sweetheart. Nothing about you is bothersome. I’d love the company, actually,” he tells you in earnest.

Your expression settles at the reassurance, and you smile back at him. “Good. I’ll just be a few minutes,” you begin, but your smile turns to a grimace with the last few words as you feel a sharp twisting in your stomach and lower back. Your hand instinctively grips your stomach, hoping to ease the pain. There’s definitely no escaping that one. Joel’s eyes widen, but you cut him off before he can ask if you’re okay. “Yep, I'm gonna get out of these pants and into something loose before my uterus tries to kill me,” you joke, reaching for the knob. 

Joel chuckles in response but he’s frowning a bit. The look from the drugstore is back, and you don’t know what to do with his sympathy. You can’t look long before heading out. 

He hates seeing the pain you’re in, but what upsets him most is the way you brush it off. Like your pain is smaller, or insignificant by comparison — one he wouldn’t draw anyway. It sticks with him more than it probably should, but he can’t seem to shake it. He needs to act, somehow. Once he’s changed, he grabs a few blankets from the closet and the heating pad they keep around for his back and for Sarah’s own cycles. He knows how much it can help her, so he figures it couldn’t hurt to offer, at least. 

He sets up a spot on the couch for you both — a little nest for staring at the tv and, (he hopes), cozying up just a bit for extra comfort. He’s still not hungry, but he microwaves a bag of popcorn and grabs some other assorted salty snacks to join the candy you’d picked up. He’s seen how snacky you can get after school sometimes, and wants to make sure you have an array of options, prepped for any craving. 

You return as he’s placing the last of these items down on the coffee table — he’s rather proud of his little presentation — and sees your hair up and a comfy set of sweats that are just a little too long in the arms and legs. Lord help him, you look fucking adorable. He can’t stop the grin that spreads across his face when you walk toward him. 

“Well don’t you look cozy,” he says with eyes shining at your improved expression. You give him an exaggerated little twirl to show off the baggy outfit you’ve adorned yourself in for this evening’s activities. 

“Damn right! I’m ready for anything now,” you say, stuffing your hands in the pocket of your hoodie. He’s laughing in response before it catches in his throat again and he starts coughing. 

“That makes one of us,” he jokes once he’s caught his breath. 

“Yep, I want you on the couch. Right now. Go ahead and get comfy and I’ll get the medicine. We gotta get you drugged up enough if you’re gonna get any sleep.” You’re ushering him to the couch when you stop in your tracks. When you catch sight of the coffee table snacks and the heating pad set up on one side of the couch, already plugged in and waiting, you nearly tear up. You’re speechless for a moment — no one’s ever done anything like this for you before. This little thoughtful gesture means the world, and you’re not sure what to say. 

“Joel! You didn’t need to do all this. You’re sick, I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” you insist, nudging his arm with your own, leaning lightly into his side. 

“Wasn’t hardly anything, darlin’, just some stuff I know helps Sarah when she gets to feelin’ like you do. She likes her snacks salty, and always feels better with this little fire hazard next to ‘er,” he says, gesturing to the heating pad on the couch. His grin turns mischievous before he starts again: “Besides, you said it yourself, we’re ‘married’ now, huh? I oughta know what my wife needs just as well,” he finishes, voice too satisfied, and eyebrows raised in jest. 

You’re giggling when you grab his hand and squeeze it, thanking him. “This goofy little bit we’re doin’ ends the second Sarah and your brother walk through the door, by the way. Not looking to scare her, that’s the last thing I wanna do,” you instruct.

“‘Course, but fuckin’ with Tommy sure woulda been fun,” he says to you, and you laugh in agreement. Once you see he’s settled, you make tea for the both of you, hoping it’ll work magic with the medicine to get him resting comfortably and — with any luck — napping before long. He’ll probably protest, but with a little coaxing, you’ll get it into him. 

When you return with the tea, he takes it from you with both hands, before using one to pull you down on the couch next to him. He’s pulled you a little closer than you may have sat yourself, and he’s pleased when you don’t pull away or readjust. You just grab the heating pad, crank it up, and stick it behind your lower back while leaning forward to grab the medicine. You check his temperature again with the back of your hand while he’s preoccupied taking the medicine you’d doled out to him. He’s a little warmer than he was outside the drug store. 

“Maybe we should get a number on that. Where do you keep your thermometer?” you ask, worry written on your face all over again. You attempt to rise from the couch to go hunting, but he grips your hand again, keeping you in place.

“Nope, nope, it’s fine sweetheart, I promise. You need to get some rest too. Sit,” he directs, his tone leaving no room for discussion. You roll your eyes, but wriggle back against the couch again before pulling a blanket into your lap. Joel fiddles with the cord of the heating pad and readjusts it behind your back, making sure it isn’t folded or sitting uncomfortably against you. You sigh in relief and fall a bit toward him as you settle in, and he inches you way as well. You arbitrarily turn on a movie you’ve both seen, fully aware neither of you will be making it to the end, and snuggle closer. The fevered heat humming beneath his skin is pleasantly warm against you as he settles deeper, and he’s slipping in and out of conversation within minutes. 

_____________________________________________________________

Sarah walks through the door with Tommy in tow while end credits roll across the tv. They head into the den to check on Joel, but conversation falls silent and they stop in their tracks at the sight they discover. You’re sleeping peacefully, legs tucked up under you and head lolled against the back of the couch. Joel’s head has somehow found its way into your lap, and he’s resting warmly on your stomach, no doubt alleviating some of the pain with his warmth and weight. Your hand rests on his shoulder, holding him securely.

Tommy’s face goes slack, but Sarah’s smiling ear to ear, and turns to her uncle, trying to quiet her laughter. He looks at her wide-eyed, but says nothing, and she holds her hand out between them, fingers curling toward her palm.

“Pay up,” she says, way too satisfied for Tommy’s liking, and far too much like her father. He rolls his eyes, and digs his wallet out of his pocket. He really thought his brother would be too chicken to do anything about this — at least for a little while longer.

[zestys-stuff]

A little pov of Ralak checking you out from across the bonfire 🔥

Unholy… unholy thoughts behind those eyes

[librababe99]

Between Two Flames

cw: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, smut with plot, set during first two X- men movies, Fem!Reader, Logan/F!Reader/Scott, cunnilingus, fingering, threesome, unprotected sex (wrap it up y’all!) Word count: 3.8K 

A/N: I decided to have a little “Challengers” moment but besides that I’m a sucker for a love triangle—I hope y’all enjoy this!  As always comments, likes and reblogs are appreciated <3

(marvel masterlist)

In the soft glow of the X-Mansion, you could feel the weight of their gazes, both so intense, yet so different in how they pinned you to the spot. Logan’s dark, smoldering eyes watched you with an animalistic hunger, while Scott’s visor hid his eyes. You could feel the intensity radiating from him, a more controlled but equally desperate need simmering beneath his calm exterior. They had both wanted you for as long as you could remember, and the tension between the three of you had been brewing just beneath the surface, ready to explode. 

It wasn't a secret anymore. The way Logan’s voice would drop an octave when he spoke to you, how his hand lingered on your lower back for a second too long. The way Scott, ever the gentleman, would make excuses to be near you, brushing your hair from your face, his fingers barely grazing your skin, leaving a trail of heat wherever they touched.

You were caught between them, two powerful, extraordinary men who couldn’t be more different, but somehow both managed to make your pulse race with equal intensity. And tonight… you’d decided it was time. Time to take control. Time to stop letting them circle you like predators ready to pounce. You weren’t going to choose because, deep down, you didn’t want to. You wanted them both. And you knew they wanted you too.

The air in your room felt thick, electric with anticipation as you stood between them, your heart hammering against your ribcage. Logan, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, was tense, his jaw clenched as if he was barely holding himself back. His shirt clung to his broad chest, muscles rippling beneath the fabric, his very presence an intoxicating mix of danger and raw masculinity. Scott stood at the opposite side of the room, more controlled, but his hands fidgeted at his sides, betraying his calm façade. The tension between them was palpable, years of rivalry over you culminating in this very moment.

“I’m tired of watching you two dance around each other,” you said, your voice steady despite the nervous flutter in your stomach. You looked between them, feeling the weight of your decision. “I want you both. No more games. No more competition. If you want me, you’re going to have to learn to share.”

Logan’s eyes darkened, a low growl escaping his throat as he pushed himself off the wall. “You serious, sweetheart’? You sure you know what you’re asking for?”

Scott shifted his stance, his gaze flickering between you and Logan. He hadn’t expected this, but the way his lips parted and his chest rose and fell with deeper breaths told you he wasn’t about to object.

“I’ve never been more serious,” you replied, your voice laced with desire. “And if either of you doesn’t want this… you can leave now.”

Neither of them moved.

Logan took a step forward, his hand reaching for you, the heat of his touch sending shivers down your spine. His fingers curled around your wrist, tugging you closer to him until your chest was pressed against his solid frame. “I’m not going anywhere,” he growled into your ear, his breath hot on your skin, sending a wave of heat straight to your core.

You tilted your head back to meet his gaze, your lips parting in a soft sigh. “I didn’t think you would.”

Behind you, you could feel Scott approaching, his presence cool and steady. He came up behind you, his breath warm against the back of your neck as his hands settled on your hips. His touch was softer, more hesitant than Logan’s, but the desire that pulsed through his fingertips was just as strong.

“I’ve always wanted you,” Scott whispered, his voice strained with barely contained need. “But this… are you sure?”

You turned your head slightly, catching his gaze from the corner of your eye. “I’m sure, Scott. I want this. I want both of you.”

With that, the dam finally broke. Logan’s lips crashed against yours, demanding and rough, while Scott’s hands roamed your body, his touch igniting a different kind of fire. Logan’s hands tangled in your hair, tugging lightly as he deepened the kiss, his tongue claiming your mouth in a way that was unmistakably possessive. Behind you, Scott’s lips found the curve of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he kissed a trail down to your shoulder, his hands slipping beneath your shirt, caressing the soft skin of your stomach.

The sensations were overwhelming, two sets of hands exploring you, two mouths leaving trails of heat and want in their wake. Your head spun, but you reveled in the feeling, letting the pleasure wash over you in waves.

Logan’s hands slid down your back, gripping your ass with a possessive squeeze before lifting you effortlessly off the ground, carrying you towards the bed. He laid you down gently, his eyes dark with lust as he leaned over you, his weight pressing you into the mattress. Scott followed, his hands never leaving your body, his touch grounding you in the midst of the storm that was Logan’s intensity.

They worked in tandem, their rivalry momentarily set aside as they focused entirely on you. Logan stripped away your clothes with an almost feral need, while Scott’s hands caressed every inch of bare skin revealed, his touch softer, more teasing in contrast to Logan’s roughness. You moaned softly, the mix of their attention driving you to the edge.

Logan’s mouth claimed your breasts, his tongue flicking over your sensitive nipples while Scott’s lips found the inside of your thigh, his breath warm against your skin as he kissed his way up, his fingers brushing against your most intimate spot. You gasped, your back arching off the bed, your fingers tangling in the sheets as pleasure coursed through you.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” Scott murmured, his voice thick with desire as he pressed a kiss just below your navel. His fingers moved against you, slow, deliberate strokes that had your body trembling with need.

Logan growled low in his throat, his lips trailing up your body until his mouth was on yours again, his kiss hard and consuming. “She’s mine, Summers,” he muttered against your lips, though there was no malice in his voice, just the deep, primal need to claim you.

“She’s ours tonight,” Scott corrected, his eyes meeting Logan’s with a silent agreement.

Logan’s lips were fierce, his kiss a burning force that left no room for hesitation. His hands, rough and calloused, ran over your bare skin with an urgency that sent shivers racing down your spine. Every touch from him was primal, raw, as if he was claiming you in every way he could. He growled low in his throat, the deep sound reverberating against your lips as he kissed you with wild intensity, his body pressed firmly against yours.

His mouth trailed from your lips, leaving a hot path down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he nipped at the sensitive spots that made you gasp. The heat of his breath against your throat had your pulse quickening, and you could feel the hard, solid strength of his body pressing into yours, his muscles taut with the need to take what he had wanted for so long.

Logan’s hands roamed lower, fingers gripping your waist, pulling your hips against his as his mouth traveled further down. His lips found your breasts, and he took one hardened nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak before he sucked it gently, then harder, pulling soft moans from your lips.

Behind you, Scott was just as relentless, though his touch was more controlled, his need more restrained. His hands explored the curves of your body, his fingers brushing softly over your skin, contrasting Logan’s roughness. His lips found the nape of your neck, and the sensation of his warm breath there made you arch your back, pressing yourself further into Logan's mouth.

Scott kissed his way down your spine, his mouth hot against your skin, his hands trailing down your hips. His fingers traced the inside of your thighs, parting them slowly, teasingly, until his hand found the slick heat between your legs. His touch was soft at first, gentle, as if he was savoring every reaction, every gasp and moan that escaped your lips.

Logan growled again, his mouth leaving your breast with a wet pop as he glanced at Scott. “She’s ready for us,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, laced with barely controlled desire.

Scott didn’t respond, but you felt his fingers move more deliberately, sliding through your wetness with slow, deliberate strokes. He circled your clit with agonizing precision, drawing a moan from deep within you. Your body tensed, hips instinctively bucking against his hand, needing more, and yet he took his time, teasing you, building the pleasure until it was almost unbearable.

“Scott,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as the sensations overwhelmed you.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered softly, his breath hot against your skin. His fingers continued their rhythm, rubbing slow circles over your sensitive nub before slipping lower, pressing inside you. The feeling of his fingers stretching you, filling you, was almost too much as he worked you with practiced ease, his touch confident yet gentle, driving you to the edge.

Logan’s hands were on your hips now, lifting them slightly as he positioned himself between your legs. He was watching Scott’s fingers move, his eyes dark with lust. “Fuck, she’s so wet,” he growled, his voice thick with desire. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open for him as he leaned down, his tongue flicking out to join Scott’s fingers.

The sensation was overwhelming, Logan’s mouth hot and demanding as his tongue licked a slow, sensual stripe over your clit, swirling around it with a skill that had you crying out in pleasure. Scott’s fingers moved in tandem with Logan’s mouth, thrusting in and out of you, stretching you as his thumb pressed against your swollen nub, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

Your hands tangled in the sheets, your hips bucking uncontrollably as they worked together, pushing you higher and higher. Logan’s mouth was relentless, his tongue circling your clit before he sucked it into his mouth, his growls vibrating through your body, the sensation almost too much to bear. Scott’s fingers continued their steady rhythm inside you, the pressure building, coiling tighter and tighter until you felt like you were about to shatter.

“Please,” you gasped, your voice trembling as you begged for release, the pleasure teetering on the brink of being too much.

Logan’s eyes flicked up to meet Scott’s, a silent agreement passing between them. Logan’s mouth left your clit for just a moment, and then he gave you exactly what you needed, his tongue flicking rapidly over your swollen nub while Scott’s fingers curled inside you, hitting that perfect spot with every thrust.

The orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over you with an intensity that had you crying out, your body trembling violently as pleasure surged through every nerve. Your hips jerked uncontrollably, your legs shaking as Logan’s mouth and Scott’s fingers didn’t stop, drawing out every last drop of pleasure until you were panting, breathless, completely undone beneath them.

Logan growled in satisfaction as he finally pulled away, his mouth slick with your wetness, his eyes dark and predatory as he looked down at you. Scott slowly withdrew his fingers, his hand resting on your thigh as he leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your back.

“You’re not done yet, sweetheart,” Logan rumbled, his voice low and husky as he moved over you, his body pressing you into the mattress. You could feel the hard length of him against your thigh, and your body responded immediately, desire flaring hot and fast once again.

Scott’s hands moved to your hips, lifting you slightly as he positioned himself behind you, his chest pressed against your back. “Let us take care of you,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear as he kissed the side of your neck, his fingers intertwining with Logan’s as they both prepared to claim you fully.

The air in the room was thick, humming with tension, the weight of desire almost palpable as both men converged on you. There was an unspoken understanding between them, a shared hunger that had been building for far too long, now unleashed with an intensity that left you trembling beneath their combined focus. The need to possess, to ravage, was clear in every movement, and you could feel it in the way their eyes devoured you, their bodies pressing against you, ready to take what they’d been craving for so long.

Logan hovered above you like a predator, his muscular form caging you in, every inch of him radiating heat and power. His dark eyes burned with lust, flicking over your face as his chest heaved, his body vibrating with restrained energy. His cock, hard and throbbing, pressed insistently against your thigh, the tension in him evident as he growled low in his throat, his voice rough and gravelly with want.

“Goddamn, you’ve no idea what you do to me,” he rasped, his lips curled in a feral smirk as he teased you, letting the head of his cock slide against your slick entrance, not yet entering, only heightening the delicious ache inside you. His gaze, heated and unrelenting, watched your every twitch, every moan, drinking in the sight of your body arching beneath him in anticipation.

Behind you, Scott was a steady presence, his warm breath brushing against the back of your neck as his hands held your hips, steadying you. His body, firm and solid, pressed against your back, his cock, hard and leaking, sliding between the curves of your ass. His control was fragile, his breath coming in uneven gasps as he ground himself against you, savoring the way you writhed under the weight of both their attention.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Scott murmured, his voice low, thick with need as his lips ghosted over your ear, sending shivers racing down your spine. The quiet, desperate confession stirred something deep inside you, his words full of longing as he pressed himself harder against you. His hands tightened on your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as if anchoring himself to the moment.

The tension in the room swelled, and Logan, never one for patience, shot a glance at Scott, a silent challenge that passed between them before he took what he wanted. With one powerful thrust, Logan pushed inside you, his cock sinking deep, stretching you wide. The sensation hit you like a wave, a sharp, intense pleasure mixed with just enough pain to leave you gasping, your body trembling as you cried out.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” Logan growled, his voice gravelly, strained as he pulled out slowly, only to slam back into you with a force that made you see stars. He wasn’t gentle—Logan never was—but there was something intoxicating about the way he moved, his cock filling you completely with every brutal thrust, claiming you in a way that was as primal as it was electric.

Scott groaned behind you, his body tense with barely restrained desire as he watched Logan take you. “You’re driving me fucking crazy,” he muttered, his voice hoarse as his cock slid against your slick skin, aching for release. He shifted, positioning himself behind you, his hands steady as he lined himself up, his cock nudging at your tight entrance, teasing the sensitive ring of muscle.

Logan slowed his thrusts, his movements deliberate now as his eyes locked on yours, his expression raw, filled with lust and possessiveness. He reached down, brushing the damp hair from your forehead, his thumb grazing your cheek as he rasped, “You want this, baby’? Tell us. Tell us you need both of us.”

Your breath hitched, the intensity of their combined presence overwhelming, but you couldn’t deny the deep, aching need inside you. “I want it,” you gasped, your voice trembling with desire, your body arching toward them, desperate for more. “I want both of you.”

At your words, Scott pressed forward, his cock slowly stretching you as he pushed deeper, the burn intense but delicious. He was careful, deliberate, giving you time to adjust as he inched his way inside, filling you until you could feel both of them, thick and hard, stretching you to your limits. The sensation of being taken by both of them at once—Logan’s cock buried deep in your pussy while Scott’s filled your ass—was overwhelming, a heady mix of pleasure and pressure that made your head spin.

For a moment, the room was still, the air heavy with the sound of their ragged breathing, both men deep inside you, their bodies taut with the effort of holding back. Then Logan moved, his hips pulling back before slamming forward again, setting a punishing rhythm that had you gasping for air. The force of his thrusts pushed you further into Scott, who matched his pace, both of them moving in perfect sync, driving into you with relentless precision.

The sensation was beyond anything you’d ever felt—Logan’s rough, powerful thrusts combined with Scott’s slower, more controlled movements, both of them working together to push you higher, to drive you to the edge. Every nerve in your body was on fire, your senses overwhelmed as they claimed you, their bodies moving in perfect tandem, the heat between you building with every thrust.

Scott’s hands gripped your hips tighter, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fucked you from behind, his cock driving deep, the friction exquisite as Logan continued to pound into you from the front. The feeling of being filled so completely, stretched by both of them, was too much—it was everything. Your body was trembling, overwhelmed with pleasure as they pushed you closer and closer to the brink.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” Scott groaned, his voice thick with need as he thrust into you harder, his pace quickening as his control began to slip. “I’m not gonna last much longer.”

Logan growled in response, his movements becoming more erratic, his grip on your thighs tightening as he slammed into you with renewed intensity. “Fuck… you’re gonna come for us, sweet girl’,” he rasped, his voice strained as he pounded into you, driving you toward the release that was quickly spiraling out of control inside you.

Your body was trembling, every muscle tensing as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. You could feel the heat coiling low in your belly, the sensation of both men inside you pushing you to the edge, their combined rhythm relentless, pushing you higher and higher until—

Your orgasm washed over you like a wave, crashing with an intensity that left you gasping for breath, your body shaking violently as pleasure surged through every nerve. You cried out, your body arching between them, completely undone as they continued to thrust into you, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you were left trembling, utterly spent.

Both Logan and Scott continued their relentless pace, driving you deeper into that overwhelming pleasure. Your body tightened around them, and their groans filled the room, the sound of their need mingling with the thrum of your release. Logan’s pace became erratic, his grip on your hips bruising as he buried himself inside you with a final, powerful thrust.

“Fuck—” he growled, his voice rough as his cock pulsed deep within you, releasing his hot, thick seed. His muscles tensed, his breath ragged as he shuddered above you, his climax leaving him, but still gripping you with an unyielding possessiveness. He lingered, breath warm against your skin, before pulling out slowly, his release still slick between your thighs.

Scott, still buried in you, was close behind. He gripped your waist harder, his thrusts losing rhythm as he chased his own end, his body trembling against yours. His cock twitched inside you, and with a low, desperate groan, he came, his release filling you. His hips stilled, pressed against you as he breathed heavily, his forehead resting against your shoulder.

For a long moment, the room was silent except for the sound of your collective breaths, heavy and uneven as the intensity of what had just happened settled in. Your body was exhausted, thoroughly claimed by both men, and you couldn’t help but smile, your heart still racing from the sheer pleasure of it all.

Scott slipped out of you, his hands gently brushing your waist as he lay beside you, his body warm and spent. Logan followed suit, rolling onto the other side of you, his arm possessively draped over your waist. The two men, who had been rivals moments ago, now lay beside you, their bodies close, their breathing slowing as the intensity ebbed away.

“You okay, baby’?” Logan murmured, his rough voice soft as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, his thumb brushing lazily over your hip.

You nodded, too exhausted to speak, but the contentment in your expression said enough. You were more than okay—you were completely satisfied, your body and mind still buzzing from the pleasure they had given you.

Scott leaned in, his lips brushing against your temple as he whispered, “That was… incredible.” His voice was filled with wonder, as if he still couldn’t quite believe what had just transpired between the three of you.

You let out a soft laugh, your eyelids heavy as you nestled between them. “It was more than that,” you whispered, your voice sleepy but full of warmth. “It was perfect.”

In the quiet aftermath, with Logan’s steady presence on one side and Scott’s gentle touch on the other, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. You had wanted them both, and now, you’d had them—every inch, every moment, exactly as you had imagined.

Sleep tugged at the edges of your consciousness, but before you drifted off, you felt the two men shift closer, their bodies warm and protective against yours. In that moment, you realized that this was no longer a rivalry. They had both claimed you, yes, but they had also shared something deeper—something that could only exist between the three of you.

[etherealily]

𝙴𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝙴𝙴𝙽 // 𝙉𝙁𝙅!

Nate Jacobs + Fem!reader. Warnings : Dark. SFW, but discretion advised. Drugs.

I don't know if this is milder or darker than the previous parts, but I do know that it is LONG.

Part 1 : Whiplash

Part 2 : 9 Lives

Part 3 : Blessed

Part 4 : Shards

Part 6 : Sin

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc. : You're fun and you're wild, but you don't know the half of the shit that you put me through

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TUESDAY, LIBRARY, 4 PM.

"We need to talk."

Suddenly, Carl Jung had never been more interesting, your eyes unable to rip away from the words on the paper in front of them, ignoring Nate as much as possible.

Your shoulder suddenly jerked, and a soft whisper followed. "Hey. We need to talk."

Frowning, your eyes darted between the two Jacobs brothers, the looks on their faces not strict, but the most infuriatingly stoic gazes mankind had ever known.

"You had quite a weekend, right? Anything crazy happen?"

The real question Aaron was asking was whether you were going to talk about it.

"Nope, just lots of psych homework."

"See, this is why I'm telling you to drop Psych. Unnecessary stress.", remarked Nate, his fingers rapping on the table in an almost musical pattern. Almost, because music is art, and there was nothing artistic about the false smile he was giving you.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"How are the rest of classes going?" Small talk?

"Great. Chem is pissing me off, though."

"Eh, well, only nerds are good at Chem, and I don't fuck with nerds. So you're lucky."

Oh, thanks, man. Such an honour.

"Are you good at Chem?"

"I pass."

"Where'd you get time to study? What with all the vapes and parties and quote-unquote 'dozens of bitches'?"

He let out a breathy laugh. "I got good work-life balance.", he replied, leaning on his arms closer to you. His head tilted and you knew something psychotic was about to happen. Well, it was Nate. You knew something psychotic was about to happen the second he walked in.

"I'll bet."

He smiled at that. "Are you my friend, Y/N? Are we friends?"

"I don't think so."

"Good. We're on the same page.", he hissed, moving in closer, glaring at you with the same eyes that had been acting as a dam to his true emotions two nights ago. "You can't tell anyone." His fingers deftly twirled your hair around before tucking it behind your ear.

"About?"

"Saturday."

"How you threw a lamp at me?"

"What you heard about my Dad. What he wanted to... what he said. What you learnt about our family."

"I won't."

"No, seriously, Y/N, don't fucking play with me right now. You'll regret it if you do."

"I'm not playing around, either. I'm not going to tell anyone."

"Good.", sniped Aaron. "'Cause we'll fucking ruin your life if you do."

"Aaron.", whispered Nate, shaking his head. "She already said she wouldn't."

"And you trust her?! She walked in with this polite girl attitude and then when shit got tough, she yelled at you with Mom just a room away. And you told me she wanted to fuck Da-"

"Aaron, shut the FUCK up, okay? She said she isn't going to, so she won't." The glares were back on you, an unwelcome blanket in the heat of tension.

"Yeah, we wouldn't want to have to say stuff about you , too."

"Aaron, I said fuckin' drop it."

"No, she gotta know what's at stake, or she's going to take this shit lightly."

You could almost see the vein pop in Nate's head.

"Nate, what... what stuff?"

"It's nothing. Just... we needed incentive.", he muttered, shrugging.

"What incentive?"

"You're buddy-buddy with a drug dealer, Y/N.", he continued, although, to his credit, it seemed with a little reluctance. "And he has access to a lot of shit, right? Who knows if he's ever slipped something into your drink and... y'know."

"What the FUCK? What the FUCK, NATE?"

His idea of incentive was making you a rape victim?!

Being shushed by the librarian solidified your thirst for homicide.

"I mean, you fucked Shane voluntarily, so you're already a fuckin' whore.", he declared, shrugging again as if he was just stating that the sky would be lit up by fireworks on the Fourth of July. "Maybe he just thought it would be easier, without all the playing-hard-to-get-shit. You're close enough that he trusts you to watch over his store."

"You can't FUCKING be serious! FEZCO WOULD NEVER FUCKING-"

"How sad, you're in denial.", tutted Aaron, pouting. "How would you know? He could have used shit stronger than Rohypnol, ya know? Shit that could knock you out cold for hours, and maybe he even called a couple of his trapper buddies-"

Aaron shut up quite quickly when your knuckles met his jaw, but started cussing you out when Nate pulled you off of him. "We're just saying, Y/N, you don't tell anyone the truth of that night, we won't tell them the lies about Fezco."

You pointed your finger at Nate's chest, hoping to god that that would distract him from the rage-induced tears pooling in your eyes.

"You're a fucking coward, Jacobs. With a pervert dad. A fucking coward who can't admit that he has no idea what the fuck he's doing."

"Big words coming from a girl that was raped by her dealer."

OH, someone needs to euthanize this motherfucker.

FUCK. NATE. JACOBS.

TUESDAY, 9PM

Nate had no fucking clue why he was doing this.

He was just drunk, he supposed. Drunk and horny. Average teenage experience.

But it's like.. he could've done anything. ANYTHING else. He could've actually gone to the party, picked up some girl, screwed her into the bed.

But no.

He sat there, scrolling through the fucking SlutPages. For who?Shane's sister, maybe, because of the inexplicable hatred he'd been feeling for him for about a month that he couldn't really think of a reason for? You would think, wouldn't you?

He looked for you.

There was no way you were a virgin. But he should've known there was also no way you were a slut. Or at least, that you were smart enough not to end up there.

He almost fucking threw the phone onto the wall. Fuck.

And you'd blocked him. That was the problem. He couldn't even text you. And he didn't have your fucking phone number, Jesus fucking Christ, he should've gotten it! Relying on something as flimsy as social fucking media was stupid. Idiot.

Wait. Social media.

He quickly slid his chair over to his computer, his hands moving with a pace and mind of their own.

No fucking way would he admit this, but his brother... had some good ideas, once in a while.

When he was fourteen, he'd been wide-eyed, watching through the crack through a door as his older brother -17 at the time- created an account, some random username, some girly bullshit, and then gone Incognito, finding a picture to add.

And then he watched as his brother spent hours poring through pictures of girls - at the time, Nate's seniors- and then suddenly sigh.

"You know, you breathe like fucking Darth Vader?" "What's that?", he'd asked, ignoring that comment and padding over to sit next to him. "This account? I'll tell you, but it- it's like... private brother shit, ok?"

"Shit". What a novel word that was at the time.

"Okay." "Spit-swear it, runt."

He spit-swore. A thing he never fucking did again.

"You can use it. Whenever you're down bad for a chick but you're blocked." "Why would a chick I'm down bad for block me?" "You're so obviously fourteen."

And god fucking damnit, was he.

Not that he was down bad for you. But all he'd say is if this wasn't love, it was pretty fucking close. Why you enthralled him, no clue. You were so easy to rile up, but hard to push too far. You always seemed to be limitless.

He logged in.

Good, the loser, Crestin, posted a story.

Good, you were there in the background.

Great, you were hot.

Bad, you were drinking. Tequila. Wasn't that you and Nate's thing?

Of course, he wouldn't presume to have taken your tequila-V-Card, but he most definitely would have assumed that you'd associate tequila with him. With that night. He'd assumed you'd stay away from it, metaphorically forsaking him in the process.

But no.

Shane's tequila was non-traumatic, and apparently delicious. Ugh.

This simply would not do.

TUESDAY, SHANE'S PARTY, 11PM

"No, NO, GET the FUCK away from me!", you warned, pointing a finger at him. You should've taken his advice and learnt to shoot. "I'm warning you, Jacobs!"

Shane's party was meant to be the one place you could be to avoid Nate, seeing as the host was some sort of Nate-repellent, but NO, you'd just apparently underestimated Nate Jacobs once again.

And here he was, his hand gripping your wrist - just like the rope you wanted to grip his neck - and glaring down at you as if you'd just killed his entire family but he was mildly turned on by it.

"Y/N, just fucking listen! Just- stop causing a scene! Fuckin' LISTEN!", he ordered, grabbing your shoulder with one palm and pointing at you with the other hand, to stop you from writhing away from him.

"You can't just do what you did last week and then expec-"

He kissed you. What did he think this was, fucking Disney Channel?

"NO! NO!", you shouted, shoving him away and secretly hoping for a car to hit him as he stumbled back.

No such luck.

It really was the world according to Nate, wasn't it?

"You know it's okay, right? It's alright."

"What?"

"It's okay to want me.", he informed you, as if he was telling you it was okay to sing in the shower.

Everyone does it. It's like, a thing, relax.

"It's okay.", he continued, "People want what's bad for them all the time.", he murmured, his thumb tracing your lip like he was tracing out a line he wanted so desperately to cross. "It's human nature."

"You think I'm bad for you?"

He took a deep breath, as if he was about to tell you you were terminal. "I think you're good for my soul. Like a baptism without the water." His thumb moved further into your mouth, just barely grazing your teeth.

"Even you have no clue what that meant, admit it."

"It's called effect, Y/N. Drama. Intrigue. Doesn't have to make sense."

You stared up at him, waiting for elaboration, and that earned a huff from him as he looked around at the other people in the front yard - doing lines, making out, throwing up - before turning back to you. "No, honey, I don't think you're bad for me. In fact, I think you're unnecessarily good for me."

"Unnecessarily?"

"As in, I don't need your energy."

"Then why are you so insistent on being around it? 'Cause you want to fuck me?"

"No! Jesus. It's in the name, Y/N. GOOD luck charm. You help me do GOOD in my games. You're good energy."

"What's next? You gonna tell me my birthstone?"

"Oh, shut up.", he chuckled, shaking his head as he moved your jaw from side-to-side in what seemed to be a playful gesture, but at this point, could very well have been him trying to ascertain which cheek to shoot into or something. "You got your licks in. We good?"

"Good? No. NO. We're not good! You threatened someone I love, so no fuckin' way are we good!"

"I know, I know. Aaron wanted me to-"

"BULLSHIT!"

He sighed, as if you were his deranged relative who was climbing up some telephone pole.

"YOU just can't handle the fact that I saw you almost fucking cry! I caught you weak, and that's a power shift, and you don't FUCKING like it, do you?!"

His jaw ticked for a moment, but he managed to let out a mix between a scoff and a chuckle. And then, as if what you said wasn't quite literally exactly what he was feeling, he asked, "Are you done?"

"NO, I'm not fucking done! I still haven't got to the part where you threatened to accuse him of rape, which is a fucking terrible thing to joke about in the first pla-"

"Look, man, I don't have time for this shit, okay? I'm not hurting Fezco! I came here so I could tell you something."

"My GOD, Nate, you made your point! I won't tell anyone!", you groaned, snatching a drink from some already-tipsy guy's hand and downing it.

"That's totally hygienic.", he remarked, eyes finally tearing away from you as you both watched the drunkard stumble over a girl who was getting rid of her lunch and breakfast in the bushes.

"I got new incentive.", he murmured, his forehead against yours, and his thumb rubbing your cheek as if it owned land there.

"What, now you're going make Shane out to be a rapist, too?"

Not a bad idea, actually. The corners of his mouth curled down, and he scanned your face as if he were actually thinking about it, eliciting a tsk from you.

He hid a chortle as he continued. "I'm offering you a deal. You were right, back at the bleachers about the control thing."

He was about to ask you to sell your soul, you could fucking feel it.

"So... you get to control me. For however long you need. Like, a month, a week, whatever. Just don't tell anyone about my family."

Whoa. Plot twist. You did not expect him to sell his soul.

"Oh, yeah, I'm sure. So if I asked you to show up to school naked?"

"Yes, I'd show up to school naked for you. But it's funny seeing me naked is your first instinct."

His trust issues were suddenly working out in your favour- he was essentially offering himself up as collateral.

"If I ask you to announce a formal apology to me on a bullhorn before your game?"

"I just want you to leave my family alone, Y/N."

So that's where Nate Jacobs' humanity began. At his family. Noted.

"I promise. I'll do anything." The urge to say 'then die' was strong, but not invincible.

You wracked your brain looking for something you could make this psychopath do that would not cause him immense pleasure.

"Ah, see? Being the one in control isn't all it's cracked up to be. Too much power, and you don't even know what to do with it.", he taunted, pouting as he closed his eyes, pressing his forehead harder against yours. "Think. What is it you want from me?"

What the fuck did you want him to do?

"Do you want an apology? No, 'cause I've already given you plenty and you don't want meaningless things, do you?" His lips lightly touched yours and you could swear he smirked when you flinched on reflex.

But no. That wasn't what you wanted. He was spot-on.

"You want... do you want money? I'm a trust fund baby, essentially, right? My father basically owns the town. Sure, I could hook you up. Royal Enfield, BMW. Or, if you want, Chanel? But that won't cost me anything, at least not emotionally, yeah? So no. That's not it, either."

Why did you suddenly feel like your thoughts were transferring into his head?

"You want me? You want to cut me up, just like I forced you to watch me do to myself? You want to hold a gun to my throat like I did to you? No, because I'd low-key like it."

Yes, he would. So no, you didn't want it.

"C'mon, think. I'm at your mercy, I'm all yours. There's definitely one thing you want and you're just too much of a pussy to say it."

Why were you letting him do this? Why did you just accept that it was the world according to Nate?

"You wanna know what I think, huh? Huh? I'll tell you what I think.", he murmured. "I think you want me to care."

That got your attention. "Care?"

"I think you actually want me to give a shit about you, so you can justify to yourself why you keep lettin' this happen, don'tcha?", he asked, thumb rubbing your jawline. "You want me to stop acting like this whole thing between us is a game. You want me to acknowledge what I'm doing to you."

You hated this. You hated when men were right - it was ridiculous. And you absolutely despised when Nate was right, because it was dangerous.

"Look, I just want you out of my life, Nate.", you lied.

That had come out way too fast. That was the easiest thing he could do. That was the kindest thing you could have ordered him to do. That was mercy.

So why was he acting like you'd just asked him to jump into a fire?

"That's it?"

He didn't buy it. And neither did you. Because yes, you'd technically be very reasonable to want him out of your life. But no, the danger, the unnecessarily sexy amount of mortal peril you'd be in every second that you were around him- it was your fucked up version of heroin.

"I don't think you understand just what you're asking. You're going to miss me."

You scoffed and he shrugged, in a gesture that only seemed pitiful, as though he were allowing you to believe that for the time being.

'Denial isn't just a river in Egypt, baby', you could almost hear him snark.

"What if I miss you?"

You shrugged, downing another shot - one you'd stolen from a drunk girl this time. "I dunno. Just don't."

"You'll still come to games? Fist-bump me?"

"Still come to games? I guess, maybe? I'll high-five you, or something."

"I'll think it over." Wait, wasn't he the one who was making an offer?

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He found you almost fifteen minutes later, probably after mulling it over with a drink.

"I accept your terms. I'll go out of your life, starting Monday. However, I've got a little som'n som'n to show you.".

An AK-47? An atom-bomb? A grave he dug specially for you?

"It's a surprise. Only an hour. That's all I'm asking."

Only your sanity. That's all he was asking.

You'd promised yourself you'd never take anything from Nate Jacobs again, and you'd stuck to it.

I mean.

That was until he'd offered you molly.

Molly made you happy.

Molly made you forget stuff, like college apps, the loss of your internship and the fact that you'd basically been lying to your family the entirety of last week about the scar on your forehead.

But how he'd found that out was a question for the ages. And he seemed to know exactly what molly did to you.

And you best believe he was milking it.

"I want to get a tattoo."

"Okay...?"

"Correction : I want us to get a tattoo.", he whispered, before tsk-ing at your derisive snort. "C'mon, you get to draw whatever you want on me and I'll get it tattooed, I promise!"

"Tattoos are permanent, Nate."

"And you know what? So am I. In your life. In your head. On your lips.", he reminded, grinning mischievously, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth.

You barely fought against him - the ecstasy sprinting through your blood vessels - and you found yourself lying back on the grass, his hands bracketing your hair.

"Just fucking draw something on me, Y/N. Come on. And I'll draw something on you. Yeah? Sound good?", he asked, his hand creeping up your shirt with surprising reverence.

He chuckled breathily against your lips, shaking his head as he rolled off you, lying next to you.

"I'll draw something nice and meaningful. And you get to, as well. Nothing cheesy, though. Like a fucking arrow-heart or an anchor or some shit."

"How about a star?"

"What, a star is not cheesy? That's the cheesiest thing ever. That's the pussy tattoo.", he muttered, before looking up at your eyes, sighing magnanimously. "What kind of star?"

"The ones that are hard to draw. With all the lines."

"Really, Y/N? I give you the chance to mark my body up and you want the hardest thing to draw from second grade?"

"Where'd you want it?"

"Where will you be willing to touch me?"

That was a million dollar question. Willing is a very subjective term.

"Neck. Under my ear."

You nodded, taking the pen he'd brought and gently tracing out a couple stars under his neck. He played with some of your hair that had fallen in front of his face, with terrifying dedication, as you did so. "Yeah. Done. You actually getting this tattooed?"

"Now you.", he ordered, grabbing your wrist, not answering the question. Red flag number eleven thousand. The pen lid in his mouth and a focused furrow to his brow, he began drawing.

"Infinity symbol.", he informed you, before you could even ask.

"Why?"

"I dunno. It's meaningful. 'To infinity and beyond'. Favourite Disney Movie, right?"

"That is not my favourite-"

"Yeah, well, it's mine. Buzz Lightyear is like, my hero.", he muttered, rubbing his thumb over the drawing and then kissing it softly, all while looking at you.

"Really? You seem like a Big Hero 6 guy to me."

He laughed deeper. "You always take me so seriously."

"Fuuuck, I know I'm not supposed to say this..."

He lolled his head over to you. "You could tell me you're Ted Bundy reincarnate and I'd still smash."

You decided to ignore that comment. "I'm not supposed to say this, but... but I get why Rue did it. Like Jesus fucking Christ."

He nodded in understanding, looking at the tiny packet that still had a couple pills in it. "She was just too weak to limit herself. But we got no limits. You got infinity on your wrist."

"Look, Nate, I can't tattoo that shit. My family would kill themselves."

"Same."

"Then why did you-"

"We're gonna do something that could go either way. It could either freak you out or turn you on. On the off chance that it's both, then we're more similar than you realize.", he slurred, lazily brushing hair behind your ear. "'Kay?"

"What are we gonna do?", you asked, trying your hardest to pull away, but the ecstasy made you genuinely defenceless against human touch. And it didn't help that Nate was holding your arms tightly down on the ground, as if he were trying to plant roots.

"We're going to carve the tattoos."

He said it so conspiratorially. As though this was your secret to surviving the zombie apocalypse. And his fucking eyes. Glowing like fireworks. Glowing like a child finally being told he could get what he wanted for Christmas.

"WHAT?!"

He licked his lips with an almost roll of his eyes as he looked up at you, because you were so clearly overreacting, right? Slitting your own skin in the shape of an infinity on it was a perfectly normal teenage activity. Of course. Drinking, smoking, fucking, slicing.

"I'll do it. I'm experienced, as you know.", he scoffed, his lips at your shoulder now. "We only have about fifteen minutes left of your curfew, Y/N, please. Please? Play nice."

The molly was clouding your senses, clearly. You could tell because a) you were still having this conversation and b) you didn't even question how he knew what time your curfew was, and c) you hadn't punched him yet.

"Think about it, it's less permanent than a tattoo, baby, please."

And then he placed another one of those little pink pills on your tongue, pressing down and forcing you to swallow.

MONDAY.

The scream came too late to your liking.

You'd tried to scream faster, but everything had come rushing back to you. The fever dream was not a dream. It's always relieving when terrible 'realities' end up only being dreams. It's a different kind of terror when you realize that the nightmare was real.

The number eighteen was etched on your wrist like a pathetic mark, like... like a brand.

You couldn't even begin to figure out just what the fuck that was supposed to be. Eighteen? How was that meaningful? The year it becomes legal to have sex? Freedom, maybe? Joy?

He wanted this aneurysm in your head. He'd placed it there.

FUCK !

FRIDAY.

"What? What is it you want?!"

He frowned, his face softening out of genuine confusion, make him look almost comically harmless in the harsh stadium lighting. "You said you'd still fist-bump me."

"What does 18 mean?"

He shrugged, holding out his fist. You rolled your eyes, bumping it with your own. And then, after telling yourself you were imagining the ghost of a smirk on his lips, you froze. Because he'd turned, running off to the middle of the field. You saw his back.

His jersey. 18. FUCK. He blew you a kiss about two seconds before the ball was passed to him. 18. FUCK.

"Did you just fist-bump Nate?"

"Yeah."

"Why?", asked Maddy, scoffing softly.

"He was talking to me about the project and then he said he had to go, so I wished him luck and... I guess I fist-bumped him."

"Oh, yeah, ew, the project. How's that going?"

"I scrapped it."

"Why?", she questioned, after shaking her pom-poms and screaming out some over-enthusiastic cheer.

"I don't fucking like him. At all. He's a DICK."

"What? No way. I had no idea.", she muttered sardonically, slinging an arm around your shoulder. "But was it, like, really bad?"

You nodded.

"After the game, you wanna do molly?"

"No." The reply was almost immediate.

"You don't wanna do molly? Don't bullshit me. Shut up. You're doing it with me."

You'd have hugged Maddy for knowing you so well if you weren't so focused on the big, blue, number 18 running on the field, matching the big, red one staying still on your wrist.

FRIDAY, 9PM

Staying over at Maddy's was an offer you shouldn't have declined, because it was getting genuinely infuriating how Nate found out things.

You were still extremely lacking in sobriety when he'd crawled into your bed that night, covering your mouth to make sure you didn't scream. How? Million dollar question.

"You want me to tell you a secret?"

"A secret? Wait, not some bullshit about my lips that you came up with?"

"I listened to Queen."

You sat up. "WHAT?"

He chuckled, sitting up as well and tilting his head while resting it on his knees. "What? Elvis, too. I even watched Blue Hawaii. I low-key liked it. Why? Would it have changed your mind?"

You frowned for a moment, before shaking your head. "Still would've been nice to know."

"Okay, how about you just kiss me now, Rue 2.0?", he asked, tracing out the number eighteen on your wrist before looking up at you through slightly furrowed brows. That was a challenge, of sorts, that gaze.

"You have something to ask me." Didn't take a genius to figure it out. Insinuation was painted all over his face. He had an accusation and he needed you to defend it.

"When Shane fucked you, where'd he come?"

You frowned, staring at him for a moment. "Yo, I- what? Where is this coming from?"

"At practice he was saying he fucked you."

"He's a dickwad, of course he did."

"It doesn't bother you that he's spreading that shit?"

"If I paid attention to every rumour some butthurt, fragile-ego jock spread about me, I wouldn't have time to fucking study."

"Your reputation's gone, though. That's fine for you?"

You sucked on your teeth for a moment before exhaling. "You're here to find out if I'm easy?"

He looked at you for a moment, his expression unreadable.

"If I did this, Y/N, would you stop me?", he asked, shifting to his knees at the foot of the bed. "Hm? If I just...", he trailed off, kissing up your knee to your thigh.

"Nate. Stop."

"That's not stopping me.", he murmured, gripping your back and yanking you closer.

You kicked him away, grimacing. "Get out."

He gazed up at you, and for a moment there, it seemed like he was rooting for you, for the rumours to just be cruel rumours and not true.

"Get OUT!"

"You can't let me kiss you and then just... it doesn't work like that."

The world looked glittery and he looked godly kneeling down there.

His tongue licked slowly up your inner thigh. "C'mon. Take it off. It's just me."

"Get out."

He rolled his eyes, yanking your shorts down himself. "I fucking...", he murmured, voice muffled against your skin. "Love you."

"You don't fucking love me!" You were struggling but it was fruitless.

"I could."

"Get out, I'm not bullshitting."

"C'mon.", he murmured, reaching up to unhook your bra before pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. "C'mon."

"No! Get off!" His hand held you down.

"Just let me-", he muttered, his fingers finally removing your underwear as he pressed a chaste kiss higher up your thigh. Your breath hitched and his smirk widened, albeit, with a bit of disappointment. "There we go."

Kicking him away, you finally snapped. Maybe it was the molly. Maybe it was his tongue. Maybe it was the fact that he'd somehow found out that molly made you make extremely bad decisions. Maybe it was the fact that he knew you wanted nothing more than to fuck him that night.

"GET THE FUCK OUT, NATE! YOU SAID YOU'D LEAVE ME ALONE MONDAY, IT'S FRIDAY! GET THE FUCK OUT, PLEASE!" He took every kick and every punch like a total champ, you'd give him that.

The disappointment left, and he smiled, softly, caringly, like a mother hanging up her child's drawing on the fridge, as he wiped your tears away.

Standing up, he grabbed your hair, staring into your eyes so deeply you were half-wondering if they'd changed colour, before patting your shoulder. "I'm proud of you."

Proud for disproving a rumour?

You watched his shadow on your wall as it climbed down the window behind you.

Look, one thing could be said. Nate Jacobs was a man of his word. He did not speak to you. He did not text you. He did not acknowledge you.

You'd blocked him online and he'd blocked you in real life.

However, his other account still kept tabs on you.

Average social media interaction.

Shane Crestin ended up in the ER later that night.

Average Nate Jacobs interaction.

[fireblossomdoll]

Ups and Downs

Synopsis: You're pregnant and having mood swings today, but Madara makes you a snack

Content: Uchiha Madara x Reader, f!reader, pregnant!reader, pregnancy!!, fluff, crack, mood swings

Word count: 987

A/N: A request from anon <3 (here are hcs about Madara and pregnant!reader)

You were already in the third trimester of your pregnancy. You couldn’t wait for your baby to come. You had picked and decorated a room with Madara, both of you really wanted this child. 

You decided to go to the market today to buy a little charm you had heard of. You had seen some children wrapping these cute pendants on their kunai, so you wanted one for your baby. The streets weren’t very crowded today, making for the perfect day out.

When you got to the store, you couldn’t find the charms. You had asked a few kids where they had gotten theirs and all of them led you here. Yet, as you searched the shelves, you couldn’t find the damn thing. Even worse, there was no staff in sight. You marched further into the store, looking for someone who could help you, and you started to think this trash place was empty.

“Hello?” You asked, annoyingly to no response.

“Hellooo??!!” You asked again, raising your voice so that the store’s useless employee could hear you.

An ugly, greasy looking guy appeared from behind one of the shelves.

“Hello, ma’am! How may I help you?” He said with his ugly smile. He sounded so nice it made you frown immediately.

“Finally! Where are you people hiding the cute charms I’ve seen around?”

“Uh, our kunai decor?”

“Are you dense? Yes, the kunai charms.” You were getting increasingly irritated by this.

“We’re unfortunately out of stock of this item.” He said, still with that hideous smile.

“The hell you mean, out of stock?! I’ve seen it everywhere!”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. It is indeed one of our most popular products, and because of that, it’s currently sold out.”

“Argh!”

You were exasperated and left the store in a bad mood. You just wanted to do a nice thing for your baby, but everyone seemed to be against you today.

As you walked back home, more people started to come to the streets. Of course, you couldn’t even have this one thing.

In front of your house, you saw your roses blooming. They were so pretty! You remembered how Madara helped you find the seeds, plant them and take care of them. Even if he didn't really want to garden, he still helped you grow these beautiful roses. 

Madara had taken such good care of you during this pregnancy. You loved him so much, you couldn’t have asked for a better husband. He always made sure to not let you use too much effort, and he smelled so nice.

He would let you play with his hair while he cooked you breakfast, lunch and dinner. His hair was so soft and long, you loved fiddling with it. Oh yeah, sometimes it would smell like roses if you two worked with them for too long. And he would cook for you. Such delicious food, but maybe not what you wanted right now. You wanted something lighter and sour, like a green apple. But also very sweet, like honey.

As you wandered through the living room, you heard muffled voices coming from the other side of the house. You went towards Madara's office and put you ear on the shoji to listen to what he was saying.

“–find the scrolls? –”

“ –working on it. The team hasn't–”

You couldn’t hear it properly, but what they were talking about didn't matter. You knocked and waited. Nothing happened so you knocked again, with a little more force.

“Hmm? Come in.” You heard Madara's deep voice come through.

You opened the shoji, seeing Madara and Hikaku with some scrolls laying on the table. Both looked back at you, as you stayed halfway hidden by the shoji, not really entering the room.

“Madara,” You dragged his name a bit.

“Yes?” He gave a little cute smile.

You looked down and around the round before continuing, “I wanted something to eat,” He arched an eyebrow and opened his mouth, but you kept going, “Some apples dipped in honey would be very nice, you know?”

“Right now, dear? I'm in the middle of something,”

“Please? Cut apples with honey sounds so good, though,” You insisted.

He sighted and stood up.

Did you bother him too much? Maybe he was tired of working and trying to get done was fast as possible, and you made him late. Or maybe he was very concentrated and you interrupted all his thoughts by coming here. “Are you mad at me?”

“What? No, my love, I'm not bothered at all, just getting up,” Madara looked in your eyes, “This wasn't so important, Hikaku can deal with it by himself.”

“So it was important matters that I–”

“Not at all, let's get going,” He interrupted you and pointed towards the hallway, “Shall we?”

You followed him to the kitchen, where he picked a couple of green apples from a basket.

“You should sit down,” He told you as he grabbed a knife.

You sat down by the table and kept looking at Madara as he prepared your snack. He looked so good today, it made you smile.

When he finished cutting the apples, he poured honey into a small bowl. You were very happy with how things were looking. The honey and the apples looked delicious, you couldn't wait for Madara to bring them to you.

“Now, now, here's whatever this is supposed to be.”

Madara placed two bowls in front of you, the sliced apples and the honey. 

“Yay! Thank you!” You said as you reached out to grab one apple slice.

He walked to your side and bowed his upper body until he was slightly above your head. “No problem. Try not to make a mess with the honey, okay?” He told you before kissing your temple.

“Sure,” You said with your mouth full of apple and honey. “It's so sweet!”

“Well, it is honey,” He giggled, leaving you in the kitchen.

[emblazons]

"I don't want things to change."

MIKE WHEELER & WILL BYERS IN S03E08 - The Battle of Starcourt

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

i like that we had grace and frankie as a series long enough that we got to go on the full journey alongside the showrunners/writers/etc. of "we are telling the gayest story ever told between these two women but we don't know it" to "oh my god, people ship this on the internet???? abort! abort! they are platonic friends!" and then back to "ah, screw it, we liked it the original way, this is still the gayest story ever told between two women, make what you will of that. they won't kiss because we never envisioned that but here's everything else. including angel dolly parton. she also ships it."

this is why shows should have 7 seasons sometimes btw

[shalomniscient]

thinking about arranged marriage between kujou sara and kamisato!reader.......... sara, seeing for the first time what a family is really like when you both make the trip up to the kamisato estate. you make an effort to include her in your conversations, and though she’s a little awkward, she tries. takayuki had never allowed her to play with her adoptive siblings or any of the other kujou soldiers—roughly grabbing her by the arm so tightly she remembers tears stinging her eyes as he ranted to her about how she should not let such pointless things get in the way of her duty. but as she watches you mess around with your brother and lightheartedly tease your sister, she can’t help but think this is the furthest thing from pointless.

(an unfamiliar ache blooms in her chest; is this longing?)

sara, sharing a meal with someone for the first time. she’d been so, so isolated as a child, and even as a general, held to some impossible standard that no other mortal could reach. but you are her wife—her equal. so you sit next to her as you have breakfast, and you sit next to her again as you have dinner. you talk about the weather, about your brother, about your sister, about your work, and sara listens. she doesn’t hang on to each of your words; no, she cradles it tenderly against her chest, holds it in her battle-hardened hands and cherishes it.

(these are the words you only say to her. this is hers.)

sara who is so unbelievably touch-starved she doesn’t even realise it. her heart leaps into her throat the first time you take her hand in your own as you both stroll down the streets of hanamizaka on one of her rare days off—kamaji had to practically force her to take leave. you absently tug her along as you flit from shop to shop, and she waits patiently as you chat with ogura mio about new kimono designs. she sees your eyes linger on a dark purple, almost black silken cloth with golden highlights, and makes a mental note of it. the next morning she leaves the kujou estate before you wake, and heads straight to ogura’s shop to commission a kimono and yukata made from that very cloth. her coin purse ends up significantly lighter, but she can’t find it in herself to care.

(she pretends she doesn’t see the knowing look in ogura’s eye.)

sara being defended for the first time by you. harsh words and harsher hands are not unfamiliar to her—this is, after all, just how takayuki raised her. she has long since learned how to drown out the snide comments from the other nobles of the kujou clan who coveted her position or her prestige. she is used to it, really. but she can’t help the way her eyes widen by a fraction and her heart lurches in her chest again when you shoot an equally scathing response right back at the noble from over the rim of your teacup. she has been a protector for so, so long that she isn’t sure what to do with herself when you glance back at her, all while the noble fumes across the tatami mats. she just nods, and you offer her a smile, before commanding the nearby guards with all the authority of a general’s wife to remove the man from the premises.

(you squeeze her hand under the table and her throat tightens—is this what it’s like to matter?)

sara going to a festival for the first time with you. she’d only ever enjoyed these from the outskirts, watching the fireworks as a guard at her post instead of as a reveler. you bring her along hand in hand to try out all sorts of assorted street foods and festival games. the fireworks bloom in the sky like blazing flowers, and she watches as your hair tosses lightly in the wind. the light illuminates your face in hues of dancing gold, and for a moment she’s struck near senseless by the sight of you. you call her name, softly, and her heart trembles in her chest like a frightened bird. and then you kiss her, lips soft against her own and she’s melting into your touch. her wings burst out from her back, pulling a breathless giggle from you. sara blushes furiously, stammering out some excuse that you cut off by kissing her again.

(she doesn’t mind.)

[blackcathjp]

any smut fic recs? 👀

OOOH YES!! my main consumption is literally 90% pwps and/or contains smut, and about 95% are dmhp fics 🫣 i do enjoy plot-heavy fics, but i like when there is spice!

i made this drarry praise kink fic rec list before, check that out! here are some other ones:

***

all hues in his controlling by wolfpants (1k)

harry de-ages himself for kinky birthday sex with draco. morally grey and hot indulgence of age difference and virginity kink.

the best treasure is up harry's arse by bafflinghaze (2k)

bratty harry feat. draco's dirty mouth and obsession with his arse. ticks off all the kinks i want in a fic 🥴

smart brevity by lucifergraced (3k)

draco malfoy is an arse man. he likes what he sees, he will take what he wants. uniform kink and fingers in mouth. that's it.

arms and elbows by iota_after_dark (3k)

harry is desperate to please draco, which means trying something new - fisting. draco is so bossy and hot here. also they're weirdo roommates w/ zero boundaries lol.

dirty fucking dangles by p1013 (5k)

hockey players who get the hots for e/o's impressive athleticism. is it normal to have a crush on someone who will literally crush and bruise you on the ice? not unless you like impact play!

all i have to do by fluxweed (9k)

draco expects a hyper-realistic sexual fantasy and unknowingly ends up w/ the real deal. harry leaves hermione hanging for an hour to indulge in this sudden dreams-come-true sexcapade. oops.

just a trial run by tenthousandyears (9k)

d/s fic that blew my mind. plays with alcohol kink, praise kink, "sex worker" kink, consensual dub-con, and more. discovering what they like and realizing they love e/o by doing lots of debauchery!

the complete idiot's guide to losing your entire mind by oknowkiss (10k)

utterly depraved. no nut november concept where draco greedily controls harry's orgasms and harry is super sex-dumb. i love the pipeline of fwb to "i love you, didn't you know we've been dating?"

two weeks by shiftylinguini (21k)

overprotective possessive veela harry, who is emotionally sick until he "meaningfully connects" w/ his important person... aka, draco! the sexual tension and pining is portrayed so well, and creatively manifests in harry's new veela body. i love this wry humor, no-nonsense draco so much.

lusimeles by orphan_account (23k)

devastatingly tender. harry is self-destructive in dealing w/ his trauma, but Mr. Draco Malfoy wrecks his plans. draco just knows what needy harry wants and needs, which is to be taken care of, loved, and kept. i love this line from harry: "how nice it was to be understood without words." 🥹

only for october by dodgerkedavra (53k, wip)

lovely fic disguised as an unassuming "fwb have a kinky month of sex" story. drarry deal with inner demons by taking care of e/o through sex to ground themselves in reality. they fall in love in the process AND there's an intriguing mystery plot. it's so good.

whisky-tango-foxtrot by vukovich (58k)

transformed my life. i've read this like 5 times? unrelentingly absurd and over-the-top funny with refreshing characterization and humor. drarry's animagus traits seep into their human behaviors, leading to adrenaline junkie, horny trashy slut harry x inexperienced, dramatic, mate-for-life draco. this fic isn't for everyone, but it's a hot wild ride.

[tapakah0]

This is. The kind of dialogue. That I need. From almost all cartoons. MAKE HIM USE YOUR TONGUE, F***ING EXPLAIN EVERYTHING FINALLY

[saturnniidae]

Shout out to Sweet tooth for having strong male-female friendships that end in tragedy but remain completely platonic as well as little to no romance throughout the entire show

[deantfwinchester]

Hands

Pairing: No-Outbreak!AU, Joel x Teacher!Reader as usual (let's just assume these No-Outbreak Joels are all the same couple tbh), established relationship

Summary: Friday nights are reserved for sweatpants and relaxation, of course. But when Joel's work week leaves his hands a bit worse for wear, the night may need to include a break for a little extra attention.

Warnings: extreme fluff once again. expect it at this point. i'm a one-trick pony, i fear.

A/N: finally got around to putting one of my many bulleted notes-app idea fics into paragraph form again! Will we get another one before the year's out? It's anyone's guess! -_-

——————

Friday nights are your favorites. No dinner to cook or rattling rolodex of tasks to come in the next twelve hours give you both a little room to breathe — to gently unwind from yourselves and into one another. It’s typically quiet, and when it isn’t, the volume is born of laughter from games or stories the three of you share.

Joel comes home from an exceptionally long week. You know he’s been on site every day—the whole team has—working longer and longer hours to wrap up the latest project before the client’s deadline. You’re pleased to hear his keys rattle in the door not long after five o’clock, and relieved because the air’s rapidly cooling earlier each night. Daylight Savings time is coming to an end, and today he barely beat the sunset getting home. 

You know the hour means little, however, and are less than astonished at the weary grin he bears on catching sight of you and Sarah on the couch when he walks in the room. She’s already got her purse on her shoulder, eager to head out when her friends arrive, and she’s excitedly recounting the events of the trailer for the movie they’ll be catching tonight. He stands idly in the doorway for a moment, just listening to the two of you chat. You make brief eye contact and smile back, assuring you know he’s there. Neither of you wants to interrupt her avid storytelling.  

“Well don’t you sound excited?” he says when she pauses to catch her breath. You both turn to greet him, and he moves more quickly toward you as you attempt to rise, gesturing to you to remain seated. He’ll come to you both.

He plants a kiss on top of Sarah’s head before leaning down to kiss you as he does each night. You place a hand on his chest and pause when he pulls back to get a good look at his face. You see the fatigue in his droopy-eyed smile, but can’t say anything to him. You already know it’s mirrored in your own expression.

The doorbell rings before either of you can speak again, and Sarah jumps up to head out the door. You wish her a good night, and he follows her to the door, checking for a familiar parent in the driver’s seat and seeing her off. You see him hand her some cash to go with his reminder to make good decisions, and he hugs her. You can’t help but giggle when she takes it with a wide smile.

He turns to you laughing when he sees she’s in the car, and shuts the door.

“What?” he asks, brow furrowed in confusion, but amused at the sound of your laughter.

“Smart girl. I gave her a 20 before you got home,” you grin back at him. He stills in understanding and rolls his eyes. 

“You couldn’t tell me that two minutes ago?” he asks you in mock exasperation.

“But it’s so much funnier this way!” you add, giggling again. You both know he’s wrapped completely around her finger, though she so innocently does not. It’s one of the first things you noticed about him. One of the first reasons you fell in love. 

He shakes his head fondly, and places a hand on his stomach, which begins to grumble softly at him. You raise your eyebrows and meet his gaze. “Any thoughts on dinner?” he asks, and you grin back at him in amusement.

“Handled. Pizza’s already on the way,” you respond and he feigns relief. 

“You’re brilliant.” he says, walking up and grabbing your hand on the back of the couch. You run your thumb in little circles on the back of his hand and give it a light squeeze.

“Duh. Now go get changed! It’s do-nothing time starting now,” you respond, patting the top of his hand in encouragement.

“You read my mind,” he says, leaning down for another quick peck before heading off into the bedroom to change out of his work clothes. Naturally, you’ve been in sweats for over an hour now, shedding your own outfit immediately, peeling the school day from your skin. The unspoken uniform for these Friday nights is extremely specific.

The pizza arrives before Joel can even return from the bedroom in a feat of incredible timing. You’re gathering plates and filling glasses with ice when he emerges ready for the night. He moves forward to help you grab the dinner, but you shoo him away to the couch. 

“Nope, I got this. You sit,” you say, lightly shoving his chest away. You leave no room for argument. He grumbles a bit and raises his hands, backing away to the living room. You follow behind him with the pizza and plates, and return once more for the drinks before settling next to him on the couch. He sits on one end, and you sit in the middle, leaving little room between you.

You lean forward, putting pizza on one plate you pass to Joel before grabbing your own, then settle back against the cushion, both sinking in so comfortably a nearly audible sigh fills the room. The comfort in this relief is palpable, and the decompressing can begin. You grab the remote and put on the series you’ve been binging together recently, more for background noise than anything else. 

A few slices and sitcom episodes deep, you’ve set your plates down on the coffee table. With your bellies comfortably full, you’ve somehow slumped deeper, though Joel into the couch and you into his side. His arm is draped over the back of the couch behind you, and you’re nearly laying on him, head propped against his shoulder. 

You hold his free hand in both of yours and absently play with his fingers for a second when you notice the aggressive wear this week has lent his hands. They’re a raw, angry red at the knuckles; his nails are cracked in some places and peeling in others. Moving your fingers gently down toward his wrist, you focus more directly on the state of his, catching sight of a few hangnails and stretched cuticles that can’t be comfortable. He looks down as you begin to worry them beneath the soft pads of your own fingers, and you meet his gaze, brows furrowed as you look between his face and hands. 

“Keep doing that, please,” he says with a sigh before closing his eyes, “I wait all day to feel your hands on mine. They’re so soft.” He lifts your hand to his lips before pressing a feather-light kiss to your knuckles. He loves the delicate, reverent way you play with his hands, like they’re small, fragile things in need of tender attention. You take his hand once again into both of yours and gently rub it between them, looking back up at him, concerned. 

“How do yours feel? They look like they’re hurting you,” you gnaw a bit at your bottom lip in thought, and he tries to assuage your worry.

“I’m alright, darlin’. Nothing worse than I’m used to,” he says. He knows from your deepening frown that you’re less than satisfied with this response.

You couldn’t care less if he’s used to it, he shouldn’t be. You know the protective callouses forged there don’t mean those hands are unfeeling in the slightest.

“Wait there. I’ll be right back,” you say, rising from his side and hastening to the bedroom. It’s his turn to frown now, both in confusion and at the sudden draft that’s appeared at his side.

You return not a minute later with a small tote around your wrist, and hands filled with half the manicure items you own. You sit down next to him and unpack, laying clippers, files, cuticle oil, and two different hand creams — a lotion he’s seen you use regularly, and a jar that must be a new addition — on the coffee table in front of you, along with the selected polishes and remover you had in the tote bag. You’ve been meaning to do your nails, anyway. 

Joel looks incredulously at you, unsure where this is going. Not that he’s a stranger to nail polish — he raised a little girl on his own long enough to have worn the rainbow on his fingers, but tonight? 

“Sorry, no color for you today, honey. Certainly not before these are healed,” you say. He’d chip half your handiwork away by Monday afternoon anyway the way he’s been working lately. Facing him, you cross your legs on the couch and smile, holding your hand out expectantly for his. He raises his eyebrows at you, but places his palm gently in your own. 

You grab the clippers and get to work on the hangnails first. Any peeling skin or cuticle right there at the nail you clip as gently as possible, making note of the reddened and slightly swollen areas at the base of his nail from which they protrude. Those will need careful attention at the end. He doesn’t squirm or react in any way, but you know they’re more sensitive than he’s letting on. 

Next, you clip back any breakages and unevenness in the nails themselves. You’d never find Joel Miller with dirty hands — he gets them clean as soon as he gets home, but all the scrubbing it takes to keep them that way takes its toll. A little trim at their length might help reduce the need for so much each day upon his return. 

After clipping, you grab his first hand again and rest it gently in the palm of your left while your right files steadily to even any rough edges left behind and prevent further injury. It won’t take much, but you’re sure to get them smooth so they won’t catch on anything or bother him later on. 

The cuticle oil is next. He looks at it questioningly, clearly a bit skeptical, only having seen it a few times when you or Sarah used it. He’s never ventured so far himself. While you brush it gently onto each of his nails, you explain its purpose. 

“This’ll just help your nails get a little stronger. It’ll get them hydrated a bit, keep ‘em  from peeling so much when your hands get dry. It’s kinda crazy how much better this stuff is for your nails than even water is. Water’ll make the peeling worse, actually. Weird, huh?”

He just nods along, listening to you, content to learn something new as always. Finger by finger, you massage the oil into his nail and nail bed. After the first round you go back through to massage again, both to make sure no oily feeling is left behind, and to prolong the rapidly concluding process. He could use the attention, anyway.

Finally, you pick up the jar he identified as a new addition: a canister of a hand repair cream labeled for “Healing of dry or cracked skin.”

“Never seen that one before,” he says, reading the label, “What d’ya need this for? Your hands are never dry! I think they’ve been soft every time I’ve held 'em since the day I met ya,” he smiles at you, and you bashfully brush off the compliment. 

“I don’t need it. I use the other one,” you say with finality, opening the jar and pulling the first of his hands into yours. You don’t grab a large dollop of the stuff. You don’t want him to feel a disconcerting weight, grease, or stickiness from this unfamiliar formula, so you get a little and begin. You add a bit more each time you reach a new spot on his knuckles, palms, wrists. 

You take your time, gently massaging into those roughened, tender hands far more than a simple healing salve. He understands why you have the jar now, looking at you knowingly, and you smile back. No words need be exchanged.

Once you’ve finished the last finger and the last stroke on his hands, you squeeze the one in your own, then pat it gently with your other, “There. Gotta feel better now, yeah?”

Joel stares at you like he just watched you reach up and place the moon in the sky, if for no reason other than to light his path. 

“Like you wouldn’t believe. Thank you sweetheart,” he says, squeezing your hand back and smiling reverently at you. You blush beneath his gaze and look away, unsure what to do with the admiration rolling off of him in waves. You lean back against the couch, file in hand as you start going at your own nails. 

“Good. Don’t let 'em go that long again, either. Where they start hurtin’ ya? Maybe we oughta make this a weekly thing. Manicure night? Been needing someone to do my right hand,” you grin, wiggling the corresponding fingers at him. He smiles back at you, then reaches over and pulls you toward his side, back to your original position laying against him, head resting once again on his shoulder.

“Sounds like a plan,” he says fondly into your hair, planting a kiss to your head in the process. You get comfortable once more, foregoing any plans to do your own nails tonight. You both know those “manicure nights” will be for him — and you’ve got Sarah to do your right hand already, when you do hers.

You grab the same free hand once again and admire your work, then lace your fingers between his own, and rest your twined hands on his leg. You’re satisfied knowing the hand behind you on the couch is comfortable now, healing from the week’s toils and melting into the comforting haze of the early autumn evening.